Sometimes the sun sucks.

You lie in your bed, having the best sleep of your night, sleeping peacefully. The figure that was beside you moves out of bed, the soft footsteps they make padding across the carpet. They open the curtains, the sun's bright glares shining a glow across the floor, and most importantly, your face.

The figure then makes their way to the door, with a slight pause, before the sound of the door creaking fills the hollow room. They exit and shut the door behind them, silencing the room completely.

Two years now, two years that you have been married to her. With Rumi Usagiyama, otherwise known as the 5th pro hero, Miruko. She was the best decision you ever made really, accepting her proposal to get together. She always made the first move, never allowing you to think.

Though, it's her dominant spirit and brash personality that make her endearing. You love her for that, and she knows you do. Despite her being a mean person sometimes- in which she knows she is -she loves the crap outta ya.

One day, you were-

Damn that sun was annoying.

With a grunt, you slowly sat up, raising a hand to block the rays shining in your face. As you felt the spot beside you, the feeling of emptiness, and only the dip of the sheets touched your palm.

You got up, padding your way to the doorway through which she had exited. When you opened it, the sound of batter and bacon filled your nose. The fumes alone made your mouth water.

Walking to the kitchen, the sun would shine brightly through the large window in the living room. Its rays panned across the wood floor as you made your way to the kitchen, to her.

She stood at the counter, wearing that oh-so-big shirt of yours that she loved.

Her sense of you heightened.

To taunt you, she reached behind her and grabbed the fabric, lifting the shirt a bit to show you. She didn't even look at you, but you knew she was grinning.

As you came up behind her, she pressed her backside against you. Her stubby tail wiggles against the bottom of your shirt.

"Mornin' sleepy head." She would greet with a look over her shoulder, grinning before focusing on cooking.

It was so very domesticated. The usual brash and taunting woman cooking for her husband. She didn't expect herself to be this type of way either, but you were worth it.

She could feel you against her, which causes her to press more into your chest. She knew she was having an effect.

"Will we have time for breakfast, or are ya gon' take me before I can even cook the pancakes?" She would tease, reaching a hand back to grab yours, fingers intangling together.