Satoru was rich… like… crazy rich, so he didn’t have the need to cook. Because of that, he cannot cook.
You were watching a film together, his arm around your shoulders, when you complained about being hungry.
Now, Satoru was in the kitchen. He had locked himself in, convinced that he could cook something for you. It hadn’t even been 10 minutes before he came out, his face dirty with remains of egg yolk, probably from touching his face with dirty hands, and his lower lip sticking out in a childish pout.
You knew he had fucked up even before he spoke.
“Baby… I burnt the noddles…” He said, like an ashamed kid who’s just broke something.
You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips. “How do you burn instant noodles, Satoru?”
“I don’t know… but they’re burnt now.”
You stared at him for a moment.
Then at the kitchen behind him, where a suspicious amount of smoke was slowly drifting into the living room.
Then back at him.
“Satoru.”
“Yeah?”
“Why is there smoke?”
His expression immediately became guilty.
“…Maybe don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose.
Honestly, sometimes you forgot this was the strongest sorcerer alive.
The same man capable of taking down curses that could level cities somehow couldn’t survive ten minutes alone with a pot of instant noodles.
A beat of silence passed.
Then Satoru shuffled closer.
“Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
“You have your mad face on.”
“This is my normal face.”
“No, your normal face is prettier.”
You rolled your eyes immediately.
And just like that, his shoulders relaxed.
The brat.
You stood up from the couch and walked toward him.
Satoru perked up instantly, clearly thinking he’d somehow escaped punishment.
Then you grabbed his chin.
“Ow.”
“You literally fight monsters.”
“It still hurts.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It emotionally hurts.”
You ignored him and wiped the streak of egg yolk off his cheek with your thumb.
How had he even managed that?
There was egg in instant noodles?
Actually, no. You didn’t want to know.
“Why are you covered in food?” you asked.
His gaze shifted away.
A terrible sign.
“Satoru.”
“I thought adding an egg would make it better.”
“And?”
“The egg disagreed.”
You stared.
He stared back.
Then he smiled sheepishly.
God.
“You’re impossible.”
“That’s what Suguru says too.”
“That should concern you.”
“It doesn’t.”
Of course it didn’t.
You sighed before walking toward the kitchen.
The second you stepped inside, you froze.
There was water on the counter.
The stove looked concerning.
A spoon was somehow on the floor.
And the pot…
The pot looked like it had personally offended him.
You slowly turned around.
“Satoru.”
“Yeah?”
“Why does it look like a natural disaster happened in here?”
“I was improvising.”
“You were making noodles.”
“Exactly.”
You didn’t even know what to say. How can someone mess up this badly on the easiest meal ever?
“Clean the kitchen, I’ll cook.” You said, giving up on whatever hopes you had.
“But I want to cook for you.” Your boyfriend complained. As soon as you heard him, you shot him a dirty glance.
“You can’t make instant noodles…” you said, as if that sentence said all he needed to know, which, honestly, it did.
Satoru looked personally offended by that. His mouth fell open slightly, blue eyes widening behind his sunglasses as if you had just accused him of committing a crime. Which was rich, considering the state of your kitchen currently looked like the aftermath of one.
“That was one time,” he argued immediately.
“It happened ten minutes ago.”
“It was an accident.”
“You somehow burnt noodles, water, and an egg simultaneously.”
“Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
You stared at him.
“It is bad.”
He frowned dramatically before looking over your shoulder into the kitchen. For a brief second, you watched him assess the damage, his gaze moving from the blackened pot to the water on the counter to the packet of noodles that had somehow ended up on top of the microwave.
Then he pointed at the pot.
“I still think that thing betrayed me.”
“The pot betrayed you?”
“Yes.”
“Satoru.”
“It knew I was inexperienced and took advantage of me.”
You couldn’t even bring yourself to respond.
Sometimes talking to him felt like arguing with a particularly handsome wall.
A very rich wall.
A wall that somehow kept getting away with things because it looked pretty.
With another sigh, you rolled up your sleeves and moved toward the counter. The second you reached for the ingredients, however, a pair of long arms wrapped themselves around your waist from behind.
Of course.
You should have expected it.
Satoru rested his chin on your shoulder, immediately becoming dead weight against your back. He wasn’t even trying to help. He was just hanging off you like an oversized cat.
“What are you making?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“You should make something fancy.”
“You burned instant noodles.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to lower your standards.”
You elbowed him lightly.
“Ow.”
“You deserve worse.”
“I was trying to be romantic.”
The complaint was delivered with such sincerity that you actually paused.
Because underneath all the whining and dramatics, that was the problem.
Satoru genuinely had been trying.
The strongest sorcerer alive could buy practically anything he wanted. If you mentioned wanting food, he could have ordered from the most expensive restaurant in Tokyo without even glancing at the price. He could have had a five-star meal delivered to your door in less than half an hour.
Instead, he’d decided to cook.
For you.
Which was sweet.
Incredibly stupid.
But sweet.
Your shoulders relaxed slightly.
Behind you, Satoru immediately noticed.
The man had a sixth sense for your moods.
“You’re not mad anymore,” he announced proudly.
“I wasn’t mad to begin with.”
“You were disappointed.”
“That too.”
He groaned loudly, burying his face in your shoulder. “That’s even worse.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
The second he heard it, Satoru straightened.
“There it is.”
“No.”
“There it is,” he repeated triumphantly. “You laughed.”
“You look ridiculous.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“See?” His grin widened. “You admitted it.”
You turned around just enough to flick his forehead.
He gasped dramatically and stumbled backward as though you’d punched him.
“Violence.”
“Drama queen.”
“Abuse.”
“I tapped your forehead.”
“I could’ve died.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt.
“You’re impossible.”
Satoru just shrugged, clinging closer to you.
“Probably,” he admitted easily. “Good thing you’re stuck with me, then.”
Summary: kageyama, who is used to no one showing up for his games, gets a complete shock to see you up in the crowds, and completely whiffs his serve(loser)
Wc: 1085
A/n: hate it. Thats all :) im still not sure if i like the new divider.also i found it on pin so thats why i haven’t credited anyone. Theres still so much stuff in my notes app it’s so annoying omd.
Enjoy!
The roar of the crowd in the packed arena pressed in on Tobio Kageyama like a familiar weight—sharp, focused, demanding. Timeskip or not, some things never changed. He stood at the service line, volleyball tucked under his arm, eyes narrowed on the court ahead. The score was tight, the third set hanging by a thread. One good serve could shift everything.
He bounced the ball once. Twice. The ritual grounded him, the same way it had since middle school. But today, something felt… off. A hollow ache flickered in his chest as his mind drifted, unbidden, to memories he usually shoved deep down.
“Tobio, you have a match this weekend?” His mother’s voice, distant even back then. “We’ll try, okay?” They never came. Not to the youth tournaments, not to the Interhighs, not even when he made it to nationals. His sister had her own life. His father was always “busy.” Every time he scanned the stands as a kid, hoping—just once—to see a familiar face cheering for him, the seats stayed empty. It taught him early: rely on no one but yourself. Volleyball was enough. It had to be.
Kageyama exhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts away. He tossed the ball up, arm swinging back for that signature king’s serve—
And then he saw you.
There, in the stands just behind the referee’s chair, wearing the team colors like you’d planned it all along. You weren’t supposed to be here. You’d said work was brutal this week, that the travel might not work out. He hadn’t pushed. He never pushed. But there you were, hands cupped around your mouth, eyes locked on him with that bright, unwavering smile that always made his chest feel too tight.
You came.
The ball slipped from his fingers mid-swing. It thudded uselessly against the court, rolling out of bounds. A missed serve. The crowd groaned. His teammates glanced over, surprised—Kageyama didn’t miss serves. Not like this.
He stood frozen, heart hammering against his ribs. You actually came. The words looped in his head, louder than the announcer’s voice calling a timeout. For a split second, the arena blurred. All those empty seats from his past flashed behind his eyes, replaced by you. The one person who showed up without being asked twice. Who texted him good luck even when he forgot to reply. Who understood the quiet, obsessive parts of him that volleyball had carved out.
“Oi, Kageyama!” Someone called—probably Hoshiumi—but he barely heard it. His cheeks burned. He shook his head once, hard, and forced himself back into the game. They still won. Of course they did. His team was stacked: Ushijima’s brutal spikes, Hoshiumi’s relentless energy, the others feeding off their rhythm. Kageyama poured everything into the remaining points, setting like his life depended on it. But his mind kept drifting to the stands.
When the final whistle blew and the victory cheers erupted, Kageyama didn’t join the usual huddle right away. His eyes scanned the sidelines, searching. There—you were waiting off to the side, out of the main bleacher flow, looking a little shy amid the chaos but so unmistakably there.
He didn’t think. He just ran.
His shoes squeaked against the polished floor as he broke into a full sprint, ignoring the sweat dripping down his back and the way his teammates paused mid-celebration. You turned at the sound of his approach, eyes widening.
“Kageyama—?”
He crashed into you without slowing, arms wrapping around your waist like you might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. The hug was fierce, almost desperate—his face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling the familiar scent of you that cut through the arena smells of rubber and sweat. Then he pulled back just enough to cup your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, and kissed you. Hard. Right there, in front of everyone. No hesitation, no cool detachment. Just raw, overwhelming relief.
“You— you came,” he blurted as soon as he broke the kiss, words tumbling out faster than he could control. His voice cracked, just a little, the emotion he usually buried spilling over. “I didn’t think— I mean, you said work, and the train, and I told myself it was fine, like always, but you’re here. You actually showed up. For me. I saw you right before the serve and I just— I couldn’t even think straight. All those times before, no one ever… but you did. You’re here.”
His forehead pressed against yours, breaths coming quick and uneven. Up close, you could see the shine in his eyes—not tears, exactly, but something close. The great King of the Court, reduced to a boy who’d carried too much loneliness for too long.
“I’m so glad,” he whispered, the words fierce and soft all at once. “Thank you. I… I don’t say it enough, but having you here… it means everything.”
You hugged him back just as tightly, murmuring reassurances into his shoulder. The noise of the arena faded into background static.
A few feet away, Wakatoshi Ushijima stood with his arms crossed, watching the scene with his usual stoic expression—though one eyebrow had risen slightly. Beside him, Korai Hoshiumi bounced on his heels, mouth agape.
“Is that… Kageyama?” Hoshiumi muttered, half-laughing in disbelief. “Running? Hugging? Kissing? In public? I thought his face was permanently set to ‘annoyed setter mode.’”
Ushijima nodded slowly. “It is unusual. He rarely displays emotion so openly. Even after big wins, he is… reserved.”
“Reserved? The guy looks like he just won the lottery and might cry about it.” Hoshiumi elbowed his teammate lightly. “Think his girlfriend’s got some kind of magic? Or did we all enter an alternate universe during that timeout?”
A faint, rare smile tugged at Ushijima’s lips. “Perhaps both. It is… good to see. Emotions make a player human. Even Kageyama.”
Hoshiumi snorted. “Weird as hell, but yeah. Kinda nice. Don’t tell him I said that.”
Kageyama didn’t notice their conversation. He was too busy holding you, murmuring more quiet thank-yous against your hair, the missed serve long forgotten. The past aches felt smaller now, softened by the warmth of your arms around him. For the first time in a long while, the stands weren’t empty. You were here, and that changed everything.
Later, as the team filtered out, he kept your hand in his—fingers laced tight, a small, private smile on his face that he didn’t even try to hide. The king had finally found someone who made showing up feel like winning.
a/n: a little treat for the fangirls of this sweet cowboy.
It was a Sunday. You had closed your shop earlier than usual and were on your way home. The sky was painted gray with heavy clouds.
Suddenly, drops far too heavy to be just a drizzle began falling over you. With no real choice, you were forced to run to the nearest open place for shelter.
A bar.
Scattered tables, dim lighting, soft jazz playing in the background, but the place was almost empty.
You walked up to the counter and sat on a stool. Your back pressed against the hard wood while the sky outside poured down in sheets of rain. You also noticed a man sitting a seat away with a glass of whiskey, but didn’t think much of it.
You began wiping the excess water from your arms, trying to dry yourself at least a little. Running your hands through your hair and clothes as well.
"You’re not much of a talker, are you?" A man’s voice broke the silence, which until then had been filled only by the soft music.
A question formed in your mind.
"Sheriff Tim?!" You turned toward the voice, realizing the whiskey guy was someone you knew. Quickly, you hid a smile behind your hand. "I hadn’t seen you there."
Mountain Tim was the local cowboy and sheriff of the town. He had once been a bounty hunter, but those days were behind him.
"What a pleasant surprise." He tilted back the zebra-print hat just a little, revealing a smile that was equal parts charming and mischievous. "What are you doing in a place like this? Not looking for trouble, I hope."
"I’m just taking shelter from the rain. I almost got soaked..." You sighed, looking at your arms and the spots where the water had clung to you. His gaze followed yours.
"Oh..." he said, then slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, worn but clean. He stepped down from his stool and crossed the short distance, stopping right next to you. "Here, use this to dry yourself."
You accepted the cotton handkerchief. "Am I about to get myself into some kind of trouble?" you asked while drying your skin. "Speaking of which, you must always be in trouble, right? Your wife can’t be too happy with a man who seems to live at work and only occasionally visits his own home.
"He laughed, shaking his head. "Wife? Never been married or anything like that. But there was a woman once." Tim tapped his golden badge. "Unfortunately, she was more interested in the bounties I brought in than in my company."
"Oh, I’m sorry, Tim... I didn’t mean to assume." You squeezed the handkerchief between your fingers, embarrassed but also saddened for him.
His laugh waved off your apology. "Nothing to apologize for, darling. I got myself into that… I should’ve known better than to expect a woman to be happy while I was gone for weeks at a time." He shook his head slightly. "But don’t worry about me. Truth is, I prefer the open road. There are plenty of people worth meeting out there... like you." He looked at you again with a crooked smile.
Oh, that’s right... he had never hidden his feelings for you. You weren’t even sure when it had started. Mountain Tim treated you as though you were made of silk and fragile glass. Always offering a kind word, a flower picked along the way, a sweet wrapped in a napkin. Never impatient or vulgar. Just… constant and warm.
Your eyes dropped shyly to the floor. "Well, sheriff, I hate to admit it… but I wouldn’t like my husband being away for weeks either. I’d live with my heart in knots..." You lifted your eyes back to his face.
He laughed again, this time more genuinely. "Can’t blame you for that, darling. I suppose most people aren’t made for the life I lead. It’s not exactly the kind of life that keeps a heart happy." His expression softened. "But... I’d be lying if I said I don’t envy the lucky man who has you. He gets to see that beautiful smile and those jewel-bright eyes every day." There was a note of something else in that last comment.
You couldn’t help but laugh out loud. "Tim, I don’t have a husband," you said between giggles. "I was speaking hypothetically."
His face showed a flicker of embarrassment. "Oh, I- I got that wrong." He coughed, clearing his throat. "But either way, I don’t think a woman like you should spend her time waiting for someone. Unless… maybe you’re waiting for something worth it?"
One of your brows arched. "Like what?"
He chuckled softly, his eyes tracing your face for a long moment before finally speaking. "Like the kind of man worth waiting for." His gaze locked with yours, intense and thoughtful, before he added with a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Someone with a few good stories of his own, strong, capable, and real." He paused. "The kind of man who makes your heart race… and still has the courage to show he’s okay with it. That kind of man."
Your eyes gleamed with something you couldn’t name, and a soft blush warmed your cheeks. "You’re talking about yourself, aren’t you?" A wry smile curved your lips.
"Hmm, maybe?" he said, pulling a silly face, lips curled into a playful grin.
The rain was still falling outside, and the bar wasn’t fully enclosed, so a draft of cold air swept through, raising goosebumps all over your body. "Uhh, it’s kind of chilly here, isn’t it?" you rubbed your arms, trying to warm yourself. "Getting caught in the rain isn’t helping either..."
His gaze swept over you, catching the shiver that ran through your body. "Ah, I can imagine." One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. "Don’t worry, darling. I have a few tricks to warm you up."
Pushing away from the wooden counter, Mountain Tim stepped closer, the heat of his body radiating into the cold air around you. "Come here... let me take a look at those arms."
You hadn’t touched yet, but just his nearness set your body aflame. Maybe it was the way he’d always tried to win you over, all those glances, those smiles, those subtle words, now flaring to life all at once.
Without breaking eye contact, he gently reached out, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against your cold skin. The touch was soft yet firm, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake.
A low hum of approval slipped from him as he began rubbing warmth back into your skin, his hands working with surprising tenderness. "You’re like ice, darling… You weren’t out in the rain for long, were you? That’s not good for you."
"Don’t worry about me, Tim. I’m not as fragile as you think, and I’m certainly not a child. I can take care of myself."
His gaze softened, affection flickering in his expression as he considered your words. His hands didn’t stop, fingers continuing slow circles against your skin. "Oh, I don’t doubt that, darling. I can see the strength you carry inside. But even someone strong can catch a cold."
A pause. His voice lowered a little. "I’m not saying you need protecting… I just can’t help but want to take care of you."
With so many thoughts clouding your mind, the only thing you managed was a sigh, followed by silence.
Mountain Tim kept up his gentle care, his fingertips still brushing over your skin, rubbing warmth back into your flesh. He leaned closer, his body heat pressing against you now, shielding you from the chill. His gaze was intense, watching you as your breath quickened, your body betraying a response you couldn’t hide.
Finally, he broke the silence.
"You’re blushing, sweetie. I guess that means you’re warming up?"
"Uh—" You were about to reply when the bartender appeared behind the counter.
"Sorry for being away. I was handling a delivery. Anything I can get for you folks?"
The interruption snapped you back to reality. That’s when you realized the rain had already passed; the sky was still heavy with clouds, puddles outside reflecting the evening light, but the downpour was gone. The bar didn’t feel as welcoming anymore.
You adjusted your still-damp hair as you pulled away from the cowboy. "I think I can make it home now without getting soaked again."
Mountain Tim followed your movement, his eyes never leaving you, but he didn’t stop you. He only gave a small, respectful smile. "Understood... I’ll always be around if you need me."
So, you gathered your things and left the establishment, bidding the cowboy goodbye.
And so it went. Days later, the familiarity returned.
You heard the horse’s hooves before you saw anything at all. You always did. The town was far too quiet for him to ever pass unnoticed. The morning breeze still carried the smell of the bakery down the street when he stopped in front of your porch. Hand on his hat, those blue eyes already fixed on you like there was nothing else in the world.
"Good morning, princess."
You crossed your arms, trying to hide the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “It’s already eleven, sheriff… your idea of ‘morning’ is a little generous.”
“For me, the day doesn’t truly begin until you show up.” He stroked Ghost Rider’s mane. “Figured I should stop by and make sure your smile’s still intact. The town gets prettier whenever you smile, you know that?”
You scoffed, though not in irritation. By now it was almost habit, his visits had become the liveliest part of your routine. And though you never said it, you waited for them. “Are you here on duty, or just to steal my time again?”
He dismounted, heading for your porch. The wooden planks creaked softly under his boots as he climbed the steps, his eyes still locked on yours. “Let’s just say… a lady with your beauty ought to have a daily patrol all her own. I’m just here to do my duty.”
“Hm… I thought your duty was catching outlaws,” you tease him with a mischievous smile.
"And yet… look where I always end up. I reckon you’re a thief of hearts.” Tim laid a hand over his chest, sighing, a touch dramatic.
You laughed at last, shaking your head. You knew he said those things too naturally for them to be mere jokes, but you also knew that, until now, he had never forced his way in or put you in an uncomfortable place. He was just there, like the sun rising every morning in the same spot, never demanding anything.
“Will you take a coffee? It’s fresh, unlike your pickup lines,” you asked with a restrained smile.
He chuckled low, that rough sound that always tied your stomach in pleasant knots. “If it’s made by you, princess, I’d drink it cold on my knees.”
You went inside to fetch it, and you could feel his gaze following you.
When you returned with two cups, Mountain Tim was seated on the wide wooden bench on the porch. As you approached, he shifted to the side, opening up space, inviting you to sit with him. You did, silently.
Tim took the cup in his large, steady hands. He drank, glanced at the horizon for a moment, then back at you.
But this time, he didn’t look away. “Have you ever thought about how certain things can bring us home… without us ever leaving?”
You furrowed your brows, laughing softly. “Was that a pickup line?”
“No. It was the most honest way I could say… that when I’m with you, I feel at home, even without ever having one.”
The cup stilled in your hand. The warmth of the coffee seemed to have moved into your chest instead.
He leaned in slightly, his gaze fixed on yours, and his voice came out lower. Slower. “I come here whenever I can because I can’t stay away. Because when you smile, the whole world lights up. And because, darling… if you ever let me love you for real, I swear no one else will ever make you feel like less than that.”
You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came. He didn’t say anything more either.
The space between you two closed on its own. His arm brushed yours. The scent of leather, grass, and earth invaded your space like something you didn’t ever want gone. His eyes fell to your lips. And then
His breath grazed yours.
One second. Two. The tension so thick you could hear your own heartbeat.
But he stopped.
Turned his face aside slowly, like a man respecting time. Like someone who regretted it… but cared for you even more.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, leaning back against the bench. “I just… almost lost my head.”
You didn’t reply. Just gripped the cup tighter. He didn’t seem regretful. Just… careful. Like a man holding a delicate flower, afraid to crush it without meaning to.
The silence between you carried more than words ever could.
Then he let out a soft sigh, as though his chest eased simply by being there, by your side. He adjusted his hat on his knee. The sunlight struck at an angle, gilding his hair, and for an instant you thought there truly wasn’t a man more handsome. Or more gentle.
He turned his face again, but not away. He looked at you once more, only now with a tenderness so calm it almost hurt in its beauty.
“I just wanted you to know… that I’m willing to wait. Be it a week, a month, or a whole lifetime. If it’s for you, princess, I’ll wait with a smile.”
And he smiled. That serene kind of smile that seemed to set everything right. Like even with his heart tight, he was grateful just to have made you feel something. Even if just a little.
You lowered your gaze, trying to hide your warm face. But he didn’t laugh, didn’t tease. He just sat there, by your side, like someone who understood.And in that moment, more than any kiss or touch, you knew: he wasn’t just in love with you. He was ready to truly love you.
The silence stretched until it was almost heavy. And still, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if each hurried beat of your heart was part of a melody only the two of you could hear.
You drew in a deep breath, mustering courage. Your hands trembled around the cup, and when you finally lifted your eyes, you found his—steady, patient. As if he had been waiting all along.
“Tim…” your voice came low, almost a whisper. You breathed again, swallowing the anxiety. “I know you never rushed me, that you always gave me my space. But… I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel anything. I wait for your visits every day. I wait to hear your voice, that way you look at me… and when you leave, it feels like part of me goes with you.”
He didn’t move. Just let out his breath slowly, like a man holding joy back from overflowing.
“What I’m trying to say is… I want this. I want you, Tim. Not a month from now, not someday. I want you now.” your voice came softer than you expected.
His eyes shone, but his body remained composed, calm as always. He leaned closer, his hat resting on his lap. His voice was warm, but controlled, each word like a gift he didn’t want to give in haste:
“So… can I kiss you now?”
You nodded, a nervous smile on your lips, your heart racing.
The world seemed to shrink just enough to fit on that porch. He brought his face closer, fingers brushing your cheek. And that was when you closed your eyes, leaning your head into Mountain Tim’s palm, feeling his breath graze your skin, before your lips finally met.
There was no rush, no hunger. Only the tenderness of a slow, steady kiss, without tongue. A light breeze passed through, stirring both your hair, as if it too wanted to be part of the moment.
When you parted, the blush was evident on both faces. You bit your lip, shy, but before you could shrink back, he spoke, sweet as always “You just gave me the greatest gift of my life, princess.”
And he smiled. A smile so serene, so full of warmth, it seemed capable of mending every part of you.
From that kiss on, Mountain Tim remained the patient, steady man he had always been. And you, little by little, discovered how sweet it was to lean on the certainty that he would always be there.
Days turned to weeks, his visits became an official routine, and every morning felt incomplete until you heard Ghost Rider’s hooves down the street. What had once been mere anticipation became habit, and habit… became a shared life.
Your courtship wasn’t built on grand gestures, but on the simple ones: coffee shared on the porch, soft laughter at dusk when he came off duty, the intertwining of hands that never faltered in holding yours.
Naturally, in time, came the proposal. Not rushed, not demanded. Just with the calm and steadiness that were his very essence. You said “yes” knowing that at his side, there would be no empty promises.
And eventually, the whole town came to call you husband and wife. And every look he cast your way, every smile saved only for you, proved that Mountain Tim had never lied: loving you truly was, indeed, his greatest duty.With time, you learned what it meant to live beside a man who, now and then, had to leave. In the beginning, your heart still tightened each time you saw Tim ready his horse and adjust his hat, prepared to fulfill duties far from town. You had once confessed, before marrying, that you didn’t know if you had the strength to share your life with someone who was away so often.
But Mountain Tim never let absence mean distance.
Your husband made sure to give you a quiet life, shouldering all the household expenses. On the days he was around, he brought you fresh flowers, not only because he liked seeing them brighten up the home, but because he loved even more seeing them in your hands, lighting up your smile.
And when work pulled him away for days, he always returned with little treasures: French perfumes, a fine piece of clothing you would never think to buy, delicate hair ornaments, or foreign foods he chose with utmost care. Each gift seemed to carry the silent message that, even far away, he thought of you at every moment.
Still, you didn’t live in his shadow. You had your own shop in town, a business you took pride in, which gave you not only independence but also a steady presence in the community. As the owner, you spent most of your time at home, tending to details and supervising from afar. And when the house felt too quiet, there was always comfort in knowing that, somewhere out there, Tim was thinking of you too.
On the previous morning, you had found an envelope carefully left on the counter of your shop by the mailman. The seal already gave away who it came from, but it was the firm, slightly rushed handwriting that made your heart skip a beat: Mountain Tim.
With trembling hands full of happiness, you opened the letter and let his voice come alive through the written lines.
“My princess,I hope this letter reaches you before I do, so you can feel my presence somehow, even from afar. The mission dragged on longer than expected. Some men were trying to stir things up here on the border, and I had to stay sharp, make sure the town remained safe. Nothing I couldn’t handle, but I’ll admit, these roads without you by my side feel longer than any chase.
I miss you in every detail of my day. I’ve been dreaming of your smile, and I’ll confess… sometimes I close my eyes and imagine you calling my name, just so I can fall asleep.
I’m coming back in the morning, so I believe I’ll be at your door by afternoon. I can’t wait to hold you tight, feel your warmth against me, and lose myself in the softness of your skin. You’re my rest, my home, my certainty that every effort is worth it.I’ll be there soon. Until then, keep a smile for me. I promise I’ll come running just to earn it.
I love you.”
It was 4:23 on a quiet afternoon. You were arranging silk ribbons on the table, choosing which ones you’d use to decorate new bows in your shop. The sweet scent of vanilla lingered in the air, coming from the soft cake fresh out of the oven, still releasing faint steam beside the porcelain vase holding the last bouquet Tim had given you before he left. The flowers, already beginning to lose their freshness, still insisted on keeping their color alive, as if sharing in your wait.
The click of the lock echoed through the house, breaking your thoughts and making your heart race faster. You immediately rose, a smile spreading across your lips as you walked toward the entrance.
“Tim!” your voice came out sweet, almost relieved, as you jumped into the sheriff’s arms.
He stepped in, carrying the dust of the road on his shoulders, but with the same gleam in his eyes that always melted you. A wide smile spread across his face when he saw you, and he shut the door behind him.
“I’m back, darling” he said, his voice low and dripping with tenderness. His arms wrapped around your waist, while in his hands he held a small bag that he offered to you with an almost shy gesture. “Brought you a little something.”
You accepted the gift, opening it carefully, like someone handling a treasure. Inside, a pair of delicate earrings shimmered, crafted in silver with tiny bluish stones that reflected the light in the room.
“They’re… beautiful.” You looked at him, touched, before raising your eyes to his. “You didn’t have to.”
He chuckled softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “But I wanted to,” he murmured. “Every time I pass a shop window, I think about how it would be to see you wearing something that brings out your beauty even more.”
His thick, warm fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, before pulling you by the waist and sealing his lips with yours.
The kiss began with a nearly silent urgency, his mouth pressing against yours with a hunger built up over days of distance. No tongue at first, just the burning pressure of his lips trying to make up for lost time. Then slowly, he gave space, asking for passage, and you yielded.
His tongue met yours in a slow, wet rhythm that burned like an ember even without haste. Tim squeezed your waist, pulling you even closer, his ragged breath mingling with yours.
“I missed you so bad,” he murmured between sighs, as if confessing a painful secret.
The heat between you was palpable, but he didn’t rush. When he pulled back slightly, his eyes wandered across your face as if trying to memorize every detail anew. One hand rose to caress your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your lips, swollen from the kiss.
“You must’ve waited for me just as much as I waited to come back to you…” he said, voice low, rough with emotion and desire.
You nodded with a sly smile, and he let out a quiet laugh too, as if he couldn’t quite believe his own luck.
“Let’s go to the bedroom…” Tim whispered, unhurried, brushing his mouth against the corner of yours. “I want to hold you properly.”
He laced his fingers with yours and began guiding you down the hallway. His steps were calm, but the way he squeezed your hand betrayed how his heart was racing inside his chest.
In the bedroom, you both sat at the edge of the bed. Tim still kept a firm hand on your waist, as if he didn’t want to let go for even a second, and the kiss returned with force. His lips moved against yours in soft, hungry bites, each one pulling a new sigh out of you. The light scrape of his beard grazed your skin deliciously while his hot breath mingled with yours.
His thick fingers began working at the clasps of your clothes, with that almost reverent gentleness only he had.But before he could go any further, you caught his wrists, pulling back a few inches, your heart racing. "Wait…" you whispered.
Confused, he obeyed. And then you brought your own hands to the hem of your dress, pulling it off slowly, revealing piece by piece of the daring lingerie you had hidden. The fabric clung to your skin, accentuating your curves, but it was the zebra print that immediately stole his attention.
For a moment, Mountain Tim went completely still. His eyes widened, and his mouth parted in a breath of disbelief.
"…No way."
"Way." You bit your lip, a mischievous giggle escaping. "Do you like it?"
He blinked a few times, as if still not believing what he was seeing. A blush spread across his face, contrasting with the lovesick, goofy smile only you could bring out of him.
"You look so damn fine." His voice came out hoarse, almost breaking, as if he was speaking too seriously for it to be just a compliment.
Approaching the fascinated man, you took the zebra hat off his head and placed it on your own. The gesture made him notice the perfect match between the accessory and your lingerie, and his eyes gleamed with surprise and desire.
He laughed, incredulous, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture.
"You’re not… messing with me, are you?" he asked, as if needing to make sure the vision was real.
A low hum of denial slipped from your throat as you gave him a playful spin.
"God, you’re insanely hot." The way he looked at you made it clear: he had never seen anything that stirred him up this much.
The world seemed to shrink until it fit only inside the bedroom. Mountain Tim grabbed you and laid you on your back. His weight pressed down on you, present but not crushing. The rope of Oh! Lonesome Me slid firmly around your wrists, tying them above your head with a careful knot, not too tight, not too loose.
The first kiss landed on your cheek, followed by another on your neck, hot and lingering. Each gentle bite, each mark he left on your collar sent a sting to your skin that burned only to make your body warmer.
The corset still shaped your waist and stomach, but it didn’t stop him. He pressed his mouth against the fabric, leaving slow kisses and nips there.
When he finally reached your thighs, he didn’t rush to tear the moment apart. He rubbed against the thin fabric of your panties, brushing over your clit and making sparks of pleasure spread through you. Then his teeth tugged gently at your most sensitive spot, pulling a sharp moan from you before he lifted his blue eyes, hungry but tender.
With a firm motion, he pushed the fabric aside and dragged his tongue across your wet heat, drowning himself in your nectar as if he were dying of thirst. The first gasp escaped you before you realized it, and the second came when he murmured against you
"Hmm… you taste so sweet." His lips latched onto your most sensitive spot, sucking with measured strength, pulling involuntary movements from your hips, as if your body itself sought more of him.
"Nng- I love you."
You said. Every moan, every shiver of yours was a confirmation of the bond you had built. It wasn’t submission, it was reciprocity: you surrendered to him the same way he always surrendered to you, in care, in devotion, in love.
Words came muffled by the vibration of his mouth against your sensitive skin. "I love you too, babe."
It was in that instant that his fingers slid inside you, two of them, strong and warm, filling you in perfect rhythm with his tongue. A trembling sigh slipped from your lips, your arms pulling in vain against the rope that held you down.
Your chest rose and fell erratically as his fingers slid deeper, starting a slow, deliberate thrust. Each movement was followed by the touch of his tongue on your most sensitive point, waves of pleasure coming one after the other, always stronger than the last.
The pace increased gradually, firm enough to drag louder moans out of you, but still sweet enough not to overwhelm.
"Ahh… T-Tim…" your voice broke under the weight of pleasure. "Mmhh… ohh- more!"
The sounds spilled from you shamelessly. Your hips chased more of him, and every time you pushed against his face, Tim let out a low moan in response, as if he too was lost in your taste.
He pulled back just enough to murmur, his hot breath against your soaked skin "I want you to cum in my mouth, darlin’… give me that."
"N-no… I-I can’t…" your voice came out trembling, your eyes squeezed shut from the pleasure consuming you.
He returned to sucking slowly, his fingers picking up speed inside you with delicious precision.
"You can, princess." His voice, deep and pleading, vibrated against you. "Let me feel it… please."
"Ahh- T-Tim…" Your moans spilled like drunken music, tangled with incoherent words. You tugged at your bindings, frustration and ecstasy blending. "Nhh- I-I need…"
He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down, didn’t let you escape the peak rising in waves through your body. And in that storm, you gasped, almost in tears of longing "I need you so hard, Tim… ahhn… please…"
The plea came raw with urgency, between desperate moans, as if nothing in the world could be enough except his body against yours.
And his eyes, still blazing blue between your legs, rose to you with the purest devotion.
Then he paused, panting. His broad chest rose and fell as if he had just run a marathon, and his skin glistened under the soft bedroom light, a thin layer of sweat sliding down his face.
Mountain Tim pulled back, kneeling on the bed, his eyes locked on you, as if he needed to memorize every detail of your tied-up, surrendered body, gasping.
With hands trembling from desire, Tim began undressing almost carelessly, hurriedly. His shirt flew to the corner of the room, soon followed by his pants. Giving you a nice view of his back, with well-worked abs, toned shoulders and biceps and a smooth chest, where there were some fine blond hairs.
Only the dark boxer remained, marked with a damp patch of pre-come spreading across the fabric. The bulge was so pronounced it seemed ready to jump out at any moment, asserting its presence and drawing a hungry sigh from you.
He ran one hand through his messy hair and smiled with that half-playful, half-predatory look only he could pull off.
"Have you heard that phrase?" his voice came hoarse, heavy with desire. "Save a horse, ride a cowboy…"
A curious giggle escaped your lips, still cut short by the thick air of excitement.
He leaned forward, getting closer, his hot breath brushing against your mouth. His smile grew a little wider. "Think you can do that with your hands tied, sweetie?"
You bit your lip, feeling your whole body ignite at the tease. "I can try…" you murmured, your voice low but firm enough to draw a look from him that seemed to set the air itself on fire.
Tim chuckled softly, a deep, shivery sound, before sliding his hand over your face, as if needing to feel your soft skin once more. "That’s all I needed to hear."
He leaned in to kiss your lips again, this time more hungry, while one of his hands slowly pulled down his boxer, freeing what you had been craving.
Now, Tim was leaning against the headboard, and you sat slowly on him, hands behind you. "Hah- f-fuck!" you murmurs, feeling yourself filled, digging your nails into those soft fleshy shoulders.
He gave you a slow, passionate kiss for long seconds, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance. He held the side of your head with one hand while the other caressed your ass.
"Ride" he commanded, forehead pressed to yours.
With your arms pinned, your only instinct was to move your hips and thighs, keeping eye contact. Tim decided to help, holding your ass on each side, coordinating and increasing the rhythm.
It was simply exquisite. Your head fell back in pleasure, and the blonde wasted no time attacking your neck with wet kisses.
You whimpered his name teasingly, making the pace pick up. Let’s be honest, he was doing more than you today—is this a pillow princess moment?
Murmurs escaped his throat. "Nhh… hah, just like that," indicating the cowboy’s mind losing control as he thrust against you.
"That’s- hah- that’s what you wanted, r-right?" you teased him, almost unable to speak.
"All these days…" He shifted you and laid you facing the bed, delivering a sharp smack to one of your thighs, leaving a soft sting that would fade in seconds.
"You have no idea how much I’ve missed this, darlin’. Love your rounded butt."
With only your face on the mattress and knees supporting you, you ground against the blonde.
"Hah! You little…" he exclaimed, gripping your waist before sliding his penis back inside.
You received him more easily now, rolling your eyes and burying your face in the mattress. "Ngh- Haah!"
Suddenly, your legs began to come together. Looking down, you saw Mountain Tim’s rope binding your thighs, tightening them.
Indeed, the sheriff was romantic, but the truth was he also loved seeing you tied up, surrendered.
He placed his hands on either side of your waist, moving his hips back and forth. You moaned into the mattress, feeling that thickness fill you, brushing against your walls, in and out, hitting your womb.
Mountain Tim was intense in bed. Although he feared hurting you with slaps or the rope’s grip, he completely lost himself when thrusting that beautiful cock into you.
You heard pants between teeth mixing with your teasing moans. Looking back, you saw your man with a clenched jaw, head tilted back, eyebrows furrowed. The sight of him losing himself in your pussy was enough to make you come.
Now louder moans escaped your throat, climax hitting you in a huge wave, every inch of your body on fire, and feeling Mountain Tim’s pelvis against yours simply destroyed you.
Following yours, a drawn-out moan echoed behind you. Mountain Tim pulled out quickly, and in milliseconds, warm liquid hit your lower back and spine, soaking the corset you were wearing, leaving pools on the fabric that transferred heat to your skin.
"Shit! Noo, sorry! I’m so sorry, darlin’." He looked concerned, apologizing for messing up your new corset, immediately undoing his stand knot that had tied you. "Please forgive me. You looked so beautiful… I got carried away and didn’t use a condom."
You got up, feeling the fluid slide over your skin. "Hey, it’s okay," you said, untying the corset at your back and setting it beside the rug on the floor. "It won’t stain. But if it does, we can just remember how excited you got seeing me wear it for the first time."
A sarcastic little smile appeared on your face, but Tim hadn’t even heard half of it, hypnotized by your breasts. Almost drooling, like a damn horny bastard.
"Is this a second round?" he asked, inspired, alternating glances between your eyes and them.
You laughed in disbelief. "You haven’t even recovered from the first one?"
"I’m already completely renewed by this heavenly view."
His hands traveled along your waist, sliding delicately to your bust, rubbing your nipples with his thumbs, making you gasp. "Hah… Tim~"
He bit your shoulder and laid you back on the bed, now falling face-first onto your breasts. Your hands tangled in his hair, caressing the blonde strands, savoring the little time he gave before tying you up again.
❥ masterlist
ABOUT ME
hii, I don't speak English originally but I'm learning :33! Please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes. If there is a word that doesn't make sense in eng, please let me know.
I don't accept requests yet but with time, who knows, one day I can (◡ ω ◡).
You pant from exhaustion. Your friend, your dearest friend who had been courting you for months, could only stand there. Dumbfounded. "I..."
As you looked up from the ground, hands still on your knees to steady your breathing, you saw his face. So beautifully sculptured under the summer's orange hue, perfect for his freckled face. The breezed so gentle you thought it didn't want to ruined his perfect wavy strands. Damn this world and their angels, you thought as you gazed into his eyes.
Those loving eyes you don't deserve.
Turning your head, you opted to stare into the distant forest instead. You heard a chuckle in front of you, "That's... y/n, what?" and he laughed as if you just told a funny joke. You simply scoffed, "I wasn't joking, Blake". Standing upright, you stared at him, offended. For a moment his eyes locked with yours and you looked away. He smiled gently at you. Taking deliberate steps towards you, afraid you might run again, he asked, "does that mean you like like me too?"
At this, you furiously blushed. Looking at anywhere but him, who stood so close you can feel his body heat. Which is not helping you whatsoever. "Yeah, i guess, whatever," you are trying so hard not to melt right now. There was a moment of silence.
'Why the hell is he not saying anything.'
You decided to take the risk and glanced at his face. Lo and behold, he was staring at you with so much adoration and love you swore he was radiating it at this point. Great, now your face looks like a tomato. "GODDAMMIT," you pushed his chest, which barely made him stumble, and started to bolt again, going further and further into the vast green field. "WAIT! Y/N!" he was closing in on you but you persist, "NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!"
But the world was against you.
Your feet collided with the blissful rock. The ground kisses your body as you embarrassingly fell and rolled on the grass. "Oh my god are you okay?!" Blake was quick to appear at your side as you winced. "Yep all good", despite your response he proceeded to check your body, making sure nothing was amiss. "You sprained your ankle," his caring tone was too much for you to bear as you covered your face, "uh-huh". That's not really your biggest concern right now.
"Heyy," he pried your hands from your face and you let him, albeit stubbornly to which he chuckled. Vulnerable against him, you can only stare into his kind eyes. "Hey", as he leaned his forehead against yours, "what".
He smiled, "I love you." You pout and murmured something. "What was that?" he asked knowing damn well he heard it loud and clear. "I said I love you too..", god he was getting cuteness aggression at the sight of your blushing face. Squeezing your cheeks, he so badly wanted to pamper your face with kisses but your well being comes first.
"I'm gonna carry you okay?"
"W-WAIT-", too late, you were already in his arms. "You-! I can walk!" you claimed as you furiously blushed once again. "Nuh-uh, you're just gonna make it worst," he stated. You can only sigh as you cross your arms and bury your face against his chest, "whatever."
After years of meticulous planning and research, his work is finally fruitful. You are right where you belong,
With him.
Tbh I didn't intend to end it with a little Yan but oh well :3
it’s not bad but like where is the toothache fluff, the kind that makes u want to cry and puke at the same time cos it’s so good. maybe i’m not looking the right place BUT STILL
The rain starts before you’re fully awake — soft, steady, the kind that turns the world quiet. The room is dim, curtains breathing with the draft, and the sheets are warm the way blankets get after a whole night of stealing each other’s heat. You feel them before you see anything: an arm looped around your waist, a leg thrown over yours, the slow rise and fall of their chest pressed to your back.
“Don’t move yet,” they mumble, voice gravelly with sleep. “I’m not ready to be a person.”
You smile, eyes still closed, and tuck your hand over theirs. Their fingers are loose at first, then they tighten like they’ve decided you might drift away if they don’t anchor you. The rain taps on the window. Somewhere out there, people are catching trains and opening umbrellas. In here, there’s only the sound of their breathing, the warmth of their mouth nuzzling the curve of your shoulder.
“Coffee?” you whisper, more habit than question.
They shake their head against your skin. “You first,” they say, but it sounds like a joke. Then, softer: “Stay. Please.”
You roll onto your back so you can see them. Their hair is a mess, their lashes half-stuck together, their smile small and a little crooked. They look like morning — real, unpolished, dear. You touch their cheek with the back of your fingers. The room smells like cotton and rain and the faint sweetness of your shampoo in their hair.
“Okay,” you say. “We stay.”
They relax like you just solved something important. One of their hands finds yours under the blanket, thumb tracing your palm like they’re trying to memorize the lines there. You breathe together for a while. A car passes outside. The radiator clicks. A bird attempts a very brave, very wet song.
“Nightmare?” you ask, because you recognize the way they’re holding you — the way people hold on after falling.
They shrug, embarrassed. “Not really. I was just… worried. About nothing. About everything.” Their eyes flick to your face, then away. “You know how it gets.”
You do. So you lift their hand and kiss their knuckles, one by one, slow like counting. They exhale, a shaky breath that eases by the time you reach their thumb. When you set both your hands on your stomach, their fingers slot between yours like it’s muscle memory.
“Let’s make today small,” you suggest. “No big plans. Just this.”
“Just this,” they echo. It sounds like relief.
Minutes stretch. You talk about nothing — about the weird dream you barely remember, about whether the plant on the windowsill needs a bigger pot, about how the neighbor’s dog has learned the exact sound of your front door and barks like you’re celebrities whenever you come home. Your voices are quiet, the kind of quiet that doesn’t need shushing.
At some point your stomach growls and you both laugh. They roll away dramatically, fling an arm over their face, and whisper, “betrayal,” like they’re in a tragedy. You nudge them with your knee until they peek at you from beneath their arm.
“Toast?” you ask. “Or do we make pancakes and pretend we’re people who do breakfast properly?”
“Pancakes,” they say instantly. “We’ll burn the first one like a sacrifice.”
You promise the batter your best effort and slide out of bed. The air is cool on your legs, and you make a face at the floor with its predictable morning chill. Behind you, the bed creaks as they sit up and reach for you without thinking, fingers brushing your wrist, a little tug that says come back. You lean down and they kiss your forehead in a soft, home-shaped way.
“Meet you in the kitchen,” you say.
“Bring me,” they reply.
So you do. You pull them up, both of you unsteady with sleep, and shuffle to the kitchen wrapped in the same blanket, both feet stepping on the hem like children learning a three-legged race. You end up laughing at the sink because they try to pour batter with their non-dominant hand while refusing to let go of your waist. The first pancake is, as foretold, a disaster — crispy on one side, suspiciously pale on the other. You hold it up between two fingers and declare it “abstract”. They applaud.
While the second pancake cooks (properly), you stand in front of the stove and they stand behind you, chin hooked over your shoulder, arms around you like a scarf. The window fogs at the corners. The rain keeps going, not interested in your pancakes at all.
“Thank you,” they say into your neck. It’s barely a voice. More a feeling shaped into sound.
“For what?”
“For not making me be brave yet.” They squeeze your middle. “For letting the day be small.”
You flip the pancake, watch it land perfect, and feel something soft bloom under your ribs. “We can be brave later,” you say. “After pancakes.”
“Deal.”
You eat at the counter, sharing one plate because getting a second one seems illegal when the world is this gentle. They steal your last bite and then immediately offer theirs with a fork held to your mouth, like penance. You accept, because you’re merciful.
Back in bed — because of course you return to bed — you stack pillows, coax the blankets into a warm nest, and press close until your knees tuck perfectly behind theirs. They look at you like you’ve given them something rare. Maybe you have. Maybe the rarest thing is a morning where nothing is urgent and nobody is pretending.
“I love you,” they say, not dramatic, not grand. Just true.
“Yeah,” you breathe, forehead to theirs. “Me too.”
Outside, the rain doesn’t pause for any of this. That’s okay. It doesn’t need to. Inside, you hold hands and let the day stay small. Inside, you’re already where you were trying to get.
You close your eyes, and you both keep the promise without saying it: we’ve got time.
﹒✦・note・✦﹒
hi, thank you for reading this little piece ‹𝟹 i’m starting this blog to share soft, fluffy stories like this — the kind of writing that feels like a warm blanket on a rainy day. i hope this imagine bring you a little comfort whenever you need it.
tw: Fluff, kissing, Makima having a soft spot for reader, innocent! reader, slight! suggestive themes, yandere themes
synopsis: Makima always makes an effort to visit you every fall to help with your small farm.
A/N: Cashapp: $kanaokyun
"Thanks for coming out here, Ms. Makima," you smiled as you took a slice of apple pie from the wooden counter, "I know that you must be busy back in the city! I kinda feel bad..." you frown, setting the slice of pie in front of the woman.
Makima only smiled, "Don't feel bad." she reassured, taking a bite out of your delicious pie, "I like it out here rather than in the city. it's peaceful." She chuckles.
"Ehhh? is the city really that bad?" you tilt your head, taking a seat on the red cotton couch next to Makima, along with your own plate of apple pie.
With a chuckle, Makima nods her head. "too noisy, too stressful." was her reply before finishing up her pie, "I wouldn't recommend living there, in my opinion."
You only laugh, "I wasn't planning on it, but I do want to visit someday~" you sing, smiling.
Moments like these are what Makima enjoys the most. No devil attacks, no paperwork, and especially no coworkers to deal with. Only you and your yummy pies.
"I'll take you someday, I promise."
"You better! I wanna see the Skytree- OH!"
With a sudden movement, the older woman lifts you off the couch, setting you on her lap. Her head nuzzled deep on your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. It was an understatement that Makima cares for you a lot; you were different from the humans she interacted with.
While some were greedy, selfish, and violent, you were quite the opposite. Pleasant, caring, and soft.
Her little puppy.
"Maki?" your soft voice brought her back to reality, feeling how your fingers skillfully combed through her red locks of hair. Without hesitation, she leans downward, giving your neck little kisses.
You squeal in laughter, squirming on her lap. "M-Maki, stop that; you know that tickles!"
But she doesn't and doesn't plan to stop anytime soon. Makima knew your weak spots well and what kind of sounds you make when she sucks in the right places.
It’s an understatement that the redhead is obsessed <3
