#cloud slippers for home

[samaylogs]

Slip Into Everyday Ease with Vincent Hoodback Slippers

Comfort at home is a non-negotiable. With the Vincent Hoodback Slippers from Cloud Cushion Slides, comfort takes center stage. These slippers combine support, softness, and easy wear—all in one smart design. Perfect for those long home days or relaxed evenings, this pair brings a new level of coziness to your daily routine.

If you're someone who has worn traditional eva slippers, you're probably familiar with their firmness and long-lasting design. While those features are great, they can sometimes lack in softness and breathability. That’s where Vincent Hoodback Slippers come in. They offer similar durability with a major upgrade in plush comfort and ease of use.

Why Vincent Hoodback Slippers Are Worth It

• Plush inner lining keeps feet warm and supported • Slip-on design with hooded back ensures a secure fit • Foam-cushioned sole reduces fatigue during long wear • A cozy alternative to traditional eva slippers for men • Great fit for colder months or chilly indoor floors

If you're used to wearing eva foam slippers or other styles made from eva material for slippers, you’ll feel the difference in every step. These slippers wrap your feet in softness, while still delivering support from the bottom up.

View more about them here: Vincent Hoodback Slippers

These slippers are designed for those who want more than just a basic house shoe. If you're comparing them to solid eva slippers, the Vincent Hoodback pair stands out by offering a flexible fit that doesn’t compromise on warmth or comfort.

Whether you're on your feet around the house or winding down for the day, they provide everything you need in reliable home footwear. They’re also a great companion to loungewear, robes, or joggers—making them a stylish yet functional addition to your home essentials.

Interested in more soft, supportive options? Visit the full collection at Cloud Cushion Slides

Even if you're already a fan of eva soft slippers or cloud soft eva slippers, the Vincent Hoodback Slippers deliver a snug feel with a hooded back that keeps the heel in place. Fans of Eva Soft Step Slippers will enjoy the cozy cushioning that lasts throughout the day without feeling heavy.

Conclusion

The Vincent Hoodback Slippers are a smart choice for anyone looking to upgrade from classic eva slippers to something warmer and more padded. With a secure hooded design, cushioned base, and plush lining, they offer consistent support and warmth with every step.

[yanderenightmare]

The Four Seasons as Boyfriends

♡ AN: from the Promptlist

♡ TW: nsfw and fluff, really soft yandere, if yandere at all

♡ GN reader

Autumn is always half awake but never fully asleep. 

In the morning, he likes pairing coffee with a smoke out on the balcony—standing shirtless, black tattoos on his pale skin, despite the cold wind, watching the sun rise, sporting tousled hair and dark sunken eyes. 

He spends his days more or less the same way. There’s a briskness in the breeze and rain every other day, and all the leaves have turned shades of brown and orange, matting the ground in wet heaps, leaving the trees to look like skeletons. He likes going for short walks just before the sun goes down, when the sky is a warm pink and there ain’t a soul to be seen, and it feels like the two of you are the only people who’ve stayed behind before the apocalypse came.

At night, he’ll stay up late, watching Halloween movies with you in his arms, drinking something stronger than coffee, and smoking something different than cigarettes. He’ll never flinch when the gory scenes play. He’ll just run his thumb up and down your arm and hold you close with a low chuckle.

He’s a quiet guy who spends his time observing more than talking, a real philosopher, writing down things on this old typewriter he has, anything from crime novels to other horrific things. He’s somewhat grim that way—you think he might have been a mob boss in his previous life. 

But he’s got this dry-humored side as well, and a romantic one too—one that whispers awfully heart-gripping things to you in bed, gives you small gifts on all your anniversaries. Half-mast dark eyes without a smile on his lips, bringing your palm up for a kiss. 

Maybe it wasn’t a past life, you think, maybe he’s a vampire who’s been plenty of things. Come to think of it, you’ve only ever seen him outside when the sun has been safely hidden behind a veil of grey clouds. You don’t know, he just seems like he’s come from another age in the way he’ll treat every day like something to be enjoyed slowly, every moment together to be savored, and every detail of your face something to be not just remembered but cherished.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Megumi, Toji, Yuuta, Choso, Higuruma ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Kuro, Iwaizumi, Sakusa, Suna ♡ CSM – Aki, Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Tomioka, Genya ♡ HxH – Chrollo, Illumi, Feitan

Winter wants to spend all his days inside, wrapped up with you in bed like a bear in hibernation. You have to all but fight your way out of his hold in order to get up. 

He groans when you leave, whimpering at the cold, but eventually, he musters up enough willpower to follow you. He’ll have the duvet wrapped around him still, slippers padding towards the smell of breakfast. He’s still sleepy until he gets a good, warm cup of chocolate coffee. 

Clad in a warm blue sweater, pilled from wear, but cozy still, and a pair of baggy corduroys and fuzzy socks in all sorts of colors. 

He’s super reluctant about leaving the house—will literally find any excuse not to and do anything to avoid having to. He’ll stand in the mudroom with you like an obstinate brat as you dress him, putting on his scarf, hat, and gloves for him before pulling him into his jacket. 

He’s pouty at first, whining about his nose freezing, but after a while, he gets more than happy-go-lucky in the snow. Acting just like a dog, bounding about, tackling you down, and rolling around with you so that you’re both sure to catch a cold. 

You build a snowman together, make angels, and a little igloo where he’s deadset on the two of you sleeping tonight. Yeah, not likely, is all you think, knowing him and how the minute the two of you get home, he’s going to hunker down with all the duvets and blankets he can find and cry about how he’s never going outside again. 

And sure enough, the two of you trudged home, freezing cold and exhausted from all the frivolity, he in a whiny mood. You enter the shower together, and he just stands there, arms around you, draping you with his entire body under the water, defrosting. 

Like before, you end up doing things for him. Shampooing the sweat out of his hat-hair and soaping the rest of him up, then doing yourself the same way.

He’s just as clingy when you’re done. Dressed in fluffy robes, he’ll hold you close on his lap and put on a Christmas movie, something funny, something for children, The Grinch or Home Alone, or a romcom you’ve watched a thousand times before.

He’ll eat gingerbread men instead of dinner, drink one too many cups of eggnog, and tell you how he wants to curl up inside your heart where it's nice and toasty and stay there forever—meanwhile, his hand explores your naked body under your robe.

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Toaya, Hawks, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo ♡ HQ – Hinata, Tanaka, Kuro, Lev, Bokuto, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Doma, Zenitsu ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

Spring is an early bird. Big breakfast spreads every day, wild flowers on the table in a hand-painted coffee mug, toasted bread with a dozen types of spreads, sliced meat, cheese, scrambled eggs, different jams, strawberry, peach, blueberry, apricot, raspberry, and all the currants.

He’s always got a big goofy smile on his face, wearing baggy dongeries and bright pastel-colored T-shirts—green, pink, yellow, and blue. His hair is fluffy, his eyes are round, and he’s always got a new pair of suede sneakers on.

He’d make a great dad, having the personality of a guy who’s a kindergarten teacher, the way he’s all about DIY easter decorations. He has his own craft cart, fully equipped with different colored paper, patterned tape, and glitter in all pretty colors.

He’s never been a very traditional guy, always raving about new ideas, dreams he’s had, things he’s seen when scrolling through Pinterest—you can't hope to keep up...

Your walls have all been painted—not like other walls—but as if the wallpaper were canvas. All your chairs have been bought at yard sales and other second-hand stores, refurbished by him, and hand-painted in different colors with cushions in different fabrics. Your coffee table is an old wine crate he found at a junkyard. All your blankets are knitted with spare yarn from all his other projects.

He also scrapbooks like no other, filling the pages with receipts and tickets he’s saved from your outings and vacations, and Polaroid pictures he’s taken of you, with dates and locations written along the white bottom.

Not to mention, how in the kitchen window, he’s hung the empty egg husks from breakfast, decorated with swirls and dots, with letters spelling Happy Easter!

He also makes you love letters—indulgent paragraphs with an overwhelming amount of love-bombing and hopes and dreams about your future together, always with the wording of a five-year-old child talking about their favorite type of food. 

Yeah, he’s no poet, but it’s the thought that counts, and so A for effort!

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Hawks, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji ♡ HQ – Hinata, Sugawara, Bokuto, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Nirei, Umemiya

Summer is tan with tan lines from his swimming trunks. He’s all smiles and loud laughter, too careless for shades and sunscreen, and so you’re the one who’s left running after him when he sprints towards the water, like a parent, shouting at him to put on some protection.

He filled the cooler up with sodas and beers before you left home, and has brought along firelighters, making a bonfire on the sand for grilled fruits, vegetables, and meats, so that the two of you can spend the day.

His hair is sun-damaged and bleached with saltwater, but he makes it look good with his freckled face, looking as though he lives on the beach. He’ll go in the water several times, never tiring.

He likes to promenade in flip-flops like he’s on constant vacation,  always shirtless, letting his swim-trunks dry while the two of you walk along the shore as the sun gets low, giving you his sweater once the air gets a little chilly. Making plans for how you can fill the rest of the summer. 

He’s got never-ending ideas, you don’t think you’ll have time for it all—hiking, biking, camping, festivals, outdoor movies, picnics, farmers markets, berry picking, kite flying, ice cream, gardening, going diving, sailing, fishing, hot air balloons, parachuting, bungee jumping, skydiving—yeah, his ideas get progressively more extreme as he goes.

But at home, when he’s all drained out from the sun, he’s a quiet presence. Warm still, but calm, lining up pretty seashells and dried-up corals along all the windowsills, before the two of you hit the shower. Washing off salt and sweat, and about a bucket's worth of sand that remains between the cracks in the tiles.

He’ll leave kisses against your neck and shoulder, murmur things in a voice you don’t recognize from the day, but a grainier one belonging to the night, telling you all the dirty things he’s going to do to you now that the sun’s fully down.

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Touya, Hawks, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji ♡ HQ – Hinata, Sugawara, Tanaka, Kuro, Lev, Bokuto, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira, Shido ♡ WB – Umemiya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[lieslab]

Maybe dreams are meant for sleeping

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend's sudden coldness towards you causes you to assume the worst.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I've been giggling over this for a while now. Shout out to the requestee because this made me giggle and kick my feet. I love a good misunderstanding that leads to something exciting. Anyway, since my schedule was train wrecked, I'll post my next fic on Sunday, schedule on Monday, another fic on Tuesday <3

_ _ _

Rain-swollen clouds burst open at approximately four-something in the morning. The heavens opened and the rain poured. It hit the roof so hard, Minho was certain his movement would be muted, but your body had other plans. 

Twenty minutes later, your arms wrapped around the robe you put on. The shuffling of your house slippers fell victim to the pounding rain drops above. Minho’s body sat in the dim fridge light. He moved about in the dark kitchen, stirring through items, and looking for last night’s leftovers. 

He didn’t realize you were there until you reached up and flicked on the kitchen light. “Minho?” You called, reaching up to rub your sleepy eyes. “Minho? What are you doing? It’s so early, you should be sleeping.” 

He froze with his eyes locked on the glass container of rice. He made a large batch last night. Large enough, it’d last the two of you a few days. He planned to put it with his lunch. Of course, he could have eaten in the building’s canteen, but he wasn’t sure he’d have the time. 

Lately, the guys had been so busy. Time muddled between their busy schedules. Management wanted everything done all at once. Twenty-four hours wasn’t enough time for a single day. You understood that, right? 

“I have to go to work early.” He avoided your sleepy eyes. Instead, he spun back to the marbled countertop. He worked quickly, placing the leftovers into his lunchbox. “I didn’t know until late last night. You were asleep when I got the text from my manager. There’s a photoshoot we have to attend.” 

“I wish I would have known. I wanted to make breakfast for us to enjoy together. I’ll have to wait for another day.” 

He nodded and sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah. I’ll let you know when I’m not so busy. I’ll try to talk to management. I’ll see you later.” 

You waited for the words, but they never came. You shut your eyes, expecting the warmth of his body, but that didn’t show up either. He left you standing alone in the kitchen. Without kisses. Without an “I love you.” He left your heart as cold as the downpouring rain outside. 

Your eyes reopened. You assumed he’d rush back and make amends, but he didn’t. The front door opened and then it shut. A faint jingle of keys, the lock turned, and then nothing. You were left alone to your own thoughts. 

A deep breath in and letting it out slowly. It hurt, the startling realization that you weren’t imagining things. Distance grew between you and Minho. You couldn’t place what you did wrong. 

It's always been a fear, deep down, he’d find someone better than you. Maybe, he finally realized he didn’t have the time for love in his life. Being an idol is hard. He spoke so openly about it, maybe his own words struck a chord in his heart. A realization drove the point home and now he’d abandon you, unsure of how to state the truth. 

You tried not to let it bother you, but it stung. Invisible wasps flew above your head and stung your brain; a thousand different thoughts, each one pierced the skin with a more potent venom. 

It all circled back and clouded your self-worth. What if you weren’t good enough? What if he really did find someone better? What if? What if? What if? 

It’s always been good, the relationship between the two of you. You cherished it with everything you had. It meant whispered words of affection while you played with his hair. A silent fondness in your eyes while you watched him consume the food you made. 

He always joked he could make the dish better. Suggesting things to add, gesturing to different items housed in their locations. Nonetheless, he still ate everything you put in front of him. Every grain of rice, every smear of sauce, he scooped it up with his spoon and swallowed it. He never thanked you out loud, it was more of a silent thing. 

He’d wash the dishes afterwards, insisting he had to do them because you spent so much time cooking. Other times, he’d walk behind you and wrap his arms around your body; a human-formed shroud of love. He didn’t need to thank you for the dish. You would have made him a thousand dishes without the need for compliments. 

Compliments were nice, but the warmth washed over you when he scooped up a second bowl. Ladling in broth, using chopsticks to grab more meat, scooping up vegetables while he mindlessly said something needed seasoned more. Yet, when you offered him the option, he refused, insisting he’d manage. 

The one time he insisted something needed more salt, he added a few more sprinkles. Popping the warm dumpling in his mouth, he paused and his eyes widened. An eye twitched and you forced a hand over your mouth to keep your laughter at bay. He never proclaimed something needed more salt again. 

In the silence, ground sausage sat in the fridge. Eggs hid in the darkness of a cardboard carton. You purchased fresh bagels from a bakery last night. You figured you’d have so many hours before they lost that fresh-baked taste. 

You expected to share a homemade breakfast with Minho, but his disappearance left your soul aching. You stared where his body once was. A coldness crept down your spine and your heart wavered. The burn of tears brimmed against your eyes, but you didn’t stop it. 

Like the downpouring rain, your sadness leaked out. It soaked your cheeks, but you didn’t wipe it away. Instead, you sniffled and flipped off the light. The early morning darkness made you feel worse. You spun around, heading back to the safety of your bedding. You’d cocoon yourself in and try to feel normal again. 

More importantly, you’d tried to pretend Minho was at work and not at someone else’s house, making their heart his newfound home. 

~ ~ ~ 

A few days later, the sound of forks scraping against porcelain plates caused your eardrums to shrivel. You winced when your own fork caught the plate. In front of you, Minho twirled pasta around his fork without a care in the world. 

You came home from work to the scent of tomatoes, oregano, and italian seasoning. Garlic wafted through the air and greeted you when you stepped into the kitchen. With his back to you, Minho used tongs to place pasta on plates. “You’re home just in time.” 

You hummed, unsure of what to say. Things between the two of you felt different since the other morning. You wanted to bring it up, but fear stopped you. What if you were right? What if he really moved on, or decided he didn't want to do this anymore? Whatever it was, you hated it. 

Fear kept you cautious and on the tip of your toes. Your heart wavered around him. Paranoia grew and you hated to admit it, but it followed you around like a shadow. When would he slip up? 

Maybe you’d overhear a phone conversation where he’d admit his real feelings. Perhaps, his new significant other would show up and you’d catch it all in the act. You couldn’t stand the waiting, it felt like torture. The scent of a body spray that wasn’t yours. A hoodie that Minho had never owned. 

So vigilant, you were on the constant lookout. You wanted to point and accuse him, drive the nail home, and have a final aha moment. You waited and waited, but it never came. The longer it went on, the more irritable and restless you became. 

If Minho could have his secrets and stop loving you, you could do it, too. In your own way, you’d play his game. You’d treat him just like he treated you. 

So you sat in silence at the kitchen table. Your fork scraped against the porcelain plate. You didn’t thank him for the meal. In fact, you didn’t say much of anything. You picked at your spaghetti, not feeling like you could consume much of it. The garlic bread, you managed to get in a few bites. 

“Are you feeling ill?” Minho asked after a while. 

You looked up blankly, not sure you heard him correctly. “Huh?” 

“I asked if you’re feeling okay. You’re not eating much. You’re not talking a lot either, it’s not like you.” 

You shrugged, brushing him off. The clock on the side of the egg-shell white wall ticked. Your fork scraped the plate again. You twirled the fork and waited. 

Minho stared at you and his eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t say anything else, he waited for a confession. You refused to break. Maybe you were being petty, or maybe you were giving him a taste of his own goddamn medicine. 

Hurt turned into annoyance and that annoyance grew into anger. You wanted him to hurt. You wanted to break his heart. You wanted to do everything you could to make him feel like how you felt. 

Hurt. 

Isolated. 

Angry. 

Afraid. 

You wanted him to be afraid. You wanted fear to grip his heart and squeeze, causing longing to take over. Maybe he’d realize you were irreplaceable that way. Without you, life would be miserable, wouldn’t it? 

The ticking of the clock marched on. Soft breaths came from your chests. You didn’t meet his eyes. Another sharp squeal of your fork. His eyebrows creased with worry and then his chair grated along the tiled floor. 

A hand reached out, gently cupping the top of your empty hand. “Hey, talk to me. What’s going on with you?” You looked up for a brief moment, enough for your eyes to meet for a few seconds, and then you pulled away. 

Your hand left his. Anger rose up the back of your throat. The acidic tomato and basil seasoning of the pasta sauce swirled in the darkened depths of your stomach.“Nothing,” you mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze. “Nothing is wrong. I’m fine.” 

“Don’t do that. You’re clearly not fine. Talk to me. I can’t understand what’s happening to you.” 

“How ironic,” you grumbled. 

“What?” 

“I said I’m fine!” You snapped, jerking yourself away from the table. Your wooden chair jerked back with a loud sound and you stood up. “If you can’t understand the problem, Minho, maybe there isn’t one at all.” 

His face fell and his head tipped to the side. He watched your disappearing body in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He called after you. 

“Figure it out!” 

He sat in silence, unsure of the issue. Tears blurred your eyes, but you didn’t sob. You didn’t spin around and demand answers from him.

Instead, you stormed into your shared bedroom and slammed the door shut, a loud and cold action; the painful reminder that you wanted to be alone for now. 

~ ~ ~ 

Over the course of the next week, the relationship between the two of you grew more and more rocky. You avoided Minho more and more, pulling away from who you thought was the love of your life. In your eyes, he let you. 

You waited and waited for the day to come. You knew it was only a matter of time before the truth rolled out. At least, you were expecting it this time. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of breaking your heart. You broke your own heart mere days ago. 

He didn’t have time to explain himself. He couldn’t, not fully. Not when you worked and his work was dragging him further and further away from you. New things popped up. Fan signs, photoshoots, interviews, and the finishing touches on an album planned for early next year. 

He wanted to find the right time to confront you, but it never worked. You didn’t give him a chance. You’d been going to bed early. By the time he came home, you were sound asleep in bed. He didn’t want to wake you up, so he let you sleep. When you woke up, he’d already be back at the studio. 

You missed him like an abandoned dog craved the warm hand of their previous owner on a dark winter night. He filled your dreams. When you’d wake in the middle of the night, between his gentle snores, you’d roll over and curl into his body, holding him tight. You needed him far more than you’d admit out loud. 

Too afraid to lose you, Minho made plans for today. On a Friday, you’d be home earlier than usual. Today, so would he. He’d confront you and things would go back to how they should be. 

Dozing off on the suede couch, you didn’t hear the sound of Minho’s keys jingling and hitting the lock. The front door creaked open and he cautiously stepped inside. Holding his breath, he paused and waited. 

The murmurings of some romance show fell from the television. You picked romance because you were swaddled in your own self-pity. What better way to bring yourself down again? Watch random couples fall in love. Watch it pull them together and break apart in painstaking ways. Love has always been such a contradicting thing. 

When Minho called your name, you glanced up with half-droopy eyes. Sure you were dreaming, you mumbled his name. “Go away. I’m so mad at you, I don’t want to talk to you.” 

“Why are you mad at me?” 

“Because you’ve been distant and ignoring me.” Your bottom lip trembled. “It really hurts my feelings to watch you become so closed off. It’s like you don’t love me anymore.” 

“Is that what you think?” 

“So I’ve been trying to ignore you,” you continued, “because I can do that, too. I can ignore you and maybe you’ll see how much it hurts me. I can’t even recognize you anymore. What are we?” 

You jerked upright, letting the tears fall down your cheeks. “I love you, you know? I love you and you’re making me feel like I don’t exist.” A sweater sleeve wiped across your nose. “So who is it? Who is the lucky new person that stole your heart?”

“You are such an idiot.” 

“An idiot?” You wailed. “You broke my heart! It’s like you hate me now! I don’t even know what I-” Your words caught in your throat and a pathetic whimper came out. 

He walked over to you and gently grabbed your hand. “Hey, I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been nervous and I guess I’ve done this the wrong way.” 

“Nervous to break up with me?” 

His head shook and he smiled. “I can’t break up with the love of my life.” He reached up, gently brushing your hair back. “You look like a splotchy clown when you cry.” 

Your bottom lip trembled. He grabbed your other hand and squeezed, trying to hold onto you. “I’m not breaking up with you.” 

“Then why do you keep acting like it? Stop dancing around the question and tell me. Trust me, I can handle it.” 

“I…” He trailed off and sighed. “Just stay here for a moment, will you? I’ll show you instead of telling you. Just stay here and I’ll be right back.” 

“Promise?” 

He nodded and stood up. “Give me a minute and I’ll be back.” He spun around and disappeared.

You wiped at your eyes and blinked rapidly. Murmuring voices came from the television until you reached over and turned it off. When footsteps reappeared, you looked up. Minho approached you with a small box in his hand. 

“What is that?” 

He sank back down between your legs, letting his elbows rest on your thighs. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a good boyfriend lately. I’ve been struggling to keep this a secret. Every time I look at you, you make me want to blurt it out loud.” 

You raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he meant. He lifted up the small black box. About the size of his palm, he reached down and tugged the box open. To your surprise, a ring sat pressed between two velvet flaps. Your eyes widened and you gasped, it jerked you right awake. 

“Wait, what?” 

“I was trying to figure out how to do it. I wanted to propose to you properly. I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I know you mentioned you wanted to get married. You’ve never exactly told me how you wanted to be proposed to. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but…” 

“This entire time, I thought you hated me. I should deck you for making me feel worthless. Is this my birth stone?” 

“Yeah. It’s pretty, isn’t it? Almost as pretty as you. Do you want to try it on?” 

You nodded and let him grab your hand. He popped the ring onto your left ring finger. As you observed the glimmering oval stone, he grabbed your other hand. “How does it feel?” 

“Perfect.” You didn’t take your eyes off of it. Instead, you lifted your hand, letting it catch the sunlight slipping through the window. “Why didn’t you bring this up from the start?” 

“You like surprises and I only get to propose to you once. I love you so much, but I was so nervous about this. I’ve been restless. Every time I look at you, I want to gush right then and there. You make me feel like a little kid with a huge crush.” 

Your bottom lip wobbled again and his face fell. “Hey, hey, please don’t cry. I’m sorry, okay? I won’t do it again. I’ll take the ring back and plan something grand. Tomorrow, I can-” 

“No.” 

“What?” 

“Yes.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Can you hear? I said yes, you loser. This implies we’re getting married. Look at it!” You shifted your hand again, letting the reflection sparkle. “It’s gorgeous.” 

“But-” 

“Do you want to marry me, or not?” 

“What? Of course, I do!” His hands dug into your thighs desperately. “Yes, absolutely. I want to see you walk down the aisle and everything. The whole nine-yards.” 

“Then yes. Let’s get married. What are we waiting for?” You tried to stand up. “Let’s go to the courthouse now.” 

“WHAT?” 

“You heard me. Come on,” you shifted again. “No take-backs. You wanna marry me soooo bad. You’re down so bad, you’re a simp.” 

His face went blank and he blinked. “I suppose I deserve that for being distant.” 

“You deserve to shine my shoes until next year.” 

“Hey!” 

But I’ll be nice and say you can make it up to me by doing the dishes for the next month. You know how I feel about the dishes.” 

“Only if you cook for the next month.” 

“Ha!” You reached out, playfully slapping his chest. “I knew it! You love my cooking!” 

“You can’t poison me if we’re engaged.” 

“But it still means I can kick your ass any time of day.” 

“Kiss it, you brat.” 

You stuck your tongue out. He reached up and pinched it between his fingers, causing you to freeze. Your cheeks went bright red and your eyes met his. 

“Fine. You can keep the ring, but we’re planning an actual wedding. We’re not rushing the wedding. We’re going to communicate and talk to one another. Do you understand me?” 

You timidly nodded and he let go of your tongue. You pulled back, wiping your face with your sleeve. “Wow, that was um…” 

“Hot?” He guessed. 

“Gross, actually. Now you’ve got my tongue germs. How does that feel?” 

He reached up and wiped his fingers against your bare thigh, causing you to squeal. “You really love pressing my buttons, don’t you? Keep pressing them and see how far that attitude gets you.” 

A grin lit up your face and he pulled away. “Don’t even start.” You grabbed his hand before he could get far. He groaned and tipped his head back. “What more do you want from me? I said I was sorry.” 

“I want a proper kiss.” 

“Oh, that I can do.” He jerked forward, grabbing the front of your shirt. He pulled you back to his face. “Just remember who’s in charge here.” 

You reached up, flicking his nose playfully. “Who has a ring on their finger and who doesn’t?” 

“You brat.” 

“Jackass.” 

“Dipshit.” 

“Bastard.” 

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off with your lips against his. Heated and flushed, you chased the kind of kiss you’d been missing out on. Desperate and hungry, you clutched the front of his shirt and pressed him closer to your body. 

You wanted it to last forever, but he pulled away after a few seconds. You whined his name in misery. “Easy there, brat. You’re kissing me so much, you’re forgetting to breathe. Take a deep breath before you end up dying from lack of oxygen.” 

“What a beautiful way to die.” 

“Who’s the simp now?” 

“Minho, shut the fuck up and kiss me again.” 

Before he did, his hand curled around yours and the cool ring brushed against his fingers. As your lips met again, he took pleasure in knowing you were his. His and his alone. 

Even if you were a brat, he loved you just the same as he always had; the same as he forever would.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[sweetiechenle]

hiiii! can I request a where reader sleeps over at mark but he wakes with a morning wood for the first time and there both shy and embarrassed cs they’ve never really been intimate like that. js something cute it can lead to smut if you want :))

pairing: mark x afab!reader

w.c: 1.8k

warnings: mdni 18+, established relationship, spending the night for the first time, mark is so sweet oh my god i will cry, reader is shy but bold, pet names, soft mark, he is so in love, mentions of spiderman because well yeah its mark, blowjob, oral (m receiving), vocal mark, implied smut for the future idk, thank you for requesting!! requests are always open ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

you steadily awoke, blinking your eyes open rapidly, trying to adjust to the sunlight filtering through the window. hot breath graced your hair, tickling your ear, making you squirm slightly in your boyfriends hold. last night, mark convinced you to stay the night, going as far as to admit that the second spiderman movie was superior to the third one (tom hollands spiderman, of course). you never stayed the night at his apartment, the opportunity never arising but the clouds had been crying all day, rain pelting anything in sight. mark refused to let you go home in these conditions, so when you asked him for a ride home instead of walking to the subway station, he suggested you just stay the night.

after bickering back and forth of 'i don't want to intrude' and 'i want you to's', you agreed after mark got onto his knees stating 'what if i said that far from home is the best spiderman movie?' he was giving you a pout with pleading eyes that shone under the light. they were wide and sparkling, it was almost comical but cute and convincing.

'even better than no way home?' you quirked your brow in amusement at the situation unfolding before you. mark was so dramatic and undeniably funny, one of the many reasons why you love him.

he dropped his head in defeat, sighing, 'yes... even better than no way home' voicing his downfall.

after dinner, you both watched a movie tangled together on the couch, eyes growing heavy from the antics of the day. mark turned the tv off and suggested you both head to bed, you promptly asked for a pillow and blanket, staying seated on the couch as he stood up. tilting his head to the side he laughed, 'what?'

your cheeks grew hot in embarrassment, did you say something wrong? 'i thought we were going to bed... i didn't bring a pillow and blanket with me...' staring down at your hands in your lap, you picked at your hangnails.

'baby, you are not sleeping on the couch' mark chuckled, insane that you even insinuated the idea of it. he lightly grabbed your hand, guiding you to stand up with him, 'if you don't feel comfortable sharing a bed, i will sleep on the couch, there's no way you are' he stated, still holding onto your hand.

you nodded, 'i didn't know, we can share a bed' you'd been in his bedroom countless times, he would be working on his laptop while you'd laid on his bed scrolling through your phone, or he would play you a song on his guitar sitting on his bed, back against the headboard as you listened while in his desk chair. so, this should be no different.

he offered you some old clothes, pajama pants that fit you around the waist ever so slightly, but the hems going over your feet. a shirt that was five years old and dared to expose your shoulder from how big it was. it was perfect. cozy, soft, and smelled like mark.

he brought you to his bathroom, he insisted on washing your face and applied way too much moisturizer to your skin, which prompted him to take some off your face and put it on his. it seemed like he had everything you needed, an extra toothbrush, phone charger, and slippers.

once you were finished, he brought you to his bed and opened the sheets for you, gesturing for you to climb in first, getting the spot next to the wall while he took the one closest to the door. he clicked the lamp off, and mark shimmied closer to you, slowly wrapping his arms around you asking 'is this okay?'

you glanced up at him, features more defined under the moon shining through the curtains, 'yes, of course' he smiled, nuzzling his nose into your hair, taking in the scent with a deep breath.

'good night baby,' he kissed your head, 'i love you' you melted once the words hit your ears, it wasn't said often but special every time it was fabricated into the real world.

'i love you too' you whispered, moving closer to him as much as you could, closing your eyes as marks scent filled your senses, his warm body radiating the perfect amount of heat to yours, soft sheets that hugged you almost as well as he was. it was hard not to quickly drift off to dreamland.

which brought you to the morning after, mark still having an iron grip tight hold on you and lightly snoring in your ears as you tried to count his breathing. that was until something else caught your attention, mark brought you in closer, shoving his nose into your neck, pulling your body flush with his. you could feel something hard on the back of your thigh and if your suspicions were right then this could get interesting. you and mark had not been that sexually involved... yet. stating he had wanted to take his time with you, that he would be ready whenever you were. never going further than making out and scandalous touches over each others bodies. you didn't mind and it seemed like he didn't either as he never pressured you into doing anything more, but you had been ready for a while, the conversation just never coming up. it seemed like sex wasn't that important to either of you.

you stirred as his nose tickled your neck, causing him to wake up, long eyelashes batting as he tried to fight the sleepiness away. 'mornin' baby' he yawned, voice low and groggy. you smiled up at him, stealing glances at his face under the warm glow of the sun peeking in through the curtains.

'mmm' you giggled, 'don't yawn, you're gonna make me yawn' of course watching him do just that triggered a yawn out of you which made him laugh, grabbing you tighter and shaking you in rhythm with the sound. and now being so close made you feel his morning wood again, which made you freeze in his hold

he noticed the way you seemed to tighten your muscles and go stiff, 'what's wrong baby?'

you blushed, should it be brought up? did you want to embarrass your boyfriend like that? it was kind of hard to ignore it... 'oh, um, it seems like you have a problem' you slurred out the last words, hoping he would pick up whatever you were putting down.

dropping the ball completely your words were lost on him, 'oh?' you shifted your leg, making his move in response, eyes wide in shock 'oh' he finally picked it up.

his ears were already hot in embarrassment, your chest caved in its secondhandness, and you now feel bad that you brought it up. 'i-im so so-' he started, moving away from you, face now wearing a pink hue.

you grabbed his wrist, bringing him back closer to you, 'i-i could help you...' whispering, 'if you want' heart beating so fast from the suggestion, half excited, half anxious.

'oh, you really don't have to' his smile faltered, 'i can take care of it in the bathroom or something.'

your occasional innocent facade cracking, 'i want to, please' giving him the best pouty face you could muster.

he sighed and moved towards his pillow, back now slouched against the headboard, his eyes darkening with lust, 'only if you want to babe, i can't refuse you'

you smiled at the green light, climbing on top of him, grasping both shoulders in your hands, you leaned in. he tilted his head to the side, allowing easy access for your lips. he still tasted like the toothpaste you had used last night, exploring his mouth with such delicacy, taking your time with him. lightly grinding your hips down onto his groin made him moan into your mouth. a string of curse words leaving his lips in a raspy tone, still trying to overcome sleep.

making sure to kiss the moles that adorned his face, you then moved onto his neck, sucking light bruises into the sensitive skin. mark let out wanton moans, always vocal in the best ways, a sound you could listen to for the rest of your life.

you continued to move backwards until your reached his crotch. the bugle defined in his pajama pants making your mouth water, you always imagined what it would look like, your boyfriend was too handsome and sexy for you not to sometimes picture moments like this before bed or in the shower.

you reached for the waistband of his pants and underwear, pulling them both down together, sitting them near his thigh. his cock sprung free from its confines, lightly slapping against his toned stomach. 'so pretty' you said more to yourself than to him. you grabbed it and pumped his member up and down, mark sucked in a breath, eyes shut due to the bliss.

you brought your head down, mouth closer to the red, bulbous tip. you gently licked a strip up the shaft, testing the waters before diving in head first. literally.

mark groaned again, bringing his hand to your head, tangling his fingers into your hair, grasping lightly. you went ahead and took him into your mouth, easing his member in inch by inch. he didn't push you but guided you through it. 'fuck baby, that feels s-so good' he gasps, chest moving up and down rapidly.

once your nose touched his pubic bone you started moving, bobbing your head up and down sensually before your movements grew faster. mark jerked his hips into your mouth, making you choke a bit, 'i-i fuck i'm sorry' he blabbered, gripping your hair tighter. you moaned around him, making his body vibrate in response.

the wet sounds and marks panting filled up the room, breaking through the silence of the morning. it was absolute debauchery. you could tell he was close, fingers holding your hair like a vice, the other hand grasping the sheets, eyes staring at you through thick eyelashes as he watched you suck his dick.

you sucked in harder, cheeks caving in as drool pools into your mouth and around marks thick cock. 'o-oh my god, baby, just like that' the praise making you go faster, wanting him to reach his high soon due to the ache in your jaw and between your thighs.

you brought your hand up to grasp whatever you didn't put into your mouth, moving hit in tandem with your mouth, mark cried above you, whimpering that he was coming to come soon. you moaned again not stopping, the quiver leaving him to groan vehemently.

hot liquid filled your mouth as you tried to swallow all of his come. some of it dribbling off of your chin and onto marks thighs, he panted above you, as you pulled off of him and wiped your mouth. moving back down to pepper kisses over his thighs, lightly sucking to make your mark on him.

lust overtaking him completely, forcing you up back to meet his eyes, 'my turn' he growled out.

[catcze]

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !! — Sylus. Sylus being a yearning MESS. Sylus wants to marry you so bad. Lowkey set at a time before you two were officially dating, but were deffo... something. Sylus imagines reader wearing a dress but no prns + descriptions used. ₊˚⊹♡ ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎

It’s just a fleeting glance of white at first. Something small in the corner of his eye that —on any other occasion— he wouldn't look twice at. But today it's as if something draws his gaze to the shop's display window. And when his eyes finally find what has caught his intrigue, the sight has Sylus stopping in his tracks, feet pausing on the Linkon sidewalk and something in his heart suddenly aching.

White lace. A full skirt. Cloud-like tulle. Pearls that shimmer prettily in the Linkon sunshine, and a gorgeous white veil to tie the whole ensemble together. 

Like he's been entranced, Sylus can't bear to tear his eyes away form the garment that sits pretty on the mannequin, perfect and pristine like the most valuable of treasures.

His breath catches in his throat, something in him melting. Sylus isn't one to admire random dresses he sees in windows— especially not wedding dresses, of all things— but with this one, it’s different. His heart aches something fierce in his chest because he just knows, deep in the pit of his heart that aches to be yours for eternity, that seeing you wearing this would have him falling in love with you all over again.

It’s funny. Sylus steps closer to that display window with his eyes never tearing from the delicate lace and the beautiful pearls. The most feared man in the N109 zone, one of the most wanted criminals in the whole damn universe, and he's standing helpless in front of a mere white dress, breath stolen and his mind racing a million miles an hour. How laughable.

The fiercest of desires curls in his chest, a want that aches so terribly for that future— you, clad in white, wearing his ring and embracing him as your husband. Your body cradled securely in his hold, arms wrapped around his neck as he carries you effortlessly into your new home. Your laughter immediately lighting it up, filling the house with a warmth that he could never hope to replicate.

His hand rests upon the cool glass, reaching out as if he could feel the fabric under his fingertips if he thinks hard enough. There is something unreadable in his eyes, a deep-seated longing for a happy ending that he can only hope isn't too far out of his reach.

With reluctance, Sylus withdraws himself from that window, from that fantasy, pocketing his hands in hopes that doing so will lessen the way they tremble slightly. He breathes soft sigh, still seeing your face, still hearing your laugh even as he forces himself to turn away from the window, his legs feeling like lead as they lead him away from the dress that will likely follow him into his dreams.

One step. Two steps. Over and over, as much as it takes until the thought becomes less of an ache in his chest and more like a buzz in the back of his head.

Three steps, then four, the distance between him and that fantasy growing larger with each moment.

Sylus sighs, heavier this time, feeling a bit more like he can breathe without the sheer want and desire crushing his chest. In his pocket, his phone vibrates, and he recognizes the pattern of it immediately.

Without even glancing at the screen of it, he hits accept, bringing the device to his ear. Immediately, though your voice in his ear just reminds him of that deep-seated desire, he feels... better. Lighter. Such is the effect you have on him, he supposes.

He might not see you in that dress tomorrow. Might not see you in it next week, next month, or next year. Hell, for all he knows the sight might just remain a fantasy, never realized. But today you are waiting for him in your apartment, in your comfy pajamas and your fuzzy slippers, curled up on your sofa as you wait for his arrival, likely ready to give him hell for taking his sweet time.

Sylus' voice is a warm, fond murmur when he speaks. No one else has ever heard him sound so soft— no one else but you. His voice curls lovingly over each word, and a smile is already tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I'm on my way, sweetie. Just be patient— I'll get there soon."

[chameleonsallinvermillion]

Albert And The Water-Horse

It was a bright grey day, like a dove’s wing, and the surface of the sea was like glass. On a morning such as this, it was easy to forget the treacherous currents just out past the rocks or the out-of-town visitors who had drowned. Locals these days knew where and when to avoid the waters but there was always an outsider who failed to listen.

Albert had no intention of staying long. His obligations in town were sure to be brief and he was already looking forward to returning home. The farm was busy in early spring and his siblings needed him. Besides, the sea held little allure for a man of his nature. His heart belonged to the horses he rode and the green fields that raised him.

Even he could not deny the beauty of the day, however, as he strolled along the cliff path. He sang in a pleasant tenor, honed by many years of church hymns, enjoying thoroughly the experience of nobody interrupting him. The friend he was staying with was, he would grudgingly admit, dear to him but he had a teething baby and Albert’s patience only went so far.

Albert saw a flash of white out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he found his song dying in his mouth. He stared down at a white horse trotting brightly along the stony beach below him. Albert was no mean judge of horseflesh and even from this distance he could see that this was a magnificent creature. It clearly belonged to someone – a silver chain gleamed around its neck - but it was unattended. As he looked, it tossed its head and sent a strand of seaweed falling from its mane.

Albert looked around for a way down to the beach but there was none. No steps carved in the cliff, no ladder, not even a suitably rocky outcrop where he might scramble hand over hand. He could only stare helplessly at the finest horse he had ever beheld as its nostrils flared and, all at once, it bolted from him. It ran with extraordinary grace. Albert wished he knew whose horse it was and where they planned to race it. You could not have a horse like that and not plan to race it. It would be spitting on a divine gift.

White as an egret’s wing, the horse was a flash of light in the distance before Albert truly had time to think. It was gone, and he stood in silence, wondering who dared let something so beautiful roam so freely.

That night, Albert escaped the raucous little home where he was staying to walk alone on the beach. He told himself that it was merely to get some peace and quiet whilst the baby was settled down but deep inside there was the wild hope that he might spy that horse again. Perhaps it would still be running loose. Perhaps the owner would ride it down by the water.

Instead, as he picked his way over break-ankle ground, he heard music. It was sweet and haunting, a lament that curled out into the sky and seemed to make the stars flicker in sympathy. Almost without meaning to, Albert followed it.

Round a bend in the beach, he saw her: a girl upon the rocks. She was dressed all in white, with silver slippers on her feet and a silver chain around her neck. Her glossy hair was ivory and her skin like marble, her eyes green and cold as malachite. She played the violin with her eyes half-closed. The music seemed to stir the clouds above her and set the little many-legged creatures skittering in the rockpools at her feet. Albert stood, transfixed.

If she had noticed him while playing, she gave no sign but when she at last stopped and lowered her violin, her face showed no surprise to see him standing there.

“I heard you,” she said, and her voice had a sting to it. “On the cliffs this morning. I heard you singing.”

Albert did not ask how she knew it was him. He did not ask why she cared. He did not ask if she was a horse, because despite not being an expert on social etiquette he was certain that asking pretty girls if they were secretly horses was considered a faux pas. Instead, he removed his cap and nodded awkwardly.

“Sing for me,” she commanded.

“If it pleases you.” Albert would do a lot for a pretty face, human or equine. “What shall I sing?”

“Anything.” She dimpled when she smiled. “Everything.”

He sang every song he knew – the church hymns, the old folk songs, the playground ditties, the tunes that crackled from the radio his sister loved so much. All the while, he could not look away from those green eyes. They held him transfixed, drawing richness and timbre from him that his voice has never had before, till the music that rang out over the water was not the singing of a barroom tenor but someone for whom the opera houses of the world should hold open their doors. It was not Albert – he knew that. It was her. Something in her had the power.

When at last the well of music ran dry, Albert’s throat ached. A fine mist of rain was falling on them both. He was cold to his core but the horse-girl was smiling.

“You should go,” she said. “Back to dry land. The tide will be coming in.”

Albert glanced down at the wavelets lapping at the toes of his boots. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” When she smiled this time, he could see the glint of teeth a little too sharp to be human. “Run, before you are drowned.”

Albert stayed stubbornly put. “Will I see you again?”

“Tomorrow.” Her green eyes flashed. “If you are brave.”

She stepped down from her rock. As soon as her toe touched the water, she dissolved into seafoam. The mass of her bubbled and boiled at Albert’s startled feet until all at once she grew again, the gleaming white horse with the mad green eyes, rearing up to strike his chest with silver hooves, before she turned and fled into the waves from which she came. Albert picked himself up off the ground, squeezing saltwater out of his cap, and splashed thoughtfully back to the protective wall that kept the encroaching tide from swallowing the little town whole.

He was no fool. He knew what became of mortals who tangled with the water-horses and their ilk. But she had not drowned him, had not eaten him up and let his liver float to the surface. Albert was not afraid. He knew he would be back.

The very next night, sure enough, he found the water-horse once again sitting on her rock with her violin resting in her lap.

“Aren’t you afraid,” she asked him, “that I will eat you?”

“Aren’t you afraid,” he replied, “that I will bring an iron poker to stab you?”

“I could smell the iron on you if you had it,” she said loftily. “You would never know I was about to bite until I did.”

Albert agreed that that was true. “Bite me if you will. I want to know your name.”

The girl laughed. “You could never speak my name. It is this.”

She made a sound like the shushing of water over smooth sand, the delicate whisper of a tide coming in at the end of the day.

“My name is Albert.”

“Albert.” She wrinkled her pretty nose. “What does it mean?”

“I don’t know,” Albert admitted. “It means I am the eldest of my siblings, I suppose.”

“I have ten thousand siblings,” the water-horse confessed, “and I am neither older nor younger than any of them.”

“You must never be lonely.” Albert reflected on his own siblings, on the chaos of a small home crowded with people. “Maybe not lonely enough sometimes.”

She watched him as though waiting for a trap to spring. “There are millions of us. Everywhere a wave breaks, we are born. The little foals on the sandy beaches with the shallow tides. The great stallions where the surf rises higher than your people can build walls to trap it. The holy ones born where the deadening waves crash, where the herd runs as one to swallow the land.”

“Are they all your herd?” Albert asked.

The water-horse shook her pretty head. “Our herd is the bay. We run and run upon this beach, against these rocks. I ran here before the town came, so long ago, but I do not remember it well.”

“Why not?”

“There was nothing to remember. We run, we crash, we ebb and flow. What was there to watch but the birds?” She lifted her violin, evidently done with conversation. “I will sing for you now. It is my turn.”

Her voice was sweet and true, the language that of coral reefs and darting fish. She played sunlight on water and sang the swooping, diving gulls. She played shells forming great chalk cliffs and sang the waves sending them crashing down again. The longer Albert stood and listened, the less he seemed to be there at all. He was a pebble spun in the water, washed clean, ground smooth, adrift in the vastness of the ocean.

When silence fell, the moon was low in the sky. Hours had somehow passed. Albert shivered and pulled his jacket a little closer around him.

“You are cold.” The water-horse sounded troubled. “I have never been cold.”

“It will pass. You sing beautifully.”

“Yes.” She did not seem interested in that. “How does it feel, to be cold?”

Albert was not a man much given to flights of poetry. The question stumped him.

“It hurts,” he said, at last. “A sharp sort of hurt.”

The water-horse nodded solemnly as if he had imparted great wisdom.

“How does it feel,” Albert asked in return, “to run in the water like you do?”

“But that I can show you,” she replied. “If you ride on my back, you can see for yourself.”

Albert’s heart was in his mouth. “I would like that.”

“You truly are not afraid of me?” she wondered.

“I have never been afraid of horses.”

She laughed softly. “Do not fall. I cannot save you if you fall.”

She was magnificent transformed, as if sculpted from ivory by someone intent on portraying all that a horse should be. In awe, Albert ran his hand down her neck. He felt the coiled power in those muscles, the stillness where a pulse should beat. She nudged his shoulder with her proud head, urging him on.

With the rock as a mounting block, it was no hardship for Albert to swing onto her back. He wound his fingers into her sand-laden mane. He gripped his thighs tight against her wet glossy coat. He clung on for all he was worth, and his water-horse ran.

She ran fleet as the wind, faster than any ship, faster than any horse Albert had had the privilege to ride, out across the bay. Her hooves churned the sea into a drenching white wake. The salt spray in Albert’s eyes blinded him. When he dared to tilt his head back, he saw the stars racing by, wheeling in their constellations as they galloped in spirals, a grand carousel. Albert had never felt a gait so smooth, a pace so swift. Never had he had to fight so hard to stay on a broad back than now, muscles tight, hanging on by willpower alone. The sea below was dark and foreboding, black as ice on the road. He dared not risk falling.

A rocky outcrop approached too fast, jagged knives of stone protruding. Albert screwed his eyes up tight and braced for a swerve that never came. There was the sensation, for a moment, of strength and then… He opened his eyes as they drifted through the air, flung from a breaking wave, high over the rocks and glittering amongst the freezing spume. Albert threw back his head and whooped to the silent sky. His water-horse whinnied too as they crashed down into the water, plunging below till only Albert’s iron-tight grip on her mane kept him from being ripped clean away from her.

They broke the surface again to coast on the gathering waves. One bore them in, gentle as a leaf in a stream, spitting them out onto the slope of the beach. The water-horse never lost her stride for a moment, slowing to a trot and finally stopping back beside the rock where they had begun. Albert was so cold he could barely speak. Even as he slid from her back, he could not untangle his frozen fingers from her mane. His teeth chattered but his heart sang, his blood thrilled.

She changed form even as he held her, her mane becoming flowing hair, the warm strength of her shoulder supporting him becoming her small body, helping him down to sit upon the rock. She was still strong this way, all the power of her horse-form crushed into something so tiny and frail that it was a miracle her bones didn’t burst under the strain. She laughed the whole time, eyes dancing. She seemed to glow.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” she teased. “You are scared of me now.”

“I’m scared of hypothermia,” Albert grumbled but he couldn’t make his eyebrows frown. “I could never be scared of you.”

“Can people get so cold they die of it?” she asked. “I didn’t know.”

“I won’t die,” he promised, fighting to get his chattering teeth under control.

“You can let go now.” Her voice was softer, her fingers caressing the wrist of the hand that still held tight a lock of her hair.

“I don’t think I can.”

She unwound his fingers for him, prising them open. She held his hand like it was a foreign thing, tracing the veins, exploring the minute flaws in the skin. Her own skin was unnaturally smooth to the touch. Her lips, when she turned her head to kiss his palm, were powder-soft. Her open mouth gave off no heat but her teeth were razor sharp when she bit down hard.

Albert flinched but did not pull away. He held that wild green gaze even as he felt her fangs scrape against the bone and his hand throb in pain. She released him, drawing back slowly, cradling his wrist. Her pointed tongue darted out to lick the blood from the wound. Her eyes closed in satisfaction.

“Salt,” she said. “Just a little bit of ocean in you.”

“Is this the part,” Albert asked, “where you eat me alive?”

“Not yet.” She tasted his blood again. “I’m not ready yet.”

She dropped his hand suddenly and turned her face away. Albert, on the brink of leaning in to kiss her, was left with nowhere to go as she slid to the edge of the rock.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked, but the girl was already a horse once more, galloping into the sea, splashing him with her tail.

Albert made his slow way back to his friend’s house, nursing his bleeding hand, unsure why he wasn’t angry that she had done it. Perhaps the thrill of that wild ride still had him in its grip and nothing else could matter. Perhaps it was simply that he had never doubted she would not kill him.

The next night, his hand bandaged, Albert made his way back down to the beach. He found his water-horse waiting for him, sitting on the rocks and playing a merry air on her violin. She smiled as he approached, teeth bared, dimples on show. Albert did not hesitate to sit down beside her, ignoring the leeching cold of the stone beneath him.

“You came back,” she said.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He placed his hand over hers. “I am not afraid of you.”

She plucked a single note and set her violin aside. “You are not from here, are you? I had not heard your voice before the other day.”

Albert shook his head. “I’m from a long way south of here, inland. My family, we have a farm. We race horses.”

“Do you have a big family?” There was a note of longing in her voice.

“Not by your standards, maybe. Not an easy family either.” Albert grinned at the thought of his young sister. “A family that’s nothing but black sheep, if I’m honest with you.”

“What does that mean? Black sheep?”

“Oddities,” Albert explained. “Strange types. Lawbreakers.”

“Lawbreakers…” The water-horse fingered the silver chain around her neck. “Do you break laws, Albert?”

He admitted somewhat sheepishly that he did. The water-horse, if anything, seemed pleased by this idea.

“We do not have laws but we do have…ways that things are supposed to be.” Her troubled expression cleared. “Tell me more about inland. I’ve never seen it.”

So Albert told her. Once he had started talking, he found it difficult to stop. He told her about his siblings, about the scrapes he and Andrew got into as boys, about Augustine and his temper tantrums, about Alice-Rose dancing in the kitchen to the radio. His gruff love for them shone through all his insistence on their many sins and terrible natures. He told her about the fields of home, the turning of the seasons, the birds coming home to roost. He told her about hedgerows and vegetable patches and somehow, bathed in her enthusiasm for it all, even the tiresome chores took on a romantic glow.

And he told her about the horses. Oh yes, he told her about the horses. Every member of the little herd, every one who had ever passed through their gates, every point and foible of each. He told her about racetracks, about breeders and trainers and owners, about the place where he was utterly and entirely himself. Running. Free. With every word, he missed it more. He had been away nearly a week. He ached for home.

Through it all, the water-horse listened with rapt attention. She hung on his every word. Her green eyes glowed like stars.

“I wish I could see it.” Somehow, she had ended up pressed against his side, her head on his shoulder. “I have never been beyond this beach in all my life and I never shall. I should like to see the barley grow, just once. You shall leave soon and I shall not even hear about it then.”

“Come home with me,” Albert urged. “Let me show you everything.”

“I cannot.” She sat up, eyes fixed on the horizon. “I belong to my family and the water that made me.”

“Why?” Albert held her pretty little chin in his rough hands, turning her face to look at him once more. “Must you stay with them forever? Will they not let you go if you want it?”

Her tears had no salt in them. They were pure as snowmelt. “What I want does not matter. It is what I am.”

“It matters to me.”

The kiss tasted of brine. Her hands shook only a little more than Albert’s.

“Can you not outgrow them?” Albert demanded. “Are you never to leave the herd? Must you always be what they tell you you are?”

“Yes.” She kissed him again. “Yes, they would be so angry, you cannot know…you cannot imagine! I have a duty to my kin.”

Albert, on another day, might have understood but on that night all he knew was the horse-girl in his arms and the tears in her eyes. He did not want to let her go.

“Marry me.” He did not mean to say it until he already had. The moment it fell off his tongue he felt the rightness of it. “Be my wife. Let me take you away. You will have new kin, new duties. They cannot stop that, can they?”

“I am not human!” she protested. “I am not a woman.”

“That doesn’t matter to me.”

“There is not a church in the land that will marry us!”

“Is there one in the sea?” Albert clutched her close. “There are ways round everything, if you know who to ask.”

She clung to him, cold arms around his neck, face pressed against his cheek. He held her tight, the frailty of her, the strength, the sea-cold power and the ephemeral foam.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered against his ear. “Tomorrow, my beloved. Join me in the water. Grab hold of my bridle and don’t let go. Whatever you do, don’t let go.”

With a final kiss, she slipped from his arms and into the sea. Albert reached up to stroke, for a moment, the muscular neck of the most magnificent horse he had ever seen. She lowered her dished head to him solemnly, the fire in her eyes banked, before she turned and fled, dissolving into the waves.

The final night of his stay in the north, Albert went out to the beach again to collect his bride. He wore his strongest boots and a rose in his buttonhole. There was no girl waiting for him on the rocks this time. Albert felt a prickle of doubt but he pressed on. She had said to join her in the water and so he would. The sea was still that night, flat under a moonless sky. Weak currents tugged at his feet, leading him on.

The water was a shock of ice when it first rose above his boots. His feet were numb in seconds. It squeezed like a clamp around his legs, forcing the blood from them, but still Albert waded deeper. Little by little, the numbness spread up his body. When he was above his waist and the shore seemed so very far away behind him, his water-horse at last appeared.

She trotted forward and Albert reached out gratefully for her, twining his fingers into her sandy mane. She rippled and shifted till her girl’s body was there again, his hands in her hair, her eyes full of tears.

“What is it, my love?” He kissed her sweet cold lips. “Why so unhappy?”

“You must go,” she begged. “You must go now.”

“Come with me then!”

“They are waiting, Albert.” She clutched his hand tightly. “They know! They are going to eat you if you try to take me away. You must leave now and not come back.”

“I am not afraid of them.” Albert squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Come with me now and we will leave them all behind. They cannot threaten you.”

She shook her head urgently. “You do not understand. They are listening to everything you say. If I try to leave with you, they will kill you. You have to make it back to the beach. That’s all – just get to the beach and you’ll be safe.”

“What about you?” He tried to meet her eyes even as she avoided his gaze. “Will they hurt you?”

“They are my family. I will survive whatever they do to me.”

“No!” Albert kissed her fiercely. “I will not leave you here alone!”

“Please,” she begged. “They are my herd. They are my kin. I am of the waves. I cannot - I must not – go, I beg of you!”

“I love you.” He caught and held her wild green gaze. “Do you love me? Could you love me?”

She hesitated. She nodded. Her voice broke. “I could love you.”

“Then marry me.”

Albert folded her into his arms. He kissed her delicate mouth. He closed his hand upon the silver chain around her neck and, when she stepped back from him, did not let go. The silver was colder than ice, colder than anything Albert had ever felt. It burned into his palm but still he pulled. The clasp broke.

Suddenly, his water-horse was vast, a whinny screaming from her throat, hooves kicking the air above him before she plunged down into the depths, leaving him alone and trembling in the shallows. The silver chain still hung from his hand but even as he wound it tighter, it grew heavier and colder.

The sea rose around him. The clouds raced across the sky. The waves that had been lapping at the beach began to bite chunks out of it. Before Albert could strike out for the shore, a stallion burst from the water and hit him full in the chest. He was forced below the surface, mouth open in a startled shout. For an instant he grappled with the darkness, all direction lost. Bitter saltwater choked his lungs.

He surfaced, spluttering, only to be felled again by another horse as it flung itself madly at him. Silver hooves trampled. White manes shook. Nostrils flared and green eyes blazed. The silver chain was dead weight now, dragging him down, almost too heavy to keep above the sand of the seafloor.

Albert crawled. He stumbled. He fell to the terrifying weight of the horses, tumbled and tossed, pulled by the current, till it took all his effort to just stay in one place, avoid being swept out to sea. Every time he managed to get his head above the surface, he sucked in air only to be knocked down again, lungs screaming in protest, head swimming. The shore seemed so distant. Every now and then, sharp teeth tore at his clothes, nipped at his fingers, taunted him with the moment when they would finally rend flesh from bone and end it all. Still he did not let go of the chain.

Her hands found him, warm and human. Her arms still had the wild strength of the ocean in them. He clung to her and she dragged, spitting and screaming in a language like rock scraping against rock. Her family crashed around them, over them. He choked for air. He coughed up water. He felt sure that his arm would be ripped from its socket, that his hand would be torn from his wrist and sink into the sea with the terrible chain.

But there was the beach ahead. The sand turned to pebbles beneath his scrabbling hands. There was the rocky incline and his bride pulling him up, pulling him forward, as the horses dashed themselves recklessly against the rocks around them.

“The tide!” she shouted. “They will bring the tide!”

The water was climbing higher and higher around them, swallowing up the beach, trying to cut them off from the protective seawall ahead. She battled through it, screaming and begging, never letting go of his arm. The chain pointed like a compass needle out to sea, drawn by its own strange magnetism towards the horizon. It was all Albert could do to move an inch or two at a time. The cold was in his aching bones. His lungs seemed stiff in his chest, frozen solid, unable to draw breath, even as the sea retreated, even as he found himself staggering on dry land towards the rusty rickety ladder that would see them safely onto solid ground.

“They’re giving up,” he gasped out, but she only shook her head, dragging him on.

By the time they made it to the ladder, the wind was strong enough to blow branches from nearby trees. Albert risked a glance over his shoulder – and saw, at last, what his bride was so afraid of. A vast wall of water, clear as glass, and above it the foaming, churning madness of the herd, running as one.

“We weren’t fast enough.” She bent his failing fingers around the rusty ladder. “Hold on.”

The hand that clutched the chain could not be persuaded to grip anything. Albert had barely hooked his thumb around a strut before the sea hit him in the back and all was noise.

Albert clung. He felt the chain rip his skin. He felt the bones of his hand break. He felt his lungs fill up with water. He felt the hooves of the herd on his back, his head, his limbs. He could not let go. He would not let her go. He held on tight as the current ripped past him, through him, drowning him; as his broken bones screamed in white-hot pain; as his sturdy boots were torn from his feet by the sheer strength of the water.

The waves broke – and ebbed. The horses were sucked back from the beach. Albert reeled, half-blind, the world spinning and fractured. He scarcely knew with what strength he was climbing the ladder save the relentless pull of his bride’s arms, dragging him to safety. He collapsed onto solid stone just as a second wave hit. They reared up above him, tossed on the spray, blinding white and screaming, but they could not reach him now.

There was silence on the beach. The sea was a dead calm. The wind died away to a gentle breeze. The silver chain, wound so tight around Albert’s broken hand, now weighed nothing at all. Every part of him hurt. The world span in doubles around him. He knelt on the ground and hacked up a lungful of water, coughing and retching till only bile remained. He fell back, flat, staring at the uncaring sky. When he raised his shaking hand above him, he could see hoofprint bruises on his arm, as if he had lain down on the racetrack to be trampled.

But there she was, his bride, his water-horse. No longer was her skin marble but flesh, living and real, flush with blood beneath the surface. No longer were her eyes the madness of the deep water but grey-green, sparkling, human. When she reached out to him, fell laughing, sobbing, against him, he felt her warmth, her solidity, her personhood. He folded her in his arms as she wept freshwater tears into his chest.

“We’re safe.” His voice crackled wetly in his throat. “We’re safe, my love.”

“Stupid, stupid!” She sat up, face blotchy, hair a mess. “I told you they would hurt you! I told you to save yourself!”

“I’ll live.” He reached out to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “How about you? Will you live?”

She nodded, blowing her nose. “Like a mortal woman.”

It took all Albert’s strength to force himself upright. He knew broken ribs when he felt them. He was sure, too, that one eye would be too swollen to see through within the hour. But he sat up nonetheless because how else was he to kiss his little wife?

“I will take you home with me in the morning. You will be happy. I promise.”

“Won’t your people mind?” She seemed, for the first time, shy. “A wife with no name and no family?”

“Catherine is a good name.” Albert chose at random. “I have family enough for the both of us.”

“Catherine…” She weighed it on her tongue. “Catherine….Catherine…”

“Mrs Catherine Tiernan.” Albert laughed suddenly. “I never told you my family name.”

“I didn’t know humans had those,” Catherine admitted. “They will not think I’m strange?”

“They will not mind that you are strange.” Albert caressed her cheek. “My little love, you have nothing to fear.”

They sat there in the cold night till Albert felt strong enough to stand. He limped, his arm around his bride, down into the town, watching the blisters of frozen flesh where the chain had bitten deep turn to silver-white scars.

So it was. If the Tiernan family thought its newest member anything other than fully human, they never passed comment on it. The silver chain sat in an old jewellery box belonging to Albert’s mother, tucked safe at the back of a little drawer where nobody could stumble upon it. It never tarnished. Albert took it out occasionally, lay the links over the scar they had left and tried to remember the weight of it, the dreadful pull of the current. It was still a little colder than it should be. No matter how long he held it, it was never warmed by his skin.

Catherine never went near the sea again. She thrived, his tiny wife, on the farm, blessed him with a son and heir – and more besides. She delighted in the horses, in the barley growing in fields around the village, in the birds of the hedgerows and the songs that they sang. If she regretted her choice of husband, she never said so. But sometimes when the wind was blowing cold from the faraway coast, she sat on the steps outside and played her violin with notes so sweet and aching that Albert’s heart broke just to hear her and he would swear, if only for a moment, he could smell saltwater in the air.

---

I just really liked the idea of the horse-bride. I thought it was whimsical, and the mysterious Catherine Tiernan reminded me a lot of my great-great-grandmother Catherine, who was also a tiny Irishwoman who married an older man against cultural taboos, was a brilliant musician, and would absolutely have eaten a man alive if she was given the opportunity. This isn't my best work but I'm tentatively pleased with it and my therapist says that Killie-fangirling is actually good for me so I guess this is medically necessary fanfiction. It's the middle of the night and I haven't edited this. I'm really crossing my fingers and praying there aren't any glaring mistakes.

[bitterrfruit]

wild cherries [3]

[masterlist]

price x f!reader. 10k words cw: dubcon. thigh fucking. mild sadism. 18+ mdni

you try your luck.

You had a fitful sleep; wracked with feverish dreams of sun and skin, of plum bruises and cherry juice.

You woke up many times throughout the night with cold sweat damp on the back of your neck, cunt shivering and slippery as you dreamed of the cowboy’s tormenting hand, of his thumb intruding into your slit. Of your wet knickers being held in a tight and burly fist, being shoved covertly into a worn pocket. 

It was near impossible for you to get comfortable in your bed – you were unable to lie on your back, for any pressure on your marred buttocks stung hot like a fresh brand.

Before the sun had risen you had been briefly awoken by the raucous sounds of the ranch whirring to life; disturbed by the yelling of your elder brother and his ranchmen from your second-storey window, by the humming engines of trucks and tractors rolling off to toil. The sounds, at least, brought you some form of nostalgic comfort, and it didn’t take you long to drift back to sleep. 

The sky was powder grey in the morning, after nine, when you finally bothered to kick off your sheet and slip out of bed. Sun concealed by a sheer veil of dry white cloud. 

You slid your feet into your sandal slippers and wandered down the moaning staircase in your linen nightdress, rubbing fists into your puffy sockets and making your sleep-blurred vision all sparkly. You heard your sister’s voice in the kitchen before you spotted her. 

“Slow morning?” She murmured, soft enough in tone that perhaps she didn’t intend for you to hear it. 

Evelyn was perched on a stool at the kitchen counter, frowning at her open laptop and tapping away contemptuously at the keys. You thought to ask her what she was working on, but knew the half-hearted response you’d get – a distracted oh, it’s nothing, while her eyes remain pinned to the screen. 

“Yep,” you croaked, scuffing over to the pantry and hanging off the open door. Perused the shelves for a box of cereal that didn’t have the word bran on it. 

“Eat quickly, will you?” She said, far more pointedly, and when you glanced over your shoulder she was looking right at you. Had that quirk in her lip that betrayed an uneasy vexation. “Miles is taking us over at quarter-to.” 

You frowned as you tugged a box of Honey Nut Cheerios from the back of the pantry, one with the cardboard flap ajar, and which you swear was the same box that had been there the last time you came to visit. 

“Taking us where?” You asked mindlessly, shuffling to the fridge to grab the milk. 

You heard a scoff from your sister as you poured the dry wheat cereal into an empty bowl. “To the neighbours’.” 

“What?” You spat, cocking your head around to glare at her. “Why?”

The adrenaline that rinsed you was sudden and sharp, at the thought of seeing the man again so soon after his incursion. Having to sit still, to pretend all is normal, to feign sweetness and ignorance as you stand in the presence of both he and your siblings in one room. Suddenly you didn’t want your cereal anymore. 

“We’ve got things to discuss with him,” she said grouchily. “And you have an apology to give.”

“Apology for what?” You snapped, resorting to petulance having been scolded. 

Evelyn only released an exasperated groan as she shut her laptop lid. “You know what,” she chided. “Second day here and you’ve already pissed him off.” 

“He wasn’t-” You started, biting your tongue just as swiftly as you had begun to blurt out that he was just as at fault as you. “He wasn’t pissed off.” 

“Miles told me he dragged you home by your ear, Bee,” she grumbled. “I don’t even want to know what you coulda done to get him that burned up.” 

“I didn’t even do anything,” you mumbled testily, tipping a splash of milk into your cereal. 

“Whatever. Just – be polite, and–” She sighed as she paused, “just don’t get into any more trouble, will you? We want him on our good side.” 

You snorted as you scooped a spoonful of your cereal and shoved it into your open mouth. “What are you going to discuss with him, then? Why do I even need to be there?”

“It’s – ugh. It’s a complicated situation, Bee,” she failed to explain, “but we need to be a united front. We’re a family, it’s a family business. A family ranch. We all need to be in it together.” 

You pursed your lips, fought the desire to furrow your brows in contempt. “Still don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Look, Miles can explain it better to you later. Just finish your breakfast and wear something – something presentable for once.” 

The Cheerios were stale and tasted like cardboard and dried syrup. You only shot your sister a foul look and huffed derisively, taking your cereal upstairs with you. 

Something presentable. Your sister had a way of insulting you without even needing to utter the words. That was her way of telling you that you had been dressing like a slut. Short sundresses were simply so much more practical for your escapades – easier to ride in, to walk in, let you feel the breeze on your skin. Ensured you wouldn’t bake alive under the summer sun. 

So you simply chose a slightly longer dress than usual. Dusty red plaid with a hem that brushed your calves, a wide neckline and little cap sleeves. Probably a hand-me-down from the seventies, one of the perks of so many generations of women living in the same farmhouse. It smelled like dust and patchouli. 

You scrunched your wild hair up into an uncombed ponytail, barely held in place by a floppy hair tie, and smeared some strawberry chapstick over your lips as you meandered your way down the stairs. 

Immediately crossed paths with Miles as he trudged down the hallway, black rancher hat still atop his head and a leather briefcase tucked under his arm. His tan button down was tucked into his jeans, a truly anomalous sight. 

“So why are we going to the neighbours’?” You asked pertly, as you immediately followed behind him towards the kitchen. 

He sighed gruffly, as you completely expected. It was always such a nuisance for them to explain things to you, to dumb it all down enough that you’d understand it. That, or, he was simply in a sour mood. Either just as likely. 

“We’re only going over for a conversation,” he deadpanned, dumping the briefcase on the island counter before going to the sink to get himself a glass of water. Evelyn was gone – busy making herself presentable, you assumed. As if she weren’t in a perpetual state of presentableness. 

You groaned. Their persistent vagueness was excruciating. “About what.” 

“It’s just – it’s all business stuff, Bee,” he said, exhaling sharply after downing the whole glass. Must have been hot out there. “Negotiations and junk – it’d bore you to death.” 

“Then why do I need to come?” You grumbled, crossing your arms as you leaned against the jamb of the open door. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, already exasperated with you. You seemed to have that effect on people. “Look, if you really don’t want to come then don't. I’m not gonna drag you there.” 

“Eve said we have to be a united front,” you disputed. Still wanted an explanation. “What does that even mean?”

He smiled a little at that, moustache stretching with the grin. 

“Good at likening things to war, that woman,” he snorted. “She just means it’d be less – less formal if we show up, all of us. Ol’ John’s probably sick of both our faces by now.” 

“Probably sick of mine, now, too,” you said coyly, mindlessly tracing the lines of the hardwood with the tip of your big toe. 

He laughed at you, full and from his belly, and the room lightened up with it. “Likely,” he chortled, “Especially if you keep sniffin’ round after ‘im.” 

“Wasn’t sniffing. Only looking,” you murmured, through a bashful grin. “You’re not mad at me after yesterday?” 

“No, hun,” he said, rubbing his forehead, concern still eking through the creases in his brow. “Only surprised you got yourself caught so quickly.” 

You snickered. “Not mad at him for grabbing me, neither?” 

He shrugged. “No. That served you right.” 

“M’kay, fine,” you conceded demurely. “I’ll come, then.”

There was another truck parked beside Mr Price’s blue Chevy as Miles pulled up his long driveway, a black pickup coated in a layer of dust. 

Evelyn and Miles had been murmuring to each other for the duration of the short drive, bickering about some deal or other, about what to say and what not to say. In truth, you paid little attention, despite your earlier curiosity. Miles was right, it bored you to death, even attempting to listen in on whatever business endeavour the contentious visit was going to cover. You quietly stuck your head out of the window of the back seat, eyeing the looming homestead as you drove around the bend, and Miles pulled to a stop by the front porch. 

The air smelled wet and heavy when you hopped out and onto the gravel drive. The blanket of rolling clouds had swelled, distended with imminent rain sagging in its blue-grey bulges. You could feel it sticky and warm on your skin, it made your hairs prickle up. 

Your siblings were still mumbling between each other as they slammed shut their doors, wandering towards the porch steps, briefcases and papers in hand. All business, so they said. How tedious. 

While their backs were to you, you slinked towards Mr Price’s truck. 

You wondered if he spotted the cotton sin you left in the cab. You wondered why you had even thought to do such a thing at all. What was wrong with you? Were you really made so delusional by his degenerate punishment that you would so debase yourself? 

Humiliation simmered sour in your belly, as you heard your siblings knock on the great front door. You imagined John revealing your foul little secret, making some sly comment about it as you greeted him. Might he chastise you for your outrageously licentious behaviour? Shame you for your petulant whorishness? 

Perhaps he hadn’t seen your panties at all, inconspicuous as they were. 

With a swallow you stood on the tips of your toes, fingertips barely grazing the dusty metal of the truck, you peeked through the passenger window. Eyes scoured the leather seat, between the seatbelts, below the dashboard. 

They were gone. 

You wrenched your eyes shut, wetting them so you could check again, and again – eagerly seeking a glint of white fabric anywhere in the truck’s cabin. No sign. 

With that, you knew that not only had he noticed them – he must have touched them. Must have picked them up, that sliver of pointelle cotton, must have looked at them closely enough to determine what they were. Might he have noticed the fabric was still wet, cold to the touch between his fingers? 

Your tongue ran along the back of your teeth at the thought of him holding them, feeling the material in his hands, against his skin. At the thought of him knowing it had been the only barrier between his finger and your–

“Honeybee!” Hissed your sister through sharp teeth, and you jumped – spun around on the heel of your boot with your hands pinned to your sides. 

John stood in the open front door. Arms crossed. All three of them looked dead at you. 

“Coming,” you bleated, walking towards them as casually as you could make yourself appear. Your heart was fat in your throat, and your skin was sheeny with anxious sweat and humidity.  

You caught John’s eye as you sheepishly scooped a stray curl and tucked it behind your ear. His expression was rigid as stone, eyes squinting, lips in a censorious curl under his beard. The weight of his glare was leaden and your feet felt heavy. 

Did he know what you were looking for in his truck?

There was a faint quirk in his brow, you saw, as you approached and stood slyly behind your older siblings. A glint of surprise. Perhaps agog at the bravura of showing up at his home after your transgression, bold enough to bare your face to him.

“Whole family, eh?” He asked gruffly, heavy stare only leaving you when Miles offered a pleasant chuckle. 

“Only polite,” Miles said warmly, glancing over his shoulder at you. “Lil’ miss has some making up to do, too.” 

Your cheeks turned apple-red and you fought back the scowl that tugged at your mouth. Lil’ miss. Good at calling on your father’s old patronising habits, Miles. 

John only seemed to find the comment amusing, letting out a low huff, cracking a faint smirk. 

“S’that so?” He coaxed, amused. Sharp blues fastened to you once again, and you could only pick at your fingernails. 

You held your tongue, hoping you could convey that he’s the one who needs to apologise without having to say it aloud. His smugness was unearned, you had just as much to reveal about him as he did you.

He knew you wouldn’t out yourself. You could see it in his sinking smirk.

“It’s a new day, eh?” He grunted, standing to the side and flicking his head to beckon the lot of you inside. “C’mon in, then.”

Your siblings filed in first, but you dithered by the door. John waited in the arch, thick arms crossed cavalierly over his chest, he looked down his nose at you. You hoped he’d venture in after Evelyn and you could slink in behind, but he stayed put. Waiting for you to pass him. Kept your eye as you glowered up at him, daring him to say something; to admit what he had found, to apologise for assailing you, to castigate you for your insolence. 

There was plenty you wanted to say to him, and the words itched at the very tip of your tongue. You stifled them with your teeth instead. Let out an impudent huff as you nudged past him, and he followed closely behind you, shutting the door. You felt his livid warmth on your back, heard his coarse breathing and felt it tickle your hair. The adrenaline thumping through your runny blood made your fingertips tingle, you closed them into fists. 

The foyer was grand, almost cavernous; stained walnut wainscotting on all the walls, old patterned rugs peppered every floor. The enormous staircase unfurled in the centre of the hall, second story mezzanine wrapped around its edges, ornate spindle balustrades wrapped the stairs and the loft. An enormous light fixture hung from the centre second story ceiling, fashioned of deer antlers and many coruscant lightbulbs. You wondered how long it had been there. How many Prices ago it had been made by hand out of the severed antlers of hunted game. 

Seems your siblings had been here for many meetings before, because they knew immediately where to go – put themselves in some sort of drawing room past the stairs, and you meekly followed them. Had Mr Price at your tail like a collie herding you where he wanted you.

Led you to the room containing two imposing leather sofas, facing each other, a large slab of polished wood serving as a coffee table between them. The furthest wall contained floor-to-ceiling glass cabinets, filled to the brim with upright rifles. Long and short, hunting rifles, shotguns, double-barrels. Some of them looked a hundred years old. Towering transom windows lined the eastern wall, bathing the room in the dim ashen glow of the cloudy sky outside. A spinning fan hung from the ceiling. 

You noticed that there was another man in the room, only once you had been ferried in and stood awkwardly before you decided where to sit. He sat opposite your siblings with a black brick hat on his knee. Blond-haired and brown-eyed. 

John must have noticed you staring blankly at him, because his hand landed on your shoulder. A purely cordial touch, and yet it made you wince like he had spanked you again. 

“Ah, this’s Simon,” he said amicably, “he’s my foreman.” 

Simon stood and reached over to shake your hand, silent type, and gave you a stiff nod when you slipped your hand in his and shook it. Big and calloused, like John’s. 

Seemed to be business from there on. Miles opened his briefcase on the coffee table and pulled out a manila folder, a few sheets of paper with words and numbers printed on them. Evelyn had her laptop open on her knees. John and Simon leaned back into the couch with apathy engraved in their stone faces. Seemed your siblings were the ones here to do business. They were buttering him up for something. 

You went to sheepishly sit on the couch next to Miles as he started droning on about some sale, something about acreage and borders and permits, whatever. You glanced at his papers in hopes of spotting a word or two that might have jumped out at you. 

The moment you landed in the leather, though, you winced and sucked a gust of air through clenched teeth – the mark of Mr Price’s savage hand on your bottom burned white-hot under the sudden pressure, and the incisive pain shot through you like a bullet. 

John’s murky glare was already on you when you looked across the room. 

Didn’t need to say a word to you, his lour spoke for him. He was scolding you. 

You wondered what he would say to you, if he let himself. What words his tongue formed behind his teeth as he glowered at you. Serves you right. Don’t you get caught. Does that burn feel good?

He opened his mouth to speak, and your stomach plummeted. 

“Why don’t y’go fix us some drinks, girl?” he said gravely, directly to you, crudely interrupting your brother mid-spiel. 

Your brows twitched into a bemused frown, jaw loose as you failed to summon a response to him.  

Girl? The condescension in his tone made your blood roil in your veins, turbid with shards of spite. You weren’t stupid — you knew it was a thinly veiled demand to go away. To let the grown ups talk, as if you were not one of them. 

“I—”

“Mm, good idea,” Evelyn cooed calmly – but the bulgy-eyed tight-lipped look she shot you snapped behave. “I’ll have an ice water.”

“Me too,” said John, arm hung insouciantly over the back of the sofa. “Lil’ slice o’ lime would be nice, eh?”

You scoffed. “Sure,” you grumbled, vitriolic facetiousness bleeding into the word. You pushed yourself up from the couch and thundered out of the room. 

“You’re a doll,” John called after you, and you could hear the smugness coating his throat, thick as honey. 

Prick. Prick. 

You murmured it over and over under your breath as you steamed towards the kitchen, your angry boots echoing out in clunks with every step on his parquet floorboards. Only once you found your way to the kitchen entrance did you stop in your tracks, eyes raking over the cluttered counters and the open door to an outdoor veranda. 

You didn’t have to pour them drinks. You didn’t have to do anything. You were as much an adult as any of them, regardless of how egregiously they patronised you, or how many years of life they had gained on you. 

No, you could busy yourself with something else entirely. 

You had a treasure to find. 

The panties you fatuously left in his truck just to spite him. You wanted them back. 

It made your head muzzy with unease to think of him sitting across from your siblings, chatting away about something innocuous, all the while your dirty little secret was tucked away in the back of his mind. Stashing it up like a slug in the chamber of a rifle. Ready to fire it whenever the opportunity presented itself, whenever you displeased him. 

What could he have done with them? Perhaps he threw them away, tossed them in the trash where they belonged, or dumped them in the crick so he could be rid of them. Maybe he left them by the door, in anticipation of returning them. Maybe he has them in his pocket. 

You started with the coat rack by his front door. Skulking around on the tips of your leather toes, you stuck your fingers in every pocket of every jacket, no luck. 

Checked the laundry – fucking chaotic as it was in there, reeked of his sweat and the loamy smell of farm work. His boxers and sweat-stained t-shirts piled in baskets, plaid flannels tossed unlovingly over an ironing board, black triangular burns of a dropped iron painting the blue foam. 

The richly heady scent in there made you dizzy and hot on the back of your neck. Made your stomach flutter. Smelled like the barn. Like him bending you over the hay.  

No panties in there, either, and you dug through everything. Left it messier than it was when you got there, but you could be near certain he wouldn’t even notice. 

Upstairs, next. 

Crept up them as quietly as you could, begrudging the cries of the old wood as you made your way up. You noticed, as you made it to the landing, that all of the doors to old bedrooms were closed; those of his brothers, and his parents, sealed off like tombs. 

It made you swallow. The air was heavier up there, dense with dust and solitude. It was hotter, too, all of the warmth of the lower storey funnelled up the stairs and pumped into the mezzanine, and it was pyretic just to breathe it. 

One door was open, though, barely ajar. A tawny wax canvas jacket with a brown corduroy collar hung from the top of the old door. You recognised it immediately – John’s jacket. Old, worn-out, might have been his father’s, just like his hat. His bedroom, you were sure. You slithered towards it, holding your breath as devotedly as you might while submerged underwater. 

And as you got closer, you spotted it – a glimmer of white, the tongue of pointelle cotton sticking out of an open pocket on his coat. Right there. 

“Fuck y’think you’re doin’?” Came a bark from the stairs, and you jumped like a startled cat.

John came hounding towards you once he made it to the landing, and you immediately backed away from his door. You spun around to inch away, hoping you’d end up in a bathroom with a door that locked, but it became quickly obvious that you had nowhere to run. 

Exasperation radiated from him with each ragged breath – sick and tired more than furious, it made you shrink all the same. With a few short strides he was behind you, and you chirped in fright when he grabbed you by your ponytail and yanked you back like a puppy on a lead. 

He held your hair in a fist, pulling your head against his chest, angled back so you could look up at him from behind you. 

“Lookin’ for something?” He asked throatily, a low growl, accusation on his tongue. 

You yelped when he lightly tugged your ponytail, seemed to you like he did it just to make you squeak. “I was – I was just looking for the bathroom.” 

“Liar,” he grunted. 

“I’m n–”

“You’re in my good graces for now, honey,” he muttered, as his head craned beside yours, wiry beard grazing your cheek, “on account of your lil’ present.” 

Your ribs clamped shut around your lungs. Fingertips turned ice cold. Present. Such a euphemistic way to put it. A present. You froze when you felt his hand on your buttock, wide enough to cup it, fixing into place over the wound he had already left there. 

“But don’t you push your luck.”

Then he squeezed, and you shrieked, muffled quickly by a winded whimper — the pain as blinding and searing as a branding iron, shape of his hand all but cooked permanently into your skin. The palm of his hand may as well have been barbed, pierced the skin with a million little needles, it might have even hurt less. 

“That hurts,” you whined, cleaved to him by his grip on your hair. 

“Good,” he growled. 

Only then did he let you go, after twisting your body around to face the direction of the stairs. 

“Go’on,” he barked, goading you forward with a smack on your ass. “Get.” 

You meandered ahead like it hurt to walk. 

John hoped it did. He hoped that every time you moved, every time you sat down, every time you accidently brushed it with the caress of your skirt, you thought of him. Of every apology he struck out of you. Of every line you’ve ever crossed. 

Oh, what he’d give to see it. 

He reprimanded himself every time the image crossed his mind, of your supple little ass, defaced by his punishment. He simply couldn’t help it. He imagined that the weal of his hand was raised there, pricked with plum and cherry red, a marker of his authority. Of his territory. 

He had to be rid of you. Couldn’t focus on a single word lobbed at him by your diplomat of a brother while you were in the room with him, sucking up all the air and every drop of his attention. The dramatic suck of your teeth as you landed on the brand he gave you, just rubbing it in. 

Such a little shit, you were. Intractable animal. Asked you to fix a drink, and you couldn’t even do that. 

No, you slinked around his home instead, sticking your misbehaving little fingers into every room, filling his house up with the smell of you. Good thing he caught you before you snuck into his bedroom, leaving trails of you in his only refuge. He wouldn’t be able to sleep if you had. 

He kept a pointed glare hitched on your back as he followed you, limbs and teeth braced to chase and tackle you if you dared to bolt in any direction. But, a good girl for once, you made your way to the stairs, little eyes flicking over your shoulder every now and then to check whether he was still following you. He didn’t let more than two feet stretch between his body and yours. Not stupid enough to take that risk again. 

Far less revealing dress this time. He could still see down the neckline, and you had probably made sure of that. Could see the swell of your breasts, soft and round, their rise and fall as you breathed so meekly against him. Couldn’t see your pebbled nipples through the fabric, though. Skirt was quite a bit longer. For the best. 

He guessed your sister might have told you to wear it, proper as she was. Always painfully worried about image, and yet he could see right through her and your slimy prick of a brother. 

Still had no clue what to make of you. 

Were you cognisant of the effect you had on him? Were you toying with him for your own sake, or for theirs? 

Either way, he didn’t want it. 

Trouble. 

Your siblings waited for you at the bottom of the stairs, Evelyn with her arms crossed, and Miles gave him a suspicious glare through his pinched eyes on his way down. Mustn’t have liked the way John handled his little sister. Either too much of a coward, or too hungry for his bargain to say anything. Or, equally as likely, he was utterly blind to your exploits, enigmatic as you were. 

Didn’t matter. John could not give less of a shit about your brother’s notions. 

“Found ‘er,” he barked, watching as you grouchily wandered between the two of them and swiftly escaped through his front door. 

Evelyn pinched the bridge of her nose, an exasperated groan. “What was she doing this time?” 

John huffed. “Looking for the bathroom,” he said dryly, immediately questioning why he lied for you. So he buffered it; “Apparently.” 

“Sorry about her,” she said stiffly, it was evident you’d be receiving a scolding once the lot of you got home. “She’s – ugh. You know.” 

He had nothing to say to that. 

“Well – thanks for having us by, anyway, Jonathan,” she continued, suddenly perking up, returning to her prim and proper self. “Hope you’ll think about it? Just give us a call, will you? Or – drop by, you know, whenever. Door’s always open.”

He nodded apathetically. “Uh-huh.”

She returned with a nod of her own, a hopeful one, before she tucked her laptop under her arm and followed out after you, where you waited winsomely at the top of the porch steps. 

Miles sauntered towards him, then, thumbs tucked aloofly into the pockets of his jeans, until one hand landed on John’s shoulder. Gave him a squeeze, tighter than would be friendly. His jovial smile was translucent, and it faded fast, once the girls were out of earshot. 

“Don’t you fuck me on this, Jonathan,” he said derisively, snarled under breath. 

John chewed on nothing. His hands were in fists of their own volition. If he were to speak he’d say something regrettable, he knew himself well enough to be certain of that. So he said nothing, only glowered at the man who all but threatened him. 

“It’s the best offer we’re ever gonna get,” Miles rigidly insisted. “You know that as well as I do. We’ll be under in two years. Three if we’re lucky. This ain’t our world anymore.” 

John took measured breaths through his nose. Licked his teeth. The urge to maul the man like a bear rankled in every muscle. You probably wouldn’t forgive him, if he did such a thing. 

“You wanna keep that hand?” He asked hoarsely, monotone, through a clenching jaw. 

Miles grinned at that, as sunny as ever, before landing two genial pats on John’s shoulder. 

“S’alright,” he said, as he stepped back, fixing his black hat to the top of his head. Shot a glance at Simon, who hovered behind John like a shadow, until then unnoticed. “You’ll come around.”

You had left your bedroom door open when you put yourself to bed that night. 

Not to let anyone in, God forbid; though you did find yourself seeing the cowboy’s silhouette in your doorframe, a shadow in your periphery. Your heart flitted in your chest before you blinked him away. 

Instead the decision was some callback to your teenagehood. You had learned at fourteen that your cast iron doorknob squealed and clattered in dispute when you twisted it; loud enough to alert your father whenever you attempted to sneak out of the house after nightfall. Through trial and error, you discovered that if you left your oaken door ajar, only slightly, it would appear closed from the corner of the hall – where daddy would peek around before barking, good night, Honeybee. 

You were an adult now, though, and your father was long gone. For a time your brother tried to adopt the habit of monitoring you, but it was futile, even in your youth. 

You confounded even yourself with your precaution. You weren’t going anywhere, were you? No rules you intended to break? 

Your toes twitched. And your fingers twiddled. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if holding them closed for long enough would trick your mind into sleep, and didn’t instead focus the entirety of your attention on the still lingering sting of Mr Price’s hand. 

You couldn’t help but circle like a vulture the memory of the ground under your knees, the hay under your elbows. The barbaric clap of his hand on your skin, the grinding of your kneecaps into the gravelly dirt on every thrust. What you daydreamed his expression might have been as he hurled his retributive hand into the bare skin of your cheek. 

Might he have been frowning? Grinning? Did he inspect the damage of his handiwork very closely? Did he let his eyes linger on your curves and valleys longer than he should have? 

What went through his mind as he let his thumb venture down the cleft of you, as he pushed the tip into your slit through your sodden gusset? Might he have been marvelling in the wetness? Repulsed by its implication? 

What was he going to do with your knickers, your present as he called it? You imagined them tangled in his fingers, tucked into his fist in his pocket. Him pinching the fabric between his thick fingers as he spoke to his ranchmen. Would he tell his foreman about it? Would he show him?

Now you were entirely awake. Glaring holes into your plaster ceiling, listening to the hammering of your heart in your ears. 

Baking alive in your bed, you were covered only by your thin cotton sheet, and even that was too hot. You sweltered in it, a torrid heat that made your hair crispy and skin itchy. Sweat beaded along your brow, clammy on the back of your neck, and no matter how you laid, you found no comfort. No relief. 

Soon, you had slipped out of bed completely. 

You had not decided on a course of action, yet you crept through the gap in your bedroom door. The moonlit hallway moaned grumpily as you slithered down the stairs, ensuring the patter of your bare feet on the hardwood was as silent as you could muster. 

Plucked your father’s old Carhartt chore coat from its hook by the back door, canvassy and speckled with mud, and pulled it over your bare arms to provide at least some protection from the night. It was longer than your floral linen nightie, short and sheer as it was. You didn’t bother with shoes, your seasoned feet were well used to tip-toeing around the prairies bare. With a careful push of the screen door you stepped out onto the veranda, following your nose without the need for a torch. 

The night air was a cool relief, gentle and calming on your febrile skin. The quiet song of crickets filled the breezeless air, the occasional cry of a coyote in the far distance. Kept at bay by the guardian dogs that littered your ranch. Sometimes you thought you could sleep out there, curled up in the grass like a barn cat, if it weren’t for the gnats. 

You knew the path to Mr Price’s property so well you could navigate it with your eyes shut. Every rock to skip over, every fallen fence post, every tree marking the way. Nonetheless the swollen moon glowed unfettered by clouds, bathing the grassy hills in ultramarine and illuminating the way as you hopped his decrepit fence. 

You had a plan. 

Knew where the knickers were. In the pocket of his canvas jacket, hung on his door. He wouldn’t be expecting you to sneak in after dark, so surely his guard would be down. He’d be sat with his feet up in his lonely sitting room, cigar hooked in his finger, watching baseball highlights or whatever else solitary men busied themselves with. You were sure he wouldn't be sleeping yet. It wasn’t even ten at night, knowing him, he probably only turned in an hour or two ago. 

His ominous homestead came into view through the cottonwood trees, as you scampered between their trunks and over the vibrant underbrush. You creeped around the front of the house, silent step after silent step, hoping to spot an open window. 

And you found one, barely open, a sash window raised only an inch — you stuck your nosy fingers between the gap, carefully lifting the heavy pane by its dark-stained trim. Slipped inside like a little burglar. 

It was dark inside. You found yourself in what looked like a study, bulky mahogany desk in the centre of the room, spinning chair tucked underneath it. It was busy, filled to the brim with clutter and signs of life – seemingly untouched, layered in dust like it had been long abandoned. You supposed a man like Mr Price didn’t give much time to studying. 

You took a single step, and froze – your chore coat rustled loudly, dangerously so, even with a mere breath it threatened to alert your reticent neighbour to your intrusion. So you cautiously slipped your arms from its roomy sleeves, and gently left it in a pile by the very window through which you had trespassed. 

Now truly silent you inched towards the foyer like a spider. Every step whisper silent, moved on the balls of your feet, swallowed shallow breaths. 

The light was on in the kitchen – must be in there, you thought, and you avoided going anywhere near it. Instead you slithered up the staircase, one by one, where the faintest amber glow poured from an open door. As you retraced your steps to the landing, along the loft, to his door – the coat was gone. 

You would have cursed if you could speak aloud. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You could well have turned and left, abandoned the expedition altogether and prayed he didn’t hear you escaping. But you were in deep, now. Deep enough that giving up felt like a greater risk than persevering. Sunk cost. 

He must have hung the coat on the back of his door, or maybe dumped it on the end of his bed, or tossed it over the back of a chair. Perhaps he wore it out for the day, ensuring the panties were on his person, in case you dared to commit the very crime you now did. 

With kittenish fingers on the door, you eked it open, and its old dry hinges whimpered with the movement. Peeking through, you saw the origin of the faint light was seeping from a separate room; an ensuite, likely, though his bedroom was still bathed in darkness. 

It was different than how you had imagined it. You pictured something sparse, messy, beer bottles on the chest-of-drawers and a tissue box by the bed. A bachelor suite. 

Instead, it was well-kept. A painting of a pine-coated landscape hung over his bed, framed in ornately carved wood. His bed was made, an old hand-made quilt folded over by the head, and a plaid woolen blanket draped over the end. Little picture frames sat in a line on his dresser, too dark to see of who – but there were three of them, so you could guess. Two brothers and a pair of parents. 

His room smelled of him, warm and musky, rich with the terpenic scent of chypre cologne and cigar smoke. It made your mouth water. 

Then, you found them. 

Your little cotton knickers. Hung from the brass knob of the top drawer of his dresser. Bright white against the darkly stained pine. 

You swallowed and it went down your throat like broken glass. He hadn’t even hidden them. Brazenly hung them on display for anybody to see. 

Foolish of him. 

You glissaded towards the chest-of-drawers, plucked them from the knob with shaky fingers, and triple checked they were yours. And they were, absolutely – you could tell by the little satin rose of pink ribbon that adorned the front of them. 

Relief rinsed you warm and sweet once they were bundled in your hand, objective achieved. Yours again. You only needed to–

“Adding burglary to the list, are you?”

The rumbling voice blurted out from behind you and you sprung from the ground like a rabbit, squealing in the shock that wracked you. 

You swivelled in a blink with your heart in your throat, facing the man who had caught you. Still shaking with adrenaline, you could scarcely wrangle your tongue to utter a single word in your defence. 

“I’m – they’re–”

“Didn’t expect that,” he drawled. 

It was difficult to make him out, the tall silhouette of the prodigious man against the light of his ensuite bathroom, broad shoulders rocking as he sauntered in your direction. You watched in silence as he tucked in the tongue of the powder-blue towel wrapped around his hips. His tousled hair was wet and spiked – freshly showered, you guessed, the benzoin scent of his soap lingered in the air around him. 

“I’m – I’m not burg – burgling,” you stammered, finally finding your words, you straightened your spine. “I’m taking them back.” 

“No you’re not,” he grumbled, edging towards you, heavy thuds with each arrogant step. 

You were frozen in place. Shivering as though cold. Toes digging into the hardwood like it might fall out from beneath you. 

The moonlight glaring through his open window barely illuminated him on his approach; carving out the valleys of his gladiatorial chest, thick pectorals cast shadows over the well-padded abdominals of his bare stomach. His fuzzy towel sat precariously low on his hips, your impudent stare couldn’t help but trace the damp brown curls that trailed down from his navel. 

“They’re not yours,” you disputed, balling the soft panties in your fist and tucking your arms behind your back in a juvenile effort to hide them from him. 

Only once his face was doused in the silver light from the window could you make out his features; lids hung low over dark eyes, goading lips in a stern curl under his beard. 

“Yeah, they are,” he challenged, low voice oozing scorn. A shrinking foot away from you, you felt the heat of him radiating out from him, licking at your skin with warm little tongues. “They were a gift.” 

Your brows knit together as you endeavoured to stand your ground, tilting your head back so that you could glower up at him. You wrestled with yourself for any defences and found none. Nothing to say for yourself, no excuse to muster, no dispute to mount. 

“They were not a gift,” was all you said, puerile as you were. 

“Then they’re a fine,” he grunted, smirk fading, reaching a sturdy arm towards and around you. 

His indignant hand gripped your bicep, reeling it out from behind your back and pulling it towards him with absurd ease. You resisted – attempted to, at least – but any resilience in your arm was quick to falter, and he presented your balled fist palm-up like you had offered the prize to him of your own volition. 

Skittish eyes darted from your hand to his steely lour, you imagined yourself flipping a coin. 

Admit defeat; relinquish your cotton sin to its new owner, embolden him with your acquiescence, and find a way to live with the knowledge of their presence in his pocket. Or, better yet – snatch your knickers in a tight fist and scurry into the night, throw them into the woodburner when you get home, and pretend none of it had ever happened. 

Landed on tails. You impulsively yanked your fist from his grip, ducked past him with a hop and a skip, before bolting on your shaky legs towards his bedroom door. 

But as if he had readily anticipated that very move, predictable as you were, his thick arms had snatched you up before you had even noticed your capture. You squeaked in dispute, his arms like pythons constricted around you so tightly that they forced a desperate mewl from your throat. He riveted you firmly against his chest, tips of your toes barely grazing the hardwood beneath you.

Jaw pressed to the side of your head, his breathing was warm and strained against the burning shell of your ear.

“You want them back,” he rumbled, the barbarity in his voice sending cold terror down the nape of your neck. “You wear ‘em.”

Sipping quick and shallow breaths, you didn’t dare wriggle or buck in defiance of him. Not this time. There was a threat in his tone, ferine yet forthright, oozing from his throat like molten iron.

“Y-” you stuttered dizzily, heart thundering in your ears. “You want me to put them on?”

“Uh-huh,” he answered, cocksure, the vibration of his frayed voice prickled in your skin.  

He released you, then, and you dropped to your bare feet with a quiet thud. Fist clenched tightly around your ball of cotton, you sucked in a quivering breath before daring to move.

He crossed his arms imperiously, sniffed gruffly, already impatient. “Put ‘em on.” 

You nervously unfurled the white floral fabric from between your fingers. Checking them briefly to ensure you didn’t put them on back-to-front, you spread the waistband, and began to lean forward. 

“Other ones off first,” he groused, and you blinked at him over your shoulder. 

“I’m-” you began, cutting yourself off with a swallow as you meekly turned to face him. Warm blood rushed to the apples of your cheeks. “I haven’t got any on.”

You swore a smirk tugged at the corner of his ever-severe mouth, but he simply let a hoarse breath out through his nose. Letting your confession float unchallenged in the turgid air between you. 

“You’re a real troublemaker,” he chided, through gritted teeth. “Aren’t you.”

“I’m not,” you retorted, feeble and unpersuasive.

“No?” He sneered. “You break into my house in that pathetic little dress and no panties on, and you wouldn’t call that making fuckin’ trouble?”

“I-”

“Put them on.”

His order was as hard and piercing as a bullet, and it turned your blood runny as water, flooding hot into the most illicit parts of you.

Made obsequious, you followed his command. Bent forward and stepped your first toe through the leg of your panties, delicately placing your foot back to the floor, then followed the other. 

You drew careful air through wet lips as you shimmied the thin fabric up your thighs, forced to lift the slippery hem of your nightie as you adjusted them around your hips, a gentle snap as you flick the elastic of the hem to fix it over your unmarred cheek. You winced as the gusset sat flush with your pussy, cringing at the knowledge they had already been worn – they were dry, now, at least, no longer sodden with lust and sweat. Satisfied with their positioning, you floated the thin skirt back down to cover them, stroking your hips to settle the fabric. 

John stood across from you with his wide hand over his mouth, thumb and forefingers rubbing his cheeks as if releasing some tension in his grinding jaw. The rigid muscles of his arms strained and twitched under his ruddy skin. Tension visible from where you stood. 

With a huff, he straightened his spine, and your stare jumped to the long weight under his towel. Dawned on you that he wore nothing underneath it. Suddenly felt light-headed.

He grunted. “Show ´em to me.”

Your lips parted just slightly, toes curled, you obliged him. With impish fingers you clutched the lacy hem of your slip, coaxing it upward, you folded it into pleats in your fists. Up, up, up. The cool of the air between your legs was almost a relief. 

He inched forward. Closer to you. 

“Turn around.”

Sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, and worried for a moment you might chew it off. With your skirt hitched up, you spun around slowly on the tips of your toes until your nose was a few inches from his dresser. 

You felt his warm breathing on the top of your head, he was behind you. Sandwiched you between his body and his chest-of-drawers. Your only hope of escape was to do what you were told. 

With his thumb he grazed the hem of your panties where it sat against your disfigured cheek, and the sudden sting made you twitch.

“S’that hurt?” He asked roughly, and for a delirious moment you thought you might have heard some tenderness in his tone. 

You nodded flimsily. “Yes.” 

“Mh,” he grunted, whole hand ghosting over the sore skin as if to feel the texture of your wound on his palm. “Didn’t teach you a thing, did it.” 

“What was it s’posed to teach me,” you breathed, careful with your words. 

His paw raked over your side, fixing at your hip. “To stay the fuck away.”

“I can–” You panted, tongue heavy in your mouth, “I can go away. I can go.” 

His domineering hands were at your waist, the hem of your little dress scooped up with them. 

“Not now, you won’t.” 

Your stomach turned to lead. 

Suddenly possessed by the skittish need to bolt, you lurched to the side to un-wedge yourself from between him and the dresser – let out a squeal when he predictably ensnared you with leviathan arms. He wrangled you like cantankerous livestock, growling as he wrestled you until your back landed against the drawers. 

“Mister–” You yelped tightly, all air squeezed out of you by his restraint.

“Play stupid games, girl,” he snarled, “Y’win stupid prizes.” 

You whimpered, blinking up at him through fluttering lashes, a hair's breadth away from you. His eyes were almost sinister, pinned to you, inky black pools blown wide in the darkness. Predatory. 

“I’m sorry—” you squeaked, flustered and winded. 

Almost cracked a smirk. “Too late for that.”

Even as he threatened you, you were helplessly magnetised to him. His harsh glare oozed hatred and hunger and it made your heart buzz like a bee trapped in the cage of your ribs. He pinned you forcefully to his chest-of-drawers, a brass knob pressed into your spine, and like a broken filly your resistance turned to butter. Unctuous and supple. 

You weren’t certain whether he had sensed your capitulation, or if he simply steamrolled ahead in his blind paroxysm whether you liked it or not. His titanic hands had you by the thighs, and he jounced you up, propping you up on the very edge of a drawer that stuck out a mere inch from the dresser. You chirped as the hard wooden edge cut into your raw bottom – hurt less, somehow. Distracted. 

He kept your thighs jammed tightly together by his legs, and used a single hand to cuff both of your wrists, pinned them to your sternum. 

Your vision was blurry, skin burning so hot you could sear something on it – you looked down, and his towel had been shirked from his hips, cock landed heavy on your belly. 

Heavy, the operative word – you could see the flesh of your belly pillowing out around its trunk, thick and lengthy, shaft leading down to a bed of dark curls at the base of his stomach. Your throat swelled shut as you stared at it, dizzy at the sight, as he hooked two fingers into the waistband of your knickers.

He yanked the front of your panties down with impatience, unveiling your mound and making the taut elastic cut into the flesh of your hips. Didn’t pull them off all the way, though, only allowed himself enough room to feed his cock through the gap between your cunt and the gusset of your underwear.  

The lips of your pussy spread like petals as he wedged his cock between them, and your breath lodged in your throat – but he didn’t pierce you with it, not at that angle. The aperture between your cunt and thighs was tight, tight enough for him to gain traction, and it made you whimper. 

Only once the round head of his cock was buried in the valley of your pussy did you realise how slick you were. Mortifyingly so. Your syrup had pooled there, undisturbed until he split you open, and now you painted his shaft with it. 

He cracked a proud smile. Canines caught the glint of moonlight. His breathing turned ragged and you felt it on your open lips, sucking down the hot air he exhaled, and it made you feel drunk. 

“Feral little thing, ain’t ya?” He growled, grinding his cock out of the slit of your thighs before driving it back in, the friction of his shaft against your clitoris made your eyes flutter shut.

You only let out a little mewl in reply, trapped against the hard dresser that shook and clattered with every movement. He fucked the fissure between your thighs and cunt in earnest, and it was somehow embarrassing; that he refused to grant you the dignity of fucking you properly, of surfeiting your starved cunt with even an ounce of real attention. He gripped his cock by the base of his shaft and guided it into the slim gap, offering you only the chafing of his iron-hard length against your pebbled clitoris as he rutted.

It was barely satisfying, but it made you twitch and shiver with a neglected pleasure – just enough to turn you syrupy sweet, not enough to truly sate the little creature in you that put you in this very predicament. You tried to tighten your thighs, firmer than they were already, in the desperate hope that it might augment the pressure of his cock burnishing your slit, might drive it in at the right angle to break into you. 

But it wasn’t about you. Your enjoyment was inconsequential to him. 

This was your punishment. 

You could tell he approached the zenith of his own pleasure as his breathing became frayed and arrhythmic, and his thrusts unsteady – he stilled, large fist gripping his cock, and while his blunt head was still tunnelled into your knickers, he began to shuck his dick from its base, jerking off into the gap. 

It was mortifying – besides the denigration itself, of having him masturbate himself with you – the downright pitiful desperation you were dripping with. Coating his cock in it and yet remaining ignored. The tingles of an orgasm fluttered around you like a butterfly you could not catch, coiled up and unwinded over and over with every inward and outward rake of his shaft. 

You had no freedom to move while you were entangled with him; legs pinned shut and feet dangling off the ground, hands manacled to your chest so tightly your fingertips went cold. You had no option but to take what little he gave you. 

He let out a stifled groan, and you gasped when you realised he was coming — you watched his face as he finished himself, as you felt his come pump into the gusset of your panties, filling up the gap between your lips as he chased a few final ruts. You felt his cock jolt with the aftershocks of his climax, and he rested the entirety of his weight against you, forcing the rest of the air out of your feverish lungs. His jaw was viciously tight, huffing through his nose like a bull, and his squinting blue eyes were glued to you. Lucent with spite and a potent satisfaction. 

“Y-you–”

“Don’t make a damn fuss,” he muttered wryly, short-winded.

You whined as he tugged his cock from between your thighs, returning your knickers to their chaste position with a snap of the elastic over your mons.   

“You shouldn’t have – have done that–”

He all but snorted at that, as he stepped back from you – let you fall to your feet from where he had jammed you against the drawers. Kept your hands shackled together, though. “What else did you come here for, then, eh?”

My panties stayed unspoken, because it would have been a lie. 

You flinched when he raised his free hand, but he only grazed your jaw with his thumb. “Wanted a fuck, did you?”

Your head nodded itself despite your lack of instruction. Subconscious. Too humiliating to confirm of your own will. 

“Ain’t gonna happen,” he grunted, as he finally released your cuffed hands, dropping down to pick up the towel he had left in a pile on the floor. 

You moaned, rubbing your tender wrist, light-headed after the blustering outburst. Felt his come between your folds, slippery and hot, it escaped through the groin of your knickers and ran down the inside of your thigh. 

“Why not,” you whinged, quietly, as though hopeful he wouldn’t hear it. 

“Gotta earn it,” he jeered. “I ain’t rewarding your fuckin’ behaviour.” 

You wouldn’t tell him even this was a reward, in itself. The frustration was blistering hot, thumping in your temples. “I hate you.” 

“I bet,” he snorted, as he fixed his towel around his waist once again. “G’on. Go home.”

You scowled at him, lips curled and brows knitted tight. You wanted to throw something at him. 

“Fine,” you griped, as you reached under your dress to pull down your defiled knickers. 

“Don’t you dare,” he snapped. “You keep ‘em on and you walk in ‘em.” 

Your jaw went slack. “Are you serious?”

“Does it look like I’m jokin’?” 

It didn’t. Not a bit. He wore that same rigid face that sunk in his features every time he scolded you, lips in a line under his dense beard, brows flat and heavy over his squinting eyes. Somehow made more severe while he was without a shirt, you could see every ireful twitch of the worn muscles that rippled under his sun-baked skin. He could hurt you worse, if he wanted to. The thought makes you sweat. 

“Fine,” you groaned, again, and you impudently rammed him with your shoulder as you stormed past him and out of his bedroom door. 

You heard his low chortle on your way out, but he didn’t call out for you. No more snide remarks. You bashfully returned to the dark study, picked up your father’s chore coat, and slipped out the same window you had broken into. 

The walk back was sticky and uncomfortable. Suddenly you felt like buzzing insects were hovering around you, landing on your skin, hoping to poke in and suck you dry. The baying coyotes sounded closer than before, just over the hill. The moonlit air wasn’t cool enough to mollify your temper. The wheaten grass was sharp and splintery under your bare feet. The come in your gusset was viscid and gooey, glued between your thighs with every step. 

Yet, you were grotesquely proud of it. Wearing the evidence that Mr Price wasn’t as mighty as he purported to be. He didn’t ride a high horse. He came in your panties and made you walk in it, as a punishment. 

Truly depraved man. You knew that confidently, now. If he thought he had deterred you, he was sorely mistaken. 

You didn’t bother being quiet when you finally returned home after a slow and sulky walk through the night. Dumped your jacket on the floor by the back door rather than hanging it on its hook, trudged up the crying stairs and shut your door with a clank once you got to your bedroom. You tore the linen sheet off your bed and left it astray, before falling immediately into your mattress, flat on your stomach. 

You fell straight to sleep.

a/n: far be it from me to insert a political statement into my cowboy porn, but as a non-american depicting a sanitised rural USA, i feel the need to make clear my stance on everything happening over there (and the ripple effects it is having on the rest of the world): fuck trump and all his nazi partymen, fuck everyone who voted for him, and fuck every non-american who would have if they could. if you are supportive of or ambivalent about the oligarch-cum-drinking, bold-faced-fascist ideology of he and his ilk, just know that every breath you take is a fucking waste of oxygen. and if you're upset by that sentiment then fuck you too. no middle ground on this! love ya 

[sturniphone]

── ⌗ older!matt . . . bunny!reader

❛ bunny's scared of thunder ❜

The thunder starts early.

Not loud at first, just a soft, sleepy growl across the sky. A quiet rumble, like the clouds are whispering secrets to each other. But it still makes your shoulders jump. The apartment lights are already all on, every lamp glowing like a candle, and you're curled up on the couch in one of Matt’s big sweaters that hangs off you like a blanket. His cologne still clings to the collar, and you keep tugging it up to your nose like it'll help keep the storm away.

You’ve assembled the plushie crew. Your soft bunny in your lap, Miffy under your chin, Labubu tucked beside your hip. They’re on duty. Brave. Protecting you while Matt works late. You try really, really hard not to be dramatic. You know Matt’s busy—he texted you hours ago to say he had emails and phone calls, something about meetings and spreadsheets. Adult stuff. Important stuff. And you want to be good. Patient. Brave.

But then the thunder cracks loud. Like it tore through the sky with claws. You squeak out loud. Jump. Your hands fly to your ears; plushies scattered. The lights flicker, and your heart thumps so hard it almost hurts. You scramble Off the couch, across the carpet, little slippered feet pattering through the apartment. Straight into your bedroom. You dive under the covers like they’re armour. A big cocoon of comfort. You drag your plushies in after you, making sure no one’s left behind.

❝We just have to wait,❞ you whisper to them, eyes wide under the blankets. ❝Matt’s coming. He’s going to come get us.❞ The storm gets worse. Louder. The windowpane shakes, and you flinch again.

You squeeze your eyes shut and cuddle tighter into your soft toys. Your fingers tremble a little. Your cheeks are warm and wet now, but you don’t even remember crying. You whisper little check-ins to your plushies, like you're the grown-up one. ❝That one was a big one. You okay? I'm okay. We're okay.❞ But your lip wobbles when the thunder hits again.

Minutes stretch forever. Rain hammers against the glass. You curl tighter. Your bunny plush is pressed to your chest, and you whisper to it like a secret, ❝Matt’s gonna come home soon. He always comes home.❞ You don’t hear the door open. Don’t hear his keys drop or his shoes come off. You only notice something different when the room fills with warmth. Familiar. Comforting. Matt.

He peeks into the room. Spots the blanket mountain and soft sniffles. ❝Bunny?❞ he calls gently. A quiet hiccup. A rustle. He pulls the covers back carefully. There you are. Curled up like a little dumpling. Big eyes all glassy and sad, cheeks damp, and plushies clutched like lifelines.

❝Oh, bunny,❞ he breathes, instantly dropping to his knees beside the bed. ❝Sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m here now.❞ You don’t wait. You just launch yourself forward, crawling into his arms like you belong there. And you do. Matt climbs onto the bed without even taking off his coat, umbrella still dripping by the door. He gathers you in close, wraps you up in his warmth, and lets you bury your face in his chest.

❝The thunder,❞ you whisper, voice wobbly. ❝It’s really big tonight.❞ ❝I know, bunny. But I’ve got you now.❞ He kisses your forehead, brushes your damp hair back, and runs slow, soothing circles across your back. You cling tighter, cheeks hot with leftover tears.

❝I told my plushies you were coming,❞ you murmur after a moment, a little sleepily. Matt chuckles, soft and loving. ❝They were right. I’d never leave my girl in a storm.❞ You hum against his chest. You already feel better. Safer. The thunder cracks again, but you barely flinch. Not with Matt here. Not with his arms around you like a shield.

Outside, the storm keeps hissing through the night, but you don’t mind as much now. Not when you're bundled up in Matt's lap with your plushies tucked close, the soft thrum of his heartbeat steady in your ear. Inside the blanket fort, you’re safe. You’re home.

⋆˚꩜｡ lola talks . . . help I wanna do more smut for them but didn't have time >.<

── ʚ contacts . . . @chrepsi @ph3ebssturniolo @sturnsxbbyeilish @j21l91 @pip4444chris @mattslutt @sophand4n4 @mattscoquette @mi-co-uk @tezzzzzzzz @emely9274 @oopsiedaisydeer @theowensturniolo @httpssturns @matthewsroses @bugs-tags @mattswrinkleton @victorious8 @h3arts4nat @madz146 @ifwdominicfike @rriverscuomo @ivysturnss @brianaluvschris @mattsgold @sturniolotoast @ariieeesworld @angelicameron @blahbel668 @sturniszn @chriss-slutt @mattsdiva @little-lolaaa @mattsmoth @clairo4life @everythingaboutbags @matts-wife @chrispleasure @ajskorner @mattspillowprincess @freshlovefever @twylas114 @matties-angel @mayax2o07 @sturnsflirt @tonymayor2022 @ifellforanotherloser

⌗ © sturniphone

[murdrdocs]

smoker!joel miller loathes the idea of you picking up his bad habits.

he has some sort of paternal protection over you. it leads him to keeping you out of the loop of the habit he can't kick. when he can't cease the insistent tapping of his fingers against whatever surface is closest to him (sometimes your calf thrown over his spread legs), he'll curtly tell you that he'll "be right back" and then he disappears for a few minutes. when he returns he b-lines for the bathroom and comes back smelling like the mint toothpaste he bought because you like it.

he does what he can to keep you away from it. you've only ever seen him smoke a handful of times. otherwise, you have just the sight of a pack of cigs in his nightstand drawer and the scent of marlboro reds on his clothes to confirm that yeah, joel miller is a smoker.

it doesn't matter how much he wants to keep you away from it, you find him anyway. late at night when you've already showered and prepped for sleep. the two of you probably would've been sleep by now, but joel slipped out of the room before he could mess up his side of the bed. you usually wouldn't go find him, you know he likes his privacy sometimes, but your slippers slap against the porch when you step out of the front door anyway.

joel's head lifts. he has a cigarette right against his lips, but not between them as if you interrupted him.

you wait with your hand on the door to see if he'll have you.

your answer comes when he scoots over on the loveseat and beckons you over with a curt jerk of his head.

you end up sitting next to him with your legs finding their home thrown over his lap. he rests a rough hand over one of your ankles, mindlessly rubbing into your cold skin. he doesn't stop smoking, he just blows it off to the side, making sure the wind carries the smoke far away from you.

the two of you don't talk much. you listen to the trees blow in the wind and the cicadas singing in the background. every so often comes the crackling sound of joel inhaling and burning the end more and more, then a few seconds later comes the gentle sound of joel exhaling.

you both continue like that for a while until you turn your head to look at joel. he stops what he's doing, holding the cigarette right against his lips once more, and looks at you.

"what is it?" he asks.

you shrug, lick your lips, and lean over to pull the cigarette from joel's fingers. he watches you with thinly-veiled amusement on his weathered features—a small tug of his lips up, curiosity in his eyes, the twitch of his eyebrows towards his hairline. he doesn't say anything, though, he just watches you pull the stick to your lips and inhale.

the end burns orange and you watch it for a moment, transfixed. peaceful. the peace lasts for only a few seconds, because then the burn in your throat makes itself known. you try to ignore it, pulling the cig from your lips and exhaling. but the exhale is shaky, and you can see joel already starting to grin from the corner of your eye. you don't look at him, though, you know that if you do he'll be able to see the tears gathering in your eyes.

you turn away when a cough forces itself through your body. muffling it through a closed mouth doesn't do anything to help.

"alright," joel calls, "c'mere." he throws an arm around your back and pulls you closer. he doesn't allow any room for you to resist, he even wraps his other hand around your front and pulls you as close to him as you can go. he claps a hand on your back over and over again, leaving you no choice but to expel each burning cough.

he pinches the cigarette from between your fingers. you don't see it after that, your eyes close for a moment and when they reopen joel is exhaling a thick cloud of smoke and the cigarette isn't anywhere near either of you.

"let it out," he coaxes, not ceasing the pats on your back until your coughs weaken and eventually turn into small sputters and not much else.

"fuck," you swear through a laugh when you've come back to yourself. you rest your head on his sturdy chest and feel his laugh rumble through his body.

"yeah," joel agrees. you look up in time to see his tongue flick out over his lips before he speaks again. "'s not as easy as it looks, is it? you shouldn't pick that up anyway."

you don't argue it. there's no point in souring a good mood. "you didn't have to stop," you say instead.

"i was done," comes joel's response. he taps your legs once, which you know means he's going to stand up. "c'mon, let's get back inside before the bugs get you. don't wanna hear your complanin'." he stands and holds out a hand for you.

he walks in front of you only to hold the screen door open, leaving you to push the front door in. when you pass him to enter the house, he smacks your ass once. you turn around to look at him and he's still staring at the way your ass rippled in your little shorts.

"perv," you half-heartedly mumble.

still, you giggle when joel follows hot on your tail and drapes his entire body around your torso and leads you back to the couch where a paused episode is waiting for the both of you.

[thebunnednun]

Not On My Watch!

Pairing: Aged up!ProHero!Husband!Katsuki Bakugou x Pro hero!Wife!Reader

Warning: MDNI!!! Extreme Spice 18+, Wc: 20K+, No ageless blogs!

Synopsis: Katsuki can't sit still after seeing a video of you, his WIFE, getting her feet massaged by another man.

Tw: Sweet then spicy, lots of making out, pet names, (both f! & m! groping, biting, predictor and prey

You've been warned.

When I say aged up I mean mid 20's early thirties.

Inspired by this short, Give her some love too plz, she's so funny<3

Read the note below afterwards. Lets get into it.

Morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the bedroom. You stirred slowly, the warmth of the covers cocooning you in a comforting embrace. As you blinked away the remnants of sleep, you became aware of the quiet hum of the world outside. Stretching lazily, your hand reached out to the other side of the bed—only to find it empty.

A small, knowing smile crept onto your lips.

The sheets were cool to the touch, a clear sign that Katsuki had left early. Yet, the faint scent of his caramel lingered in the air, and you were certain you’d been given a kiss goodbye before he slipped out for his shift. It was just like him to leave quietly, not wanting to disturb your much-needed rest after the rough night you’d had.

You and Katsuki have been married for just shy of a year, a whirlwind romance culminating in a partnership that felt as natural as breathing. Life as a pro hero was demanding, but the rough shift you had last night was enough to leave you craving a bit of solace and pampering. Your body ached in places you’d forgotten could ache, and your mind was still clouded with the remnants of exhaustion. 

Glancing around the room, your gaze drifting over the familiar details that made up your shared space. The nightstand on his side held a few scattered items. His phone charger, a half-empty bottle of water, and the book you'd convinced him to start reading—though he'd grumbled about it, he was already five chapters in. On your side, a small vase of fresh flowers brightened the room, a surprise Katsuki had brought home just days ago.

The bedroom was a reflection of your life together—simple yet filled with thoughtful touches. The neutral tones of the bedding were offset by pops of color from the pillows and the soft throw blanket draped over the chair in the corner. The faintest scent of lemons drifted from the open window, mingling with the crisp, clean air of the early day.

You sighed contentedly, sinking back into the pillows for a moment longer. The day stretched ahead, filled with the promise of relaxation and self-care. You fumbled around the sheets for a moment before finding and scrolling through your phone. The girls had recommended a new nail salon that recently opened downtown, promising it was the perfect place to unwind. It sounded like exactly what you needed. With a few quick taps, you shot a text to Katsuki.

Princess Peach: I’m heading to the new nail salon the girls told me about. It's my day off, so I'll meet you after your shift. I love you!

You leaned back against the pillows, waiting for his reply. It didn’t take long.

Teddy Bear: Fine with me. Send the amount when you’re close to done. 

Teddy Bear: Love you too.

A soft smile tugged at your lips. Even through the screen, his gruffness had a way of making you feel cared for. You could practically hear the way his voice softened just at the end, a rare tenderness he reserved only for you. You stretched languidly under the plush covers, the scent of fresh sheets wafting through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of a hearty breakfast. 

The soft cocoon of the bed beckoned you to stay, but the promise of a new day lured you from its embrace. Stretching luxuriously, you swung your legs over the edge, a smile curling on your lips as your eyes landed on the familiar pair below—your favorite bunny slippers, perfectly placed right where Katsuki knew your feet would touch the floor. The sight of them warmed your heart, a simple yet thoughtful gesture that never failed to remind you of his care.

Slipping your feet into the plush slippers, you padded across the room, the cool hardwood floor transitioning to the soft rug beneath your toes. You reached for your robe—a cherry red one that you loved—draped neatly over the armchair by the window. Wrapping it snugly around yourself, you headed towards the bathroom, the early morning light spilling in through the windows casting a gentle glow across the room.

The bathroom mirrored the tranquil elegance of the bedroom, with its sleek marble countertops and soft, ambient lighting. You grabbed your toothbrush, applying a dab of minty toothpaste before brushing your teeth. The refreshing burst of mint awakened your senses, each stroke a familiar routine preparing you for the day ahead.

Finished, you made your way down the hallway, the sound of your slippers muffled against the polished wood floors. The house was a sanctuary of calm and order, and as you moved through it, the faint scent of caramel and lemons drifted through the air, a delightful blend that made you breathe deeply, savoring the homey aroma.

Descending the luxury staircase, each step a smooth glide, you were greeted by the sight of your home sparkling clean, every surface gleaming under the morning sun. It was as if the house itself had been rejuvenated overnight. You reached the bottom of the stairs and turned left, stepping into the large living room. The space was a testament to your combined tastes, a harmonious blend of comfort and style.

Every detail had been meticulously curated. The soft, oversized couches adorned with plush throw pillows in your favorite shades; the coffee table, a sleek bookshelf holding a few well-loved novels and a vase of fresh flowers; the walls lined with art pieces and pictures that shared stories of your adventures together. The curtains and blinds had been drawn open, allowing the sunlight to pour in through every window, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. The light danced across the floor, creating shifting patterns that added an almost ethereal beauty to the scene.

You took a moment to bask in the tranquility, the serene atmosphere filling you with a sense of gratitude. It was in these quiet moments, surrounded by the love and care that filled your home, that you felt truly at peace.

Leaving the living room, you made your way to the heart of the house: Suki’s kitchen. This space, unlike the others, was a reflection of Katsuki’s meticulous tastes. Every element, from the colors to the layout, bore his signature style and passion for precision.

The kitchen was a modern marvel of design and functionality. The counters were crafted from sleek black and white marble, their polished surfaces gleaming under the soft glow of the high ceiling lights you had insisted upon—strategically placed to prevent anyone from bumping their head. The deep oak wood cabinets, a rich contrast against the lighter counters, lined the walls, offering ample storage space while adding a touch of rustic warmth.

Appliances gleamed in their stainless steel glory, each one carefully chosen for its efficiency and aesthetic appeal. There were double ovens built seamlessly into the wall, perfect for Katsuki’s ambitious culinary endeavors. Two large sinks sat on opposite ends of the room, each with a state-of-the-art faucet, allowing for the kind of multitasking that your husband thrived on. Off to the side, a pre-kitchen area was tucked away, an extension for more intricate prep work or storing additional cookware.

The pantry was a thing of beauty, fully stocked and alphabetized, a testament to Katsuki’s need for order. Every item had its place, and the fridge—oh, the fridge—was a sleek, modern design that allowed you to see inside without opening it, displaying its contents like a prized collection. It was stocked to perfection, everything arranged just so, with little notes stuck here and there, a system you both found oddly satisfying.

As you moved through the kitchen, you couldn’t help but remember the construction phase. The flurry of contractors and delivery teams bustling about, bringing in appliances and asking a stream of questions. Each time, you’d simply pointed to your scowling husband, letting them know it was his call. His initial gruffness was often met with hesitation, but you knew better. He might have stomped around, inspecting every detail with a critical eye, grumbling under his breath, but you stayed by his side. Your presence eased his social anxiety, allowing him to communicate on creating the space he had envisioned.

He was your gremlin, your wonderfully stubborn, exacting gremlin, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Every detail of this kitchen was a testament to his love for perfection, and standing here now, in the heart of your home, you felt a wave of affection for the man who had poured his heart into making this space a sanctuary. A small smile played on your lips as you noticed the neat plate left on the stove, a thoughtful note from Katsuki propped up against the fridge.

Use the toaster oven to reheat your food so it doesn’t ruin the taste. See you soon. - K

You chuckled softly, your fingers tracing over the words before you reached for the plate. Despite Katsuki’s well-meaning instructions, you decided to eat the food lukewarm, not wanting to lose the initial burst of flavor. A little mischievous smirk tugged at your lips as you purposefully smudged a bit of syrup on the microwave door,(The very one you had to fight tooth and nail for!) Knowing he would sense something amiss in this kitchen before he even stepped through the door and would get worked up until he realized what happened. 

Breakfast satisfied and your mind already envisioning the day ahead, you sauntered back up the stairs and into the bathroom. The warm water cascaded over your body, washing away the remnants of fatigue from the previous night's shift. You reveled in the tranquility, the gentle hum of the water a soothing backdrop to your thoughts.

Wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel, you padded over to the walk-in closet, your eyes lighting up at the sight of your favorite two-piece sweat suit. The soft fabric hugged you comfortably, a perfect blend of style and ease. You grabbed your purse, the anticipation of a pampering session at the new nail salon buzzing in your veins.

Today was your day, and you were ready to indulge in it fully.

You grabbed your Juicy Couture purse from its spot by the door, the soft leather gleaming under the light as you slung it over your shoulder. A moment of contemplation followed as you pondered which car to take—your sleek options lined up in the garage, a reflection of both yours and Katsuki's tastes. With a playful smile, you decided on the pearl white BMW, its elegant curves and smooth handling making it the perfect choice for the day.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you reveled in the luxurious feel of the leather against your skin, the familiar hum of the engine purring to life beneath your fingers. The drive to your favorite café was quick and leisurely, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the streets. You pulled into the drive-thru, placing your order with a smile, and soon enough, a perfectly crafted drink was in your hands, the aroma rich and inviting.

With your drink in the cup holder, you headed toward the upscale salon and mall area, finding a convenient spot in the parking lot. Leaning back in your seat, you sipped your drink leisurely, the peaceful ambiance of the morning settling over you. The salon, with its chic exterior and promise of indulgence, awaited just beyond. Savoring the last few moments of quiet, you allowed yourself to relax fully, the anticipation of the pampering session making the day feel all the more luxurious.

Omg, the girls weren’t lying. 

The salon was a haven of tranquility, a serene escape from the relentless pace of hero duties—a sanctuary where the burdens of the day could be set aside, even if just for a while. As you stepped inside, the soothing scent of lavender and chamomile wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, instantly easing the tension in your shoulders. The interior exuded understated elegance, with soft, muted tones that created a calming atmosphere. The decor was a harmonious blend of chic and cozy, featuring pastel walls, plush chairs, and ambient lighting that bathed the room in a soft, inviting glow. Every detail was thoughtfully curated to evoke a sense of peace and relaxation.

A warm smile from the receptionist greeted you, and soon you were escorted to a luxurious chair. As you sank into the plush seat, a technician approached with a menu of beverages. You selected a refreshing iced cherry soda, the vibrant hot pink drink a perfect complement to the tranquil surroundings. The cool, sweet flavor was a delightful contrast to the warmth of the spa treatments awaiting you, a sensory experience that promised rejuvenation.

Settling in, you allowed yourself to be enveloped by the calm ambiance. The gentle hum of quiet conversations and soft music provided a soothing backdrop as you prepared to indulge in this well-deserved moment of self-care.

The experience was nothing short of divine. The nail technician's gentle hands worked wonders, massaging your tired fingers and shaping your nails with meticulous care. You found yourself recording snippets of the process, a habit born from those middle school days when you and Denki had decided to try your hand at becoming influencers. Despite the demanding life of a pro hero, you still cherished these moments of creativity, sharing slices of your life with a loyal following.

The soft hum of conversation, the soothing music, and the indulgence of the pampering session left you in a state of bliss. You felt rejuvenated, every muscle relaxed, and a newfound energy coursing through your veins.

As you shifted to the pedicure station, you were greeted by a young man with a friendly smile. His easy demeanor put you at ease as you settled into the comfortable chair. When you asked for a cute French tip, he nodded confidently, assuring you he could handle it. You leaned back, savoring the calm atmosphere, a book open in your lap as he got to work.

The salon was mostly empty, allowing for a tranquil silence to settle over the space. You alternated between reading and capturing small moments on your phone, careful not to distract the young man too much. His focus was intense, and his movements were precise, a testament to his skill.

However, it wasn’t long before you noticed something… different. 

His hands moved with expert precision, but the way he was massaging your feet felt more akin to a deep tissue massage than a standard pedicure. His fingers pressed into the arches of your feet, kneading away tension you hadn’t realized you were carrying. The strength in his grip was undeniable, and you could see the muscles in his forearms flexing beneath his company t-shirt as he worked with dedication.

A blush crept up your neck, and you quickly switched your phone’s camera to record your reaction. Your face, caught between flustered and perplexed, filled the screen. You tried to keep your expression neutral, but the slight widening of your eyes and the subtle twitch of your lips betrayed your surprise.

"Y’all, why is this man rubbing my feet like I don’t have a husband!"

Is what you captioned the video with a playful smirk before sending it off to the girls' group chat, hoping to share the humorous moment with your friends. With a sigh, you set your phone aside and tried to focus on your book, determined to relax despite the unexpectedly thorough massage.

What you didn’t realize, however, was that in your haste, you had accidentally sent the video to Katsuki.

Who, unbeknownst to you, was just finishing up his morning shift. 

The locker room buzzed with the usual post-training banter, laughter echoing off the walls as the group of friends wrapped up their routines. Katsuki was methodically stowing his gear, his face set in a determined scowl as he prepared to clock out for his half-day. The hum of casual conversation filled the space, Denki lounging nearby with Katsuki's phone in hand as he played Crossy road.

A notification lit up Katsuki’s screen, and Denki, ever the curious one, leaned over his chair with a sly grin. "Hey, man, that’s from your wife!" Denki said, his eyes gleaming with intrigue as he caught a glimpse of the video thumbnail.

Sero and Mina, not ones to miss out on the fun, sidled up next to Denki. "Oooo," they chorused teasingly, exchanging grins as Mina leaned closer to get a better look. Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, slamming his locker door shut with a decisive clang.

"Don’t be weird," Katsuki growled, his voice low and edged with annoyance. 

His sharp eyes narrowed as Kami opened the message, the video playing in his hand. The sight of the young man’s hands on your feet, combined with your flustered expression and teasing caption, sent a surge of possessiveness through him.

Katsuki’s lips curled into a familiar scowl, the kind that sent shivers down the spines of villains. The familiar itch to protect and assert making his steps quicker as he made his way out. He knew you were at the salon, enjoying your day off, but now he had a sudden, burning need to make his presence known.

He grabbed his phone and shoved it back into his pocket, but not before Denki pulled his own phone out and made quick work of showing the video to Mina.

She squealed in delight, her eyes lighting up with recognition. "She’s at that salon! The one we recommended to her!" Mina said, bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.

Kirishima, who had been tying his shoes nearby, perked up at the mention. "Do they do pedicures?" he asked, his tone curious. He caught the raised eyebrow from Sero and held up his hands defensively. 

"Hey, good foot hygiene is important for men too!"

Sero snickered, but nodded in agreement. "You got a point."

Katsuki, meanwhile, was grumbling under his breath, his patience thinning with each passing second. The thought of someone else touching you, coupled with the playful video you’d sent, made his protective instincts flare.

"Mina, where’s the salon?" he demanded, his voice sharp and urgent.

Denki, ever helpful, fished out the name from the video you’d posted on your story before she could ask why. He sent it over without missing a beat, the group watching with mild amusement as Katsuki’s scowl deepened.

"I’ll see you all tomorrow," Katsuki barked, his tone leaving no room for discussion as he turned on his heel and strode out of the locker room. Kirishima’s brows shot up, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Whoa. He never says goodbye like that," he remarked, glancing at the others.

Sero crossed his arms, a thoughtful look on his face. "Something serious must be happening," he mused, nodding toward the door Katsuki had just stormed through. Mina clasped her hands together, her grin mischievous. "Whatever it is, you know Bakugo’s gonna handle it in his own way." Denki snickered, slinging an arm around Kirishima’s shoulders. "Guess we’ll find out tomorrow. Hope the salon survives Katsuki’s visit."

“Maybe he’s finally gonna take care of those dogs of his.”

“Es un animal con ropa puesta.”

The group shared a laugh, each one picturing the storm that was sure to unfold with Katsuki on a mission.

—

The hum of the salon was soothing, a gentle rhythm of soft chatter and the occasional clink of tools as the nail technicians worked their magic.

You were reclining comfortably, your attention drifting between the subtle aroma of the lavender-scented air and the meticulous artistry unfolding before you. The young nail technician was expertly applying a baby pink French tip to your nails, each stroke so precise it felt as if he’d spent a lifetime mastering the craft. A small crowd of other technicians gathered nearby, watching with quiet admiration as he worked.

You were mid-way through admiring his steady hand when the faint chime of the doorbell caught your ear. At first, it barely registered, your focus lingering on the soft curves of the polish being applied. But then, the unmistakable sound of heavy boots hitting the tiled floor reverberated through the salon, and a shift in the atmosphere had you glancing up.

There, framed in the doorway, stood your husband, Katsuki Bakugo, in all his formidable glory. His sharp gaze, intense and unwavering, locked onto you instantly. The tight grey T-shirt stretched over his sculpted frame and dark grey jeans—no doubt a product of Best Jeanist's influence—fit him perfectly, accentuating his powerful build. A black jacket thrown over his shoulders completed the look, giving him an effortlessly cool demeanor. His expression, however, was anything but relaxed.

Your heart skipped a beat as you waved at him, a warm smile lighting up your face. "Hi, pookie!" you called out, your voice sweet and affectionate.

"Hi," Katsuki grumbled, his deep voice softened only slightly as his eyes remained fixed on you. He spared a brief glance at the young nail technician, whose confusion was evident as he turned to face the towering figure now standing behind him. The technician quickly returned to his work, muttering something about the session being almost done and how it was a pleasure working with you.

You thanked him for the lovely design, your eyes twinkling with appreciation before turning back to Katsuki, a pout forming on your lips. "Come here," you beckoned, wondering why you hadn’t yet been wrapped in one of his warm, grounding embraces.

Katsuki didn’t hesitate. In a few swift strides, he was by your side, his arms encircling you as he leaned down to capture your lips in a deep, fervent kiss. The world seemed to blur at the edges, your book, Juicy Couture purse, and phone almost slipping from your grasp as his intensity overwhelmed you. His lips were demanding yet tender, drawing out a soft sigh from you before he pulled back just enough to plant two more kisses on your now-flushed lips.

His hand smoothed over your hair, his touch gentle and grounding. "Ya wanna get your hair done too while I hit the grocery store?" he asked, his voice gruff but laced with a softer undertone meant only for you.

You blinked up at him, nodding slowly. "Do you have a specific style in mind?" you asked, curious about his sudden suggestion.

Katsuki shrugged, his thumb brushing along your cheek. "I love your natural hair. If ya wanna go for that, do it. But if yer thinking about something different, go for it." His tone was casual, but the sincerity in his words made your heart swell.

You chuckled softly, recounting that the two of you had an event later in the week. "Maybe I should get a blowout," you mused, already imagining the sleek, polished look.

Without a word, Katsuki pulled a thick wad of cash from his pocket and slipped it into your purse, his actions swift and without fanfare. "Get whatever ya want," he said simply, his crimson eyes filled with a mixture of affection and determination as he settled into a nearby chair, crossing his arms as if staking his claim on the moment.

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you as you savored his gesture. Katsuki had a way of making you feel cherished and understood, even in the simplest acts. The salon might have been an oasis of calm, but with him there, 

It felt like home.

The nail technician returned with a bottle of lotion, his demeanor professional yet gentle as he began applying it to your feet and legs. The soothing motions were a balm for your tired muscles, and you sighed softly, leaning back into the plush chair. Your slightly rolled-up pants exposed just enough for the technician to work efficiently, but the moment Katsuki’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened, you knew things were about to change.

Katsuki shifted in his seat, his gaze locked on the young man’s hands as they moved over your skin. His fists clenched, the tension radiating from him like an impending storm. Finally, he stood, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the technician, who glanced up in surprise.

“Move,” Katsuki ordered, his voice low but unmistakably firm. He didn’t give the younger man time to argue or even process the command before reaching for the bottle of lotion himself.

The nail tech stepped back, his face flushed with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. He mumbled a quick, “Of course,” before retreating a few steps, his eyes darting nervously between you and Katsuki.

Your face heated up as well, caught between amusement and mortification as Katsuki squirted some lotion into his hands, his movements precise and purposeful.

He knelt in front of you, carefully lifting your foot onto his knee, your leg almost touching his clothed chest, and began massaging the lotion into your skin with a familiarity and expertise that only he possessed. His fingers worked magic, kneading away the stress and tension with firm but tender strokes. His ears turned a deep red, betraying his effort to maintain a stoic facade, and he resolutely avoided meeting your gaze.

You bite your lip, your heart pounding in your chest as his touch sends waves of warmth through you. 

Katsuki was thorough, his concentration evident as he ensured every inch of your foot and leg was cared for, before moving to the other leg. His broad hands made the task seem effortless, and yet you could see the faint tension in his shoulders as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

When he finished, Katsuki reached for the little foam flip-flops, placing them delicately on the floor. He gathered your book, purse, and phone, his actions smooth and efficient. Then, with a gentleness that contrasted with his earlier intensity, he took both of your hands in his, helping you to your feet and guiding you into the flip-flops.

He handed you your belongings momentarily before excusing himself to wash his hands at the nearby sink. You stood there, still somewhat dazed, before turning to the young nail tech with a smile. Digging into your purse, you pulled out a $25 tip, handing it to him with a sincere thank you. He bowed deeply, his face still tinged with color as he expressed his gratitude.

You waddled over to the reception desk, the soft padding of the flip-flops muffling your steps. The receptionist greeted you with a warm smile, and just as you were about to pull out your wallet, Katsuki was there, his platinum black card already in hand. He passed it to the receptionist with a quiet, “Here,” and added a $10 tip to her as well. You smiled, pulling out another $30 to tip the first nail tech before expressing your thanks for the excellent service.

As the receptionist and technicians wished you a good day, you turned to find Katsuki already holding the door open, his gaze softening as he reached for your purse and book. You handed them over without hesitation, your heart fluttering at the small, protective gestures that were so uniquely him.

Before you could take another step, Katsuki scooped you up effortlessly, one arm beneath your knees and the other supporting your back. He held you close, his familiar warmth seeping into you as he stepped outside into the crisp early afternoon air. His stride was purposeful, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of affection as he carried you toward the car, every bit the overprotective, loving husband you adored.

As Katsuki carried you towards the car, he maneuvered effortlessly, balancing you with one arm as he reached for the passenger door handle with the other. The door swung open, but before he could set you down, your hands found their way to his head, fingers threading through his ash-blond hair in that tender, familiar way only you could manage.

Your soft touch was magic against his scalp, a soothing caress that sent waves of warmth radiating through his body. Katsuki felt the tingles ripple along his nerves, the sensation making his breath hitch as his knees threatened to buckle under the blissful spell you wove. His face, pressed against your tummy for a fleeting moment, grew hot, a telltale flush that you felt even through the fabric of your clothes.

Carefully, he placed you inside the car, the motion deliberate as he tucked you into the seat, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary. You felt the heat emanating from him, a gentle reminder of his vulnerability in your presence. He leaned over to buckle your seatbelt, his fingers brushing against you with the lightest touch.

You cupped his face, his skin warm beneath your palms, and leaned in, brushing your nose against his in a soft Eskimo kiss. Katsuki closed his eyes, leaning into the tender gesture, returning it with a gentleness that made your heart ache in the best way. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes before making his way around the car to the driver’s seat.

As he slid into his seat, you seized the moment, quickly applying a layer of your favorite strawberry lip gloss. The sweet scent filled the air as you prepped yourself for what you knew was coming. The instant he buckled in, you pounced.

Your hands cupped his cheeks, pulling him into a deep, fervent kiss that left him momentarily stunned. Katsuki’s eyes widened in surprise at your sudden burst of strength and passion, but he quickly melted into it, his lips moving against yours with an equal hunger. He let out a low, muffled sound of approval, his hands finding your waist as he unbuckled your seatbelt, giving you the freedom to shift closer.

You moved fluidly, swinging a leg over to straddle him, your knees resting on either side of his hips as you settled into his lap. His hands roamed, tracing the curve of your back and gripping your waist firmly, as if grounding himself in the moment. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your chest, syncing with your own as the kiss deepened, both of you lost in the electrifying connection.

Katsuki leaned back into the seat, pulling you with him, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted his head to better meet your lips. His breath was hot against your skin, mingling with the faint taste of strawberry from your gloss. You felt his muscles tense beneath your touch, a subtle reminder of the strength he held, though in this moment, he seemed entirely at your mercy.

Fucking delicious. 

The world outside the car faded away, leaving only the cocoon of intimacy you shared, every kiss, every touch a testament to the deep bond between you.

Katsuki’s grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your sides with a possessive fervor that sent a thrill shooting through your body. His lips moved with urgency now, a heady mix of passion and need, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Your hands, still cradling his face, slid down to his shoulders, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, a reminder of the raw power he carried so effortlessly.

You arched your lower back, pressing yourself closer, eliciting a low growl from deep within his chest. The sound vibrated against your skin, stirring something primal within you. Katsuki's hands roamed lower, one slipping under the hem of your shirt to splay across the bare skin of your lower back, his touch hot and electric. He pulled you even closer, his breath coming in ragged gasps between fervent kisses.

The intensity grew as you shifted in his lap, your hips rocking against him, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Katsuki. His hands roamed freely now, one sliding up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he gazed at you with a heat that made your heart race. The other hand slipped lower, gripping your thigh with a firmness that sent a shiver down your spine.

"You’re driving me crazy," he murmured against your lips, his voice husky, laced with desire. The raw honesty in his words ignited something fierce within you, your body responding instinctively as you leaned in to capture his lips once more, your kiss deeper, more demanding.

“I know!~”

Katsuki shifts beneath you, his hands sliding under your thighs as he lifts you slightly, adjusting your position to press you against him even more intimately. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his heart pounding in time with yours, the air between you thick with unspoken need.

Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging gently, and he groans, the sound low and primal, sending a ripple of excitement through you. He nipped at your bottom lip, his teeth grazing just enough to send a delicious jolt of sensation, before soothing the spot with a gentle flick of his tongue. The contrast was intoxicating, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

"Goddamn, baby, you’re perfect," he whispered, his lips trailing along your jawline, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You gasped, your body arching into his touch, every nerve ending alight with sensation. His hands moved again, this time slipping under your shirt, his fingertips tracing the curve of your spine, sending shivers cascading down your body.

"Suki," you breathed, your voice trembling with a mixture of need and anticipation. His name on your lips was all the encouragement he needed as he claimed your mouth once more, the kiss deep and consuming, as if he wanted to devour every inch of you. His hands explored with a confidence and familiarity that left you dizzy, your body responding to his touch as if it were second nature.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. It was just you and Katsuki, lost in each other, the world outside forgotten as the heat between you intensified, leaving you both breathless and utterly consumed.

So you decided to have some fun. 

You pull back, your hands gently but firmly pushing Katsuki back into the chair. His deep vermillion eyes widen slightly, a mix of surprise and confusion flickering across his face. He stays still for a moment, trying to process your sudden change in demeanor, before narrowing his eyes and attempting to rise again.

So you push his big bodied ass back down. 

Katsuki blinked, still dazed as he found himself pressed back against the seat, your hands firmly on his chest. His eyes search yours, flickering with a mix of confusion, frustration, and something else—something sad. His lips parted as if to speak, but you beat him to it, your voice soft yet teasing.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked, your smile playful as you gently pushed him back again when he tried to sit up. His brows furrowed, and he blinked at you, clearly perplexed by your sudden shift in mood.

“Hah?!” he finally managed, his tone edged with irritation, though the confusion remained.

His reaction is sharp, but there's an undertone of bewilderment as he searches your face for answers, clearly unprepared for your unexpected move.

You tilted your head, keeping your smile intact as you poked his cheek gently. “Why are you acting more gremlin-ish than usual? Does this have anything to do with that video I accidentally sent you?”

His gaze sharpened, and he scoffed, turning his head away from you. “Tch, no.” His arms crossed over his chest in a defensive gesture, a barrier between him and the vulnerability you were nudging at.

“Come on, Kats, don’t be like this,” you coaxed, your fingers continuing to poke and prod his face, knowing you were one of the few people he’d ever let touch him like this. You press your first fingers into the soft squish of his apple cheeks before gently tracing over his scar. Katsuki’s jaw tenses, but before you can push further, his hand shoots out, swift as a viper, snatching you up in one fluid motion.

With surprising ease, he shifted you beside him, laying you down in the cramped space of the driver seat, pinning you with his gaze as he hovered slightly over you. His voice low, eyes scanning your face as if reading your every thought.

“Ya wanna go home now or get yer hair done?” 

You pouted, your hands resting on his chest and forearms. “Why can’t you just communicate when it’s obvious you were a little jealous?”

His thumbs pressed into the soft spot on your hip, a subtle reminder of just how dangerous this territory was. His smirk, however, was sharp and knowing.

“You wanna tell me now, or get nothing when we get home?” you teased, your voice a playful challenge.

His eyes narrowed, a blush creeping up his cheeks as he leaned forward. 

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, try it,” you dared, your grin widening as you watched him wrestle with himself. His gaze flicked back to you, hesitant but defiant. Finally, he huffed, the blush deepening.

“I didn’t like that other man touching all over my wife,” he admitted, his voice gruff, the words almost sticking in his throat.

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled up. “Katsuki, he wasn’t touching all over me,” you corrected gently. “And I’m not letting up until you look at me.” Reluctantly, he met your gaze, his blush not fading as he sighed. 

“Hi,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice light, affectionate. Leaning up, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him close. 

“You’re such a cute baby girl when you’re jealous.”

His groan was immediate, a low, rumbling sound as he let his head fall onto your shoulder. “That killed it,” he grumbled, his hands finding your waist as he flipped you over onto him. “You’ve got two choices—here  or yer hair appointment.”

You giggled, pressing your palms against his chest. “Katsuki, we can’t do ‘that’ here.”

“Why not?” he challenged, his fingers tracing the smooth skin of your back and stomach, his hands hot against you.

“For one, it’s public,” you pointed out, shivering as his lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, his breath warm against your pulse.

“Don’t care,” he muttered, his mouth continuing its path, sending little jolts of pleasure through you.

“And two,” you continued, your voice breathy, “someone could see us and make a report.”

That, at least, made him pause.

He huffed, frustrated, before burying his face in your neck, his arms tightening around you in a possessive hug. You stroked his hair gently, your fingers threading through the soft strands. “Aw, you big baby,” you cooed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

His lips curled into a faint smirk against your skin. 

“Hey! No pinching!” you squeaked, feeling the mischievous squeeze on your butt.

“You make it too easy,” he teased, his voice low and warm, his hands settling into a gentler hold as he nuzzled against you, content to bask in your presence despite the lingering frustration.

You pulled back from the kiss, gazing into Katsuki’s eyes, your heart swelling with affection. “You make my life easy,” you murmured, your voice soft and full of gratitude. “Thank you for always taking care of me and being such a good husband.”

A warm smile tugged at Katsuki’s lips, and before you could even process, he was kissing you again. This time, it was more tender, more loving. His left hand cupped your cheek, his touch gentle as he leaned into the kiss, his lips molding against yours with a careful, almost reverent pressure. You felt his right arm snake around your waist, pulling you closer, securing you against him, not an ounce of space between your bodies.

Your fingers naturally found their way to his chest, resting over his quickly beating heart. You could feel the steady, fast thrum beneath your fingertips as you traced the spot, watching as he let out a low groan, the sound vibrating against your lips.

You sank down into his lap, moving slowly, deliberately, your body settling firmly against his. You tangled your fingers into his soft, spiky hair, feeling the strands between your fingers as you closed your eyes, letting yourself melt into the feeling of him beneath you. Your breath evened out, and you let your forehead rest against his, the space between your hearts closing as you intertwined your left hand with his right. You could feel the steady pulse of his heartbeat in his fingertips, and it matched the rhythm of your own.

“Thank you for lettin' me take care of you,” he whispered, his voice hushed and almost reverent.

You stayed like that, your foreheads touching, breaths mingling as time seemed to stand still. You couldn’t help the small, contented smile that tugged at your lips, your fingers lightly tracing the veins running through his hand. There was something so intimate in that simple gesture, in the way you could feel each other’s pulse, the unspoken connection that ran between you. The world outside felt far away, and in this moment, it was just you and Katsuki.

“Awwww!”

The sudden, loud chorus of voices from the outside made both of you freeze, and your hearts skipped a beat. 

Your eyes snapped open, and you both turned toward the window, where the unmistakable faces of Denki, Mina, Sero, and Kirishima were pressed up against the glass, their exaggerated expressions of glee clear even from here.

“OH, YOU GUYS ARE TOO CUTE!” Denki shouted, his grin practically stretching ear to ear, his thumbs up in the air as he made obnoxious “heart” hand gestures.

Mina’s hands were pressed against the glass, her face lighting up as she made kissy faces toward the two of you. “I’m literally dying!” she squealed, fanning herself dramatically. “You two are so cute, oh my god, you’re giving me life!”

Sero, ever the playful one, was pretending to wipe away fake tears, looking utterly overwhelmed. “Look at them! El verdadero amor nunca muere! My heart can’t take it!” he moaned melodramatically.

Kirishima stood behind the others, arms crossed over his chest, his smirk wide and proud. “Yo, that’s my bro! Keep it up, man!” He gave Katsuki a thumbs up, completely unfazed by the fact that you both were clearly caught in a very private moment.

You froze, caught between the shock of being interrupted and the heat that was rapidly rising to your cheeks. Your heart thudded in your chest, and you could feel the heat radiating from Katsuki, who had gone completely still, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter, his jaw tightening in that way that meant he was fighting off embarrassment.

You could practically feel the anger radiating off of him like a wave, and you couldn’t help but giggle despite yourself. “Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, pressing your forehead into his, trying to stifle the laughter that bubbled up. You could feel Katsuki’s face burning against your skin as he growled low in his throat, his body tense beneath you.

“Shut the fuck up, you idiots!” Katsuki barked, though there was an unmistakable, embarrassed edge to his voice. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Denki wasn’t backing down, though. “Oooooh, looks like the big guy’s shy now!” he teased, clearly loving the situation.

“Shut it, stupid,” Katsuki snarled, his voice still rough, but there was a hint of fondness behind his irritation.

You could feel Katsuki’s heartbeat beneath your palm, still racing, as you pressed your lips to his cheek, giving him a soft kiss to reassure him. He huffed but relaxed just a little at the touch, clearly more annoyed at being caught than truly embarrassed.

“Stop staring at us, you perverts,” you called out, though your voice was tinged with laughter. “You’re gonna ruin the moment!”

Mina stuck out her tongue and waved dramatically. “We’re not the ones ruining it,” she teased, her hands still framing her face as she fluttered her lashes at you both. Kirishima gave another hearty laugh. “Hey, don’t worry, man, you two have been together forever, you deserve all the ‘aww’s’!” He threw Katsuki another heart, making the other man growl under his breath.

“C’mon, let’s get outta here,” you said with a smile, gently pulling away from Katsuki, though his arms tightened around you, not quite ready to let go.

The others backed away from the window, still waving and making kissy faces at you, leaving you and Katsuki in your little bubble of quiet tension. His hands finally released their hold on your waist, but his fingers lingered for a second, as if unwilling to fully let go. You turned to him with a grin, brushing your lips against his jaw.

“Home now?” you teased, voice full of warmth and amusement, feeling that familiar pull between you both, even with the entire world watching.

“Hell yeah,” he muttered, leaning in to kiss you one last time before you both settled into the car, determined to leave behind the embarrassment and bask in your shared warmth.

—

"Well, that’s how it would've gone if you hadn’t lied and basically stranded me at the salon while you were grocery shopping," you say, shaking your head slightly. "And picking up cute sweaters, thinking you'd surprise me, but you know—"

Katsuki frowns, his arms crossed over his chest, clearly not understanding the full depth of your reasoning. "What, you steal my stuff because it’s your duty now? What the hell kinda logic is that?"

You give a playful shrug. "Yeah, pretty much. It's literally my job now as your wife to steal your clothes, and I can only give them back when they no longer smell like you."

You finish rubbing lotion onto your legs and arms, your movements slow and deliberate as you prepare for bed, the soft scent of the lotion mixing with the lingering fragrance of the shower. Katsuki’s eyes are locked on you, studying every motion with an intensity that almost feels like a heatwave in the room. After a beat of silence, he tilts his head slightly, as if trying to gauge whether you're serious or messing with him. 

He doesn’t quite seem convinced, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he stares at you with that familiar intensity, his gaze flickering as you move around the room. Then, without missing a beat, he breaks the silence with a casual, 

“Wanna get sweaty together?”

The words hang in the air for a moment, his deep voice making your heart skip. You freeze for a split second as you carefully wrap your hair in the silk scarf, the cool material sliding over your fingers as you look at him through the reflection in the vanity mirror. Your eyes meet his, and you can see the playful glint in his gaze, the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Sweaty? I— Oh!" The heat that suddenly swirled in your lower stomach caught you off guard, the warmth curling low as his smile turned sharp, wicked even. You could feel his gaze on you from the bed, intense, like he was savoring the tension in the air.Katsuki shifted on the bed, his voice held a teasing edge when he spoke again, every word dripping with intent, 

"I saw what you did to my microwave, you little shit."

Your stomach flipped as your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t even need to ask what he meant. You knew exactly what he was referring to. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck as you avoided his gaze in the mirror. 

What were you supposed to say?! There was no point in trying to justify it. 

You did smear syrup all over the microwave.

Knowing it would work your clean freak husband up. 

But before you could even process a response, your feet were already moving before your brain could catch up.

You threw yourself out of the vanity chair, your body a blur of action. You didn’t even glance at him as you bolted for the door, the room instantly filled with the sound of your hurried steps echoing through the hallway. The soft padding of your bunny slippers barely made a sound, but your heart was thundering in your chest as you dashed past the hallway, dodging furniture and glancing back over your shoulder.

Katsuki’s laughter, low and knowing, rumbled from behind you, the sound growing louder as his footsteps followed close behind. He was coming for you, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. You could hear the shift in his tone—hungry, playful, and definitely too cocky for your liking. 

He was enjoying this, you realized.

‘Think fast, think fast!’ You glanced wildly around, and then, on instinct, you jumped. You sailed over the stair railing, landing with a soft thud on the other side. The movement was fluid, practiced, but the rush of adrenaline made it feel like the world had slowed down. The next few seconds were a blur of frantic footfalls and the sound of your breath catching in your chest.

You didn’t have time to scream or laugh—it was all pure instinct now as you dashed through the house. 

Every step was a race against him. You darted from one room to the next, flipping on every light you could reach, as if trying to outsmart him with a maze of illumination. You tried to drown out the sound of his voice, calling out to you, teasing you.

"Where’d you go, huh? You think you can run from me?" Katsuki’s voice bounced off the walls, deep and full of that teasing edge. His footsteps were much closer now.

You couldn’t let him catch you just yet, not while you still had a chance. The house felt too large, yet too small, and you knew the only way to stay out of his grasp was to stay one step ahead. You could hear him, but he hadn’t quite found you yet.

With a quiet gasp, you pressed yourself against the wall, slipping into the narrow space between the large sectional and the wall. 

The living room was eerily silent now, the only sound being your heavy breathing and the slight rustling of your robe. You held your breath, eyes darting from the shadows of the room to the hallway beyond. 

‘Stay quiet, stay still, don’t even fucking breathe’ you told yourself, the anticipation thick in the air.

The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity. Your heart was hammering in your chest, each beat loud enough that you thought he might hear it, but then you heard it—the subtle sound of his footsteps, faint at first, but growing louder as he circled the room.

"You think you can hide from me, huh?" Katsuki’s voice was low, predatory, and full of amusement. 

"I’m gonna find you, little bunny. There’s nowhere you can hide."

You felt the hairs on your neck stand up as the anticipation crept into your veins. He was so close. You could practically feel him, his energy filling the space, even if you couldn’t see him. His presence was like a heat wave moving through the room.

And then it happened.

A loud thud, and the creak of the floorboards beneath his weight. His voice, sharper now, echoed in the space. "I know you're here, damn it. Don’t make me come get you."

You tensed, knowing your time was running out. He was near, but you had one more move left. You didn’t wait. You took the chance. You shot out from your hiding place, darting for the sliding door before he could reach you.

But it was too late.

With a speed that seemed to defy logic, Katsuki was on you in seconds. His large hand gripped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. You gasped in surprise, your heart racing as you felt the heat of his body press against your back.

“Yer gonna have to do better than that,” he growled in your ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

With his other hand, he pulled you roughly into his chest, his muscles flexing with the effort as he forced you into his embrace. You could feel his heart beating just as wildly as yours, and despite the playful teasing, there was a fire in his touch that made your pulse quicken.

Katsuki’s lips pressed to the side of your neck, his voice a soft, dangerous murmur. “You can’t outrun me, babe. Now... what’s this about dirtying my stuff?”

“You didn’t even want the microwave!”

The two ‘love taps’ on your ass that followed told you that wasn't the point.  

You swallowed, feeling the playful, mischievous tension shift into something much more intense. You could feel the smirk against his skin, his chest still rumbling with amusement. He wasn’t going to let this go easily.

"I guess you’ve caught me," you murmured, your voice breathless. "But you still haven’t figured out what you’re gonna do about it, have you?"

His response was a low, satisfied chuckle, his grip tightening just enough to remind you who was in control. "Oh, I’ve got a few ideas," he murmured darkly, and just like that, you knew this game was far from over.

The tension in the air shifted once more, as Katsuki grabbed your waist as you tried to dart past him, guiding you toward the kitchen with a firm hand ont he small of your back. His grip was strong, commanding, as he led you to the microwave.

"Get to work," he grumbled, his voice low and filled with that same playful authority. The mess you’d made—smeared syrup on the microwave—was now your responsibility to clean up. You could see his smirk from the corner of your eye, clearly enjoying the little game he'd forced you into.

You crossed your arms over your chest, pouting as you grabbed a rag from the counter and began wiping the sticky mess away. It wasn't exactly what you'd had in mind for a fun evening. You sighed dramatically, your body language exaggerated as you huffed.

"This wasn’t what I had in mind, you know," you muttered under your breath, clearly disappointed.

Katsuki glanced up from the apple he was casually biting into, his deep eyes locking onto yours as his lips curled into a teasing smile. "What did you have in mind?" His voice held that same playful edge, but there was something beneath it—a hint of satisfaction in knowing that you'd been caught, and he was making you work for it.

You scowled, wanting to retort, but all you could do was finish the job, swiping the last of the syrup away with a little more force than necessary. Katsuki’s gaze lingered on you, and you could feel the heat of his attention despite his nonchalant chewing. He enjoyed this too much—seeing you all riled up and a little annoyed. You could tell by the stupid sexy small grin playing on his lips.

Finally, when the job was done, you straightened up, wiping your hands on your robe. Katsuki pushed off the counter and walked past you, his voice casual as he asked, "You ready for bed now?"

The suggestion of rest was tempting, but you weren't done with him just yet. You rubbed your hands together slowly, grinning mischievously inside as you felt the heat rise between you again. Katsuki turned to face you, already half-expecting something more, but his brow furrowed when he noticed the way you were acting.

"Is the house too cold for you?" he asked, the softness in his voice indicating he was already thinking of ways to keep you comfortable. "I’ll turn up the heat."

But before he could even take another step toward the thermostat, your hand darted out, warm and quick. 

The palm of your hand landed with a firm smack against his ass cheek, the impact loud in the otherwise quiet kitchen. Katsuki froze, his eyes narrowing in shock, but before he could fully process it, you did it again. A quick, sharp tap to the other cheek—once, then twice—your hand connecting with his firm, muscular backside.

He whipped around, his eyes flashing with the same fiery intensity you knew so well. “The hell do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, a growl barely concealed beneath the words, and his chest rose and fell with a deep breath, clearly trying to control the surge of heat that ran through him.

But before he could respond or chase you, you darted away, sprinting down the hallway with your heart racing. The adrenaline from the earlier chase was still pumping in your veins, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly to yourself, knowing that you were in for it now. You could already feel the change in him—a shift from playful to downright determined, and that meant trouble for you.

His voice, sharp and commanding, followed you as you ran through the house. 

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!" 

There was no sweetness in his words anymore, just the promise of payback, and you knew he meant it.

You could feel it before you even reached the hallway corner—the heavy thuds of his footsteps as he chased after you. He was pissed, but there was a certain gleam in his eyes that told you he was enjoying this as much as you were. Your heart hammered in your chest, but you couldn’t stop the thrill of it all. You were playing with fire, and Katsuki was more than ready to burn.

The panic you felt as you scrambled into the prep kitchen and opened the pantry was only tempered by the rush of adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You threw the door closed behind you with a soft, but hurried click, and you quickly scaled the shelves, barely keeping your balance as you shoved yourself into the corner. It was dark, cramped, and smelled faintly of spices, but it was perfect for hiding—for now, at least.

You pressed a hand over your mouth, biting back the urge to laugh at your own antics. Playing this game with Katsuki was dangerous, and you knew it. But what could you say? You were addicted to the thrill, to the way you could tap dance on his nerves like this, driving him crazy. It was a game, one you both knew well, and hell, you’d earned it. As his wife, it was practically your constitutional right to rile him up a little.

Your eyes darted around the small, dark pantry, and your breath slowed as you listened carefully for any sound of Katsuki. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, faintly, you heard the echoing crackle of something in the distance, the unmistakable sound of soft explosions. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what it was—Katsuki was out there, his quirk flaring. You barely had time to register the thought before you saw a faint glow from under the pantry door, the light from his explosions spilling in through the cracks as he tested the area.

For a moment, the kitchen went eerily silent. The door swung open, just enough to let in more light, and you could hear his heavy footsteps, slow and deliberate. He wasn’t using his quirk anymore, but his presence was palpable, a tension in the air you could practically taste.Eventually, the door closed again, but you didn’t hear any footsteps leading away. 

You swallowed, holding your breath, wondering if he was waiting for you to give yourself away. What if he was just outside the door, waiting for you to slip up? The thought made your pulse race again, and you crouched down lower, hoping to stay hidden just a little longer. The quiet was agonizing as you waited, counting each second, your heart thudding in your ears.

Gently, you climbed back down from your spot and tiptoed to the center of the pantry doors. You couldn’t see any feet from under the door and when you peaked through the crack, no one was there. Even the door to the prep kitchen was close, moonlight streaming in from the window. 

Then, just as you began to relax, a shiver ran up your spine, and you swore you could feel him looking at you, his gaze burning through the air. It was a wild thought, but your instincts told you it was true. You hadn’t heard him move, but you felt it—the knowing presence of Katsuki, so close yet so far. You froze, barely daring to move as you waited for him to make his next move.

And then it came.

A soft whisper, just behind your ear, as warm lips brushed against your ear. 

"Is he gone yet?"

Your breath hitched, and you barely stifled a scream. 

He had been right there the whole time, lying in wait, ready to strike. You gasped and immediately bolted, stumbling out of your hiding spot as you tore down the pantry shelves, your heart pounding. 

"Katsuki!" you screamed, the sound of your voice only fueling the chase. 

He tricked you! 

And now, you were going to pay for it.

You ran back into the kitchen, your legs moving faster than they should have, but you weren’t about to let him win. You spun around the counter, ducking and dodging as you heard the unmistakable sound of his footsteps closing in behind you. Katsuki was hot on your heels, laughing darkly as he taunted, 

"You're not gonna outrun me, sweetheart!"

Your heart was racing as you darted around the kitchen, taking sharp corners and swerving around the island. It felt like an endless game of 'ring around the rosie'—only you were the one spinning in circles, desperate to keep your distance while Katsuki's laughter echoed all around you. The kitchen, your familiar battleground, was now your prison, and he was closing in.

Desperation filled you, and in a moment of inspiration (or maybe pure panic), you grabbed the nearest fruit basket. You swung it at him with all the force you could muster, and it hit him square in the chest, sending apples and oranges scattering across the floor. He paused for a moment, surprised by your impromptu attack, but the shock didn’t last long. A smirk spread across his face as he shook his head and turned back toward you.

“Nice try,” he growled, already moving after you again.

You shrieked and turned on your heel, racing toward the hallway. The next place to hide? You didn’t know yet, but you weren’t about to make it easy for him. You heard his footsteps pounding after you, his growls of annoyance growing louder with each step.

"Leave me alone!" you shouted, looking for any way to escape. "You're impossible!"

You dart into the home movie theater, your feet skidding slightly on the smooth hardwood floors as you crouch low between the rows of seats, hoping to lose Katsuki in the dimness of the room. The large space feels like a maze of plush chairs and hidden corners, perfect for slipping away unnoticed. Your pulse is pounding in your ears as you press your back to one of the seats, holding your breath, trying to calm the frantic energy running through you.

For a moment, all is silent, the only sound the quiet hum of the air conditioning. Then, without warning, the room is flooded with light as the giant movie screen flickers to life. You jerk your head up in alarm to see Katsuki standing at the front of the room, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. 

He’s leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching you like a predator waiting for its prey to make a mistake. The screen behind him casts a glow, making his features look sharp and dangerous—his vermillion eyes twinkling with amusement.

“You can’t hide forever, princess,” he calls out in a sing-song voice, and your stomach flutters in that wicked, dangerous way that only he can manage. It’s almost scary how much his presence affects you, but you can't stop the heat rising in your body as you feel his gaze locking onto you.

You throw the remote at him in a frantic attempt to distract him, and it hits him square in the chest. He chuckles darkly and catches it mid-air, his eyes still never leaving yours as he steps toward you. “Nice try,” he mocks, his voice low, full of dangerous amusement. 

“But you’re gonna have to do a lot better than that.”

Before you can react, you turn and bolt out of the theater, running as fast as your legs can carry you. His footsteps echo behind you, the sound of him chasing you growing closer and closer. 

“Why don’t you wanna be a good wife, huh?” 

His voice rings out, teasing and laced with that underlying heat that makes your skin tingle. 

“Come over here so I can show you just how much of a bad girl you’re being.”

You let out a squeal of laughter and fear, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s something about how relentless he is, how playful yet serious, that makes you feel like a mixture of excitement and nervousness all at once. It’s almost overwhelming, the way his words make your heart do summer saults.

In your panic, you dart into the gaming room, thinking you can slip past him in the narrow space between the arcade machines and shelves of consoles. But the moment you step into the room, you realize your mistake. You’ve backed yourself into a corner, and you can already feel his presence behind you, drawing closer.

A low growl of frustration escapes his throat. 

“Really? You think this is gonna save you?” he grumbles, his voice rich with amusement as he stalks toward you, closing the gap faster than you can react. You try to dash around one of the desks, but he’s already there, his hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you back with a force that leaves you breathless.

Before you know it, you’re pressed against the cool surface of a console, the light from the television screen casting strange shadows over your bodies. Katsuki’s face is inches from yours, his warm breath mingling with yours as his eyes burn with that teasing, wicked glint.

“Gotcha,” he growls softly, his lips curling into a smile that’s anything but sweet. You feel a surge of heat rush to your cheeks as you fight to catch your breath, the rush of adrenaline still pumping through you.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says with a mock sigh, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his thumb grazing over your cheek. “Otherwise, I’d just let you keep running.”

But you’re trapped now, nowhere to go but back into his arms as he pulls you closer, his grip firm but playful. The game has changed, and you can feel it in every heated second that passes between you two.

You feel a mischievous spark flicker in your chest, a playful impulse bubbling up as you glance at Katsuki. Thinking quickly, you decide to act on your not-so-good thoughts and fake a cough, knowing full well that he wouldn’t deny you something as simple as water.

You cover your face against his shoulder, a dramatic cough escaping your lips, each one exaggerated and “delicate” as you turn to him, trying your best to sound like you're struggling without actually being in distress. You hold the coughs in just long enough to make it sound convincing, then pull back just slightly to give him a soft, pleading look.

“Kat,” you manage to whisper, your voice intentionally weak as you try to act as demure as possible while clearly playing him. “Could you get me some water? Please?”

His gaze softens for a moment, the protective instinct flaring up in him as he reaches over without a second thought, clearly not seeing the slight mischief in your eyes. His hand brushes your hair away from your face gently

As soon as the cough escapes your lips, you can see the flicker of concern flash across Katsuki's face. His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't call you out. He knows you too well to fall for a typical trick, but when you fake a few more delicate coughs, turning your face into his shoulder and pretending to weakly gasp for air, he seems to soften. His scowl deepens, but he’s already scanning you, making sure you're actually okay.

"Kami, you're really something else," he mutters under his breath, but there's no bite in his tone. Instead, it's replaced with a reluctant tenderness as he hoists you up into his arms with ease, just like he’s done so many times before. The moment your body presses against his chest, you feel the warmth of him radiate through your own clothes, and you can’t help but smile, knowing you’re getting exactly what you wanted.

He carries you into the kitchen with a determined stride, like he’s on a mission. You’re basically cradled against him, the motion smooth but with that underlying power that only Katsuki can bring. You rest your head against his shoulder, savoring the way he smells, the comfort of his presence making everything feel secure, even if you were the one to initiate this little ruse.

Once he sets you on the kitchen counter, it’s all business. 

He turns around, reaching for the fridge and pulling out a ice cold water bottle, which he hands to you with a soft, "Here." His expression is serious now, a slight frown still lingering on his face, though it’s softened by the concern he can't hide entirely.

"Thank you," you murmur sweetly, taking the bottle and uncapping it with a soft twist. You sip from it generously, enjoying the coolness of the water that soothes your throat. All the while, you notice his gaze never leaves you, a little too intense for casual observation. The way he looks at you, like you're both an annoyance and a treasure, sends a shiver down your spine.

As you take another sip, Katsuki silently starts picking up the apples and oranges you’d thrown at him earlier. The way his muscular arms move, the tension in his back and shoulders as he bends down and reaches for the fallen fruit, has your thoughts wandering. For a split second, you can’t help but compare him to Jason, imagining what it would be like if Katsuki were to flex those powerful muscles with the same intent—though you know that Katsuki would never harm you.

He stands there, staring at you with his hands resting firmly on the counter. 

The muscles in his forearms flex as he leans in slightly, clearly waiting for you to acknowledge him. But it’s the way his eyes lock onto you, his expression serious but not without a hint of that playful edge that makes your heart beat faster. He stands so close, the heat of his body radiating toward you, and you almost swear you can feel the smoldering energy between you two, even without touching.

You take another sip of the water, but this time your gaze meets his, and you can't help but smirk. "You look good like that," you tease, unable to resist the playful glint in your own eyes as your gaze roams over him, savoring the way his muscles move with every action, every twitch of his body. It’s almost as if you’re daring him to take the next step.

Katsuki smirks back, his eyes darkening slightly. "You think you're so cute, don't you?" His voice is low, the undertone of desire thick enough for you to feel it in your bones.

But you're not done yet.

"You know, I am," you reply coyly, swinging your legs slightly on the counter, letting your robe ride up just a little. You watch the way his eyes flicker to your legs, the change in his expression that makes your stomach twist in excitement.

Katsuki clears his throat and leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he growls, "You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart." He pulls back just enough to catch your gaze, his vermilion eyes smoldering with a mix of amusement and desire. 

"You better be ready for the consequences."

And just like that, you know this little game of yours has taken a sharp turn. The air is thick with tension now, each second passing like an electric pulse between you both. But you’re not backing down. 

Not this time.

You seize the water bottle, chucking it at your husband again as his eyes narrow and he hits the ground in time, your pulse quickening as you dart off the counter and up the stairs, hoping your lucky stars are shining brightly tonight. The sound of Katsuki's curses and frustrated muttering echo from downstairs, but you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. ‘

"Oi, you little brat, don’t think you’re getting away that easily," his voice growls, a mix of exasperation and amusement lacing his words. "I swear to god, when I get my hands on you—"

The sound of Katsuki's curses and frustrated muttering echo from downstairs, but you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. The dim light from the hallway barely reaches the corners of the room, and with a quick glance around, you make a beeline for the space under the bed. You slide underneath, curling into a tight ball, trying to control your breathing as your pulse continues to throb in your ears. You’re nearly holding your breath now, hoping that the darkness of the room and the soft carpet will hide you long enough for him to give up the search.

‘He’s not chasing me,’ you think, laughing under your breath as you curl up into a tight ball, barely able to contain your giggles. The dim light from the hallway barely reaches you as you stay perfectly still, heart racing with excitement.

The silence stretches, just as you're starting to think you might actually get away with it, but then—crackle—the intercom crackles to life. Katsuki’s voice filters through, sending a shiver down your spine. His voice is dark and heavy with intent, cutting through the quiet of the house like a razor.

"Okay, little girl, have it your way," he growls, the sound of his explosions echoing faintly in the background, a sign that he’s still searching. "If you can hide for another 10 minutes without pulling any of your dirty tricks, the rest of the night can go your way."

You pause, the breath you’d been holding catching in your throat as you listen more intently. 

You don’t dare make a sound, your body tense beneath the bed, the room feeling colder as the challenge sets in. Katsuki’s words ring through your mind, and you can almost see the smirk on his face, even though you’re hidden in the shadows.

Then, the briefest of pauses. You could hear his explosions falter as if he was waiting for your response, but you stay still. His next words are low, full of weight, and deliberate as they slide from his mouth.

"If I win..." He drags it out, just enough to keep you on edge. 

"You’ll be my slave. Your choice."

Your stomach flutters with both anxiety and excitement, your pulse spiking at the dangerous proposition. 

Slave—his word lingers in your mind, and despite the heavy weight of it, there’s an undeniable thrill in the challenge he’s laying before you. The heat rises in your cheeks as you realize what’s at stake.

Another pause, and then his voice filters through again, darker this time, as though the stakes are raised even higher. "I’ll give you five minutes to come back and apologize. Otherwise..." His voice lowers to a growl, the chill of it making your spine straighten. 

"You better hope I don’t find you, princess."

Your breath hitches, the finality in his words sending a shiver through you. Every muscle tenses as you lie there, the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears, drowning out the silence of the room. The space underneath the bed suddenly feels even tighter, as though the weight of his promise is closing in on you.

You’re caught between two choices—stay hidden and push your luck, or face him and risk the consequences. Your hands grip the floor beneath you, the texture of the carpet digging into your fingers as you think, weighing the choices, feeling the pressure of every second ticking by.

“BOOM!”

Something gets knocked over somewhere down the hall, and it stops your heart. You strain your ears and catch a noise. It’s Katsuki, his voice low but unmistakably annoyed, filtering through the walls.

You can hear the smirk in his tone, the barely restrained menace, and it sends a thrill straight through you. You feel a rush of adrenaline as the challenge settles into your chest. ‘A slave, huh?’ The thought makes you bite your lip, trying to suppress a laugh. 

But you can’t let him know you’re enjoying this.

You curl further beneath the bed, trying to keep as still as possible, your body pressing against the cool floorboards as you listen intently to his voice. His words ring in your ears, an irresistible mix of dominance and playfulness. You can practically feel the heat of his glare from here, even though you’re tucked away in your hiding spot.

“Ten minutes, huh?” you whisper to yourself, still not daring to move an inch. “Guess I better make this count.”

You hold your breath, willing yourself to stay silent, as you hear his footsteps grow closer. It’s eerily quiet for a moment, and then—footsteps, loud and deliberate—Katsuki’s on the move. He’s clearly taking his time, perhaps savoring this moment, knowing that you're somewhere just out of reach. His footsteps stop right outside the door to the guest bedroom.

“I'm coming for you, princess,” he calls through the door, voice low and menacing. 

"Seven minutes... Time’s ticking."

You hold your breath, hoping he doesn’t hear the quickening of your pulse. You can hear him walking around, at a deliberate pace, as if he's trying to cover every inch of the house. He's playing this game with the same ferocity he brings to everything—no hesitation, no mercy.

Your eyes flicker to the clock on the nightstand. Time’s slipping away, and you can practically feel the heat of his presence outside the room, waiting for you to make a move.

His voice suddenly filters through again, but this time, it’s even more teasing, drawing you in like a magnet. "I hope you know, I’m gonna find you. You’re not getting away with this, bunny."

Your breath catches in your throat. 

He’s close, and the clock is ticking down. 

You have to make a decision—will you continue hiding, hoping your luck will hold, or will you face him and take what’s coming? Either way, you're in this now, and the thrill of the chase is too intoxicating to back out of.

You wait for another few seconds, then slowly, carefully, you begin to crawl out from under the bed. The floor creaks beneath you, but you ignore it, moving as silently as you can toward the door. You hear his footsteps again, and they’re louder now, meaning he’s getting closer.

You quickly slip out of the guest bedroom and dart down the hallway, trying to keep your steps light. The adrenaline courses through you, and you feel a sudden, almost overwhelming desire to make him chase you a little longer.

But suddenly, just as you round the corner, you stop. 

You press yourself into the wall, holding your breath.

His voice rings out from down the hall, low and rough. "I'm getting close, little bunny. I can feel you. You’re not gonna hide much longer." The challenge has shifted. The ball is in your court now. You might just be able to outsmart him... or you might end up surrendering to his demand, not knowing which would be more satisfying.

Your pulse races as you slip through the room, making your way back to the shared bedroom, your footsteps light but hurried. The house feels bigger now, emptier, as if the space is closing in on you.

Once you reach the door, you pause, a brief moment of hesitation before you push it open, slipping inside. 

The familiar scent of the room—of Katsuki, of home—wraps around you like a comforting blanket, but tonight, there’s no time for comfort.

You quickly climb into the bed, burying yourself beneath the thick comforter, the soft fluff of pillows surrounding you like a fortress. You pull the blankets tight around your body, cocooning yourself under layers, your body hidden from view. For a moment, you take a deep breath, your heart still racing from the game, the thrill not yet over.

You glance at the clock, counting down the minutes in your head. You can feel it—the frantic pace of the house around you, the subtle pressure building as the time slips away. ‘At least three more minutes,’ you think, your breath steadying as you listen to the muffled sounds of movement downstairs.

But then, suddenly, it all stops. 

The noise, the footsteps, the low muttering of Katsuki’s voice—all of it vanishes. 

A dead silence fills the air, so complete that it almost feels like the house has emptied, the stillness pressing in on you. You hold your breath, eyes wide in the darkness beneath the covers, your mind racing as you try to process the sudden absence of sound.

Had he given up? Or was this part of his plan? 

The unknown lingers in the air like a thick fog, and you lie there, still, not daring to move, every muscle tensed. You can’t tell if he’s waiting for you to make a mistake, or if he’s biding his time for something else.

The quiet stretches on, and it feels heavier now, as though Katsuki is just outside, watching, waiting.

You stay as still as possible, your heart pounding so loudly you swear it might give you away. Every inch of your body is frozen in place, breath shallow as you try to listen for any sign of movement, any clue as to what Katsuki is doing.

Then, out of nowhere, you feel it.

Arms wrap around you suddenly, pulling you into a firm hold. Your heart leaps in your throat as you gasp, the air squeezed out of you in an instant. A hand presses firmly over your mouth, stifling any sound that might escape, the heat of his palm searing against your skin. The pressure of his hold leaves no room for escape, your body effectively trapped against his, pressed up against the hard muscles of his body.

You stiffen, but the strength of his grip is unmistakable. The hand on your waist pulls you even closer, locking you in place, and you can feel every rigid line of his body against you. His warmth, the familiar scent of him—it all envelops you, but it only makes the tension sharper, the reality of your situation crashing down.

Katsuki’s body is solid behind you, his breathing steady but low, as though he’s been waiting for this moment, patient and calculating. You can feel his  strength, that palpable aura of control he always carries, and the way his muscles tense beneath your back as he holds you firmly in place.

For a long moment, neither of you move. 

The stillness between you two is thick, broken only by the ragged beat of your heart in your chest. He hasn’t said a word yet, but the way his grip tightens slightly, possessive and unyielding, tells you everything you need to know. He’s won this round, and he’s not letting go anytime soon.

"Did you really think you could hide from me that easily?" His voice comes low, a hiss vibrating through the air, right next to your ear. It’s a whisper, but it feels like a command, and the way his breath brushes against your skin sends a shiver down your spine.

You remain motionless, your mind spinning as you try to process what comes next. 

Katsuki’s grip around you tightens, but instead of the usual sharp dominance, there’s a surprising gentleness to it. His hand on your mouth lifts ever so slightly, his thumb brushing your lips in the softest of motions. For a moment, you’re left breathless, caught between confusion and something more electric that stirs under your skin.

You remain still, heart hammering in your chest, as you feel him pull you even closer, his chest pressing harder against your back. His breath is warm against your ear, and then—unexpectedly—his lips brush against your skin. The kiss is feather-light at first, a tentative press of his lips against your temple, as though testing something, gauging your reaction.

You freeze, the sensation catching you off guard. His lips are soft, too soft for the fierce, fiery hero you know him to be. It’s a contrast you’re not used to, and it disorients you. The kiss lingers for a moment before he pulls back slightly, but only enough to whisper in your ear.

"Don’t move," he murmurs, his voice low and steady, as if speaking to someone fragile. His hands move then, his fingers trailing softly down your mouth, a stark contrast to his usual forceful touch. They’re gentle, almost reverent, as if you were something delicate in his grasp.

You feel the faintest press of his lips again, this time on your neck, where his breath sends a wave of warmth across your skin. His lips trail lower, his kisses soft and careful, almost as though he’s rememorizing the shape of you, the way your body responds to his touch.

Your mind races, trying to process the tenderness, the way his hands glide over your body with such care. 

He’s checking you, almost methodically, like he’s making sure you’re okay, as if this entire moment is more about keeping you safe than playing any kind of game. It’s bewildering, disorienting, and just as you’re about to say something, you realize—it’s not just your arms and neck that he’s gently caressing.

He’s checking every inch of you, his hands roaming down your body with a soft, almost protective touch. When his fingers reach your ankles, you flinch slightly, but he’s too gentle, too careful. He slides your slippers off one by one, his movements so fluid you almost don’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late. He continues his exploration, his hands inching up to your legs, your sides, his lips grazing across your skin as he checks every part of you.

But then you feel it—your robe, the one you’d been wearing only moments ago—is gone. It’s not just slipped off, it’s completely vanished, and the realization hits you like a cold wave. ‘When did he…?’ You don’t even remember him removing it.

Panic surges for a fleeting moment, but the overwhelming gentleness of his touch leaves you frozen in place. The confusion only deepens as you feel him inspect you, feeling each shift and breath of your body, as if making sure everything is just right. His hands linger for a moment on your hips, giving a soft squeeze, before sliding back up your torso, every movement deliberate but tender.

His lips press another kiss to the side of your neck, and this time, there’s an almost loving quality to it—soft and warm, like a promise or reassurance. You finally manage to gather your thoughts, your voice barely a whisper when you ask, 

"Katsuki… What are you doing?"

His hands freeze on your skin for a brief moment, and you can almost feel the pause in him, the weight of your question. He pulls away slightly, enough to look at you, but his hands never leave your body. His gaze meets yours, and the softness in his eyes contrasts with the fierce intensity you’re used to.

“ ’m making sure you’re okay,” he answers, voice still gentle, but it carries a seriousness to it. 

You swallow hard, the conflicting sensations in your chest only growing. His usual fiery nature is subdued now, replaced by something softer, something you’ve never seen from him. His fingers run softly over the edge of your collarbone, a silent question hanging between you both.

And then it clicks—the tenderness, the way he’s inspecting every inch of you, the robe and slippers that vanished without you even noticing. He’s not just searching for a game to win anymore. This is something different, something deeper, and you're left unsure if you should be relieved or even more confused than before.

"Turn this way for me, Peaches."

And that’s when it hits you.

Your blood ran cold. Katsuki never, ever called you Peaches in a normal context. It was a nickname reserved for moments right before things got… nasty. The kind of nasty that involved a lot of heated touches and breathless whimpers. Your muscles seized, a full-body freeze that left you rigid as a statue. All the exhaustion from the gaming session vanished, replaced by a shy, anticipatory buzz that thrummed beneath your skin.

Your mind scrambled, trying to piece together the last few minutes.

When you didn't move, his frustration was palpable, even if it was masked by a layer of concern you couldn't quite place. He reached out, not violently, but with a surprising gentleness in his grip, his calloused fingers curving around your upper arm and turning you towards him. His touch sent a jolt that unthawed your frozen limbs.

His brow was furrowed slightly as he scanned me, his gaze lingering on your shoulders, your arms, your ribcage. The intensity in his eyes wasn't lustful, not yet— it was searching, concerned.

"You didn't hit the floor too hard, did you?" he finally asked, the gruffness in his voice softer than usual. "I saw you stumble." Your breath hitched. ‘You’ve been worried about me?’ You hadn't even noticed. Your mind had been so focused on the teasing nickname and its implications that I’d completely missed the genuine concern in his eyes.

"I… I'm fine," You stammered, the tension slowly releasing its grip, though a different kind of nervous anticipation still simmered within.

Katsuki didn't seem fully convinced, his crimson eyes narrowing as he continued to assess you with that sharp focus. Then, he did something unexpected. He reached out again, but this time, his hands didn't just grip your arms. They slid down your forearms, to my wrists, and then to your hands. He took them in his, his own calloused fingers engulfing your much smaller ones.

The warmth of his skin seared through the thin fabric of your flesh. It was a small gesture, but the intimacy of it sent a different kind of shiver down your spine this time. It was a shiver of warmth, of comfort, and a growing awareness that maybe, just maybe, Peaches could mean different things in different contexts, and Katsuki was far more simple than you gave him credit for.

The tension in the room is thick as Katsuki’s lips near, his body heat radiating from the shadows like a controlled storm. The moonlight spills softly through the balcony doors, casting gentle beams across the floor and bed, painting everything in silvery hues. The only other light comes from the low, moody glow of your vanity, creating a calm contrast to the intensity of his presence. His face stop right in front of you, but you keep your eyes closed, pretending to remain focused on your own breathing.

"Yer not foolin’ me, Peach," Katsuki growls softly, his voice warm with amusement. He dips down in front of you, just within reach. His hand slides slowly up your calf, brushing against your smooth skin, sending a ripple of electricity through your body. His fingers gently graze your legs, rubbing them tenderly as though savoring the feel of them under his touch.

"Ya know," he says, his tone low, "’m gonna learn how to do nails." He pauses, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your inner thigh as he leans in, soft lips brushing against the tender skin of your knee. 

“That way, ya never have ta go back to that damn salon with that shithead.”

His lips leave a gentle kiss on your knee before resting his warm cheek against it, eyes narrowing as he meets your gaze with that sharp, intense look of his. 

“You’re my wife now,” he murmurs, almost as if it’s a promise. 

“I’m gonna take care of you. Always.”

You let out a soft breath, the heat rising in your chest as his words sink in. There’s something about the way he’s holding you, not just physically but emotionally, that makes your heart race. Katsuki is possessive, protective, and you can feel it in every inch of his touch, every word he speaks.

His hands gently grip your legs as his lips travel slowly up, kissing his way higher and higher, each kiss deliberate and full of affection. Your eyes flutter open as his warm breath fans across your skin, a chill running through you only to be quickly washed away by his heat. He pauses for a moment when he reaches your knees, his lips brushing softly against the skin there before his voice rumbles out again, teasing, yet affectionate.

“‘s the matter, Peaches?”

"We both have work tomorrow," you murmur, the words almost slipping out before you can catch them. “We can’t—”

He cuts you off with a kiss to the top of your knee, lingering there just a little longer than necessary. "I own the agency with you, babe," he says against your skin, his breath hot and soothing, sending a tremor through your body. 

"I can make arrangements. I’ll always make arrangements for you."

Your body shivers under his touch, a mix of excitement and anticipation building with every passing second. His kisses are relentless, moving up your legs, up your thighs, and over the soft curve of your hips and stomach as he inches closer to your lips.

A small laugh escapes you, but it’s laced with affection and playfulness. "It’s gonna be cold tonight," you say, voice barely above a whisper. He grins against your breastbone, the corners of his lips curling upward. 

"I’ll warm you up," he promises. His lips are now against your voice box, trailing upward slowly, stopping just shy of your jawline as he waits for your next move. You hesitate for a moment, remembering your freshly blown out hair. 

"I just got my hair done..." you say softly, a small tinge of concern flicking across your thoughts.

Katsuki pauses, his movements stilling entirely as if he’s considering the possibility of ruining your new style. 

Then, without a word, he reaches up, his strong hands gently pulling the silk scarf from your head. Your hair spills around you like a fan, soft and flowing, a stunning contrast to the harshness of the world outside. He picks up a few strands of your blow-out, his fingers lightly running through them as his lips land on them, kissing the strands with a reverence that surprises you.

With a tender smile, he presses a kiss to the top of your head, the very roots of your hair, then moves down, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your eyes, nose, and finally stopping at your lips. His lips linger there for a second, his breath mingling with yours as he pulls away just enough to look into your eyes, his expression soft, almost vulnerable.

“I know,” he murmurs, and before you can say another word, his lips are back on yours, firm and warm, as he pours everything he feels into the kiss. You melt into him, hands finding their way into his hair as you pull him closer. The world outside fades away as he deepens the kiss, kissing you like he can’t get enough, like this moment is something precious he wants to keep forever.

"Mine," he growls possessively, nuzzling into your neck. "All fucking mine."

The two of you finally stop, breathless and glowing with happiness. Katsuki tugs you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a protective warmth. He gently nuzzles against your cheek before pressing a tender kiss to your lips. "You okay?" he asks, his voice soft and laced with concern.

You nod, a giggle bubbling up as you snuggle into his neck. His hands trail over your body in comforting strokes, a loving rhythm that makes you feel cherished. "I'll take you to get your hair fixed tomorrow," he murmurs, a small smile playing on his lips. "But I still think it looks nice. Even when you're all sweaty and fucked out." A teasing glint sparkles in your eyes as you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer. 

"You're such a good husband, Suki. Makes me wonder what you'd be like as a dad," you tease, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his back.

Katsuki's eyes darken with a mischievous glint, and before you know it, you're on your back again, your knees draped over his shoulders. His grin is wicked, but his touch is filled with adoration. 

“What—!”

"Ya know somethin’? I wouldn’ be a good husband ‘less I gave in to all of my wife’s wishes," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. 

"So have it yer way, my love."

SO this was my first time writing a slight smut. How'd I do?

I DON'T OWN THE IMAGES!!!!

My requests are free and open.

Taglist from both of my master lists because I need to feed the cats: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r, icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum. @aespie, @dancingqueen276, @erensbbg, @lillizxzz,

Master lists in question: Katsuki's Sugar baby, Katsuki's Ex who secretly had is baby

My master list is a work in progress but there's plenty more Katsuki, Aizawa, and other characters if you request them. Ao3 is pretty hot too.

You can also tip me a coffee if you want. (Just made it, so excited! \(≧▽≦)/ <33)

Remember: Comments and lives, they really help. Don't be afraid to leave me a sexy little reblog too.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ -Angie

[littlelamy]

housebunni!reader who rose expected was proper manager. someone efficient, organized, and most importantly, stiff; maybe wearing heels. instead, what she got was a wide-eyed little thing in a puff-sleeved sundress and jelly sandals, a 3-inch binder tucked under one arm, and a heart-shaped lanyard around her neck with a sticker that read “hello :)” in pink glitter pen. she walked in smiling like she already loved the place, eyes big and glossy as she twirled once in the foyer and whispered, “oh wow, this house feels like it needs cuddles.”

she misunderstood the title completely. thought “house manager” meant she was there to emotionally care for the building—checking the walls for drafts, petting the bannister when it creaked, cooing sweet nothings to the washing machine. rose nearly sent her away on the spot, but housebunni!reader  beamed and offered her a handmade lavender sachet “for stress, miss rose, i made a bunch in case anyone get anxious at night.” by the end of the week, the estate was indeed running smoother. rooms smelled like sugar cookies, even the pantry was labeled in pastel chalk. sarah found fresh muffins on her desk every morning and wheezie had never been more punctual for school.

housebunni!reader who met rafe when she was tiptoeing down the hall in nothing but a fluffy towel and a juicy headband—and called him “stranger danger” before screaming and running into a closet. she’d just stepped out of the bathroom after her lavender milk bubble bath—the strong scented steam still curling around her, towel clutched to her chest, hair damp and twisted up in a fluffy white towel that made her look like a marshmallow cloud. she turned the corner in the hallway and slammed chest-first into someone—tall, solid, cologne and coldblood eyes—and instinct took over. “eek! stranger danger!” she shrieked, then bolted like a startled deer into the linen closet and slammed the door. rafe—home for the weekend, early—stood stunned, blinking at the towel flutter left behind.

when she finally peeked out, cheeks glowing, arms full of spare pillowcases like some confused laundry fairy, she mumbled, “i’m not supposed to talk to handsome strangers in the hall...are you...a delivery man?”

rafe interested in that mind of hers asked, “you live here?”

and she blinked, tilting her head, confused why a delivery boy was asking her a question. “umm… i think so?”

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ more about her ₍ᐢᐢ₎⊹ ₊

housebunni!reader who talks to the furniture like it’s alive. every morning starts the same: a sleepy shuffle into the living room, bunny slippers flopping with every step, her robe half falling off one shoulder as she whispers, “good morning, mister davenport. did those mean guests put their feet on you again?” as she lovingly smooths the cushions. she says “bless you” when the coffee pot sputters, hums to the vacuum, and leaves fresh-cut daisies in a cracked teacup by the windowsill 'so the sun can have a friend.' rose doesn’t even question it anymore—it gets the job done, and somehow the house has never been cleaner.

housebunni!reader who makes color-coded charts and chore wheels...then forgets what they’re for and ends up baking cookies instead. there’s a massive corkboard in the pantry. it’s supposed to be the tannyhill 'house operations center' but it’s covered in glittery star stickers, marker doodles of happy brooms and vacuum cleaners, and several post-its that say things like “laundry = important!!” and “don’t let the raccoon back in!!” she tries, she really does, but the moment someone tells her “you smell like vanilla frosting,” her whole brain flatlines and she’s giggling and offering to make snickerdoodles from scratch. rafe once found her sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, eating raw cookie dough from the bowl, her apron covered in flour. she offered him a bite with fingers dipped in sugar and said, “shh, don’t tell miss rose. i was supposed to be reorganizing the spice rack but it started smelling like cinnamon, annnd i got...distracted.”

❤︎ notes & tags below

notes: i hope you guys like her! she's inspired by shelley from movie 'the house bunny!'

@rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl @esquivelbianca @p45510n4f4shi0n @palomavz @cokewithcameron @donaldsonsgirl @yncoded @lilbunnysfics @solaceluna @icaqttt @alphabetically-deranged @bevstofu @wintercrows @emluvsuxo @rafestoothbrush @cadhlabear @st8rkey

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter five ♡

Summary: At the Halloween party, you have fun and finally get Joel out of your head. Sure, at least for a few hours, as the night plays a trick on you. WC: 6.1k A/N: Hi! As the tag list has gotten so big (THANK U OMG!!!) and apparently doesn't work too well, I'm not going to use it anymore. From now on, I'll be posting updates through my updates blog! So make sure to follow and turn on notifications <3 love youuu

Saturday, 7 p.m. The evening air carried a quiet sharpness that pricked at the edges of your skin, cool enough to remind you that autumn was in full swing but not so bitter as to warrant more than your tights and boots. You stepped out, the white dress flowing lightly against your thighs, its flared sleeves brushing your arms as you moved. The dark brown corset at your waist felt like a reassuring hand, grounding you, while its lift brought a confidence that hummed softly under your skin. Your boots, stretched to your knees, a quiet defense against the chill creeping in with the fading sunlight.

The door clicked shut behind you, a sound that was at once final and fleeting. You barely had time to register the weight of the evening when the low rumble of Joel’s truck snuck into the quiet, its approach measured, deliberate. You turned, instinctively, just as he stepped out. His movements were unhurried, his gaze low, as though he hadn’t seen you—or as though he was choosing not to. 

The passenger door opened next, and Sarah emerged like a burst of energy, her grin wide and unguarded. She spotted you immediately, her excitement spilling over as she called your name and hurried toward you, her arms flung wide. You caught her easily, her warmth a stark contrast to the crisp air. 

“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice full of a curiosity that felt almost reverent. “You look beautiful.”

You smiled at her, taking in the mismatched charm of her outfit—fluffy bunny slippers peeking out beneath purple pajama pants patterned with white clouds, her coat barely concealing the dark blue long-sleeve shirt underneath. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m going to a Halloween party.”

Sarah pulled back slightly, her brow furrowing in confusion. “But Halloween was last night. It’s November.”

You laughed softly, the sound slipping past your lips like something you hadn’t meant to reveal. “It’s never too late for a party, is it?”

Before Sarah could reply, Joel’s voice cut through the moment like a taut string snapping.

“Sarah. Home.” His tone was firm, unmistakable, though his face only lingered in the doorway for a second before disappearing inside.

Sarah ignored him with the practiced ease of someone who knew how far she could stretch the tether.

“I hope you saved me something good yesterday,” she said, turning back to you, her eyes alight with the thought of treats.

You smiled, brushing a loose strand of her hair aside. “I’m sure Brenda sent some sweets with your dad.”

“Did she make those cara—”

“Sarah.” Joel’s voice rose again, sharper this time, slicing through her sentence. His figure reappeared in the doorway, framed by the warm light spilling out behind him. His gaze landed on her first, then shifted briefly to you, his frown deepening as if your presence was an unwelcome interruption.

“Home,” he said again, the word heavier this time, a command that carried no room for negotiation.

Sarah turned toward him, her annoyance barely concealed.

“In a second!” she called back, her voice tinged with exasperation. Then, with a glance at you, she rolled her eyes dramatically. You couldn’t help but grin, mirroring her expression in a conspiratorial gesture that only seemed to deepen Joel’s scowl.

“NOW,” he barked, his patience finally unraveling. His presence filled the doorway like a storm cloud, and Sarah, sighing, gave in. 

“Go,” you told her gently, resting a hand on her shoulder. Your voice was quiet, steady, though something in your chest tightened as you spoke. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

She nodded, the mischief in her smile dimmed slightly by the weight of her father’s insistence. As she retreated, her steps slow and deliberate, you stayed where you were, watching until the door closed behind her. The ache was subtle but sharp.

You shook the thought from your mind, forcing yourself to let go of the tension Joel's mood had wrapped around you. He wasn’t going to ruin this night—not this one. You tightened your grip on your small purse and started walking toward Travis’s house. Your boots clicked against the pavement with a rhythm that felt too steady for the fluttering nerves you carried.

There was a faint nervousness bubbling under your excitement, a ridiculous thing, really, given that you’d seen Travis just that morning. He’d picked you up to go shopping, laughing at your indecision as you flitted from one idea to the next, caught between wanting something outrageous and something simple. You hadn’t known what to wear for tonight. All you knew was that you wanted to feel good. Pretty, yes. Sexy, definitely. Attractive, for sure. Something about the promise of the evening—the energy it held—made you crave a night where you didn’t have to think too hard, didn’t have to manage the weight of anything heavy. Just a night of effortless fun in good company. 

Travis was exactly the kind of company you needed. Relaxed, thoughtful in that easy way, funny without trying too hard. He knew how to take care of you without making it feel like a burden. When you’d asked for his opinion on a costume, exasperated after hours of fruitless searching, he’d picked up the white dress with an almost boyish confidence. “Victorian pirate,” he’d said with a grin, as if the idea had struck him in the moment. “Or something like that.”

You’d agreed without much thought. The dress was beautiful, and you already had the perfect corset at home to pair it with. It hugged you in all the right places, cinching your waist while lifting your chest just enough to make you feel like the women in those romantic paintings you loved—the ones with soft, curved bodies draped in gauzy fabrics, their skin glowing and inviting. And tonight, you did. The tights and knee-high boots you’d added were practical for the cool night, but they didn’t detract from the overall effect. If anything, they completed it. On the other hand, the corset hugged you the way you imagined the painter’s brush might.

By the time you reached Travis’s door, you felt confident, maybe even a little giddy. You rang the doorbell, the sound breaking the quiet night, and it wasn’t long before the door swung open. Travis stood there, framed by the soft light spilling from his hallway. He looked... well, like something you wouldn’t hesitate to sink your teeth into.

The suit, perfectly tailored, a sharp black with a red tie that caught the light against the pale blue of his shirt. The clear raincoat gave him an edge, its plastic sheen catching and refracting the soft glow from the house behind him. His hair was combed back, deliberate and smooth, and the clench of his jaw softened when he smiled at you.

“What do you think?” he asked, lifting a hand to reveal a plastic axe held loosely in his grip. “I’m Patrick Bateman.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere easy and warm.

“Of course you’re Patrick Bateman,” you said, your smile widening as you stepped inside. Your hand brushed his abdomen lightly as you passed, a touch that felt both casual and charged.

The compliment landed, making Travis pause just long enough to tuck the axe into the pocket of his raincoat. He moved toward you, closing the space between you with an ease that always felt natural. His hand settled at your waist, the leather of your corset soft beneath his fingers.

“Stop it,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he leaned in close. “Telling me that and looking this good? Stop it, or I’ll cancel the party and keep you here all night.”

His breath skimmed the edge of your ear, his lips brushing your jawline just enough to leave your skin prickling with anticipation.

“One compliment and you’re ready to throw the whole night away?” you teased, though the slight rasp in your voice betrayed how his closeness was affecting you. You felt his breath near your ear, the briefest graze of his nose against your skin, his lips brushing your jaw. Your pulse quickened. “You’re an easy target, Dunn.”

He chuckled, the sound soft and warm. “Only for you,” he said, his gaze meeting yours. There was something unguarded in his eyes, something that made the moment feel fragile in a way that was achingly sweet. “But don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

You laughed, leaning into the playful intimacy of it all. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

His lips found yours then, the kiss gentle at first, like he was testing the waters. You leaned in instinctively, wanting more, but before you could deepen it, he pulled away. You bit back a groan of frustration as he grinned, oblivious.

“We’d better go, beautiful,” he said, brushing a hand down your arm as if to soothe you. “People are waiting.”

You sighed, shaking your head with a smile. With Travis, things were always easy—except, maybe, when you wanted just a little more.

*

2 a.m. The cab door slammed shut with more force than you intended, the sound reverberating in the quiet street. The driver turned sharply, scowling.  

“I-I’m sorry,” you muttered, your words tumbling over each other.  

Travis, a few steps ahead, laughed without looking back, his shoulders shaking slightly. His keys jingled as he fumbled to unlock the door to his townhouse. The sound dragged on endlessly, the alcohol in your veins making the small delay feel monumental. You stood beside him, shifting your weight from one aching foot to the other, the dull throb only partially numbed by the buzz in your head.  

“Almost got it,” Travis mumbled, his focus unwavering despite your impatient sighs. Finally, the lock clicked, and he pushed the door open with a triumphant grin.  

You followed him inside, the warmth of his home enveloping you like a soft blanket. Without ceremony, you dropped onto his couch, sinking into its cushions with a relieved groan. Your head lolled back, your body both exhausted and energized, the kind of tension only a night like this could create.  

The evening had been perfect—better than perfect, really. For the first time in months, you’d felt free, truly free, as though the weight of everything that had been haunting you had dissolved into the dark, wine-colored sky.  

The party had been at Renzo’s house, one of Travis’s oldest friends. The place was stunning, a sprawling Mediterranean-style villa that practically glowed against the night. Its white stone façade, crowned with red tiles, looked like it had been plucked from a postcard, while spooky Halloween details added just the right touch of whimsy. Lanterns swayed gently on the porch, casting flickering shadows across life-sized skeletons perched on wicker chairs.  

Inside, the atmosphere was even more enchanting. The main room featured a long wooden table draped in black lace, adorned with candelabras dripping wax, decorative skulls, and bouquets of dried flowers that looked both macabre and elegant. Ceramic plates with dark patterns and gold accents glinted in the candlelight, completing the eerie tableau. Guests milled about in costumes that ranged from impressive to ridiculous, every outfit telling a story.  

You’d met a handful of Travis’s friends, all nice and welcoming. And by the end of the night, Renzo handed out an award for the best costume, which went to his brother Eric for his incredible The Mask ensemble. The details were so perfect, from the prosthetic teeth to the vivid green makeup, that no one could deny it was well-deserved—except Travis, who jokingly accused him of rigging the vote.  

The drinks flowed freely, and you’d had more than enough. By past midnight, your feet ached from dancing, but you didn’t care. The music pulsed, and so did you, your body pressed close to Travis’s. His hands rested on your waist, his touch grounding and electric all at once. For the first time in weeks, your thoughts didn’t drift to the things that usually kept you awake at night. Those dark eyes that haunted you in quiet moments, the ache that twisted your chest when you remembered what you’d tried to forget—they were nowhere to be found.  

Now, on Travis’s couch, you laughed uncontrollably as he struggled to string together a coherent sentence. His head rested lightly against your shoulder, and the sound of his voice, slurred and boyish, made your stomach ache with affection.  

“Whatever, you get what i mean” he said finally, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “God, I shouldn't have had that last drink.”

“Oh, you’re terrible,” you teased, reaching for his tie and pulling him toward you until his eyes met yours. “But I had a beautiful night. Please, let’s make it last.”  

Something shifted in his expression—softened, deepened. He straightened, cupping your face as his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was different from anything you’d shared before. It wasn’t cautious or measured, the way Travis usually was. This was eager, unrestrained, his mouth moving against yours like he’d been holding himself back for far too long.  

His hands found your legs, lifting them over his lap as he leaned into you. You fell back against the cushions, his weight pressing into you just enough to make your breath hitch. His lips left yours to trail along your neck, leaving a path of heat that made your chest rise and fall unevenly.  

Your fingers tangled in his hair, undoing the careful style he’d worn all evening. He groaned softly at the contact, his face lifting to meet yours again as he kissed you harder, his desire palpable and infectious.  

Your hands moved down to his belt, fumbling with the buckle in a blur of anticipation and urgency. The sound of the clasp coming undone was like a victory bell ringing in your ears.  

But then, suddenly, he froze.  

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice strained as he pulled away, turning his face to the side. “Shit, I’m gonna be sick.”  

You blinked, startled, as he scrambled off the couch and hurried toward the stairs.  

For a moment, you just sat there, propped up on your elbows, your breath coming in uneven bursts. The absurdity of the situation hit you like a wave, and despite yourself, you let out a laugh.

The moment you stood up, your feet wobbled beneath you, betraying the steadiness you were trying to project. The stairs seemed endless, each step doubling before your eyes as if the staircase were playing tricks on you. You gripped the banister tightly, willing yourself not to topple over. The vodka shots coursing through your veins made everything feel both distant and intensely vivid, the sensation disorienting but oddly comforting.  

When you finally reached the bathroom, the door was slightly ajar, the light spilling out in soft, pale streaks. Inside, Travis was hunched over the toilet, his body curled into itself, his face ghostly pale.  

“Oh,” you said softly, unsure what else to offer in the way of comfort. You moved closer, your hand instinctively finding the back of his neck, your fingers brushing the damp hair sticking to his skin. His vulnerability struck something tender in you.  

The sour smell hit you immediately, sharp and invasive, making your stomach churn in protest. But you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on Travis, on the fragility of the moment.  

He groaned softly as his body shuddered, expelling the last traces of that ill-fated drink—the electric blue cocktail he’d downed with so much confidence earlier. You grimaced at the sight but stayed, stroking his back in slow, soothing circles until the worst had passed.  

When he leaned back against the tiled wall, his face glistening with sweat, you reached out to flush the toilet, closing the lid with a gentle finality.  

“God,” he croaked, his voice thin and hoarse. “I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?”  

You laughed lightly, kneeling in front of him, your head tilting as you studied his expression. There was a defeated sort of charm in the way he looked at you, his eyes half-lidded, his usual confidence dimmed by the night’s chaos.  

“Not at all,” you replied, your words softened by the alcohol still fogging your mind. Your hand came to rest on his knee, a quiet reassurance. “Tonight’s been perfect.”  

Travis groaned, letting his head loll back against the wall. “My reputation’s in shambles. Now my pretty neighbor thinks I’m a mess.”  

You laughed again, louder this time, your inhibitions dulled enough to find his self-pity endearing. “You think I’m pretty?”  

His eyes stayed closed, but his lips curved into a smile, lazy and unguarded. “Are you kidding? No wonder Joel Miller hates me.”  

Your laugh faltered, the name cutting through the haze of the night like a blade. You blinked slowly, leaning your head against his knee, letting out a sigh that felt too heavy for the moment.  

“Oh, man,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you have to bring him up?”  

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Travis said quickly, his hand falling clumsily to your back. “Now I’ve really screwed up, haven’t I? I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I pre—”  

“Stop,” you cut him off, your voice quiet but firm. You lifted your head to meet his gaze, his curious eyes watching you closely now. “Are you feeling better?”  

“Much better,” he said, offering a small, sheepish smile.  

You pushed yourself to your feet, leaning against the sink for balance. He followed your movements, standing slowly and steadying himself with a hand against the wall. Without a word, you leaned your head against his arm, closing your eyes as you listened to the soft rhythm of his breathing.  

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, suspended in the quiet warmth of the moment, but eventually, Travis stirred. He touched your shoulder gently, his other hand extended to help you up.  

Downstairs, you collapsed onto the couch again, the effort of descending the stairs leaving you slightly breathless. Travis returned with a glass of water, holding it out with a knowing look.  

“Drink,” he said simply.  

You obeyed reluctantly, grimacing as you took a few sips. “I’m going to have a huge hangover tomorrow,” you muttered, setting the glass on the coffee table.  

“Me too,” Travis admitted, lying down beside you with a heavy sigh.  

You glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s only three in the morning?” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief. “God, I’m old.”  

Travis laughed, his grin lopsided and a little drunk. “I swear I thought it was, like, like five in the morning.”  

You chuckled, but the weight of the night was catching up with you. Your eyes drifted shut, and the world faded into a soft blur.  

When you forced them open again, sometime later, Travis was fast asleep beside you, his breathing slow and even. You sat up, careful not to disturb him, and gently shook his forearm.  

“Hey,” you whispered. “I’m going home.”  

He mumbled something incoherent, his eyes fluttering but refusing to open.

“L-let me walk you home,” he slurred, his head tilting to the side as sleep reclaimed him.  

You smiled at the sight of him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“See ya,” you whispered, the words hanging in the air as you let yourself out.

The cool night air greeted you with a sharpness that cut through the haze of alcohol still coursing through your system. It startled you, a shiver running up your spine as you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself. You were still drunk, but the world felt steadier now, your feet moving carefully across the pavement as you crossed the quiet street.

In your mind, you conjured the image of your warm bed waiting for you, the soft embrace of your pajamas, and maybe, if you could muster the energy, the luxury of a hot shower. The thought made your body ache for rest, but then you noticed the soreness in your face—a dull reminder of the unrelenting smile you’d worn since you’d said goodbye to Travis.

You were happy. Light. Effervescent, even. The kind of happiness that made you feel untouchable, like nothing could weigh you down.

That feeling lingered as you approached your house, though it faltered slightly when you passed by the Millers’ place. Your eyes were drawn, almost involuntarily, to the living room window. A soft, warm light glowed behind the half-transparent curtains, the kind that could only come from a solitary lamp left on too late. You slowed your steps, your gaze lingering as the sharp memory of Joel’s voice from earlier that evening surfaced.

Authoritative. Abrupt. Unbearable.

The way he’d called Sarah home felt unnecessary, almost punitive. Why had he insisted so forcefully? He didn’t usually mind her spending time with you, so why now? And what if things between you and Joel had soured to the point where he forbade Sarah from seeing you altogether? The thought stung, a sharp contrast to the Joel you used to know—the one who would never have done something like that. You hated that you couldn’t anticipate him anymore. And lately, it seemed like everything about him had shifted, like you were seeing a stranger instead of the man you’d once—

“Are you okay?”

The voice, low and steady, cut through your thoughts, making you jump. You looked up sharply, your heart skipping as your eyes adjusted to the dark porch. Joel was sitting there, barely visible except for the faint gleam of the streetlights reflecting in his eyes like stars as he watched you, his expression unreadable, the faintest hint of concern etched into his features.

You didn’t respond right away. Your brain was scrambling, trying to piece together an answer while simultaneously processing the sight of him. He stood then, stepping into the light just enough for you to see him more clearly—the broad set of his shoulders, the slight furrow in his brow, 

“What... what are you doing here?” you managed finally, your voice wavering slightly.

“Here?” he repeated, the corners of his mouth twitching in what could have been a smile. “I live here. What are you doing here?”

“I live next door,” you shot back, your tone almost defensive. You tilted your head, studying him more closely. “I meant out here. What are you doing outside? It’s late.”

Joel hesitated, his hand brushing the back of his neck in a way that told you he wasn’t going to give you a straight answer. And of course he wouldn't tell you that he'd spent the evening on his couch watching TV, alone, or that he’d been restless all evening.

After having dinner with Sarah, she'd retreated to her room—furious with him for cutting her time with you short—he’d spent the better part of the night sitting on his couch, half-watching some mindless TV show, his attention divided between the screen and the window. Waiting. Then, just as he was beginning to close his eyes, a sharp knock woke him up; the cab door. But of course, he didn't get to see the yellow car because when he got to the window, he only got to make out your body coming through Travis' door, cab long gone. 

When you disappeared inside Travis house, something inside him twisted. Restlessness turned into something heavier, something he couldn’t name, and the next thing he knew, he was on the porch with a beer in his hand, staring out into the night like the answer might appear if he stayed long enough.

“It’s Saturday,” he said finally, his voice calm, almost teasing. “Well, Sunday now.”

You nodded absently, but your eyes betrayed you, roaming over him without restraint. It had been a while since you’d let yourself really look at him. Lately, every glance had been fleeting, clouded with irritation or anger. But now, in the quiet glow of the streetlights, there was no denying it.

He was beautiful. Infuriatingly, achingly beautiful.

Your stomach twisted with the realization, the way it always did when you thought about him for too long. You could try to distract yourself with Travis, with his boyish charm and kind eyes, but it wasn't enough. 

Travis didn’t have those dark, fathomless eyes that seemed to hold every one of your secrets. He didn’t have that nose you loved so much or the lips you’d tasted once and could never forget. His voice wasn’t rough and silken all at once, nor did it carry the weight of every word like Joel’s did.

You hated how much you liked him, how much you wanted him. It was uncomfortable, unbearable, because there was nothing you could do about it. Joel was untouchable now, a door that had been closed and locked a month ago.

“I hate you, Joel,” you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. They weren’t loud, but they were steady, deliberate.

His smile faded, replaced by a quiet, thoughtful expression. He nodded slightly, as if weighing your words.

“Do you?” he asked, his voice level, his eyes searching yours.

You smiled faintly, almost amused by the softness in his tone. You shifted your weight, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Do you care about it?”

“Of course I do,” he said, his voice dipping lower with honesty. “But I know it’s not true.”

"Why do you always say that?" you demanded, voice thick with frustration, your arms crossed so tightly against your chest it felt like you might bruise your own ribs. The alcohol in your bloodstream turned every word into a dare, every thought into an accusation. "'I know it's not true. I know you're lying. I know you don't mean it'. What, are you like this omniscient, all-knowing shit—blah, blah, blah?. Didn't it ever occur to you that maybe you don't know anything at all?"

Joel’s eyes softened, his expression unreadable but intent. His hands stayed buried in his pockets, steady while you felt like you were spinning out of control.

"Lately? Yeah," he said finally, his voice low. "I don’t know anything."

The simplicity of his confession, the quiet honesty of it, made you snort in disbelief. You turned your head to the side, looking anywhere but at him, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your thoughts from spilling out unchecked. When you looked back, his eyes weren’t on your face anymore. They’d dropped lower, lingering somewhere around your waist. Probably on your corset, you realized. Suddenly, the fabric felt suffocating. Not painfully tight, but enough to make you aware of every breath you took.

“What are you looking at?” you asked, tone sharp, defensive. And when he didn’t answer, you pressed harder. “What do you want, Joel?”

“Me?” he asked, his voice calm, almost indifferent.

You nodded, daring him to answer.

“I don’t know.” His lips tilted in a faint smirk. “You’re the one standing here in my doorway. Weren’t you just peeking in my window?”

Your mouth fell open. “I wasn’t peeping, dumbass,” you said, fumbling over the words, heat rushing to your face. “I was—”

"Yes, you were," he interrupted smoothly, a trace of a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t smug, not really, but it wasn’t innocent either.

God, it was infuriating.

"Ugh," you groaned, the sound dragged out like it could physically push him away. Your arms dropped to your sides, and you turned your face skyward, exasperated. "Were you always this much of an asshole?"

Joel held back a laugh, his head shaking slightly as he raised his eyebrows at you, his silence infuriatingly steady.

"Okay," he said finally. "You’re drunk."

"Yeah, Einstein," you shot back, your voice sharp and your eyes wide as you threw your hands in the air in mock applause. "You’re finally right about something! Everyone, let’s hear it for Joel!"

You clapped for him, slow and exaggerated, addressing an invisible audience. Joel glanced down, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face before he hid it.

That didn’t stop the memory from rising, unbidden: Clara, her hand slipping into his at the barbecue, her laugh bright and flirtatious, her eyes shining with self-satisfaction. It had turned your stomach then, and now the bitterness came rushing back in full force.

"Do you think what you’re doing is right, Joel?" you asked, your tone sharper than before, slicing through the fragile quiet between you.

His brows knit together, confused, and he tilted his head slightly as if to ask what you meant.

"Do you think you’re accomplishing anything by sleeping with the women in this neighborhood?" you continued, your words rushing out faster now. "I mean, first you sleep with me—oh, the worst mistake of your life—then you sleep with Clara. And what about Sienna? What does she think of all this? You’re a selfish, irresponsible man, Joel Miller, so irresponsible." The words kept spilling, your voice trembling now, laced with both anger and something softer, something that felt like pain. "And as if that wasn’t enough, you’ve ruined us. Completely. And I hate you for that, Joel. I hate you because you’re not the man I thought you were. And i love you so much I—"

Your gaze dropped to the ground, unable to meet his eyes. The tears welled up before you could stop them, blurring the edges of your vision and leaving your cheeks hot.

You hated how raw it all felt. How exposed. And worse, how the alcohol that had loosened your tongue was no longer numbing enough to shield you from the reality of what you’d just said.

Before you could stop him, Joel’s hands came to rest gently on your arms. The warmth of his touch made your stomach flip, and it took everything in you to pull away.

“No,” you said firmly, shaking him off and turning on your heel. But you barely managed two steps before your foot caught awkwardly in front of the other, sending you stumbling.

You yelped as your palm scraped against the ground, but Joel caught your other arm before you could fully collapse. The heat of embarrassment rushed to your face as you stood quickly, brushing off your dress and refusing to look at him.

You marched toward your door with renewed determination, ignoring the sting in your palm and the sound of his voice calling after you.

“Wait,” he said, his tone softer now, almost pleading. 

But you didn’t stop. Your trembling fingers fumbled with the key, eyes fixed on the lock as if opening the door quickly enough could make him—and everything you’d just said—disappear.

The key slid into the lock on your first try, a stroke of luck you hadn’t expected. You stumbled inside, not bothering to close the door behind you. Maybe it was unconscious, or maybe some buried, foolish part of you wanted him to follow. Whatever the reason, Joel did, shutting the door softly as he stepped in, his footsteps trailing after your clumsy, rushed ascent up the stairs. His hand found your lower back more than once, steadying you whenever your feet betrayed you and your balance faltered.

When you reached your room, his presence pressed down on you, heavy and inescapable. Your chest felt tight, emotions boiling over with an intensity you couldn’t contain. The exhaustion—of everything—clawed at your insides, raw and relentless.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, spinning to face him, your palms colliding with his chest in a sharp slap. The sound echoed between you, loud and angry. You hit him again, this time harder, though he barely moved, only stepping back an inch. “Fuck you. Fuck you. You’re a complete asshole, and I hate you. I hate you so much.” Your fists clenched, pounding against him now, the blows strong but harmless.

Joel didn’t resist. He let your fists land where they would, but then his hands rose, gentle and deliberate, catching your wrists mid-punch. The pressure of his fingers around your forearms was firm but not threatening, as if he was trying to guide the violence out of you without a word.

His stillness broke you more than anything could, and the weight of his quiet left you reeling, unsure of what to say next. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Why was he standing there, letting you fall apart?

“Say something!” you cried, your voice cracking, desperate and raw.

But he didn’t. His silence stretched between you, maddening and unbearable.

Your vision blurred as tears spilled over, hot and heavy, the release leaving you shaking. Your sobs filled the room, a sound so guttural it startled even you.

“Why did you have to do this to me?” you demanded, your fists still pressed against his chest, though they no longer moved. Your voice broke entirely now, trembling as you added, “Why do you keep hurting me, Joel, why are you acting like this? What did I do to deserve this from you?”

Joel’s breath hitched, his shoulders sinking as if under the weight of your words. His eyes, glassy and red, shone in the dim light. “I-I’m sorry, I'm sorry” he whispered, his voice rough and uneven. “I’m so sorry. Please… please forgive me. I love you, baby, I love you, I've al—”

“No, you don’t.” You shook your head, your voice trembling as his hands left your wrists and wrapped around you instead, pulling you closer. “You don’t.”

But you didn’t push him away. His arms were warm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself fall into them. The pain dulled, just slightly, under his touch. You hated him for it. You hated yourself more for letting it happen.

“Yes, I do,” Joel said, his voice thick with emotion.

You wanted to look up, to see his face, to know if the tears in his voice matched the ones burning in your eyes. But you couldn’t bring yourself to. Instead, you buried your face in his chest, inhaling the scent of him, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek.

Gently, he scooped you up and carried you to the bed. He set you down softly, his hands brushing against your arms as he pulled away. You sank back into the pillows, your gaze distant, your sobs quieting into sniffles.

Joel knelt at the edge of the bed, his hands moving to unlace your boots. He didn’t look at you, his focus entirely on the task, but his face betrayed him. His eyes were rimmed red, his cheeks damp, his expression taut with pain.

Once the boots were gone, you lay back fully, staring blankly at the ceiling as the room swayed gently around you. Your head throbbed, and your chest ached, but the tears had slowed, leaving behind only exhaustion.

The mattress shifted behind you as Joel settled in beside you. He kept his distance, but you could feel the heat of him near you, the tension in the air, a palpable thing you didn’t know how to navigate. You could still hear his breathing, steady but strained.

When his fingers brushed your waist, you stiffened.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice breaking softly. “Let me take that off. It can’t be comfortable, right?”

"No," you answered, and as the corset loosened, you felt a wave of relief rush through you, a softness you hadn’t even realized you needed.

Joel moved the corset off your body in one smooth motion, dropping it carelessly to the floor. Then, he returned to his position, inches away, and for a few minutes, there was nothing but silence between you again.

You closed your eyes, the weight of the night pressing against you, the exhaustion dragging you into a dreamless sleep. But just before you drifted off, you heard your own voice, quiet and pleading.

“Please go home, Joel,” you whispered. “I want to be alone."

He didn’t argue, although you could hear him doubting. Then, you felt him shift behind you, his hand brushing your arm briefly in a gesture that felt almost like goodbye.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, his voice so low it was nearly inaudible.

The door clicked shut behind him, and you exhaled deeply, letting the tears come again, though they felt emptier now, less urgent.

Next door, Joel stepped into his house, the quiet suffocating him as he sank into the couch. The air felt too thick, the walls too close. He pressed his hands to his face, trying to keep himself from falling apart, but it was no use. The despair was overwhelming, a mix of regret, shame, and a self-loathing so profound it left him hollow. And he couldn't help thinking that maybe, it was too late after all. No action or word from him could undo the pain he had seen in your eyes that night.

In the quiet of his own mind, he hated himself more than you ever could. 

-

@nobodyssfool @gigistorm @maryfanson @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @cosmic006533-blog @doblasftcisco @maiyart @concrete-jungleeee @playboygirlsnextdoor00 @powellssaturn @kyloispunk @paleidiot @aceaubrianna @liciafonseca @kaolusha @beeboopski @rosebuds-and-moonlight @the-universe-is-complicated @formulafun @chewie-bars @glizzymcguirex @pedroswife69 @ivoryandflame @dixonswingz @sarahhxx03 @mellymbee @dailyobsession @msmorningstaarr @mystickittytaco @xxreginaxx @marellabyr @spacegirl-3 @alrihhty @heheheilovepedro @svrgs-blog @94namkooksworld @puddles221b @cowboymcflurry @medusaandposeidonshead @stylesispunk @sweatpeakarolinaa @puddles221b @deansimpalagirl @jasminedragoon @lover-of-books-and-tea @whimsiwitchy @cuteanimalmama @theherothesavior @ivoryandflame

[hoseoksluna]

TANGERINE | myg (m)

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff — comfort

rating: 18+

summary: yoongi has figured out a way how to make your life easier.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: brief sexual intercourse — controlled riding, anxiety, crying, feelings of fear, provider!yoongi, hoseoksluna's inner child trope, smoking habits as a form of coping.

luna's note: i wasn't planning to post anything as i was just trying to stay alive this week. i tried to write something, but the words felt weird, so i thought i was to abandon writing for the week. that is, until i saw a reel of a guy, a girl and a tangerine (not spoiling it for you). so i ran to my yoongi and allowed him to make me feel better. this took two days to write, and i hope you enjoy. i love you all with all my heart. thank you for all your comforting messages. i read them everyday. mwah. luna loves you so much.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster, 

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, 

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

It was the color of the ripest, the sweetest tangerine that unfolded across the pendulous clouds, undulating around their soft, puffy bodies before it entered them, saturating them with its potent tint. You had just finished your cigarette on the darkened street outside of your home with your boyfriend by your side, who had dropped the last hour of his office work and came straight to you—simply because he sensed that you needed him. 

Yoongi knew by your curt, short sentences, which lacked your usual zest and life, that something was wrong. He didn’t suffocate you with useless questions about the evidence of your sadness like anyone in his place would, but instead got inside his car and sped down the road, still wearing his midnight blue military shirt and dress pants that never fit him right. You always thought that detail perfectly illustrated how he doesn’t belong there, how he shouldn’t, in fact, be there at all. 

But the office work does him good, thankfully. He gets the job done and gets to come home right after the fifth hour of the day—into the warmth between his music-strung walls. Sometimes, you wait for him there with dinner ready on the stove. Sometimes, he asks where you would rather spend your night, attuned to your moods and wishes like no one in your life is. They’re as important to him as the fact whether you’ve eaten at all, as you have the tendency to forget. Especially, when you sink inside the wooden cube of your sadness. 

He knows, intimately, the color of the wood that once used to be a tree. Spent time inside that stifling confinement with you on many, many occasions. But something about this occasion is different. 

It seems as though he’s no longer willing to dwell inside that unlit space with you. 

On his way to you, he had called your favorite restaurant and ordered you a big bowl of beef broth with hotteok on the side. It’s the reason why he didn’t come up to your apartment, but instead called you and told you to come down so that you would both wait for the food to be delivered and go back inside. You grabbed your winter jacket, with your pack of Marlboros and your white lighter in your pocket, and, slipping your feet inside your thick-soled, fluffy outside slippers, you went down to him as fast as your legs allowed you. Your muscles were weary, influenced by your mental exhaustion, and they appeared to have loosened upon the sight of him, leaned against the sleekness of his black car, still wearing his military uniform, made discreet by the largeness of his long puffer coat. 

At this point of your three-years long relationship, he doesn’t have to get out of his car, but he does—despite the fact you’d recognize his car even if your vision failed you. He does it out of his unfailing respect for you, and he had told you so, once upon a time. Guys that don’t get out of their cars for their girls are lazy and they don’t give a f—they don’t give a damn about them. 

He never liked to swear around you. Said your ears were too precious to hear something so indelicate. Your heart swelled with a wave of such premature love for him at that time. It had been just the beginning of your relationship when his honesty, which bore such colored words as these, worked into the flesh of your too wounded heart. You knew, right then and there, that he was the one for you—the one you dreamed about having, the one you searched for in your closest and in strangers alike. No one was like him and it cost you welts that he regards as birthmarks, pathways of stars on your body that he likes to kiss. Likes to take care of. Likes to caress.

Husband, he became to you. At the freshness of it all. 

His eyes were glossy as your feet took you to him. You wore your fuzzy, pastel-hued sleep pants with a few sizes too big sweatshirt of the same material that had the resiliency to protect you from winter’s cold alone. Your smoking sweatshirt, your sleep sweatshirt, too. Someone had comfort food or characters; you had a soft, teddy bear sweatshirt that you clung to. Yoongi didn’t reflect any surprise to see you dressed in this outfit. His mouth was lopsided in a firm line as he sprung from his car and swathed you in his arms, cradling your head in his hand, which he then pressed into the crook of his neck. The wind filtered through your unbrushed hair, tousled from your post-work lazing around, and his palm smoothed down those little hairs that have always managed to get on your last nerve. 

He kissed them, too. Tamed them, for the sake of your mental health. 

That hug and that gesture of his unknotted your sadness, giving them airways to breathe through. Naturally, while inhaling the briskness of the winter’s breath, you pulled away, and Yoongi knew what you needed next. He fished a pack of his Raisons and while you smiled at the little elongated, elegant cat drawn on it that resembled him more than anything, he nudged the butt of the cigarette between his lips, lighting it up for you before he placed it between yours, holding it as you took a drag. 

Your heart palpitated—as if he did it for the first time in this lifetime, but he didn’t. 

Acts of service was his love language and him lighting up a cigarette for you was one of the many ways he showed you how much he loved you. You never grew tired of it. Hell, you never got used to it. It invariably flooded your irises with a wetness of tenderness, no matter how many times a month he would do it for you. 

No one could ever love you like he loved you. 

The tangerine tinges cast a certain glow of homely familiarity as you quietly smoked your cigarette, sharing it with him every two puffs. And once he threw it out for you in the makeshift glass jar ashtray you stash in the thickness of the bushes lining the pathway to the apartment complex, the tinges darkened to the midnight blue of his shirt uniform and Yoongi took your hand and hid you away into the heated snugness of his car. 

There he began to talk. 

“Did something happen at work?” 

You could only nod. Could only scoff with hatred for the cursed building and let out an unnecessary remark that felt necessary for your heart, for your mental well-being. 

“Like always.” 

And at times like these, when you emerge from the difficulties of your workplace, he never opens the suggestion of you finding another job. Your family members and friends, they always fling it at you, not aware of the deeper difficulty that would come with your leaving. They don’t understand that you have to push through, but Yoongi does—because he has done so many, many times throughout the eleven years of his idol journey. 

You’re most thankful to him for it. 

“Why didn’t you call me on your lunch break?” he asks, taking your flaccid hand in his, warming it up with gentle squeezes on his lap. His eyes glide over the side of your face, softly demanding your response, and you blink at the sudden pressure. 

Something has changed. Something feels bigger than your vision is able to take in. 

“I—I forgot,” you say, truthfully, inhaling this severity of the shift, and you straighten your spine, prepare yourself for whatever it is. “I’m sorry. I blanked out and then I ate, and then I had to go back to work.” 

Yoongi sighs, lifting your hand to his lips. “I could’ve helped you.” He kisses your knuckles, made rough by the winter’s icy touch. “I could’ve done something that would prevent you from going home like this.” His lips pucker against your upper knuckles, and then he turns your hand and rests the side planes of his face against that little half-cocoon of your palm. “Is that not what I’m here for?” 

Guilt compresses your clavicles, traveling all the way up to your throat. As you thickly swallow, a lump forms inside that column, triggering your tears that haven’t had the chance to pour out just yet.

“I know you don’t like to talk about what happened. I respect you don’t want to relive it, I understand, but it’s my responsibility to help you,” he rasps, his tone so low and woody, mimicking the surface of your sadness and destroying it in the process, for it punctures you in your gut, buzzing your butterflies for him with vigor. “I’ve thought about this for a long time and I came to a conclusion while driving to you.” The same glossiness that you saw filling his eyes liquefies and the extent of it all breaks his voice as he continues to speak. “Do you see your future with me?” 

Something akin to a rock bashes against your heart and your stomach drops. 

The panic doesn’t settle in. Not just yet. Not until you verify that you understood the meaning of his words in the way he was trying to get them across. You need clarity before the principality of it can force your world, your life to collapse over your delicate head.

“Are you breaking up with me?” you ask, whispering—because if you use your full voice, it’ll break just like his, and you’ll break, too. 

Like the tangerine hue unfolded across the clouds, pain permeates his countenance in the same way. Wrinkles dig into his skin as his features pull in, twisting them while he comprehends your question. The breath he lets out is short, coated with a kind of heaviness that you know by heart, that you know is induced by the enemy that carries the name ‘anxiety’. 

And then his phone rings. 

Yoongi wipes off his tears, lifting his head from the premises of the warmth of your touch. Clears his throat. Presses the green button on the screen of his phone. 

“Yeoboseyo?” 

He nods his head as though the other person on the other side of the phone call could see him, hums, talks and apologizes while you stand at the edge of the earth, about to be flung out into the bottomless space by one singular, uninterrupted sentence directed towards you. 

That much power he has over you; that much he means to you. 

Yoongi ends the phone call without saying goodbye, a fatigued huff of air escaping the small hole of his mouth as he stares down the screen of his phone, contemplating something. You can’t think about what it is, you can’t pivot on your feet and run away from the cliff to help him. Not when this is a life or death situation and you can’t breathe. 

“My boss just cursed me off for leaving an hour early without excusing myself,” Yoongi explains without sparing you a glance, his eyes glued still to his phone that he soon rubs with both of his hands whilst he tries to compose himself. “I fu—I hate it here so much.” 

A stab to your gut. You relate to him, relate to him in such heavenly and beyond heavenly measures that the tears that flow out next are for him, too. But this can’t be the matter to flesh out, not right now. You murmur his name, painfully so, bring him back to the airy context of your relationship because you need to know if you still have him. 

Yoongi glances at you, at last. This thumb and forefinger are instantly drawn to your chin and he tilts your head to him, leaning over. He doesn’t kiss you on your lips. No, he kisses the glimmering traces of your tears upon your cheek, which are the only source of light upon this sphere. No sun, no moon in sight. Only your tears, only the remnants of it—the tears that are so very often internal, let out merely on the inside of your body. Never in front of him, never externally. 

His kiss is hard, demanding once again, but this time you don’t know what he’s seeking. 

“Don’t cry,” he purrs against your skin, against the shine of your tears—and because he didn’t ask about the reason behind them, you perceive what he’s truly demanding. 

Mending. 

Solace. 

Mollification. 

There, beyond those wishes, hides his regret. You feel it strongly, as if it were the veins that lined translucently your skin. He’s not the only one who’s attuned to your moods and wishes; you’re connected to him by an invisible string, which lets you in on the different hues of his heart, his emotions, his lacks and his wishes. It’s a team play that works, watering each other like that, and right now you need to overbrim with the essence of his intelligence, dominance and spoken word. 

You need the truth. 

“Are you leaving me?” you ask again, choosing alternative words with more softness, demanding his response with more power than he ever used. There’s no time to give substance to the reasons—perhaps they were already painted on the sunset you both watched together while sharing a cigarette. You simply need to be shown the roads of yes or no. 

Yoongi blinks in this proximity, his wispy eyelashes brushing against your cheeks, and he withdraws, piercing his gaze through yours in a certain pensiveness, pain and poignancy that makes this even worse. 

“I want to marry you.”

You gasp in a soft manner, which is an oxymoron to the firework that begins to pelt against your internal flesh. Your vision blurs in the speed of light, your liquid emotions pouring down and following the trails your past tears left behind without an ounce of care. Yoongi purrs as he witnesses it, his hand coming to pat down your unruly hair, giving heat to your cold fear, but the sound he makes isn’t of endearment. 

It’s one full of ache. 

“For the longest time I thought about how I could make your life easier,” he begins to explain, his thumb rooting at the apple of your cheek to collect all of your ceaseless tears. “I know you can’t quit your job right now just like I can’t quit mine so I had to think of other options.” He wipes the digit on the underside of your bottom lid, catching the blackness of your mascara. “And the only option is that I buy a house in the future, I marry you and I pay for your health insurance.” His mouth cracks into a half-smile that ripples beneath the blurriness of your vision. “You can be at home, focus on your hobbies. Maybe you can get an income from those, too. Whatever you’d like.” 

You can’t hold yourself back from hugging him, and Yoongi can’t hold himself back from manhandling you and placing you on his lap. He rubs your thighs, let your feet rest on your seat, and he goes the extra mile to take off your slippers to be even more comfortable while you cling to his neck. And the way you transform into a little girl taken care of is the ultimate ointment to your stress-induced sadness. Its airways burst into smithereens, dispersing off and away from your system, and you begin to breathe in the aroma of his car and his personal scent as a girl forever changed, forever provided for. 

He kisses your forehead, cradling your jawline. “That’s why I asked you if you see your future with me. I want to do that for you. I want to set you free from your stress and take care of you because I can.” 

You whimper against the column of his neck, your fingers sinking into the length of his hair at the nape. “Of course I see my future with you. I can’t see myself with anyone else, Yoongi. I love you; you’re too important to me.” 

The purr he emits next is different, covered with an overflowing fountain of love and pleasure for you from your words, and the sound penetrates your mind, untwisting all of those bad thoughts and pushing them away. “I love you, too. You want to marry me, baby?” 

He pulls his lips away from your forehead to look down at you, that glossiness once again overwhelming his eyes, and you nod. “I do.” 

And with those words, you perhaps did tie the knot somewhere in the spiritual realm. 

Yoongi pecks your nose. “Are you gonna let me take care of you?” 

You hesitate, shy all of a sudden, thoughts of how it’s not right, how you don’t deserve it, how it makes you less of a woman than you are resurfacing in your mind—and it is as though Yoongi can read them because he smooths out the wrinkles on your forehead with his thumb, fighting them. 

“It’s your decision, think about it,” he says, softly, sweeping the belly of that digit down the slope of your nose. “And in the meantime when it gets bad again at work, I want you to remember it. Use it to distract your mind from the stress, even if you end up declining my offer in the long run. Nothing changes, I’ll still marry you, baby.” 

The thoughts, once again, wither in the overgrown bushes of your mind, and calmness like a tide washes over your folded body on his lap. You nod, tucking that reminder into your heart to remember later in the future, and you rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat the accompaniment to your ultimate peacefulness. 

Yoongi reposes with you for just a minute. He, then, begins to rummage through his glove box and only stumbles across a small tangerine that nearly gets lost in the width of his palm. He peels it for you while you watch—and once he’s done, he takes the ring finger of your left hand and holds the body of the fruit at the long tip of your nail. 

“I, Min Yoongi, promise to take care of you until the day I die,” he proclaims and slides the tangerine down the length of your slender finger until it sits at the base like a true promise ring. 

You hiccup, overloaded with another onrush of tears, and you scramble up to kiss him. And you do—you give him so many kisses until his lips are puffy and until your moment is again interrupted by another phone call. And it’s not his boss, who’s calling him this time around. It’s the food delivery guy, with your hot beef broth and hotteok in his bag, and together you step out of the car with carmine-wash cheeks. 

Inside your apartment, Yoongi watches you eat. Sitting on the sofa beside you with his elbows propped on his knees, his blush deepens with each spoonful of soup you take to your mouth. And when you begin to share your soup with him just like you shared your cigarette with him, Yoongi is so smitten, so endeared that he can’t let out a full sentence without stuttering, without messing up so bad that he hides his face in his hands, his gummy smile prominent and lighting up the living room. 

And then you’re in bed, but the love making isn’t as quick and lust-dripping like it traditionally is. Everything about the snap of his hips into your core is slow, yet meaningful as if he was fucking his promise into you. You’re supposed to be riding him, being on top like that, however Yoongi isn’t letting you. He’s fleshing out his promise of being the provider by having your wrists in a tight grip behind your back while he pounds your future into you with hard, yet controlled thrusts that empty your brain out of every little left-over fragments of your negative thoughts and emotions. His breathing is ragged as he works so hard, breaking a sweat as he changes your life, holding you upwards by your neck, maintaining an authoritative and vigorous eye contact that throws you over the edge. 

But it’s not the edge you feared so much. 

The bottomless space is a sea of his love he’s dipped inside of, ready to catch you with his arms stretched out in your direction—and he does. Together you swim in the afterglow of your orgasms, swim out into the openness of your shared future with you as a stress-free little girl and Yoongi as the provider. 

Yoongi breaks your wooden cube as he feeds you the half-moons of the tangerine he used as a promise ring and you chew them while half-asleep on his chest—because, truth be told, you don’t need it anymore. You have his promise to envelop you from the inside, to keep you safe and to keep you feeling comforted, even when he’s away in the office and even when he’s travelling around the globe, singing for the world and for your tender heart. 

You’re his wife and he’s your husband—and the bitter spirit of life can’t touch it. 

You’re protected, and you’re taken care of. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist

[vibewithma]

Ruth

Modern Sinners AU! Preacher Boy / Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

A/N: Guys this is just a filler chapter so you all can know all characters the next chapters finna be🫦. My German ass needed 4 days for this😕💔 I’m working to be faster.

“Y/N, get yo’ ass in here!” Grandma hollered from the living room, already halfway standing, one hand gripped tight around Pops, the other waving like she could summon you through walls.

Dawn, still in her bonnet and fuzzy slippers, shuffled in like a sleepwalking soldier, posted up on the other side of Grandma and took her hand like it was routine.

“Where that girl at? I got a long shift ahead of me,” your Mama called out while wrestling the end of her scrub top, badge already clipped, shoes by the door.

“Don’t be hard on her, now. It’s her first time, baby,” your Daddy mumbled, voice low and easy like Sunday morning, sliding his fingers into hers as they stood side by side.

“I’m here,” you muttered, voice still thick with sleep and thoughts of Sammie lingering in the corners of your mind like smoke. Even though you try to push away any imagination that concludes him.

You stepped into the circle, palms up, heart open. The whole house held its breath as you all bowed heads and began to pray over the week, over your steps, over this brand new chapter that was just starting to bloom.

Amen passed through lips like breath and just like that, the morning was moving again your Mama grabbing her keys, Grandma fussin’ over Dawn’s hair and Pops humming an old hymn under his breath.

“C’mon, girl,” your daddy said, nodding his head toward the front door.

You followed him out, the sun shining above the trees, that early light catching the dust in the air like glitter. The ride was quiet, not awkward quiet just peaceful. His old-school Hip Hop playing low on the radio, windows cracked just enough to let the breeze sneak in.

“Got somethin’ for you,” he said as y’all pulled into the gravel lot behind his job. His truck kicked up little clouds of dirt that shimmered gold in the morning.

You raised an eyebrow, still halfway in a dream. “For me?”

He just smiled and nodded toward the back corner where an old but clean car sat shining like it was fresh out the womb. Paint new, tires black like they’d been dipped in ink, and a little bow taped crooked on the hood.

“Went ahead and fixed her up for you. Thought you might wanna drive yourself to the campus instead of waitin’ on me or your mama.”

You blinked. “Daddy…”

“Don’t cry now, you gon’ mess up your face,” he teased, but his eyes were warm, proud. “She ain’t new, but she solid. Just like you.”

You threw your arms around him, holding him tight like you were seven again, not nineteen and grown. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He patted your back with that daddypat that said I got you, always.

Meanwhile, back home, Dawn was curled up on the couch in Doris’s old bedspread, watching old reruns with Pops. She was still half asleep, letting Grandma braid her hair slowly into cornrows while the house exhaled the rest of the morning quiet.

And just like that, the week began.

The car still smelled like the lemon tree air freshener Lenny stuck in the vent, windows rolled down as you cruised down the two lane road. College campus coming into view like something out a brochure folks laughing, some running late with backpacks halfway falling off, others posted up with iced coffees and opinions.

You found parking easy, took a deep breath and grabbed your tote bag, head held high even though your stomach was doing flips. First day. First class. First real step toward the future you’d been praying on since tenth grade. Social Work 1100: Intro to Human Services. Room B208.

The hallway smelled like pencil shavings and somebody’s too strong cologne, but you found your seat near the window and tucked yourself into the corner.

That’s when he walked in dark skin, dreads shoulder length and a low fade with a clean line up. He wore a big tee, cargo pants, Airforces and carried a beat up notebook like it was sacred.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, pointing to the desk beside you.

You shook your head. “Go ahead.”

He plopped down, sighed like he’d been holding his breath all morning and then turned to you with a quick, lopsided smile. “I’m Chris, by the way. Social work major God help me.”

You laughed, some of the tightness in your chest letting go. “Y/N. Same major. Same prayer.”

“Okay, I like you already,” he said, sliding his phone face down on the desk. “You look like you you don’t play. You say ‘no’ to people, don’t you?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m working on it.”

“Aren’t we all,” he grinned. “I got a cousin who think I’m about to fix his baby mama drama just ’cause I took one psych class. I said, sir, I’m not licensed yet call your mama.”

You snorted, trying not to be too loud, but it was impossible around him. Chris had that magnetic energy.

By the time Professor Jenkins walked in, y’all had already traded numbers, cracked jokes about the textbook price and promised to be each other’s emergency class partner.

Monday rolled in smooth like butter on warm toast. You got through your classes, met Chris and even remembered to email that one professor back before midnight. Tuesday was light work just two classes and enough time in between to actually eat lunch and catch up on readings. You were getting the hang of this college rhythm.

By the time Wednesday came around, your head had switched gears. Afternoon sunlight poured into your room, golden and soft, and your calendar had one thing circled: youth choir practice.

You were fixing your hair in your bedroom mirror when Dawn poked her head in. She was already dressed like she had somewhere to be that wasn’t choir tight jeans, lip gloss poppin’ and a sly little smirk on her face.

“Hey,” she started, all casual, “can I use the car after you drove to practice?”

You turned, confused. “What you mean? I thought you was staying for choir?”

Dawn shrugged like it was nothing. “Yeah… no. But Daddy still got my car jacked up and I just need it for like… an hour. Promise I’ll be back before it’s over.”

You eyed her, suspicious but tired of arguing. “You better be. And don’t scratch it Daddy just gave me this thing.”

“I ain’t stupid,” she said, rolling her eyes and grabbing her bag. “Thank youuu, sissss.”

The two of you slid into the car, the evening breeze dancing through the windows. You pulled up to the church, parked on the side lot and switched seats so she could slide behind the wheel. As you hopped out and shut the door, you didn’t even see the quick check she did in the rearview or the text she sent before pulling off to see whoever she wasn’t telling the Lord about.

You took a deep breath, walked up the church steps and opened the door expecting voices, laughter, maybe a choir member or two already warming up.

Instead, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

You stepped in and the soft hum of piano drifted from the sanctuary. There he was.

Samuel Moore.

Sammie sat at the baby grand, head tilted down and fingers gliding across the keys like the music was coming straight from his bloodstream. He hadn’t seen you yet or maybe he had and was just pretending not to.

You stood there for a second, heart thumping.

He finally looked up, slow and deliberate, mouth curving into that lazy, knowing smirk. “Look who showed up early.”

You swallowed, stepping closer. “I thought practice started at five.”

He chuckled, not missing a beat. “It does. You just couldn’t wait to see me, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but your face burned anyway. “I came to sing, not flirt.”

“Mmhm,” he said, still playing. “You always wear that lip gloss to sing?”

You folded your arms, but your smile was giving you away. “You always come to practice alone just to be a menace?”

He let a final chord linger in the air, then stood, walking around the piano with a kind of slow, deliberate swagger that made your knees wobble a little.

“I came to get ready,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “But now you here… and suddenly I feel real inspired.”

You looked away, biting your lip just a little too hard.

“Don’t do that,” he said low, voice brushing against your neck like a prayer and a warning. “Do you know what that does to me?“

You laughed, stepping back before the air got too heavy.

“Boy,” you said, “go warm up your vocals or something.”

“I’d rather warm up with you,” he said, voice low and syrupy, like he was trying to melt into you right there between the piano chords and stained glass silence.

You gave him a look that should’ve been stern enough, warning, laced with a little holy fire but all he did was grin wider and take one slow step closer.

“Samuel…” you muttered, planting both hands against his chest, palms flat like a benediction, trying to put something, anything, between the two of you.

But space? Space wasn’t something Sammie knew and especially not when it came to you.

Before you could take another breath, he had you gently backed up against the pew. Not rough, not wild just firm enough to remind you that he was there. That he saw you. That he felt all of this, same as you.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, soft but full of warning, like he hated how your voice wrapped around his full name. Like it did something to him.

He took both of your hands in his, warm and calloused from Keyboard keys and old hymn books and he held them right in front of your chest. His thumbs brushed the back of your knuckles slow.

“You know I like it better when you say Sammie.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight. “You’re not supposed to be this close.”

He smiled again, leaned in just enough for you to feel his breath on your cheek. “Ain’t no rule sayin’ I can’t stand near a beautiful girl.”

“Ain’t no rule sayin’ I can’t swing my purse at you, either.”

That made him laugh quiet and deep, the kind that came from his belly and he leaned back just a little, still holding your hands.

“Fine Y/N,” he said, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll behave.”

“For now.”

And he let go, just like that.

But even as he turned away to sit back down at the piano, you still felt the echo of his hands on yours and you still heard the way he said your name like it was part prayer, part problem.

And you weren’t sure which one scared you more.

You were still catching your breath when the old wooden church doors creaked open, the clatter of shoes on tile snapping through the sanctuary like a clapback.

“Hey y’all,” Brittnay called, voice pitched and firm like she’d been born with a mic in hand and a clipboard in the other. Her natural hair was pulled up into a slick bun, edges laid like holy ground. Her eyes flicked over you quick, clipped and cool before landing on Sammie like they always did.

Malik, Terrence, Josh, Paul, Essence, Ruth and a couple other choir regulars spilled in behind her. Laughter and the soft glow of phone screens trailed them like perfume. A few nodded at you. Josh and Terrence? Yeah, they did the most.

“Hey now,” Terrence said, eyes roaming like he was reading scripture on your skin. “Didn’t know the choir was auditionin’ angels.”

You blinked once, slow. “You say that to every girl?”

Terrence let out a sharp laugh, quick and mean. Brittnay gave you the kind of side eye that could curdle communion wine. Sammie, of course, was watching from the piano, one brow lifted like he’d just found his favorite hymn.

Brittnay clapped her hands once. “Alright now, get in place.”

Voices shuffled, shoes scraped and you took your spot near the alto section. Brittnay handed you harmonies like a challenge, but you caught on easy your voice already seasoned by pews and potlucks and a mama who made you sing before you could speak.

Sammie’s hands graced the keys and Amazing Grace rose slow and sweet. His playing was deliberate, like he was coaxing the Spirit out of the strings. You let your voice fall in soft, steady. By the time y’all reached “was blind, but now I see,” even Brittnay had stopped frowning.

Redeemed followed louder, fuller. Ruth belted like she had something to prove. Malik clapped off-beat. Sammie added these bluesy runs between verses, just subtle enough that you noticed. When your voice met his melody, he smiled like he knew you would.

After the last stretch of “His child and forever I am,” Brittnay tapped her phone screen and the music stopped cold.

“I’ll drop the rehearsal vid in the group chat,” she said, already typing. “Y’all know the drill.”

Buzzes filled the room as messages came through. Choir folk grabbed bags and Bibles, hugging, joking, easing toward the door.

Terrence lingered, leaned in close. “You need a ride home or you straight?”

Before you could get your answer out, Sammie slid into the space like he’d been summoned.

“She good,” he said, dangling his keys like temptation. “I offered already.”

Terrence held up both hands. “Say less, preacher boy.”

Brittnay turned to you, smile taut. “Welcome to the choir.”

You gave her a tight nod. “Thanks.” But her voice held no warmth. Felt more like a warning than a welcome.

Some of the group still standing and talking while others went out, voices fading into the humid night air. You turned to Sammie.

“I actually got a ride,” you said, half a lie. “Dawn should be here any minute.��

You stepped out the doors, swinging your hips like you weren’t irritated as hell inside.

But the parking lot was empty. One car left.

Your phone was already in your hand, thumb moving fast.

You tapped the mic and held it close.

“Dawn Elise Whitaker. Where are you? More importantly where is my car? If I don’t hear from you in the next five minutes, I will summon Granny and you know she still got that wooden spoon from 2004. Call me back.”

“You always holler into your phone like that?”

You didn’t even need to turn. That voice? That lil smirk woven into every word? That was Sammie.

You spun around. “Dawn took my car to go God knows where, probably somewhere no Bible touches and now she’s ghostin’ me like a Pharisee in a leggings.”

Sammie laughed, deep and full, like it came from somewhere way down in his ribs.

“Well then,” he said, holding out the passenger door, “Let me be your chariot tonight, church girl.”

You looked up at the sky like maybe God would write no in the stars. But it stayed quiet and dark. And Sammie was already grinning like he knew you’d fold.

You sighed. “Alright.”

He opened the door, still with that look like he was always one second from saying something slick.

“You ready?”

You slid into the seat. “I guess.”

Sammie climbed in behind the wheel. “Let’s get you home before you start second guessin’ this blessing.”

He winked, turned the key, and the engine came alive deep and low, just like your nerves.

And with that, the two of you slipped into the Clarksdale night, your phone still silent in your lap, your heart beating a little too loud for a simple church girl.

The ride started quiet, windows cracked just enough to let in the cicada song and the last breath of sunset. Sammie tapped the wheel with two fingers, watching the road like it had answers he’d been praying on.

You sat with your arms folded, pretending to scroll on your phone but really just waiting for a text that still hadn’t come.

He glanced over, smirk playing soft at his lips.

“You always walk like that after choir practice?”

You looked up, brows furrowed. “Walk like what?”

He leaned back, hand resting at twelve on the wheel, voice a little lower than before. “Like you was floatin’. Swingin’ your hips like you ain’t know half them boys was ’bout to break they neck watchin’.”

Your mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

He grinned. “I saw Terrence. Lookin’ at you like you was communion and he ain’t ate all week. And that whole ‘you need a ride’ line? Nah. He wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout cars.”

You side-eyed him. “You jealous?”

He didn’t answer right away, just let the engine hum and the night fold around the car like velvet. Then—

“Would it be wrong if I said yeah?”

That shut you up.

You looked at him. Really looked at him. The soft curve of his jaw, the gold chain catching a glint of streetlight, the way his hands gripped the wheel like it was a steering wheel and a prayer all at once.

He caught your stare and smiled. “You be lookin’ at me like that, church girl, I might crash this car on purpose.”

You snorted and turned away, heat rising in your cheeks. “You so full of yourself.”

“I’m full of a lotta things,” he said, voice dipping playful. “But mainly just thinkin’ ’bout you.”

Another silence passed, this one more weighted, like something holy and unspoken was sitting between you both.

He cleared his throat. “What’s your favorite Bible story?”

You blinked. “Wait?! what?”

He shrugged. “I’m serious. You got a favorite? Don’t act like you ain’t grown up around the Word.”

You stared at him, thrown. “I mean… yeah. Ruth, probably.”

That made his smile falter just a little. He looked at you different then softer, like your answer unlocked a door he wasn’t ready to open yet.

“Ruth,” he repeated. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

You raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirked, gaze back on the road. “You loyal. You strong. Got that kind of beauty that don’t ask for attention but still gets it anyway.”

You didn’t even have time to respond before his phone lit up on the dash, screen flashing Brittnay and connecting automatically to the car’s Bluetooth.

Sammie groaned. “Damn.”

He hit the answer button and gave you a quick “Shhh,” finger pressed to his lips.

“Hey Brittnay.”

“Hey Sammie,” her voice came through the speakers sharp and sweet like sugar with lemon juice. “I meant to ask before you left can you get that girl’s number? The new one. Y/N?”

Your eyes widened. Sammie glanced at you, trying not to laugh.

“I wanna add her to the choir group chat,” Brittnay continued, tone going flatter now. “Since apparently she’s in now.”

You leaned closer to the speaker, lips twisted. Since apparently?

Sammie coughed into his fist. “Yeah, I’ll get it to you.”

“Mhm,” Brittnay said. “Well. Night.”

The line cut off, the silence loud.

You raised a brow. “She said that like she didn’t ask me to come and like I snuck in through the back door.”

Sammie chuckled. “That’s just Brittnay. She don’t like when new folks catch the spotlight without askin’ her first.”

“Well tell her I didn’t ask for it.”

“I won’t tell her anything,” he said, while the camera to a stop because of the red light. “You tell her next Sunday with that voice of yours.”

He met your gaze and didn’t look away.

“You really jealous?” you asked again, quieter this time.

His lips twitched. “I’m not used to sharin’ what I want.”

You bit your lip, heartbeat steady and loud in your ears. Before you could answer your phone lit up in your hand.

Dawn calling.

You were only ten minutes from home, the street signs startin’ to look familiar and the sky deepenin’ into that Southern blue black.

You picked up with a sharp inhale, ready to fuss.

Before you could get a word out, her voice came fast and panicked, like she’d been rehearsing it on the ride over.

“Wait don’t go inside yet! Please, Y/N, I need you to meet me at the old corner store. You know, the one near Mr. Lee’s barbershop? I’m pulling up now. I can’t go in alone Granny already think I’m halfway goin’ to hell.”

You sighed and looked at Sammie, who raised his brows at your expression.

“Dawn. Girl.”

“I know, I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, okay? Just help me out. I promise I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

You held the phone away from your ear for a beat, then brought it back. “You better be there when I pull up.”

“I’m already here.”

She hung up before you could argue.

Sammie smirked. “That your Pharisee again?”

You gave him a look. “Yes that’s her.”

“Mhmm,” he said, flipping the turn signal like he already knew where to go. “She gon’ owe you for this one.”

As the car turned down the familiar road toward the corner store, he tapped the steering wheel. “Since I’m still playin’ chauffeur, you might as well gimme your number.”

You squinted. “Why?”

He grinned, leaning into that tease he wore like a second skin. “Well, one you gon’ need a ride again. And two Brittnay want it. Remember.”

“Right,” you said slowly, typing it into his phone when he handed it over. “Only for the choir.”

He looked at you sideways. “Unless you want me to use it for somethin’ else.”

You snatched your hand back, heat pricklin’ up your neck. “Drive the car, Samuel.”

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, still smiling.

By the time y’all pulled up, Dawn was leaning against the side of the store, hoodie up, like she wasn’t out here actin’ a whole fool just thirty minutes ago.

She scurried over to your side, knocking on the window. “Unlock it!”

You did, barely rolling your eyes before stepping out.

She grabbed your hand quick. “Okay. We was at the church a little late, right? That’s what happened.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you muttered.

“I know,” she whispered back. “You the realest.”

Before y’all started walking, you turned back to Sammie, who hadn’t pulled off yet.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, voice softer now.

He leaned over the wheel, one arm draped lazy but his eyes locked with yours. “Anytime, Ruth.”

Your breath hitched just a little.

Dawn looked between the two of you, confused and amused. “Y’all flirting or quoting scripture?”

You elbowed her.

And Sammie? He just laughed, like he had all the time in the world to keep teasing you until you gave in.

By the time y’all reached the house, the porch light was still on and the living room window glowed warm behind the lace curtains. Inside, the air was still, thick with that kind of silence that don’t mean peace just waiting.

You and Dawn stepped through the front door like two kids fresh from trouble. Not even five seconds in and you froze, Pops was sittin’ in his favorite chair, Bible closed on the side table, glasses perched low on his nose. Doris sat straight on the couch, arms crossed, face carved in stone.

Both of them looking dead at y’all.

“Evenin’,” Pops said, slow.

You swallowed. “Evenin’, Pops.”

Dawn’s voice cracked a little. “Evenin’, Granny…”

Doris didn’t even blink. “Mmhm. Y’all smell like outside.”

You and Dawn exchanged a glance like that would help, but it only made you more suspicious.

“We were at practice,” you offered.

“Late, huh?” Doris cocked her head, still lookin’ at Dawn.

“Yeah,” Dawn said too quick. “Real late. The choir uh, we recorded stuff and, uh, Brittnay wanted to run a second round—”

“Baby,” Doris cut in smooth. “Don’t lie with your whole chest if your socks tell a different story. You done scuffed up your shoes runnin’ through gravel and your neck still got perfume from somebody else’s bathroom.”

Dawn blinked like she forgot how to use her mouth.

You coughed into your hand, stifling a laugh, but Doris turned to you next.

“You went to practice, Y/N?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Doris squinted, then sighed. “Alright. Go on. Get ready for sleep. Your mama gon’ want to hear how choir’s goin’ in the mornin’.”

“Goodnight.”

You booked it down the hall, still hearing Pops mumble, “You too grown to be actin’ so foolish,” as Dawn shuffled into her seat for the interrogation of the year.

By the time you shut your door, you went straight to the shower and got ready for bed.

Your bonnet was tied and your oversized tee hit just above the knees as you curled into bed, the hum of the ceiling fan lulling you into stillness. You had barely flipped your phone over when the screen lit up.

Unknown Number You make it home alright, church girl?

You smiled, thumb already flying before your brain could catch up.

You I made it. Barely. Dawn almost got me grounded at my big age.

Sammie. Coulda been worse. I coulda drove you straight into temptation.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin stretching wide across your face.

You You already did. Now I gotta pray twice before bed.

Three little dots danced before his reply dropped.

Sammie I like a girl who knows her way to the altar. But I also like a girl who pays her chauffeur. You got some gas money, miss ma’am?

You stared at the message, laughing into your pillow.

You I’ll cashapp you $5. That cover it?

His response came fast.

Sammie Mm. Nah. I don’t take cash.

You Then what you want?

Sammie A kiss. Just one. Payment in full.

Your breath caught a little. Fingers paused mid type. This boy had no business texting like this while you were tucked under your grandmother’s roof.

You You tryna go to hell, Samuel?

Sammie Only if you drivin’.

You threw your phone across the bed and squealed into your pillow, heart knockin’ around your chest like it was trying to break free.

You stared up at the ceiling for a long beat before whispering out loud to no one, “Lord… why he gotta be like this?”

Your phone buzzed again.

Sammie Sleep good, choir girl. Don’t forget to pray. Twice.

Taglist: (Does the @ work?)

@cosmicautomatonshark @fanfictiononly4 @pinkpantheris @andthatsonmaryhadalillamb @sweetalittleselfish-honey

[m-jelly]

Deep beauty

Levi x fem reader

Canon world, married, suggestive.

When Levi met you back in the scouts, you assisted Hange and Moblit in making things for the scouts. You never engaged in battle, you simple made things and had the role of a mechaic for them. Levi had met you in your office when he needed an upgrade for his gear. At first he didn't like that there was some oil in places, but you kept it fairly clean. When he met you face to face, with your big beautiful smile and bright eyes, he fell for you.

As time went on, he'd visit you often and started to not bring his gear but food and tea instead. Eventually, he had the courage to ask you out on a date. He was incredibly nervous on the date, but you were so patient and kind. One date turned into many. The two of you shared your firsts together and after two years of being a couple you married.

You stood by Levi through everything that life threw at the two of you. He counted his blessings when you were there to hold him and help him through the pain and suffering. Not once did you judge him for the choices he made and the injuries he suffered. You stood by him and loved him so deeply.

After the war, the two of you settled down in your dream cottage. You grew plenty of food in the garden, had a few animals and made sure you had the best birdfeeders so Levi could admire the birds that reminded him of friends. Your views were perfect with the vast forest and the ocean.

You both were happy, so deeply happy.

You helped out when you could and went to events where you'd hand out food, repair building and you'd even make things for people. You helped life slowly repair itself. When you were at home, it was a house filled to the brime with deep love. You couldn't keep your hands off of eachother, but Levi would say sorry a lot more and you told him to never be sorry. You loved him.

Levi was sat in his chair as the sun shone down. He gazed at the clouds before hearing your sweet voice. He glanced down and smiled softly as you walked closer in your adorable summer dress that left little to his imagination. "You are a goddess."

You hummed a laugh. "There's that sweet talking again." You leaned over and kissed him. "You know you get lucky all the time."

"I do." He glanced down before you stood up and saw your ample cleavage. "A-Ah."

You pulled back a bit. "So, I have done some extra things to your knee and leg brace." You crouched in front of him. "Are you sure you want to try this?"

He gulped hard as he looked away to collect himself. "Yes. I want to be able to walk a little bit so when we have kids, I can help them walk or play with them."

You hummed a laugh. "Okay." You slipped his slipper off and started wiggling the brace on. "You are so cute."

Levi looked down just as you were wiggling causing your chest to jiggle. He gulped hard as he admired your clevage with a fading lovebite on. "I ah..."

You glanced up at him. "Sorry for wiggling this up. Is it hurting?"

"N-no."

You smiled softly. "What you blushing more?"

"N-nothing."

You smirked and rasied a brow. "Nothing?" You leaned up meaning your chest got closer. "You sure."

Levi's eyes widened. "I ah...you...fuck."

You reached up, held his chin and ran your thumb over his bottom lip. "Something catch your fancy?"

"You." He softly moaned before strongly blushing. He looked away and groaned. "Fucking, brat."

"That's not a nice way to speak to your wife." You teased as you strapped the brace in place. You leaned closer and kissed his knee. "I'm so nice to you." You leaned on his thighs and looked up at him through your lashes. "I'm a lovely wife."

He reached down and caressed your cheek. "You're a goddess." He eyed your chest. "I won't lie, my love, I've bee eyeing your chest."

You leaned up a bit. "I'll let you place your face there if I get a kiss."

"You know I adore kisses."

You giggled before leaning closer and kissing him. "You're so handsome. I love you, Levi."

"I love you too."

You stood up and hugged his face agaisnt your chest. You squeaked when he licked and bit you. "Biting, huh?"

He looked up at you with an adorable pout. "Maybe."

"Cute." You pulled back from him. "You can have them back after we test your brace."

He grabbed your hands and stood up carefully. "I'm up."

"Good boy."

He blushed. "You know very well what that does to me."

You giggled and helped him forward. "It's why I said it. You ready?"

He inhaled deeply. "I am cause I'm getting an amazing reward."

You laughed as you pulled him towards you. "You are." You smiled sweetly. "There we go, you're doing amazing."

Levi carefully walked towards you. "Better than before." He walked closer. "Stronger."

"Is your knee and leg supported?"

"Yeah, you're incredible." He hummed a laugh. "Only a matter of time before I'm running with our kids."

You guided him back to his chair. "Yes."

"And running after you."

You pinched his cheek. "Cheeky."

"Always." He purred. "Now, about my reward."

Tags under

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously @dreamerofthewest @abiatackerman @minminroie

[bunny-jpeg]

deep touch

capt. john price

cw: smut & fluff, chronic pain, soft dom!price, comfort fic, husband!price, wife!reader, massages, price is a good man, side by side/spooning position, wife kink

bunny says: chronic pain nation rise!!! i've been battling some pretty bad pains in my legs, thank god that writing is a sedentary activity!

you knew you had chronic pain, the thing about it was that you could go days feeling decent but, out of nowhere it would all change and you'd be achy all over. with it largely concentrated in your legs.

the rain only made it worse, it was july in the sleepy seaside town you lived in with your husband and there were very few tourists due to the frequent rain. the rain also brought a new challenge, the sleepiness.

you wanted to be awake to spend as much time with your husband now that he was home from his most recent deployment. but at shreds of sunlight were cast between the gaps in rain clouds, you felt lethargic.

you stirred a little and rolled to your side to get your phone. the bed felt welcoming against the aches in your bones. the joints and the muscles wanted nothing else to do but lie there. but you knew that you couldn't be there all day.

you forced yourself up, and put on your slippers before you headed to the kitchen. before you left the bedroom, you put one of price's sweatshirts on yourself as a form of a comfort blanket.

you hobbled to the kitchen and got yourself a cup of ginger tea. it was a little hot for it, so you often let it sit until the cup grew cold. once it poured, you left it and went to go find your husband.

price looked from the morning news to you, he had a cup of coffee in hand which he quickly put down, "hey there, baby girl." he said, "someone's a little stiff this mornin'?"

you chuckled a little, "yeah, you know how it is. rains for three days and suddenly all my joints are mad at me. i thought after all this time, my body would get used to rainy england." you sat down on the couch next to your husband and he pulled you into his chest. you relaxed a little, feeling the soft strength of your husband's chest. even the old shirt he was wearing felt nice.

"well, i guess that means i have to take care of my wife today."

you sighed, "you're supposed to be relaxing, john. you were away for almost three months. let me spoil you."

he kissed the top of your head, "no need to, love. you let me take care of everything, you save your strength."

you sighed, "tomorrow, it'll be better. and then i can make those muffins for you that gladys across the road really liked. and i can also make dinner for you, and you can just sit on the couch with a beer and watch football."

he kissed your head once more to keep you down, "love. if it gets better and you better not lie to me about the pain. i'm going to be home for six months, you have more than enough time to make me every recipe from that little cook book of yours."

"i just wanna make being home feel special." you huffed.

he chuckled, "don't worry, love. just bein' able to be here with you is more than enough to make it special. to have a home."

he just held you for a while, letting you be close to him. the pain was a discomfort that lingered in your body. you wish you could like detach parts of your body and like run them through the wash so they'd stop hurting.

"i hate the pain."

"and i hate seein' ya in pain, love. now why don't i get you some breakfast."

you sighed, "can you rub my legs first, you always know how to help it." your voice sounded so small.

"of course." he said, "i'd love nothing more." he gave you that sweet smile of his as he carefully moved you so he could put your legs on his lap. you noticed that he checked for anything swollen or discoloration. he was too good at this sometimes.

he wanted to make sure his woman was in tip-top shape. he then started to gently rub at your calves. his strong fingers worked into the muscles of your legs. you let out a whimpering noise every time he hit just the right spot. he would stop and you'd give him a thumbs up to assure him that you were a-okay.

"it just feels good." you said as he moved up into your thighs. the noises were almost erotic if it weren't for the pain you were in. that was one thing about dating an army man, was that you would never have to pay for a massage ever again!

"good girl." he praised, "you are always so strong. i'm so proud of you."

he worked the limbs and you were thankful for it. by the time he was finished, you were practically asleep on the couch. price chuckled and grabbed the throw blanket

it wasn't easy, but love wasn't meant to be the easiest thing in the world. and price was going nowhere.

-

the next morning, you were feeling better. and when you turned over, you were greeted to the sight of your husband laid out beside you. he had his glasses on and his phone too close to his face.

you shifted closer to him and kissed him on the cheek, "good morning."

he looked over, he looked like such an old man with those glasses on. he put his phone down and took them off to get closer to you. he wrapped his strong arm around your shoulders and gently pulled you towards him so he could kiss you, "there's the most beautiful woman in the world."

"oh shush."

"how ya feelin'?" he asked.

you looked up at him, "can i be honest?" you felt heat in your cheeks.

price held your face and replied, "i wouldn't want anythin' else." then smiled at you. he was such a comforting presence in your life. your husband was a good few years older than you, but he was as gentle as a lamb with you.

"i'm.. i'm in less pain. the knees are still a little bothersome. but i am actually really horny." you wanted to look away but price had his grasp on you.

"oh really?" he asked, "my little wife is all turned on?"

you replied, "i am. i always get turned on after you dote on me all day. it's like my brain is making up for the hurt it put me through by giving me those feel good chemicals." you laughed a little.

"well, then." he said as he pulled away a little to take off his white t-shirt. you got a good look at his bare toned, hairy chest. he said, "get on your other side, facing away from me. then you don't have to be on your knees."

you face went hotter as you said, "i love you so much."

he chuckled as he pushed the blankets off of the both of you, "my love, i'm never gonna deny my wife what she needs. if that's massages or a good fuckin' then i'm there. because that's what a husband does."

you gave him a quick kiss before you turned over and got your bottom half naked. you felt him get behind you, his cock was stiffening at the feeling of your ass.

his big hands took a hold of you and lifted your right leg so he could have access to your pussy. you could feel his hairy chest through the fabric of your t-shirt.

it was like a comofrting hug, a peaceful feeling of you and your husband making love. you relaxed against the bed and held onto the pillow under your head.

"does it hurt?" he asked softly.

"no, no. none of the pain was in my hips."

he kissed you neck tenderly, "good, good. tell me if it started hurting. i need you to communicate with me."

your other hand held his arm that was draped over your waist. slowly he sank his cock into you, you felt so protected and the pain was minimal. price was such a giving lover, that was the kind of man he was. he wanted to make sure that you felt loved even when he was away.

he rested his chin on your shoulder as bother arms got around you and he started to softly hump against you. his cock felt snug in your cunt. his thrusts were light and quick, but it still built pleasure in both of you.

you held on tightly to your husband as he rutted against you. you could feel the excitement in your chest as your husband made love to you.

"this is how a husband should treat his wife. treat her like the perfect woman she is." he kissed the shell of your ear, "you're perfect. i lucked out, i don't know what god put you in my arms but i hope he is being worshiped till the end of time." he chuckled as he gave you another series of kisses up against the nape of your neck.

"please, john." you moaned, "you're making me hot all over."

he replied softly, "good, i love when you're all hot in the face." his pace was a bit faster now. the pleasure coursed through his veins at the feeling of his beautiful wife's sweet pussy.

the sex was tender. it was soft. it felt good for your aching body and it felt amazing to be loved so tenderly by your husband. you moaned softly against the pillow.

price pressed his forehead against your back as he thrusted into you. his grip on you was firm but light. you weren't getting out of his grasp. he panted against your heated skin.

"i'm close, honey." you whimpered.

he nodded, "me too, love." he picked up the pace a little further, keeping an ear out for your noises so he could make sure he wasn't hurting you.

with a few more thrusts of his hips, you both came at the same time. your heightened sounds paired with the low groan your husband made as the two of you finished.

"my woman." he said as he kissed the center of his back.

he pulled out, but his softening cock rested against your ass as you got comfortable in his burly arms. it was such a protective force all that muscle and fuzz up against your back.

"that's my girl." he mumbled closely into your ear. his facial hair brushed against it.

"i love you, john."

"and i love you, even with all your aches and pains. you know i'm no spring chicken either." he chuckled softly as he laid there close to you, feeling your heated body next to him.

"neither of us are." you chuckled as you turned over a little to kiss him on the lips. <3