𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞-𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞

He would be a dog. Almost literally. He would sometimes shadow you around the house or he’d push your hands to his head or stomach for rubs because it feels nice to him. Like when it’s movie night and he was home. You two would be on the couch and he’d either have you in his arms or he’d have his head in your lap. It didn’t matter as long as he was touching you.

He would also fix things around the house almost the moment it was broken. The sink is leaking? You go to find him, looking through the whole house but then you give up and go back to the sink and it’s fixed??

He moves like if a dog was a shadow. And I know you know what I mean.

"To judge everyone, and to convict all the ungodly of all the ungodly acts they have done in an ungodly way, and of all the defiant words ungodly sinners have spoken against him."

Manhandled

You think you're in the clear, crossing your t's, dotting your i's, and setting your new place up. You'd always love your Jack but it was time to move on, and move on you did.

It wasn't until you woke up one morning to the smell of—wait. Wait a fucking minute—what the fuck—who... who the fuck is in your kitchen?! And just like that, peace turned to fear and apprehension. You stumbled out of your bedroom to see Price cooking up your favorite breakfast. How did he—?

"Sit down, sweetheart." Your husband didn't turn away from the stove once.

You were too stunned to do anything else.

Price set breakfast out in front of you with your favorite drink in tow—just like you like it. You began to eat but everything felt heavy and it was hard to swallow.

And then Price lit a cigar, took a few puffs, looked at you, and smiled his disarmingly charming smile, cheeks big and everything.

You're a waitress of a rather fancy restaurant. You've dealt with a lot of rich people ever since working there - some being nicer than others.

You were happily doing your job one day until your manager pulled you to the side.

"I need you to go and ask the gentleman at table seven to stop smoking"

"Why me?"

"Because I'm asking you to, try not to cause a scene" he shoos you away and before you know it, you're at the table filled with business looking men.

You cleared your throat before opening your mouth and for some reason you felt nervous. You've done this job for years but for some reason you're palms are feeling rather sweaty.

"Sir?" you aim your voice towards him and he turns around, eyeing you head to toe before raising a brow.

"You're not allowed to smoke in here, you're more than welcome to take it outside though" you say with a polite smile and hope he doesn't see how nervous you are, the rich feed on that.

He turns around and you scoff slightly. How rude.

"Sir-" you start but get interrupted.

"Come here" he beckons you with his fingers over his shoulder and you grind your teeth - you're not a dog - you thought as you do as he says.

You're standing between him and another man and he grabs your apron, pulling you closer. He looks up at you from where he sits, cigar hanging from his lips and slides something into your pocket.

"I'm sure that'll settle this problem" you're speechless as you nod before walking away. You knees felt weak as you carried yourself to the back room behind the bar.

Looking down at your apron, you saw it was bulging out and reached inside. Your hand gripped what was inside and your heart was beating out of your chest.

you're lying on your stomach reading a book - smack.

you're cooking something in the kitchen, dancing — smack

you're standing in the bathroom in front of the mirror, getting ready for a new day - smack.