#Bubbly Book Babble

[flamingo-bubbles]

Huh. The first instance of an AMV being made was all the way back in 1982. The more you know!

[thegaissilent]

Guess what, another one of my headcanons is literally book canon alsksksksk I LOVE BEING RIGHT

[goddesstrolls]

wait i'm stupid lich!kairos was literally handed a baby

[64reprieve]

picture you (e.w.) ˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚

pairing: butch!college!loser!ellie x femme!camgirl!reader

synopsis: you need promo for your business. ellie’s tuition is due. or ellie’s a college student in her junior year scrambling to get her shit together and desperate to make ends meet with side jobs. you need pictures taken by someone who isn’t a creep from craigslist and won’t kill you. your friend knows just the person.

content: angst, amateurphotographer!ellie, loser!ellie, college!ellie, butch!ellie, brief mean!ellie at first but she softens up, camgirl!reader, femme!reader, ellie is broke and judgmental, awkward photoshoot, mentions of depression, mentions of agoraphobia, miscommunication, explicit language

word count: 4.7k

nsfw, men and minors dni

prologue ➤ chapter one ➤ chapter two ➤ chapter three ➤ chapter four ➤ tbd.

A beaten mumble drawls from you.

“I’m going to lose my job.”

The basement air is crisp from the harried sliding door of people reentering, the cold wafting in and raising your exposed skin to pebbles. Parties fall short in appeal, but you’re undeniably lonely; a skewed dichotomy granted how you spend nearly every night with an audience.

It’s hard enough to collect the mail from your doorstep, but you’d much rather hang out with Riley than die alone from holing up in your shitty, off-campus apartment.

Your isolation was a deluded salvation of choice from the start; there’s no childhood bedroom to sleep in during the holidays, no weekly phone calls home you pretend to make begrudgingly.

Winter break empties and hollows out your insipid college town into a blanket of white, undisturbed.

Self-help books have stacked themselves in your closet since Freshman year, but there was little to romanticize or heal over sitting on park benches under a single streetlight until your hands curled into the wood and buried blue beneath the snow.

Those weeks are cold, but your empty bed is freezing.

It’s unequivocally a first-world problem but you’d soon rather shake a cup on the sidewalk to make rent than return to late rides from campus to work, and then home.

Memories rouse the thick, stale scent and warm air of the bus, and your inner cheeks chewed raw from standing outside at night, bones buzzing with exhaustion.

You couldn’t go back, you couldn’t, you couldn’t, you wouldn’t, you–

Riley swirled a mint in her mouth, clicking against her teeth, "Okay. It can’t be that bad. What’s wrong with the photos you took last time?”

The ratty couch chafed the back of your bare thighs pink. Smeared eyeliner clung to your heavy lashes as you traced the rim of your sharp-scented cup, swimming with a repulsive concoction of sparkling fruit juice and gin that weighed down your insides.

“For one, those are from four months ago,” You paused to sigh, shutting your eyes in half disbelief and acceptance, “And two, they were Christmas-themed."

Your fingers pinched your ears to mimic a point, “I’m wearing elf ears in them. I can’t repost that in March, it’ll look like I’m pedaling for Santa fetishists.”

Across the cushions, Riley’s attentive gaze was a warmth that bordered sobering. It's not often you get to complain.

An amused laugh bubbled from her, “Have you tried posting about it online? Maybe like Twitter or something. Or I could do it. I know that our phones are busted, but we could probably photoshop the glare out. ”

“No,” Your head stabbed at the thought, “And I want to stay anonymous. I can’t imagine anyone who responds to that and pays attention to my content would be normal.” You sigh, “Shit, I wish Abby didn’t transfer.”

“She took your elf pictures?” Riley snickered, sitting up to hear you over the music and drunken babbles.

“It was one time. Her dad bought her a really good camera.” You argued, shooting her a look of disapproval.

Riley kissed her teeth, stretching her arms out with a faint grunt.

A short, pensive silence fell between the two of you.

Riley’s knee knocked into yours suddenly, pulling your attention, “I think I know someone.”

Who does Riley know that you don’t? Then again, you haven’t properly socialized outside your tiny circle in a couple of years.

You winced at the vision of a guy with a five o’clock shadow, greasy hair, and a camera bag hanging around their neck. Or worse, a cologne-drowned, perm-haired, red-pilled, indie boy with an abnormal vintage camera obsession.

“He’s not super weird, right?” You probed, wearing a look of uncertainty.

You worried as though it paid.

Riley leaned back on the armrest, “No, she’s friends with Dina. We’ve hung out before. You guys would get along. Want me to talk to her?”

A weight retreated from your slumped shoulders, “She has a camera and stuff? I don’t need much. Just some shots at my place and it won’t be anything crazy. Do you think she’d be like–okay with it?”

Riley nodded to your ramble, spitting her candy into your neglected cup before setting it on the floor. You’d worry about it later.

“She won’t mind, trust me." Riley insisted, waving you off, "So, is that a yes?” She mused.

“Tell her I’ll pay well.” You exhaled in relief, taking her hand.

Riley affirmed lazily, squeezing back, “She’ll do it.”

────୨ৎ────

Morning dew unfurled the lushness of vernality as worms curled beneath saturated dirt; Earth rose in the stillness.

Ellie squinted in the luster of warmth; the breeze cooling sweat before her clothes could stick. She walked beside her friend, taking space on the path with disregard and forcing passersby to walk on the damp grass.

“Who?” Ellie asked, taking out her earbuds and slipping the cord through her belt loop.

Dina looked up at Ellie as they walked to the library together, “One of Riley’s friends.” She exhaled through her nose, “I sent you her Instagram already. You would know if you ever checked your messages.”

Ellie mumbled, slipping her phone out of the pocket of her cargo pants. Her fingers tapped on the screen, eyebrows furrowed, “Okay? What the fuck am I supposed to do with this? She has two posts and one of them’s from five years ago.”

“I didn’t send it so you could gawk at her pictures–text her!” Dina groaned, adjusting her backpack as they tread uphill on the sidewalk.

“Relax.” Ellie refreshed your profile before tucking her phone away, “Riley said she asked for pictures? For an event or something?” She guessed, nearing the building.

Dina shrugged, stopping by the door before Ellie opened it, “Thanks,” Dina whispered, looking around the quiet library. “She said it’s just for social media but it’ll be at her friend’s place.”

Ellie bit her tongue, holding off her complaints. It would be pointless, she already knew she wasn’t in any position to say no.

Ellie worked over expenses for the month; a ninety-dollar textbook, course enrollment fees for the following semester, credit card bill, the brake pads of her truck still needed to be replaced, and her meal plan card only had around sixty dollars left–which bit when she was exhausting at least two to three energy drinks every day.

It wasn’t the type of money she could ask from Joel. She refused to. She couldn’t if she tried by this point. The thought alone of calling Joel sent a shiver through her body and made her palms sweat.

Ellie hadn’t grown up with much, though it wasn’t out of Joel’s cheapness and she knew that, always had.

It led to the fight on Ellie’s fifteenth birthday after he’d gifted her a Martin despite barely making the light bill that month.

Ellie had screamed until she turned red, trying to drag Joel and the guitar down the driveway and into the truck so they could return it to the shop. He refused until Ellie’s voice gave out, but learned to stick to grocery store birthday cakes from then on.

She made sure never to see another dollar from his wallet.

Ellie sighed under her breath, “Don’t tell me it’s another mixer. I swear to God.”

The two walked past the front desk, finding their usual study corner tucked away by rows of shelves. The scent of fresh carpet and paper imbued the building.

Ellie sat down, tossing her backpack between her legs and turning on her laptop while Dina set up her iPad from across the table, arranging her notebooks in a neat stack and rifling through her pen case to lay out highlighters and little sticky notes.

“Dina,” Ellie smirked, watching with amusement, “Are you prepping for surgery?” She teased, raising her eyebrows.

Dina clenched her teeth, sending her a glare, “Shut up.” She whispered harshly.

Ellie scratched the back of her neck as she aimlessly clicked around on her laptop for a few minutes before taking her phone back out. She should be using this time to study, especially with how awful her procrastination had grown since starting college.

Still, Ellie had adopted ‘I’ll start tomorrow' as a commandment.

She found your profile again looking through your tagged photos. Nothing. Ellie sighed before searching Riley’s Instagram: a plethora of posts; car selfies, blurry concert videos, photos taken on late nights out with criminally overused flash, though Ellie was culpably in some of them, until finally she came across a post of you.

Simple, sweet.

A photo in a bustling restaurant of you blowing out birthday cake candles, captioned ‘19 years today for this beauty queen’ with your account in the comments, asking her to take it down.

Your hair was down, curls cascading a little past your shoulders, with one side pinned behind your ear to show just enough of your face. Your red, manicured nails reflected the candlelight as you locked your hands, looking through your long eyelashes.

As if your smile wasn’t striking enough, you had dimples. Fucking dimples.

It seemed you two ran in the same social groups, so how had she never met or heard of you? From the looks of it and your absence of an online presence, you couldn’t be a sorority girl or anything.

She would’ve ghosted you if so.

Ellie chewed her top lip, glancing up at Dina to find the girl grossly entranced with doodling a diagram on her Ipad. Ellie cleared her throat, leaning forward, “You’ve met her?”

Dina nodded without looking up, “Who? Oh–maybe a couple of times. She’s nice.”

“Is it a baby shower or something?” Ellie asked, eyebrows knitting together.

“Ellie, I don’t know. Like I said, I’ve only met her twice and Riley didn’t give much detail. She just said it’d be small.” Dina mumbled, tilting her head with a bored expression.

Ellie sat back with a short nod, clicking back to your page before finally typing a message.

hey, this is ellie. i heard you need some pictures taken.

Too short, dry, and awkward. She clenched her teeth, backspacing through the entire thing before retyping.

hi, this is ellie. i heard from riley. when do u need the pictures by?

Better, she figured.

She waited and waited, staring at her phone until Dina kicked her beneath the table. She ignored her, sitting up when a text from you loaded in.

hi! thanks for getting back to me, i really appreciate it. i just need a few pictures. if you’re still comfortable, i’d like to do it this week but next week is fine if that works better for you!

How polite.

i can make time this week. what’s ur address?

You were waiting by the phone too; her guess. You texted back in seconds.

thank you so much! i’ll send you a link to the building. i’m in apartment #28. do you prefer cash or card? and what’s your availability?

Ellie clicked the link. You lived about five minutes from campus, which was barely a drive. She could skate over instead of wasting gas if she wanted but there was also the chance of tripping on cracked cement and breaking her camera, or worse– someone witnessing her fall off her board, but it was an undeniably better gig than the day before, when Jesse paid her thirty bucks to bake a box cake and she nearly burnt down the dorm’s communal kitchen.

i’m okay with either. we can talk payment after i get there.

She rubbed her nose, biting her cheek as her thumb hovered over the keyboard before she gave in.

i’m free right now if u are. or we can work out a different time. just send me ur schedule.

Your typing bubbled in and out, before you finally replied.

I’m free! just shoot me a text or knock when you get here or if u get lost. im on the second floor.

Ellie hurriedly packed her bag, laptop thudding against the table in the quiet building. Dina glanced over, squinting at her.

“What are you doing?” Dina mouthed, setting her pen down.

Ellie shrugged, pushing her chair back in, “Something came up but I’ll be home tonight. Are you good to walk back or should I text Jesse?”

“Don’t text him. I want to enjoy my peace and quiet without you two.” Dina waved her off with a lighthearted sigh, “I’ll be fine. I’m almost finished.”

Ellie exhaled, ruffling the top of Dina’s head, “Alright. Call me if anything changes. Have fun with your nursing stuff.” She snickered.

Dina shoved her away playfully, groaning, “Just go.”

────୨ৎ────

Ellie stood outside your apartment door. She wiped the sweat beading on the back of her neck, staring down the burgundy paint before knocking.

What kind of prissy bitch had the money to afford to pay someone for Instagram pictures while simultaneously going to school and living off-campus?

It left a bitter taste in her mouth– you left a bitter taste in her mouth.

The door opened, and Ellie’s shoulders loosened at the sight; your hair was straightened unlike the photo Riley had uploaded, you wore pink gloss to match your nails, and your eyes were larger in person.

Pretty. You were so fucking pretty.

You stepped aside to let her in, fidgeting with the belt of your robe and wearing a cautious smile as the two of you exchanged hellos.

Ellie set her skateboard against the wall, and you took the time to look at her then.

Her auburn hair stopped at her neck, half tied up with an undercut and her chipped nails were painted black. She wore an aged, light blue flannel over a white wife-beater, and black cargo pants that sat on her hips with just a sliver from the band of her grey boxers and a happy trail peeking through. A heavy carabiner loaded with keys, keychains, a couple of worn hair ties, a pocket knife, and some lettered beads you couldn’t quite make out, pulled down from the left of her belt loops that jingled as she straightened up.

Her green eyes gloomed in the dimness, freckles scattered across her skin like she was kissed by the stars. A faint scar rose from the corner of her chapped, pouty lips.

She was devastatingly attractive in a ‘lover i dreamt of once and couldn’t replicate’ kind of way.

It made you feel all the more graceless about the situation.

You took a step back as she turned around, offering a smile, which she returned with one that didn’t meet her eyes.

Ellie glanced around the living room of your apartment, thumbing at the strap of her backpack.

Your place was quaint with inconsistent decorations; a fake plant here and there in corners of the room, a scratched coffee table with a stack of mail, a grey couch with a few throw blankets folded on the armrest, and a TV across the room. The curtains were drawn shut, only a lamp and the kitchen light to brighten and the walls were bare; just a dead clock above the balcony doors. Your kitchen was clean, from what she could see, aside from a pot sitting on the stove.

You pulled the curtains back, apologizing sheepishly, “Sorry. I forget how dark it is in here sometimes.”

“I have blackout curtains so I get it,” Ellie shared, setting her backpack down on the couch and taking out her tripod and camera, “How do you wanna do this? The balcony or we could go outside? It’s still light out.”

A nervous laugh bubbled from your throat.

What kind of content did she assume you made?

You flushed, shaking your head, “Oh– god, no. I’m not like that. I thought my room would be good. I also have lights if you want to use them.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, scanning you, “Are you shy?”

What was your deal?

Maybe Ellie was in a bad mood today, as she often was, but she couldn’t figure you out. You seemed nice, spoke softly, and smelled so sweet; you’d clouded her with a bubble of rose as soon as the door swung open.

She couldn’t be upset with you despite her premature animosity. And the fact you were paying.

Regardless, she just wanted to get this over with so she could go back, edit your pictures in her bed while she shared a joint with Dina, get paid, and then ignore you as if you didn’t exist because until now, you didn’t.

“Not really, no.” You mumbled, “Would you like a water?”

She scanned your being then looked off to the side, “No, thanks.”

“Right, sure. I’ll show you the way.” You hushed, walking away.

Ellie glanced down at the back of your ankles to see a pair of embroidered winking cartoon cats. Cute.

She snorted, following you.

The bedroom was noticeably more lived in; posters and tapestries lined up the white walls except for the one your bed was against, fairy lights adorned the trim of the ceilings, and your dresser with heart-shaped knobs had trinkets and makeup littered atop. A desk sat pushed in the corner with a glass-stained lamp glowing and a heavily stickered laptop with a webcam. A few ring lights were resting against a wall. Your closet was partially shut, a sweater sleeve hanging out the gap and a pink duvet swallowed your bed. A fluffy, white rug lay in the center of your bedroom, and Ellie considered how you’d managed to keep it spotless.

It all looked new. Did your parents help you? She assumed they’d picked out this apartment, and then furnished it too.

You were annoying, but she couldn’t deny how well your place suited you.

“I never asked how many you need. Will this take long?” She blurted out.

You wavered at her tone. It wasn’t like she owed you anything, and she had come out all this way just for you.

“No, not at all. Honestly, if we can get just one decent shot, I’ll be grateful.” You confessed, biting your tongue.

She set her tripod down, turning her back from you to mess with the ring lights and their placement. She wasn’t very experienced using them, but lighting wasn’t an unfamiliar concept–she hoped.

“Thanks again for helping me. I know it’s probably weird, but it would’ve been hard to find another girl, I think. I tried to do it myself but they looked– horrible.” You explained, sitting down on the edge of your bed.

Weird?

Ellie’s eyebrows knit together, glancing over her shoulder at your words.

Her eyes faltered over your presence as you shrugged off your robe. You weren’t wearing an overpriced dress underneath that you were hoping to avoid staining.

No– in fact, you weren’t wearing much at all.

You peeked at her through your lashes with uncertainty; hands smoothing the thin straps of your sheer babydoll dress and a lighter lingerie set peeked under the mesh. A pair of ruffled, bow adorned garters hugged your thighs, bare skin glowing through.

She snapped her head back, fighting the pink rushing to her ears. Pink like you, she senselessly thought.

She should’ve just asked Riley or you what this was about, instead of aimlessly berating Dina for answers earlier, but it hadn’t crossed her mind. She grimaced at her previous behavior. It wasn’t your fault that her friends played Telephone with your request.

Did she make you out to be an inconvenience when you were half-naked in front of a stranger the entire time?

Ellie cleared her throat as she swallowed a shaky breath, “Yeah, no problem.” She exhaled, licking her lips nervously. She turned with a tight-lipped smile, praying the hue of your room would drown out her skin.

Please, please, please.

But you didn’t say anything. You avoided eye contact, shifting on your duvet and fixing your hair, “Is there a way I should pose or–”

She shook her head sharply, skimming over your figure again. Her hands shook around the camera, looking through and adjusting the settings, “No. Just do whatever you like. Whatever feels natural.”

Sure, you could do that. You laughed your head off with Abby that time she helped you, and it was nothing. But Ellie wasn’t your friend or anything like her.

This didn’t feel familiar.

Ellie glanced between you and the light as she flicked through the buttons, “Tell me if it’s too much on your eyes or if you don’t like something.” She murmured.

You hummed, rubbing your arm in a soothing manner as you watched her, fixing your posture when she clicked the camera into place.

Ellie observed the photo for a second, peering up at you, “Ready?”

It was silent at first, aside from the occasional shutter of the camera. Your movements resolved into something less hollow, and Ellie softened the tension with small talk. You kept your breath even and your gaze fixed on the veins sprawling the back of her hands.

“How long have you been friends with Riley?” She rasped behind the camera as you sat on your knees, looking over your shoulder.

“About a couple of years. We were paired on the same tour our senior year– found out we both enrolled there halfway through the first semester.” You divulged, laying on your stomach and kicking your feet up, “How about you?”

“We grew up in the same neighborhood.” She emitted.

You nodded slowly, then rolled over, laying on your back and propping your knee before resting your arm beside your head. She wasn’t much of a talker, but you appreciated her fill of the silence.

Ellie walked closer, thighs brushing the edge of the bed from where she stood over you.

To her, you looked beautiful.

Ellie loved women like you. She worshiped their otherness; reveling in the act of placing her hand on a girl’s back through a large crowd, watching them get dolled up, and being the pair of arms they ran to. All of her ex-girlfriends had been complete opposites.

The sweeter they were, the deeper her admiration, and in turn– the worse the breakup.

In terms of physicality, you surpassed her type; a great inconvenience, considering how jaded she felt toward you.

You pursed your lips from the dip in your stomach, meeting her gaze briefly before staring into the lens.

She regarded your doubt, whispering, “You can look at me, it’s okay.”

Up close, Ellie smelled of faint smoke and light cologne; a fleeting thought passed of how close you’d have to be, to smell her skin. Her voice lured like a moth to light; firm yet reserved. It was low with a hint of scratchiness and your mind racked for the last time anyone spoke to you with such patience.

You returned to her as she held the camera.

Another shutter.

Ellie eyed a strand of hair between your eyes, reaching out with a soft murmur, “Do you mind if I–”

You shook your head; pulse pounding within your neck, “No.”

Ellie’s fingers brushed the tip of your nose, tucking the strand behind your ear. You felt the roughness when you blinked, pushing down a sigh.

When was the last time you’d allowed warmth to greet yours?

“Do you go full-time?” She inquired.

Your ankle twitched as her voice brought you back, just barely, and you were grateful it was out of view, “Not this semester. I’m trying to focus on other things.”

Ellie’s hand gripped your ankle absentmindedly, shifting it so your foot didn’t hang off the bed before fixing your sock. She noticed.

“Smart.” She quipped, “I should to do that, but I don’t have the patience.” Or money, she thought, the corner of her mouth twitching.

You smiled up at her, “It’s definitely frustrating, but at least I have work to pass the time.”

Ellie hummed in agreement. You worked. That was a far better reality than what she’d conjured in her head earlier for the sake of justifying her presumptions.

A qualm of guilt heavied her throat; one she swallowed down.

Ellie’s palm wavered by your legs, and you instinctively leaned in. She clasped your knees, carefully pinning them to the side, thumb brushing the back of your knee before leaving you cold, lowering to smooth the duvet beneath you. Her tongue poked between her lips.

You stared.

────୨ৎ────

The glowing stars stickered to your ceiling were beginning to peel from their points.

You twiddled your thumbs over your ribs and traced the edges with your eyes, laying flat on your bedroom floor with the occasional sigh. Your damp hair soaked into the rug beneath you; skin rising to pebbles from the box fan fixed at your lower half, and still tender from the boiling shower. Your breath synchronized with the spinning blades, hands unfolding to brush your thighs, mimicking her touch.

It was nowhere near the same.

You wanted her.

The day had unfolded in providence. You’d furiously erased every photo on your laptop that afternoon and swore that you’d delete your accounts by the next morning.

By divine timing, you received Ellie’s text an hour later.

An underlying perturbation radiated off of you the moment you found Ellie at your doorstep.

It’s not as though you were ashamed– your work paid the bills and kept your stomach full, but Ellie had felt so indifferent and intimidating upon first impression, that you immediately contemplated sending her home with full payment and a long-winded apology for the abnormalities ailing your life and thus, inconveniencing hers.

You fell into a routine then, though you slipped elsewhere, because you couldn’t recall much of what was said between you two in the window of an hour–only how it felt.

You learned Ellie had a cat back home named Daniela, and gray was her favorite color. It reminded her of rainy skies reflecting off the lake in Jackson.

Before putting the camera away, she’d draped the robe around your shoulders and gathered your hair to sit against your collarbones.

You met her in the living room, once you came to, and helped her grab her belongings, tucking two hundred dollar bills in her hand when she was halfway out the door.

“I don’t mean to be annoying, but thank you again. Is it okay if I reach out to you next time?” You expressed, holding her backpack.

You’re not.” Ellie hummed but didn’t meet your eyes as she took her bag, “And you can. I’ll give you my number when I get home to send you the pictures.”

Ellie thanked you before reminding you to lock the door.

You locked it twice, repeating her words in your head.

────୨ৎ────

Upon her return to the dorms, Ellie stepped into the shared area, exhaling at the first sight of Riley curled up on the couch with her legs tossed over Dina’s lap.

“You’re a fucking dick.” She chastised, pointing at her friend while kicking off her tattered Converse into the shoe bin.

Riley blinked in disbelief, squinting at Ellie, “What the hell did I do?”

“I met your friend today,” Ellie blurted, “I took her pictures–why didn’t you tell me?” She snapped, taking a step closer to the couch.

Dina fisted a handful of popcorn, increasing the volume of the TV. It wasn’t be the first or last time Ellie walked into a room, pissed off.

Riley sat up, furrowing her eyebrows with a clenched jaw, “Why does it matter? I mean, of all people–”

Ellie cut her off, insisting, “Because I felt stupid! A warning would’ve been nice, you know?”

“A warning?” Riley repeated, quirking an eyebrow, “You wanted a warning for her?” She deadpanned.

“Whatever–” She gritted, stomping to her bedroom door, “Give me a heads up next time. I almost made an ass out of myself. ”

The door slammed shut beneath her foot, enclosing her in the darkness of her cramped bedroom.

Ellie tossed her skateboard down, watching it roll to the wall with a light thud. She ran her palms down her face, puffing air from her cheeks before falling over on the bed.

She’d only met you today. You were likely straight. These pictures were probably meant for your boyfriend–where were her thoughts heading?

Her arm extended to smack the bedside lamp, filling the space of her nightstand. She closed her eyes in exhaustion, groaning at flooding visions of you; how pliant and perfect you’d been when she moved you into another pose, how your dimples deepened at her poor jokes.

Your frame stamped her inner eyelids with vexation, a multitude of strained curses misfiring as she hooked a finger in the collar of her flannel, tugging it from her neck.

Her shirt smelled like you.

“Fuck.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ hi, chapter one as promised! this is more so introductory. im in the process of editing chapter two but there's a lot of incoming smut for sure. shoutout to my mutuals who passionately indulged this concept. i did it all for you <3

please reblog or comment if you’re interested in being added to the series’ taglist!

thank you!

taglist: @sweeterthing @orphicsun @crystaksack @honeylovee @elliesngirl @sewithinsouls @corpsebride25 @sulliefimmie @vahnilla @elliesangel444 @pussyeatercunt @starryrae @snuffphiliaa @stardropsblog @morticeras @spiidergwenn @ruevu @ellabssweetheart @rbnvrnxoxo @starrdelight @violetszn @nut-button-baby @thalchmy @ferxanda @crucifiedfem @blossom-teablog @eclipcee8 @onlyasp3nn @fortunatelyfurrypaper @trueellivingx @madsxh1022 @artemisdreamfairie

[lilolebambi]

Y'LIKE IT?. . . DEALER!MATT.

You haven't seen Matt in weeks.

Not since you buried yourself in chemistry books, desperately attempting to prepare for your final.

No weed, no alcohol—just textbooks stacked high, and the click of your pen repeating, filling up the silence in your living room.

You're hunched over your notes, fingers tangled in your hair, review sheet crumpled in your grip until someone banging on your door like they're the damn police snaps you out of it.

Your eyebrows pull together before you even open the door, annoyance bubbling up as the pounding continues, impatient and relentless. You're already crafting up some snarky remark as you twist the door knob.

"Damn. You look rough." The words hit before you've even registered his face, your mouth twisting into a scoff, an insult on the tip of your tongue—something about sending him back to his fuck ass frat house—But then you see it. The beard.

Matt's always had facial hair. A goatee, a mustache, nothing special. Not worth a second glance. But, fuck. He looks so...

"Gon' let me in or keep staring?" You roll your eyes as sarcastically as you always do, trying to play it off. "Shut up."

It's weird. Matt being in your apartment for something other than fucking, fighting, or rolling you a blunt. Sitting across from him on your couch? Even weirder.

Especially with that new addition to his face. "Seriously, you got a staring problem or sum?"

Your teeth sink into your lip. Fuck. "You have a beard." He chuckles, leaning back like he's waiting on something. "Y'like it?" You roll your eyes before he even finishes talking. Quick, automatic.

"Fuck no."

Matt smirks, like he doesn't believe you, like he knows better. "You sure? You were just doin' a whole lotta staring."

You hate that question. The way he says it. The way it lingers. Your arms cross, "I'm sure."

"I don't think you are." He murmurs, creeping closer to your spot on the couch. "Think y'wanna feel it while I eat your pretty little pussy out." The tamest dirty talk Matt's ever done, but the affect it has on you after not hearing it in weeks? Your thighs are pressing together, panties soaked.

"C'mon, admit it. Already squirming f'me."

"No."

Matt cocks an eyebrow.

"M—matt—!" You cry out, grabbing at the couch cushions for leverage as you try desperately to arch out of the delicious, overstimulating pleasure he's giving you.

He's quick to hold you down and make you take it.

You can't count how many times he's made you cum, make you squirt all over his face and his stupid beard. You squirm and thrash, thighs threatening to close around his head.

Matt's hand parts them before delivering a quick slap to your pussy that makes you whine. "Not goin' no where till you admit it." He rasps before going right back into devouring you, making you scream for him.

His beard burns your thighs, hips stuttering under his grip as his tongue flicks at your clit.

"P—pleaseuh— c-cant— c—cant—" You babble, "C'mon." He speaks into your cunt making you moan louder than you have all night, "Say it." And then his fingers are inside you, curling upwards, hitting that spot inside you each time.

And then you see white. Eyes fluttering shut as your body falls limp, body doing its best to recover from your most recent orgasm.

You grab at Matt's hair, not having to see him to know what he's trying to do—you can feel it.

You get out before he even has to say it.

"I like it."

a/n:... idk what came over me.

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @domizmez @drewswife @strnilolover @sirensdollesque @courta13 @pinkmattrr @mattslilies @sturns-mermaid @bluetalia @pair-of-pantaloons @y2kstarr @sugarraez @sweeethrt @moond0llie @ambi-squirrelly @wastelandzella @applecidersturniolo @riasturns @iloveduckssm @oopsiedaisydeer @sturnsflirt @cayleeuhithinknott @h3arts4nat @sweetsturns @pink1man @sturnsblogs @mi-co-uk @slvt4subchratt @tezzzzzzzz

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

if you could write something about matt murdock with

"My breath just made you quiver. Can you imagine what my tongue will do."

and/or

"Shh... just a little bit more."

i would eat that up :))

a/n: thank you, darling. i rarely get requests for matt, but it always lights up my life when i do

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“I–, u-uh…” you foggily blinked down at Matt’s head nestled betwixt your legs, “was that an actual question?” the tremble to your tone caused his grin to widen as he teasingly let the very tip of his nose ghost against the apex of your inner thigh, “I’ve never tried that before, you know having someone do that,” you timidly coughed, “but I mean, I do have a very vivid imagination, so I probably–, oh my god!” 

Your babbling was then cut off as Matt finally closed the last bit of distance, a groan slipping from his lungs as he let his tongue run through your glistening folds for the very first time. 

“Matthew!” your squiggly legs tried to tremble shut around his solid skull, “t-that’s–, oh fuck,” your body quivered as he slithered his burly arms up your frame, hooking your legs before he flipped them back open like a heart-racing page in a book he wasn’t quite done reading yet. 

“Shh,” his deep voice vibrated against your puffy clit, “just a little bit more…” as he greedily kept up his efforts even as you squirmed from the overwhelming sensation, “just one more taste and then I’ll fuck you,” you cast your gaze down past where his broad palms laid splayed across your abdomen, to where his lips, glossy from your want, barely lifted to make his murmur coherent, “promise…”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[hazelira]

baby assistant at dada’s work (#2 of 2024)

The next morning, Jay found himself adjusting the tiny straps of your daughter’s pastel pink backpack while she stood on tiptoes, trying to peek at the shoes he was tying for her. Her little face lit up with excitement as she realized what the day had in store.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” you teased from the doorway, watching as Jay meticulously ensured every strap, buckle, and sock was perfectly in place.

He glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. “She’ll be the best assistant this office has ever seen,” he replied confidently. “Right, princess?”

Your daughter beamed, throwing her arms up. “Yes! I help Dada!” she cheered, her enthusiasm infectious.

He chuckled, lifting her into his arms. “Let’s go, then. Don’t let me down, assistant.”

When they arrived at the office, all eyes turned to the sight of the stoic and intimidating Jay walking in with his toddler perched on his hip. Her small hands clung to his shirt, and her curious eyes darted around the sleek, professional environment.

The first stop was the meeting room. Jay set her down on one of the oversized chairs, the leather swallowing her tiny frame. She kicked her feet, clearly enjoying her new throne.

“Dada, what dis?” she asked, pointing at the rows of binders and papers on the table.

“That’s work,” Jay replied, kneeling beside her. “Important stuff. But don’t worry—you don’t have to do any of it. You sit here and look cute.”

She giggled, covering her mouth with her little hands. “I can do dat!” she declared proudly.

The meeting began, and seeing Jay’s daughter in the room instantly softened the tense atmosphere. She sat quietly at first, content with the colouring book he’d brought for her. But halfway through the presentation, she got curious.

“Dada,” she whispered loudly, tugging on his sleeve. “Why dat man talk so much?”

The room went still, a few muffled chuckles escaping from Jay’s usually composed team. Jay glanced down at her, his lips twitching in an effort not to smile. “He’s explaining his work, sweetheart. It’s important.”

She tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. “But… too much words,” she muttered, causing another ripple of quiet laughter.

Jay smoothed a hand over her messy hair, his tone calm and indulgent. “That’s how work is sometimes. Lots of words.”

She scrunched her nose but nodded, returning to her colouring with a serious expression. The rest of the meeting continued with a much lighter atmosphere, the team occasionally glancing at the little girl who had somehow managed to charm their intimidating boss.

Later, at Jay’s, she sat on his desk while he reviewed some documents. She babbled happily about her favourite toys and how she wanted ice cream after work, her tiny feet swinging as she spoke. He nodded along, occasionally adding a “Really?” or “Wow!” as if her stories were the most important updates of his day.

“Dada,” she said suddenly, looking at him wide-eyed. “Do you work every day?”

He looked up from his papers, her question catching him off guard. “I do. Why?”

She frowned her little brow furrowing. “Dat’s too much, Dada. You need pway time.”

He couldn’t help but laugh softly, setting his pen down. “You’re right, princess. I’ll make sure to take more playtime.”

“Pinky pwomise?” she asked, holding up her tiny pinky.

He smiled, hooking his pinky around hers. “Pinky promise.”

By the end of the day, Jay walked into the lobby with his daughter tucked under his arm, her head resting against his shoulder. She was exhausted but happy, her small hands clutching the colouring book filled with her masterpieces.

When you met them at the door, she lifted her head slightly, her sleepy voice bubbling with excitement. “Mama! I helped Dada at work!”

You smiled, brushing her messy hair back. “You did? I bet you were the best assistant ever.”

“She was,” Jay said softly, looking down at her with a warmth in his eyes that only grew when he saw the proud smile on her sleepy face. “The very best.”

[phone4pills]

dealer!Chris always grabs ur ass. not in a weird way, in a treasuring way. reminding you that you’re his, that he loves every inch of you. when he walks past. when he has to leave you to make a drop. when he finds you alone at one of the parties he dragged you to because you’re too nervous to speak to anyone.

when you turn around and see it’s him, you instantly move your body towards his, pulling him by the neck into a hug and laying your head on his shoulder. and he’s still holding it, smoking a blunt as he chuckles, teasing you about how anti-social you are while you complain about how tired you are and how badly you want to go home.

as a reward for staying at the motive for an hour or so longer, he would run you a hot bath and read one of your stupid books to you while you relaxed, probably still smoking something or treating himself in a bottle of beer while you basked in the honey, milky scent of your favourite bubble bath.

the two of you would talk a little, you mindlessly babbling and Chris mindlessly listening. literally. you’d ask about the deal he made, to which he’d always respond “don’t worry ‘bout that right now.” as usual you’d roll your eyes and he’d grin, knowing no matter how much his empty replies pissed you off, you’d always need him at the end of the day.

and the night would go on, the two of you would lay in bed together, breathing each other in. he’d tell you how pretty you are, how he wished he wasn’t so messed up. at first you’d be surprised, you weren’t used to hearing this side of him. but nevertheless, you’d listen. quietly, intently. and then you’d kiss him, tell him you loved him for who he was. tell him everyone has there flaws, that each one makes him more human.

then you’d both fall asleep, you on his chest, his hands around your waist. as though he was worried you’d leave him one night. but you never did. you loved your Chris.

[evieelyzabethh]

I'd DIE for more arcane collage au.

thinking thoughts of collegeau!Jayce who is too big for his own good. His huge thighs are barely contained by the lecture hall chair, a problem made even worse by his instinctual habit to manspread. He already sits impossibly close in class, damn near on top of you in the back of the classroom where he sits so his height can't be a problem for those behind him. His size is a problem everywhere. He hates sitting in big, old lecture halls, so old that the desks are barely big enough to accommodate a single notebook and writing utensil and the seats are closed in, forcing him to sit with his legs crossed at the ankles and arms pressed into his sides.

collegeau!Jayce who takes advantage of classes who don't have a strict attendance policy. He tells himself that it's not skipping if he's using the time to get coursework done for other classes, which is how it usually starts, him sitting at his desk with his laptop open and you sat on his bed reading some book for your class. And then he gets antsy. His leg starts bouncing, he gets stuck on the same paragraph for five minutes, his eyes drifting from line to line, from you back to his laptop, until he sits with his head resting on his palm staring at you.

"Babe", he calls out, to which you hum in response, still focused on the studying you both agreed to be doing. "I can't focus." You roll your eyes. You should've known better. Not only is Jayce is physically big, he's also a big liar, which is exactly how you end up riding his cock as he babbles into your neck. What was supposed to be a little make-out session, which even that had to be argued for, evolved the second his hands tugged at your his shirt and his dexterous fingers unbutton your jeans, and you couldn't find it in yourself to tell him no.

"Just the tip", he bargains, snapping you out of your slight trance. "N-No, Jayce. You said you were going to study." He groans, rutting into your clothed pussy, a wet spot already forming in his boxers the longer he put off the inevitable. "I'll study later. Need you - fuck - now. Please" And you underestimate your resolve, feeling it steadily slip the more his hips buck into you and his groans get louder as his tip gets stickier and his cock gets harder. "F-Fine", you whisper out breathlessly, but he was so eager to hear those words from your pretty lips it was deafening.

He makes quick work freeing his dick, the head red and angry at having to wait so long, but at least it is just the tip...at first. His eyes glaze over, and his jaw goes slack, looking up at the smooth ceiling because he knows if he looks down at you, seeing the way your face scrunches up, how your pussy swallows him up, he'd ending up pounding into you until he bruises you from the inside out. But the way you feel around him, wet, and warm, and goey, and gods he doesn't even realize he's pushing in further until your hands scratch at his stuttering hips and your breath hitches. He's gone as soon as your open your mouth, saying nothing but pretty whimpers of his name. collegeau! Jayce who's just so big he splits you open before he even bottoms out but he's just so sweet about it.

Hips stopping as soon as his cock hits your cervix, he at least tries to slow down, cooing out saccharine apologies. He just can't help it. And he leans down to place wet apology kisses in between the valley of your breasts, along your collarbones, his thumbs wiping the hot tears that bubbled from your eyes before kissing your eyelids and your lips until your breath even outs and the intrusion of him in your guts feels less heavy. The pervert in him likes to rest his hand on your tummy for the still moment, it sets off something in his brain being able to see the imprint of his dick in you. And when he presses down you clench against him, causing him to hiss, but he's determined not to move. If it can't be just the tip, at least you can cockwarm him for the time being. He certainly doesn't deserve a reward, but who's to say it can't be your reward for being such a pretty studious girlfriend.

it's not even five minutes before he's ramming into you and painting your guts white

[alexiroflife]

"drunk wishes"

[part 2]

fluff, clingy gojo, friends in love

high school!gojo satoru x reader

Synopsis: years ago, satoru's habit of drinking on school nights constantly led him to ask for you, desperate for your company. of course, you couldn't blame his constant need for you on anything but the alcohol... right?

to sum it up: seventeen year old satoru was a clingy drunk & suguru and shoko always left him for you to take care of

WC: 5,665

Warning(s): alcohol use

The second your phone rang, screen lighting up to reveal the group picture of you, Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko squeezed into frame, you knew that the book you were currently halfway through would have to wait.

With a sigh, you tossed the book to the side and picked up the group call, dreading whatever was about to greet you next.

Shoko’s contact bubble was blank, for she was likely asleep at this hour. Satoru was the first to stick his head into the camera, followed by a pending bubble from Geto that eventually revealed his exasperated expression.

“(Y/n)!” Satoru slurred, grinning cheerfully into the phone. His snowy hair and bright eyes peering over round glasses were the only thing in frame as he stared intently down at his screen. The scene behind him was dark. It looked like he was standing outside somewhere, and it took you a few seconds to notice that Geto’s background resembled the very same place. “Where’re youuuuu?” 

You pursed your lips in amusement, entirely too familiar with this situation. “Hi, Toru. How are you feeling?”

“Amazing, now that I get’to see y’er pretty face,” he grinned, his persistent flirting doing very little to surprise you. “D’you know that new bar down the street does’t ID check?!”

“No, I didn’t know that. You had some fun there, huh?”

“S’much fun,” he sighed, words blurring into each other. “But then I got bored, s’we went to th’ store ‘nd got snacks. Isn’t that right, Sugu-boo?”

His phone shook with the wobbling of his feet, revealing his black haired best friend standing close by as he turned to look over his shoulder at him. 

You held back your laugh, glancing at the time to see that it was nearly two in the morning. Not only that, but the three of you in addition to Shoko had class in about six hours. Why the hell those two were out this late, you had no idea, but you couldn’t have said that you were surprised. After all, they did this at least three times a week, per Satoru’s influence, of course. 

Suguru shook his head with a tired exhale, holding the camera down. “He’s driving me insane,” he grumbled, brows angled with irritation.

You were quick to move from your bed and shuffle across your dorm to grab a sweatshirt. You already knew where this call was leading. “What the hell are you guys even doing?” you asked. “You know what time it is, right?”

“Yeah, we do,” Suguru hissed, turning to eye a babbling Satoru. You could see the black haired boy’s eye twitch. “But someone dragged me out of bed because he didn’t want to be out alone.”

“Figures,” you laugh. “Where are you now?”

“The convenience store around the corner,” he answered. “We’re literally five minutes away, but Satoru said he wasn’t going to walk any further unless you were here.”

The said boy raised his phone up over his head, the camera peering down at the two tall men from a high angle. Satoru’s eyes went wide and mouth gaped in childlike awe, as if he were showing you some whimsical discovery through the lens of his camera. He dangled a small bag in his free hand, showing off his haul. 

“Look, (Y/n)! C’me see what we got you ‘nd Shokoooo! Suguru, sh-show her y’re stuff,” he urged, a lazy smirk dancing across his face. He nudged Suguru in his chest, the contents of the strongest student’s bag knocking against his best friend repeatedly. A vein bulged in Suguru’s forehead. His bedtime was supposed to be two hours ago, and he was steadily growing more agitated. 

“I’m gonna kill him, (Y/n). Please come take him off my hands.” 

“What about me, huh? I could’ve been asleep, you know. Or studying, like how you two are supposed to.”

“Oh, shut up. I know you weren’t doing anything important.”

You glared at him through your screen. “This is how you treat me, huh? The designated walker for when you get tired.”

“You know how it goes,” Suguru smirked lightly. “Satoru’s needy.”

“(Y/n),” he groaned. “Sugu doesn't love me anymore, s’you have to come take care of me the way- y’know how-to- how you always do,” the blue eyed seventeen year old droned on dramatically. “Pleeeaaaaaase, I miss youuu-”

His singing was disrupted with the tumble of his phone from his hand to the ground, the device hitting the pavement with a smack. His screen went black after landing face first and you watched Geto look down at Satoru boredly, for he had likely been expecting just that to happen. 

Satoru gasped loudly, bending over to retrieve his phone clumsily. Suguru panned his camera to show the sight to you, the white haired boy’s long legs spread stiffly as he leaned from his torso to pick up his phone. “(Y/n)! NOO! M’so sorry!” he cried out.

There was shuffling on his end and a dizzy spin of the camera before Satoru’s face came back into view in his small FaceTime square. “I didn’t mean’ta drop you, pretty, don’t be mad,” he whined. 

You shook your head, swiping your dorm key from your desk and heading to your door. “I’m on my way, Suguru,” you said, ignoring Satoru’s drunk babbling. 

“Please hurry, I can't take much more of this.”

You were quick to rush out of your dorm when you ended the call, cutting off whatever sweet talk your intoxicated friend was about to pull out next and the agitated ‘Shut the fuck up!’ that boomed from Suguru.

You knew this routine like the back of your hand. Either Satoru, Shoko, or Suguru would call you or the group chat, depending on who was out on a given night, to ask you to come over and babysit drunk Satoru, who had always found himself pleading for you the moment liquor settled into his system. 

Though Satoru was the strongest sorcerer and overall person you had ever met, his tolerance for alcohol was painfully low, which you all supposed was why he liked to drink so much. Satoru was so used to being the best at everything, to not having to struggle or experience every day pressures and trials of weakness that the rest of you had to endure. 

Nothing in his life posed a challenge for him, so when he stole a moment to find something that lowered his inhibitions and eased him into a state of malfunction and playful instability, it was like taking a break, a breath of fresh air after having been submerged underwater. He liked the way alcohol buzzed through his brain, melted through his bloodstream, and dumbed him down to a simple, wasted mess. 

It reminded him that he was still flesh and bone in a world that raised him up as a god. 

So he went out and drank quite a bit, and you, naturally, were his caretaker during those frequent times. 

You never thought Satoru meant anything by his clinginess toward you. After all, he was Satoru Gojo. He was fawned over by all women, and as one of his closest friends, you had witnessed his constant indulgence in their infatuation over him. 

Satoru never acted beyond his captivating smiles and provocative words. It was all a game to him, something to keep him entertained and to raise his already astronomically large ego. 

Therefore, when he called you over and over, told you that you were gorgeous, and blabbered about how much he loved to have you by his side, you thought nothing of it. Satoru was your friend, and you would look after him over and over again solely because of that fact. 

The four of you were bonded, closer than anyone else on your campus. You may have been a bit too cliquey for others’ taste, but you all loved each other dearly, and that’s all you assumed Satoru’s drunk words were: love for a friend being portrayed incorrectly due to the alcohol. 

And boy, did you love Satoru dearly, as much as you loved Shoko and Suguru. You loved him so much that you’d rub his back every time he’d throw up into your toilet and bring him fresh clothes for the morning every time he was too hungover to make it back to his dorm. 

You loved him so much that you’d take care of him as long as he allowed you, as long as when you were sober and he was intoxicated, he needed you in a way he would never need you when his mind was clear and alert. You loved him so much that no matter how each compliment and loving gaze he tossed your way in the midst of his drunken stupors sent butterflies swirling through your tummy, you’d allow yourself to bury your feelings deep down.

After all, the sun would always rise and the haziness of his eyes would always disappear, and he would always have to go back to being Satoru Gojo. The strongest who needed no one.

You arrived outside the convenient store a few minutes later, approaching your two friends slowly. The 24-hour convenience store sign provided the only source of light amidst the darkness and buzzed softly over the boys’ heads. 

Suguru was leaning beside the store entrance against the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes closed, and head resting against the brick. Satoru was sitting on the curb with his legs splayed out before him and his bag to the side, humming some song loudly to himself. 

He was quick to catch sight of you once you stepped into his vision. His face lit up and he jumped to his feet, stumbling to the side before rushing over to you sloppily. He clung to you immediately, long arms circling around yours from the side and pulling you to his chest. He leaned his head atop yours, his glasses crashing against your forehead painfully.

“Finally, y’took forever,” he moaned, leaving you very little room to breathe. You huffed, clenching your jaw and craning your neck out to try to find some space for oxygen. You patted his arm with your hand stiffly, unable to move much more than that.

“I know, I know. Five minutes was just so long,” you agreed sarcastically, to which Satoru nodded aggressively.

“Way too long.”

Suguru pushed himself off of the wall when he heard your voice, opening his eyes and sauntering tiredly over to the two of you. You looked up at him from where you stood, trapped, and you could see a smugness dancing in his fatigued eyes despite his agitation. “Don’t look at me like that, dick,” you seethed. “Your lazy ass couldn’t walk him back?”

“I told you, he wanted to see you,” he shrugged. “Besides, you and I both know it’s physically impossible to get Satoru to do something he doesn’t want to do. He’s such a big baby.”

He eyed the blue eyed sorcerer who poked out his tongue childishly, tugging you closer into him. 

“Just tell m’you hate me, Sugu,” Satoru frowned. 

“Yeah, yeah.” The dark haired student leaned down to grab Satoru’s bag and hand it to you. “Here. I’m walking in this direction,” he pointed behind him.

You scrunched your brows. “That’s gonna add like fifteen minutes to a two second walk,” you pointed out.

“If it means peace and quiet, so be it,” he sighed. 

“Awee, tired a’me already?” Satoru giggled, raising an arm to poke Suguru’s stiff shoulder. 

“Yes,” he deadpanned. “Good night, you too. Be safe and text me when you’re in. And for the love of god, get this idiot to sleep when you get back,” the seventeen year old sweatdropped.

“You say that like it’ll be easy,” you seethed. 

“Mhm.”

With that, Suguru turned over his shoulder and walked off, leaving you and Satoru alone once again. 

“God, he’so moody,” Satoru chuckled. “W’don’t need ‘im anyway. Got all I need right’here.”

“He’s your best friend, Toru. You’ll always need him.”

“Mmmaybe, but dn’t tell ‘im that. It’ll go to his big head.”

You laughed.

“Alright, Toru, come on,” you nudged yourself away from his embrace. He released you, but was quick to sling his arm over your shoulders as you guided him around with your hand on his back. He leaned slightly over you, causing you to trip under his weight. He was so tall and heavy, draping himself comfortably over your figure. He already had absolutely no concept of personal space, but it was so much worse when he was under the influence. “Okay, yeah, one step at a time. Let’s get you home,” you guided sweetly.

“‘Kay,” he mumbled. “Mmm, some ramen would b’good right now, don’t y’think?” he murmured. “Should’make some when we- when we get back.”

“Sure. Okay. We can make some ramen,” you lied. You silently prayed he’d forget the suggestion once he was in his dorm. 

Satoru spent the entire walk yapping, swaying back and for and bringing you along with him. He’d almost made the two of you fall about ten times, and what was meant to be a quick walk lasted double the original time. You were sure that Suguru had already made it back to his dorm by the rate the two of you were moving.

The sight of Satoru’s dorm room was like seeing the gates of heaven open before you. You exhaled in relief when you approached his door, which was irresponsibly unlocked. The guy had been out for hours and hadn’t even bothered to secure his room. 

You shoved the door open, pulling Satoru in with you. He removed his arm from around you after what felt like hours and stumbled forward, falling face first on his carpet. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath after setting his bag to the side, for you knew that you would not be getting to bed soon simply from that action alone.

Satoru groaned, turning his head to the side to breathe. His glasses had risen up over his forehead crookedly, revealing his glassy ocean eyes and snow white lashes fluttering sleepily over them. “I could sleep right’here,” he mumbled, limbs spread out like a starfish.

You shook your head and closed his door behind him. You pulled out your phone quickly, pulling up Suguru’s contact and snapping a picture of the ridiculous sight before you. You sent it along with a message letting him know that the two of you made it safe.

Seconds later, Suguru responded with a ‘yeah, good luck with that.’

You put your phone on the dresser, crouching down over him. “Well too bad you’re not going to,” you said. You grabbed his arm and tugged at it. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you on the bed.”

“Why?” he pouted, closing his eyes and poking out his glossy bottom lip. 

“Because you’ll regret it in the morning when you wake up with an aching back.”

“But I don’t wanna get up,” he groaned, allowing his body to go limp as you mustered up all your strength to pull at him. You grunted, tugging him backward as best as you could. 

“Don’t make this so difficult,” you groaned. “Get up!”

“Noooooo,” he whined. 

“What the hell have you been eating?!” you asked breathlessly. “You weigh like two hundred pounds!”

“Maybe y’re jus’ weak,” he snickered to himself, and you almost dropped his hand and walked out of his room. 

“Maybe I should just beat your ass,” you grumbled. 

He turned to smirk at you, eyes glinting with hazy mischief. “Try it. I won’t go easy on you.”

You couldn’t help the blush that fought its way to your cheeks under his gaze. Even drunk, he knew how to get under your skin.

“Shut up,” you grumbled and he laughed. 

You tried again, yanking his arm, but to no avail. He wouldn’t budge. 

“Ugh! Satoru!” you shouted in frustration. “I can’t stand it when you get like this.”

The Gojo’s smile fell, brows curving in distaste. “Who the hell’s Satoru?” he frowned.

You blinked, lowered his arm and leaning down by his side. “What?”

“Y’call me Toru. What happened’ta Toru?” he repeated, childishly, eyes gleaming with impatience. 

“Yeah, well, when you’re not pissing me off, you’re Toru” you tilted your head to look him in his eyes. “Why?”

He groaned loudly, his dramatics so boisterous that they could probably wake up the rest of the hall. You cocked a brow, releasing his arm as he shifted around, twisting himself onto his back and flopping about. “Why d’you do this t’me,” he complained, lifting his arms up and into the air.

You sighed. “What are you on about, drama queen?”

“Pick m’up.”

“Oh, now you wanna get up, huh?”

“If’t means ’m Toru again, yes,” he pouted again. “Pick m’up,” he demanded once more.

You scoffed a laugh, standing to your feet and leaning over him. “So dramatic,” you said as you grasped his outstretched hands, leaning back to pull him up. He assisted you this time, bringing himself to a seated position before you helped him onto his feet. He stumbled again and you held onto his hands, leading him over to the edge of his bed.

“F’ryou,” he responded, plopping down onto his comforter. He leaned over unstably and you caught his head, guiding him back upright. He hummed softly, leaning into the warmth of your palm, eyes half lidded. “Thank you.”

“I got you, Toru,” you smiled, bending down to tug his shoes off. When you did, you missed the wide beam that stretched across his face at the sound of his nickname rolling from your lips. 

After setting his shoes at his door, you went to move about his space familiarly, walking over to his bottom dresser drawers and pulling out an old tee and sweatpants. 

Satura watched you lazily, eyes dragging along your figure as you so carefully picked out his clothes. He could feel his heart thrumming in his chest like a rhythm, his flushed cheeks growing warmer simply from the sight of you.

You walked back over to him, clothes folded over your arm. He smiled up at you in a daze, appearing like a giddy school boy sitting there patiently for you. You gave him a strange look, placing his clothes next to him on the bed and removing his glasses from his head, setting aside on his lamp lit nightstand. 

When you turned back to him, his eyes hadn’t left you. His pupils were blown wide and his lips stretched into a dumb grin. He spread his legs out and leaned back on his elbows tiredly, admiring you, for the first time tonight, with no words.

“Why are you staring at me like that, weirdo?” you rose a brow.

His smile widened. “Y’just so pretty.”

Just like that, butterflies swarmed as if on cue. Your brows drew together as you looked at him, examining his face for any detection of mischief or deception, but you found none. His gaze upon you was so raw, so full of ardor and sweltering tenderness. He looked like a puppy dog watching you in such a way, and you tried your very hardest to keep your legs from turning to jelly beneath you.

You cleared your throat, looking down and busying yourself with unfolding his clothes. “You’re drunk.”

“On you.”

God, he just wouldn’t stop. His presence was so suffocating, it filled the room with its weight. You felt as though you were going to lose your breath if he kept looking at and talking to you like that.

“Stop,” you sighed, tossing his shirt at him. It hit his face softly, rolling down into his lap. Even that hadn’t been enough for his eyes to rip from your face. He simply reached blindly for the fabric, gaze unwavering. 

“You gon’help me change, pretty?” he asked gently, looking to you expectantly.

“Now what makes you say that?” you questioned, though you both knew full well that you were going to do just that. 

“Cause’you’ve done it b’fore. When I was black’out.”

You whipped your head up at him to find a teasing expression on his features. “There’s no way you remember that?!” you said, incredulously.

He giggled to himself slightly. “No, Shoko tol’me.”

You internally cursed the brunette for betraying you in such a way. “Asshole,” you muttered to yourself, leading Satoru to laugh louder. 

As if on instinct, sat up straight and held his arms out. “M’ready,” he cheesed.

“You’re such an idiot, you know that?” 

He didn’t respond as you walked up to him and stood between his spread legs. He was suddenly silent, observing you closely. You could feel those eyes glued to you, burning into your skull like a line of blue fire. You held your breath, keeping your eyes on your fingers as they reached for the top bottom of his collared shirt. 

You had done this so many times, on so many nights, and the majority of the time, he was either passed out or too drunk to keep his head up and pay attention to what you were doing. This night, however, he was more alert than he had been at this stage of his intoxication. He must not have gotten very far into his drinking, you had thought to yourself. 

He was still pretty drunk, but the gleam in his eye made you question if he would forget this moment like he usually did when you helped him into more comfortable clothes. 

His chest rose and fell delicately under your hands. You popped one button open, then the next, and the next. Your soft fingers brushed against the smoothness of his skin occasionally, the white haired boy jumping slightly every now and then at the contact. 

Satoru broke his eyes from you for just a second, looking down and following the buzzing vision of your fingers working down his shirt, freeing his abdomen for you to see. You could hear his soft breaths, deep and long, as though he were breathing manually, desperately finding a way to recall how to inhale and exhale properly. 

He looked back up at you once the entire shirt was undone, a bashful tint on his cheeks. You were so careful with him, so attentive, so patient and loving with your touch. Shoko and Suguru had always looked after him when he drank by making sure he got home safe when you weren’t around, but they never took care of him the way you did so gently, so earnestly. 

Flashes of your touch and your face would strike him during those early morning hangovers, feeding into the initial yearning he already harbored for you within his chest and his gut. He knew you were always there, in his dreams and his fragmented memories, but he could never recall how or why so clearly.

So now, he soaked you in, devouring each feather light touch and tug at his clothing. He was captivated by the way you moved around his room as though you lived there, like you’d been there a hundred million times over in this exact position. How you talked to him with a tinge of coddling and kindness in your voice that he rarely detected through your normal day to day. 

You handled him with such care, as if he were going to break, and it baffled him. It baffled him how he, one of the strongest individuals to roam this earth, was nothing but putty at your loving hands. He felt so vulnerable sitting there before you, staring intently at your face as you tugged his sleeves down each arm and pulled his shirt from his body. He had expected to feel cool, but he was surrounded by nothing but warmth. Whether it was you or the liquor, he wasn’t sure, but he could feel himself slipping into a trance induced by your beauty and your care. 

Everything in his vision was vibrating except for the vision of you, constant and comforting. He wanted nothing more than to melt into you, to allow you to envelope him within your arms. He wanted to stare at you until he couldn’t see anymore, to memorize every curve in your jaw and dent in your brows, the twitch of your nose and the hitch of your breath, the swipe of your tongue over your lip and the flutter of your lashes over mesmerizing, gentle (e/c) eyes. 

He was so drunk, yes, but you were doing very little to sober him up. He felt like he was floating and falling into you all at once.

You grabbed his t-shirt in your hands and spread it out, reaching your hands through the hole to stretch it over your friend’s head. He poked his head through the neck hole, hair messily sprawling over his forehead as a result, and pulled his arms through the sleeves, disorientedly. 

You still hadn’t looked at him. You were already moving to grab his sweats when you felt a hand reach up and snake over your waist. 

You jumped, snapping your eyes up to his finally. His brows were pinched together and his lips were parted, the blue of his irises a stark contrast against the pink shade of his face. You were close, your legs bumping the edge of the bed while Satoru’s legs caged around you. You stopped suddenly, his touch catching you off guard.

He didn’t say anything. He only snaked his other hand around you, settling them on your hips, leading your heart to slam into your chest.

“S-Satoru, what…” you trailed off, losing yourself in his eyes. There wasn’t a single thought behind them except you. “What’s wrong? You want me to stop?”

His Adam's apple bobbed with a gulp he took, thumbs rolling over your hips experimentally. He looked down, over your body, watching his hands grasp your waist gently as if the feeling and the sight of it weren’t real. He could hear your heart pounding, see your blood rushing, practically taste your nerves despite his drunken state.

You were so overstimulating. Worse than the five shots he’d tossed back.

“Toru?” you called him again. He saw your lips move before the sound registered within his brain, the sweet address sending shivers down his spine. He could barely keep himself upright, but he needed more of you. 

“Why’dyou do’this?” he mumbled, unsure of what he was even asking.

Your nose scrunched in that cute way it did when you were confused. “Huh?”

“Y’always… look after’me. Always’take care’a’me. Why?”

You were growing nervous. Your heartbeat was loud enough, you were sure Satoru could here, and your face was hot to the touch. “Because… because you’re one of my closest friends, Toru. I care about you.”

He shook his head slightly. “‘S’not th’same.”

“What do you mean?”

“S’not th’same as Sho ‘n Sugu. S’different. You’re different.” 

“I…” you weren’t sure what to say. He had you cornered, trapped into him with no escape. You were hyper aware of his fingers gripping your waist softly and his eyes eating you alive. Your senses were through the roof, and you wanted to run and break away from this contact, from this feeling, but you couldn’t. You were frozen. 

You could feel him tugging himself closer, leaning into you, pressing you closer. 

“You’re drunk, Satoru. You should get to bed. We can talk about this tomorrow, when you’re sober,” you tried to change the subject.

“No,” he refused. “Please, no. Please.”

His hands trailed up your waist, feeling all around your body. You were perfect, too perfect. He couldn’t get enough of you. 

His hands reached your arms, then your shoulders, and finally your face, cradling your cheeks softly within his warm palms. 

You pursed your lips, eyes scattering over his face as he gazed at you. He drew your face closer, his sharp nose brushing yours. He was so close, you could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

You lifted your hands to grasp his wrists, preparing to pull his hands from your flustered face.

“Satoru,” you warned. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t want y’to’go,” he whispered, thumbs smoothing over your hot skin. You shivered, your mind battling against itself as you tried to decide what to do.

He was drunk. He had no idea what he was doing. He was just being clingy.

“Please. Please stay, (Y/n). Need’you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, love,” you told him, meeting his eyes directly. “I’m right here.”

“But’don’t leave tonight. Y’always leave. Don’t. Stay. Sleep w’me.”

Your heart swooned, ached, swelled. Satoru was always so needy, but never to this extent. He was practically falling apart before you. 

He stared at you longingly, brows curved as if he was going to cry. “Please, pretty. Please.”

This boy had you so weak. There was nothing he could have asked for that you wouldn’t have said yes to. It was why you were always showing up at his side in the middle of the night when he called for you, why you let him lounge around your room at any hour of the day when he was bored, why you brought him snacks when he was too busy training to eat, why you let him drag you and the others about simply because he wanted you all to tag along with him everywhere. 

Satoru Gojo could have asked you for the moon, and you would have pulled it down by a rope just to see him smile at you and feel his arms wrap around your frame as he pulled you into an overbearing hug. 

You loved him to death. You loved him more than you thought your teenage heart capable of loving anyone, and you feared his knowledge of your feelings because of how prideful he was, because of how many girls harbored the same crush, and because of how many confessions he received on a daily basis. 

You wanted to protect yourself from heartbreak by the world’s most desirable boy. You didn’t want to make yourself look so pathetic before him, more so than any ordinary person already was, but the way he begged for you… the way those big eyes drew you in and his hands framed your face, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that could save him from his mental torment had you giving in completely.

“Okay,” you nodded, releasing his wrists to cup his face in return. He swooned, hands falling into his lap as he submerged himself in your touch. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

A whimper fell past his lips as he fell into you, head collapsing into your chest and hands gripping around your thighs. Your hands moved to his back, stroking him soothingly as he clutched you to him, murmuring nonsense. You could tell his intoxication was tipping into exhausting by the way he slumped into you, and you sighed. He was going to be the death of you, this one. 

The time ticked closer to three once you had managed to get him to let you change him out of his pants and gurgle some mouthwash before going to bed. He kept himself close to you for the rest of the night, whether it was by clinging to your shirt or holding your hand or leaning his head over your shoulder. He had gone completely nonverbal, relying on his actions instead to convey his desperation for your closeness to him. 

You had finally managed to get him into bed at 3:30 am. He plopped down into his messy sheets, face smothered by the pillow and feet hanging off the edge of the bed. He was too tall for his own good. 

You were busying yourself with turning out his lights when you saw his hand twitch out, grasping through the air. You knew what he was asking.

You slipped your shoes off and pulled your sweatshirt over your head, leaving you in your night tee and shorts. You carefully climbed onto the soft furniture, grabbing Satoru’s outstretched hand. He turned himself to face you immediately, yanking you down into him. You squeaked, collapsing beside him on the bed. 

He didn’t let you move to grab the comforter to pull it over your body. Instead, he threw his arms around you and buried his face into the crook of your neck, securing a leg over yours and trapping you against him for the final time that night. 

You tensed, Gojo’s hair brushing softly against your chin as his warm breath fanned contently against your neck. He curled himself into you, clutching you as though you were his last lifeline. 

He stroked his hair softly, scratching his scalp as the beat of your heart lulled him into sleep. 

You exhaled softly, staring up at the ceiling as sleep slowly overtook your body. You prayed that Satoru wouldn’t remember this night. He normally woke up late, so you hoped that you would at least have had time to slip from his room in the morning and disappear into yours. 

You wanted to forget everything. You wanted to forget the way he looked at you, the way he held you, the way he touched you. You wanted to bury it all deep down, to move on as friends like you always had been and always would be. You wanted to leave it all behind, but Satoru had a hold on you that you could not escape. It was the effect he had. Consuming, powerful, and entirely too dangerous for you to indulge.

Satoru was a needy drunk. That was all you could chalk him and the intimacy of this night up to be. A consequence of his intoxication.

But somewhere deep within you, somewhere you did not bother to explore, a spark of hope glimmered for your love, a spark that made you believe just for a moment that Satoru loved you too.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Miracle III

Aitana Bonmatí x Baby!Reader

Summary: An early morning with Mama

The sunlight filtering into the room has Aitana blinking awake, squinting as the soft rays of sun glow directly in her eyes.

She yawns, glancing away from the gap in the curtains to look directly at the baby monitor on her bedside table.

The image shows you clearly, wide awake and standing. One hand grips your pegasus plushie while the other stretches up to play with one of the hanging stars on your mobile.

You're probably getting too big for it now, developing quickly from baby to that weird baby-toddler in between that Aitana can remember happened to Skatt and before Skatt, Conejita.

She wishes that she'd studied them more carefully so she'd be prepared for this.

You seem to realise she's watching you though with the same weird sixth sense you have when you're playmates are ready to climb in the playpen with you at training.

You babble a bit, interspersing nonsense with real words as you blow spit bubbles.

"Mama Ta-Ta! Ta-Ta!"

Aitana finds a fond smile appearing on her face as she rolls over in bed, slipping her feet into a pair of fluffy slippers and pulling on a bathrobe to keep the early morning chill out.

You make a little noise of happiness when your bedroom door opens and Aitana plucks you into her arms without anymore nagging.

"Good morning, estrella," She coos, dropping a soft kiss to the end of your nose which makes you go cross-eyed.

"Mor'ing Mama Ta-Ta."

You reach out a hand to grab at Aitana's face, scraping weak little fingers against her cheek before finally getting a grip on her ear.

She laughs, gently pulling your grabby little hand away as she checks the funny little cuckoo clock Mapi had gotten you as a joke.

It's still early.

Too early to be up on a day off.

"Let's go to my bed."

You seem fascinated with the soft blanket covers as Aitana lays you in the middle of her bed as she strips back down to just her pjs, running your fingers over the patterns again and again as you gnaw on pegasus' wing.

Aitana drags you towards her in just the way you like, pulling out your fuzzy onesie legs until you're right next to her.

You kick out happily as she gently manoeuvres you into a sitting position.

There's no hope in getting you to sleep again, not when you're wide awake like this but that doesn't mean the two of you can't stay in bed for a little while longer.

Aitana is easily amused by the funny little sounds you make and the way that you try to sound out words you've heard her say before.

You're startlingly intelligent for your age, far advanced than what Aitana can remember baby Skatt and baby Conejita to be like. She isn't quite sure whether it's a genetic thing or just how much time she dedicates to your education, young as you are.

Tv time is spent only watching educational kid's shows or some documentaries. Time is set aside to watch a bit of football together of course but even then, Aitana waffles on about tactics and formations and everything else under the sun she can think of.

She's read all the baby books about raising children bilingual and how to foster a love for reading in them. She'd taken you to her parents once and returned to find her mother reading a university grade textbook to you before bedtime.

She doesn't know if it's just a Bonmatí thing or if it's how she's raising you.

Either way, she's glad because even now you're working your brain and you've barely gotten up.

"Mer-ry," You say and Aitana smiles.

"Mercury," She corrects.

"Mer-cry."

"Mer-cury."

"Mercury!"

"Good job, estrella!"

You giggle as Aitana tickles your tummy, hand coming out to imitate her movements but Aitana captures it easily, pressing a soft kiss to your palm.

The rest of the early morning goes the same way, with you struggling to say all the planet names until Aitana helps to correct you.

At some point, you migrate to her lap, head tilted all the way back on her shoulder so you can see her clearly.

Something about the way you look at her, your soft baby features, the smile on your face, the sparkle in your eyes, has Aitana's chest bursting with warmth.

"I..." She says, feeling slightly choked up as your hands gently explore her fingers," I love you, estrella."

"Lub you," You say back," Lub Mama."

The warmth turns to ice instantly, like a lance cracking her chest open and finding a home in her heart.

"No," Aitana says gently," No Mama. Mama Ta-Ta, remember? You've already got a Mama."

You shake your head. "Mama."

"I...Estrella...Estrella, no. I'm not Mama. I'm Mama Ta-Ta."

It feels disrespectful to take that role.

This was never the life Aitana was meant to have. You were hers biologically. That had been the plan.

She was meant to donate her egg, the least she could do for her two best friends who desperately wanted a child but couldn't have any of their own. She was meant to be Tia Aitana, Tia Ta-Ta who would swoop you up occasionally and show you the joys of life. The one that you could come to when you were a moody teenager and in that stage where you 'hated' your parents.

Maybe if you had called her 'Mami' it would be different but Mama was the name that Aitana's friend referred to herself as. She was meant to be your Mama, not Aitana.

Not Aitana who is already pushing invisible boundaries by allowing herself to be called Mama Ta-Ta.

You shake your head stubbornly. "Mama!"

It seems you've inherited the Bonmatí stubbornness too as your smiling face sets into a little frown just like Aitana's.

She doesn't know how to explain it to you, doesn't know how to explain that she can't be your Mama. No matter how much she wants to.

"Mama..." You whine, frown morphing into a chin wobble and a chin wobble morphing into big fat tears rolling down your face.

"No, no, estrella! It's okay! Don't cry! I'm sorry!"

Aitana desperately tries to bounce you, to soothe your tears but you're inconsolable until you're tucked into her chest, hand reaching up to tug at the collar of her sleep shirt.

"Mama," You babble through your tears, trying to shuffle even closer," Mama, please."

Aitana's own bottom lip wobbles as tears prick in her eyes.

She rests her cheek on the top of your head, breathing in the soft baby smell that never quite left, lingering on the edges of her senses like it had the first time she'd met you.

It feels disrespectful to take her friend's name but at the same time, it feels right.

To be your Mama.

To take the name that you've so happily bestowed upon her.

The name you've chosen for her.

No longer Ta-Ta or Mama Ta-Ta.

Just Mama.

You whimper a little, wiping your runny nose all over the front of her shirt. "Mama?"

"Yes, estrella," Aitana says," I'm your Mama."

[abbyshands]

♥︎ ❛ abby anderson when you get drunk ❜ — you didn’t drink very much, so when you did, abby knew she would be in for a night. a party had ended in dilated pupils and drunken babbles, added to your clinginess that maximized in your inebriated state. to combat your drunkenness, abby made sure to remain, for the most part, sober. she ushered you into your home, trying and failing to get you right into the bathroom so you could wash the night away and get to bed. unfortunately for her, it was never that easy. you were quick to flop down onto the couch the second you were able to. that is, when abby’s hold on your shoulders loosened a little too much. pressing your face into the pillow like it would sober you up in seconds, you groan at the impending headache creeping in from the back of your head. abby leans down beside you, kneeling down to your level. she knew how lazy you could be when drunk and wasn’t upset with you because of it, more concerned for your wellbeing. “come on, sweetie. you need to wash up so you can rest,” she cooed, large hand coming up to rub your back. you grumble, the mere idea of prying your body away from the couch you had so comfortably molded against sounding like a horrid fate to be sentenced to. “but the couch is nice,” you slurred, aware of how difficult you were being, even while under the influence. “i know, baby. but i need you to get up for me. please?” she asked. you could never say no when she spoke to you in that manner. this leads to you pressed against abby’s thigh as you sat in the bath, bubbles surrounding you as abby combed your damp hair. you hummed in content as she did so, causing a smile to rise to her cheeks, freckles nose scrunching. she loved how at peace you were, how much trust you had in her even when you weren’t fully in control. she then helps you out of the bath, draining it before drying you off and dressing you in her clothes, a large hoodie and big shorts that made you look cuter than you already were. she pressed a kiss to your forehead, cupping your cheek. “let’s get you to bed, honey.” you end the night cuddled in her arms, head in her lap and snuggled under a blanket as she read to you. “keep reading” you somehow managed to slur, eyes drooping as the calmness of abby’s presence washed over you. “of course, babygirl.” she rubbed your back as her voice filled the air, words you couldn’t understand in your inebriated state slipping past her lips. but regardless, mixed with one of her large hand caressing your back, the honeyed rasp of her own sleepy voice in your ears, and the plush feeling of the blanket you were wrapped in, you were out like a light. when abby picked up on this, she smiled, marking her page in the book before shutting it. she carefully moved your head onto your pillow so as to not wake you, wrapping her arm around you to spoon you from behind, and pressing one last kiss to your temple. “sleep well, babygirl.”

[mysunshinetemptress]

Best Big Cousin

Leah Williamson x reader

Warnings: writing is mediocre, pure fluff

“Oh my god here they come.” You smile as Arsenal make their way out of the tunnel, onto the pitch at the Emirates.

“Oh stop I can’t.” Jordan’s squeezing your arm as you watch Leah walk out with Henry, “They are so cute, I can’t oh my god.” Jordan’s practically buzzing beside you at the fact Leah’s holding Henry, at the fact he’s her mascot.

Jordan’s buzzing but still she notices your free hand drop to your stomach as you place your hand lightly over it.

Your staring at the pair on the pitch, you love Henry with your whole heart, he’s absolutely perfect and although Leah hates to admit it your definitely the favourite auntie the Tik tok on her private of him running to you just proves it.

Your staring at the pair so proudly and your eyes rim with tears as your heart sores but your hand is absentmindedly still on your stomach, you don’t realise it’s there till Jordan grabs both your arms.

“You’re pregnant.”

You pull Jordan into her seat looking around in a panic hoping no one else heard Jordan.

“She doesn’t know.” You let out quietly, Jordan’s eyes widen, “what…Y/n.” You smile sheepishly “I only found out yesterday, I want to make it special.”

Jordan’s eyes soften, “oh my god look at them.” Amanda pulls you both out of the little bubble that’s been building around you both.

You stand again in time to watch Leah tell Henry to wave at you and as he spots you and Jordan he seems to brighten even more as his little hand flaps trying to match you both waving at him.

You flick back and forth between talking with Jordan about how you’re getting on, watching the match and Henry trying to hand you his blocks.

You wait another three days to tell Leah, it’s a plan that you definitely wouldn’t have come up with on your own but now that you think about it there’s no better way to tell her.

Your sat in the kitchen Jordan on one side of the table you on the other as you sit Henry on the table chatting to him, he babbles back some words and rifles around the table looking for things to play with.

“Hey pretty girl I’m home.” Leah shouts into the house as she closes the hall door behind her “in the kitchen darling.” Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest as you hear her walk towards the kitchen.

Placing Henry on the ground you point him towards the door and as soon as Leah walks through he takes off running.

“Ah my boy, I’ve missed you.” Leah is completely absorbed by Henry that she fails to notice anything else.

“Henry, show Auntie Leah your shirt.” You point to your own shirt trying to get him to understand.

Henry begins to tap on his shirt “Shu,Shu.” Leah nods along “yeah buddy shirt, it’s red, what’s it say though let me see.” Leah pulls Henry back slightly.

“Best big cousin.” Leah takes painfully long for it to click but when she finally realises what she’s reading Henry is quickly placed on the ground and it’s you who she has wrapped in her arms.

“You’re serious, really, he’s going to be a cousin, we are going to be parents.” You laugh as you place your hand on the back of her head.

“Yeah baby, I’m pregnant.”

Leah squeezes you tighter before putting you on the ground as Henry starts jumping up and down, she scoops him up again tossing him into the air “your going to be a big cousin, your going to be the best big cousin ever.”

Jordan hugs you as the both of you watch Leah settle on the floor with Henry crashing toy cars into each other her smile widening as he laughed.

“He is going to be the best big cousin.” You smiled to Jordan “you’re both going to be the best parents.”

It’s a couple of months later when you decide to tell Leah’s family.

“Y/n and I have collaborated on the next book.” Leah lets out happily while standing up as her family nods smiling at you happily, Amanda squeezes your hand “look at you two going into business together.” You laugh as Leah’s hands out the wrapped books.

“Alright what you’re all holding is the next book, it won’t be out till summer next year but we wanted you guys to see the title of it first on the count of three you can open them.”

Leah counts down and you swear you have never seen adults tear off wrapping paper so fast before.

“The Adventures of Baby Williamson.” It takes Amanda the least amount of time before she’s wrapped you into a hug tears falling from her eyes before pulling Leah in too “oh girls, oh god.”

The rest of Leah’s family congratulate you both before you walk over to Jordan “this one is just for you.”

Jordan looks at you surprised as Leah wraps her hand around your waist “go one you silly sod open it.”

“The Godmother.” Jordan lets out a small gasp, not expecting to be asked assuming one of your many friends would be chosen.

“Me.” You smile softly nodding “You figured it out first, and honestly I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to know but you and Le first.”

Jordan’s crying now as she hugs you both breaking away as Henry stands puffing his chest pointing at himself “cous , cous.” You laugh picking him up “best big cousin ever.”

[solxamber]

Romance Roulette — Rollo Flamme x reader

You, Rollo's self-proclaimed bestfriend, have been trying to set him up with someone for the past few weeks. If all your plans fail, maybe you should do it yourself?

Rollo Week Day 2!

You’re absolutely convinced that one of these days, Mount Rollo is going to erupt—metaphorically speaking. The man is a storm in human form, and if anyone needs to loosen up, it’s him. As his self-declared bestie, you’ve decided it’s your personal mission to fix this. And what better way to prevent a volcanic explosion than by finding him the perfect date?

Date 1: The Perfectionist

For the first attempt, you decide to set him up with someone equally serious—a meticulous scholar who practically breathes textbooks, just like Rollo. You arrange a nice little lunch at a quiet, book-filled café. The ambiance is perfect: walls stacked with old books, the soft clink of teacups, and an academic atmosphere. You figure they’ll be intellectual soulmates.

Everything goes well—until they start debating. What begins as a pleasant discussion about historical architecture quickly escalates into a competition of who knows more obscure facts.

Rollo’s frown deepens as his date continuously tries to one-up him. By the time their coffee arrives, they’ve gone through no fewer than five intense debates about the most esoteric details of 14th-century bricklaying techniques.

You check on them an hour later, only to see Rollo sitting there, arms crossed, looking like he’s ready to punch a library in the face. His date is still babbling on about the aesthetic superiority of Gothic buttresses.

When you catch him outside after the disastrous date, Rollo sighs heavily and mutters, “I’ve had more stimulating conversations with my textbooks.”

“Well, they can’t all be winners!” you laugh awkwardly.

Date 2: The Overenthusiast

Clearly, the last one was too intense. You decide to go for a different approach—a cheerful, bubbly person who’s passionate about spontaneous adventures. Maybe someone who will drag Rollo out of his stoic shell with some boundless enthusiasm and positivity.

The date starts off on a hike, and Rollo already looks skeptical as they begin rattling off suggestions for future extreme sports they should try together. “Skydiving’s on my bucket list,” they say, oblivious to Rollo’s growing dread. “Oh! And I’ve always wanted to try base jumping.”

“I don’t have wings,” Rollo deadpans.

Things only go downhill from there. His date suggests bungee jumping off a nearby cliff, just to spice things up. Rollo’s jaw tightens like he’s physically restraining himself from yelling, and by the end of the hike, he looks like he’s been through some kind of personal hell.

As they part ways, Rollo gives you a flat look. “I don’t understand how you come up with these people.”

You just shrug, trying to hold back your laughter. “Maybe you just need to learn how to let loose!”

His scowl deepens, and you’re already mentally planning Date #3.

Date 3: The Tortured Artist

Next up, you think Rollo needs someone with a creative soul—an artist with a vision, someone who’ll talk about the beauty of life and inspire him with their philosophical musings. You manage to track down someone who’s always talking about their next big project and their deep thoughts on the human condition.

Things start off okay, but midway through dinner, they begin rambling about the chaotic beauty of life. “You see, Rollo, destruction is just a form of rebirth. Every time something breaks, it’s just… making way for something new.”

Rollo stares at them like they’ve grown a second head. “I believe in structure and order,” he says stiffly.

The artist looks unfazed, waving their hand dramatically. “But chaos is art!”

By the time the night is over, Rollo looks like he’s aged ten years. When he returns to you, he mutters, “They suggested we burn down the restaurant. For ‘art.’”

You burst into laughter. “Okay, maybe not the creative type either.”

Rollo glares. “Stop trying to torture me.”

Date 4: The Free Spirit

Alright, maybe what Rollo needs is someone who’s completely carefree—a person with no boundaries or restrictions, someone who doesn’t sweat the small stuff. You set him up with a free-spirited individual who lives life with a “no rules” philosophy. They suggest meeting at a park for a casual walk, and at first, it seems like things are going fine.

Then they start suggesting that they should start a protest about “the man keeping us down” and skipping stones at a restricted pond area because, “rules are just social constructs, man.”

Rollo’s eye twitches as they start skipping stones like it’s no big deal. “You realize you’re breaking the law, correct?”

“It’s just a pond,” they wave him off. “Live a little!”

The date doesn’t last much longer. As soon as they part ways, Rollo gives you the most exhausted look you’ve ever seen. “Why do you do this to me?”

You grin, feeling only slightly guilty. “You said you needed to loosen up.”

“I’m going to throw you into that pond next time,” he mutters, but you can see the faintest smirk on his lips.

Date 5: The Socialite

This time, you think you’ve cracked the code. Someone social and charming, who knows how to navigate high society. You arrange a dinner with an outgoing socialite who can hold their own in any conversation.

Except, they spend the entire date talking about all the high-profile parties they attend, the famous people they’ve met, and their networking skills. Rollo is clearly unimpressed, barely saying a word as they drop name after name, and by the end of the night, he looks like he’s had all the life drained out of him.

“They talked more about themselves than any lesson I’ve ever attended,” he mutters to you afterward.

“Wasn’t that fun?” you tease, trying not to laugh.

Rollo just glares at you, muttering something about “irreparable damage.”

After the fifth disaster, you both sit in the café (again), your chin resting in your hands as you ponder your failure. “Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a matchmaker…”

“I’ve been telling you that since the first date,” Rollo replies dryly, sipping his tea.

You stare at the cup, lost in thought, then blink. "What if I just find someone more like...me?" Your eyes light up. "Of course! How did I not think of that before—"

"I think I’ve figured that out myself," Rollo cuts in. His tone is so dry, you almost miss the little sarcastic jab in it. He raises an eyebrow. “Why not just date me yourself, then? You’re the only one I can stand at this point.”

You pause mid-sip, blinking. “...What?”

He shakes his head, clearly joking, lips curling into a faint smirk. “You’re already committed to this ridiculous mission. Why not be my date, if you're so determined?”

Rollo’s tone is light, and you can tell he’s not being serious, but something clicks in your mind. You blink at him like he’s just handed you the Holy Grail. Slowly, you lower your teacup. “Wait...that’s...brilliant.”

It’s Rollo’s turn to blink. “What?”

You snap your fingers. “I’ll do it! I’ll date you!”

The smirk falls from his face as he processes your words. “What? No—wait—I wasn’t—” His usual composure slips for a moment, a flicker of shock in his eyes. “You’re serious?”

“Obviously,” you grin, completely oblivious to his shock. “I mean, I’ve been spending all this time trying to find someone else, but why would I need to? We get along great, I know your quirks, you know mine—this is perfect!”

Rollo is still processing, his mouth slightly open, like you’ve just told him the world is flat. “I wasn’t actually expecting you to—”

“So,” you interrupt, leaning in with a smug smile, “where are you taking me on our first date?”

Rollo groans, rubbing his temple. “You’re impossible.”

The date with Rollo is… interesting. You two plan a simple walk through the city, but it doesn’t take long for things to go off track. Rollo tries to impress you by leading you through what he calls a "shortcut"—a long, winding, and completely unfamiliar street that gets you both hopelessly lost.

"Is this your plan?" you tease, nudging him as he checks the map on his phone. "Get lost together so I’ll have to rely on your company?"

Rollo gives you a flat look. "No, this is my plan going terribly wrong."

But despite the mishap, the date is surprisingly fun. You tease him relentlessly about his poor sense of direction, and he grumbles about how you’ve ruined his peace, but there’s an underlying warmth to his words. It’s clear that, despite the banter, he’s enjoying himself.

After wandering around for what feels like hours, you finally find your way back to a quaint little café. You suggest stopping for a drink, and Rollo, surprisingly, agrees.

The conversation flows naturally, filled with lighthearted teasing and small smiles. Rollo, despite his usual stern demeanor, seems at ease with you, even allowing himself a small chuckle when you accidentally spill sugar all over the table.

As the evening winds down and he walks you home, there’s a comfortable silence between you two. At your ...your doorstep, you hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to end the night. Rollo stands there, watching you expectantly, clearly not used to situations like this.

“So,” you say softly, “thanks for, uh, getting us lost today.”

Rollo raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” you grin, stepping closer. “It was fun anyway.”

You lean in, brushing your lips softly against his in a quick kiss. When you pull back, Rollo is staring at you, frozen in place like he’s processing what just happened.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask, suddenly feeling a little shy despite the chaos of the night.

Rollo blinks, his usual serious expression faltering as a slight blush creeps into his cheeks. “...Yes,” he says, almost as if he’s surprised by his own response.

You smile at him, the warmth from the kiss still lingering, and before you can walk away, Rollo suddenly grabs your wrist, pulling you back gently. He leans in, pressing a lingering, softer kiss to your lips, as if trying to make sure this time is real.

When he pulls away, he mutters, “I suppose I should thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being insufferable enough to try this.”

You laugh softly, a lightness settling in your chest. “I aim to please.”

As you head inside, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Mount Rollo isn’t going to erupt after all. In fact, it seems you’ve found a way to calm the storm for good.

Masterlist

[airandyeah]

Footballplayer!Sukuna X Toughgirl!Reader Who Do You Think I Am? Pt.1

My Masterlist Series Masterlist

The morning air is cool, but the sun’s already burning through it—heat shimmering against the sidewalk as you step through the gates of your new school.

Your boots thud quietly with each step, black leather sleek against the worn pavement. Jeans fitted just right, dark and cuffed, hug your legs with a sharpness that says you know exactly what you’re doing. A tucked black polo clings to your frame, understated but crisp. A studded belt slouches low around your hips, not for utility, but for style—and the message is clear: you don’t need to try hard to be noticed. You just are.

Your backpack shifts with your stride, weighed down by a riot of keychains and enamel pins that jingle softly—little ghosts, sparkly skulls, band logos, and the occasional cursed-looking charm. Your arms are full of books, no time wasted fumbling with a bag. You're here to get through the day, not impress anyone.

Then the noise starts.

Girls hollering from the front steps. Whistles. Screams. Someone yelling his name like it’s a prayer and a curse all at once.

You don’t even flinch.

Just the faint whine of a motor—deep, low, and smug—crawling closer through the noise. You shift your books in your arms, barely glancing up as a matte-black motorcycle rolls up alongside the curb like it owns the place.

Pink hair. Piercings. A cocky grin framed by tattoos you can spot even from here.

He takes off the helmet like he’s unwrapping a gift. The crowd eats it up.

You keep walking.

Because whoever the hell that is, he’s not your problem.

Not yet. ~~~ The first week is a blur of buildings that all look the same and hallways that smell like floor wax and stale ambition. The campus is stuffy—both in architecture and attitude. Ivy climbs the stone walls like it's trying to escape, but you’ve got nowhere to climb. So you walk.

You start to recognize the cliques pretty quickly.

The "cool" kids drape themselves across benches like they’re posing for a magazine—perfect hair, perfect smiles, dead eyes. The athletes move in packs, always laughing too loud, always at the center of some gravity you don’t care to feel. Nerds shuffle by in clusters, voices low and frantic, textbooks practically fused to their hands. Then the outliers—the ones who tried too hard to look like they weren’t trying at all. Losers, weirdos, wannabes. Every label pressed into place, neat and suffocating.

You stay on the edges. You don’t talk much. You don’t need to. No one interests you enough to try.

But then there’s her.

Tiffany.

Blonde. Bubbly. Relentlessly cheerful in a way that felt forced but also strangely… genuine. She attaches herself to you on day three like she’s decided your life needed more pink and perfume.

At first, you think she’s just lost. Then you realize she’s made herself at home.

She talks. A lot. About boys, lip gloss, horoscopes, drama you couldn’t care less about. She never asks if you want to listen, never pauses long enough for you to answer even if she did.

You try to shake her once. Maybe twice.

She doesn’t take the hint.

Eventually, you stop trying.

She’s annoying, sure—but she also never asked you to be anyone but exactly who you are. No prying questions, no judgment. Just endless chatter and a weird sort of loyalty.

So you get used to it. The babbling. The perfume. The blonde blur at your side.

And though you’d never admit it, you kind of start to expect her there.

Like a puppy with lip gloss and too much eyeliner.

By the end of the week, you’ve adjusted to Tiffany’s ceaseless chatter. You stop tuning her out so completely, giving half-hearted responses here and there, nodding along as she tells you about some guy in her philosophy class who apparently “stares at her like he’s in love.” You really couldn’t care less, but it’s easier to just respond than to keep pretending you're too cool for this.

“Yeah, maybe he likes you.” “Mmhm, maybe you should talk to him.”

You’re so deep in this mindless back-and-forth that you barely notice you’re at your locker until Tiffany’s voice rings louder than usual.

“So, like, what do you think of the football team? They’re all soooo hot. Especially—”

You’re just about to tell her to ease off the whole "football team" conversation, tucking your books inside your locker with a sigh, when—

BOOM.

A body crashes into yours, sending your books flying out of your arms. You stumble back, catching yourself with your shoulder slamming against the locker door, but you don’t lose your balance. You don’t even flinch. No, instead, you whip around with your finger already pointed, your hand snapping to the air like a warning shot.

“What the hell, asshole?” you snap, the words firing out with no hesitation. “Watch where you’re going!”

You don’t wait for him to speak first. You don’t care if he’s some campus legend or the football team’s king. He ran into you. And that makes him your problem.

The guy you’re facing is none other than the football player Sukuna—the one whose name has been buzzing around like a bad perfume all week. The pink-haired, motorbike-riding menace who seems to think the world revolves around him.

He stands there, towering over you, eyes narrowing like he's ready to chew you up and spit you out. But you’re not backing down.

You stick your finger straight into his chest, pushing him back a little. You can feel the heat radiating off him, but it’s nothing compared to the fire you’re throwing back at him.

"Are you seriously gonna stand there like I’m the problem? You hit me, dipshit." Your voice rises with every word, making sure the whole damn hallway hears you. “So, get your shit together and watch your step next time.”

For a moment, Sukuna’s glare holds. The world feels like it’s waiting for him to do something—anything. He doesn’t have that usual cocky smirk on his face. Instead, it’s... a little tight. A little too quiet.

And then—hell freezes over—he mumbles something under his breath. An apology. You almost don’t hear it, it’s so soft and unwilling, but it’s there. He doesn’t even meet your eyes as he steps back, almost like he’s trying to get away from you without making a bigger scene.

You watch him walk off, jaw clenched, tail tucked between his legs. The hallway buzzes with confused whispers, the girls around you still trying to piece together what just happened.

You just roll your eyes, grabbing your books from the floor with a sharp breath. You’ve got better things to do than deal with whatever this is.

Tiffany stands frozen beside you, looking like she just saw a god get knocked off his pedestal.

And you? You just shake your head and push past her, muttering under your breath as you make your way to class.

“Idiots.” ~~~

The next morning, you barely remember yesterday. It’s not that you don’t remember him—how could you forget the pink-haired jerk who had the audacity to bump into you like you were some invisible wall? It’s just that, for you, things are never worth dwelling on for long. Besides, it’s the start of a new day, and you’ve got other things to focus on.

Today, you feel different. Better. You throw on your usual outfit—black boots, but these have added buckles this time, making them even more badass. You loop another studded belt on your hip for good measure, letting it dangle a little more loose than usual. You don’t care if it’s loud or not. You’re the one wearing it. You grab your books and head out, feeling a little more like yourself.

The campus is already alive with chatter as you walk in. The smell of fresh coffee wafts through the air, the sound of sneakers and boots against pavement mixing with the distant hum of cars in the parking lot. It’s all just background noise to you. You’re not thinking about yesterday anymore.

That is, until you hear it.

The unmistakable roar of a motorcycle engine cutting through the air like it owns the whole damn place. You don’t even flinch, not like the other girls around you, their heads snapping toward the sound in sync like they’re all hypnotized. They start whispering and giggling. You can practically feel the energy shift, and you don’t have to look to know who it is.

Sukuna.

The same loud, obnoxious jerk who somehow thought he could push you around. But today, you don’t care.

You keep walking with your head held high, your boots clicking against the pavement with purpose. You’re not about to let anyone’s presence, especially his, mess with your groove. You adjust your backpack, adding a little swagger to your steps, watching the heads turn as Sukuna pulls up near the entrance. His usual cocky smirk is plastered on his face as he kicks off his helmet and swings his leg over his bike like he's some kind of celebrity.

You don’t even spare him a glance, though. You just keep walking, your mind already drifting to your next class. The last thing on your mind is that annoying guy.

But of course, fate’s a little too eager to let things slide.

Out of nowhere, you feel a hand on your shoulder. A heavy one.

You know exactly who it is without even turning around. Sukuna’s deep voice cuts through the air like a blade.

“You’re still walking like you own the place, huh?”

You roll your eyes, trying not to make eye contact.

“What, did you forget you made a scene yesterday?” you reply, casually brushing his hand off your shoulder, still not looking at him.

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Sukuna speaks again, this time quieter. Almost as if he’s reconsidering how he usually approaches people.

“Not gonna yell at me today?”

You finally turn to face him, meeting his intense red gaze. For a moment, you almost forget why you’re annoyed with him in the first place. His usual cocky demeanor is still there, but there's something different about him today—something a little... unsure?

You give him a lazy, half-smile. "Nah, not today. Just keep your distance, yeah?"

He looks taken aback for a moment, but then that same smugness creeps back onto his face. “Tch. Whatever.” And with a final glance, he walks off, his boots thudding loudly as he heads into the building.

You watch him go, a strange feeling stirring in your stomach. Not anger, not excitement—just something weird. You shake your head, pushing it down. You’ve got bigger things to deal with than him.

Tiffany, who has been watching the whole exchange, practically jumps up to your side, all wide eyes and loud whispers.

“Oh my god, did you just—did you just shut him down like that?” she exclaims, practically bouncing with excitement.

You just give her a smirk, brushing a stray lock of hair out of your face. “What can I say? I don’t need to waste energy on guys like him.”

But as you turn back to walk into the building, a small part of you wonders... What’s the deal with him, anyway?

Tag list is always open! Tags: @nina6708 , @sherrieblossoms , @charlie-xo , @iloveredwineee Perm Tags: Perm tags: @thenightperson , @makingtimemine , @nina-from-317

[sapphiccup]

A family with Vi means:Luv.

Pairing: parent Vi x parent reader

Sfw Headcannons… Modern Era

-Violet was the kind of parent that would video tape everything… your babys first babble, first walk, first bike ride, first picking flowers, first time experiencing a lemon (that was a funny day), even a first punch…on a pillow of course! (we all know where your baby gets that from)

-When you were pregnant she’d trace tiny hearts on your stomach

-At 5 years old for your child, Violet was nervous wreck about any time they would get sick. You’d think her taking care of several siblings with the help of her very busy father would have break her in to not worry. She was stammering and stuttering so bad, amongst other things, you grabbed her phone with one swift motion. Calling her sister as if shes on— oh wait no, she really is on speed dial.

“Oh no Vi has always been a worrywart. We never got to see it until—-. Ha, man this takes me back. We would all listen in at the door outside of the bathroom. She would mumble and mumble and mumble—- about every single disease we could of had. Crazy enough, it was just the chicken pox. — Oh and before I get off the phone…mmmm”

“Tell her I said she needs to sit her psychotic ass down”

And that was that, several beeps later and you gave Vi that message. Which prompted Vi to call her sister right back to discuss how nosey they all are, which also led to a group face time call. They all stayed up talking til she calmed down.

-

“What’s mommys name?” You’d ask as you stood above, peering inwards a fallen creased fabric, the peeked a bit of your smiling bubbly toddler in their sensory tent. Where they held a Sesame street book that Jinx proudly gifted last year for Christmas.

“Mommy”

“What’s mama’s name?”

“Vi!!!” Your child said with a grumble, puffed cheeks, and knitteed brows. You were taken aback from how animated your child became, and not long after said animation. Vi came running laughing and ready to to point fingers.

“I told you! I told you so! When you call me sometimes, you have a little attitude to it”

“No I do not..”

“Yes you do. Our child just proved that, today”

“Vi! I do no-“ you caught your self, and your cheeks raised up to flames, hot to the touch. And a big goofy I told you so grin, formed on Vi’s face. Tilting her head as if she was gesturing, ‘wanna tell me I’m wrong? Oh wait you can’t’

-

Vi would come up from behind, kiss the back of your neck, opening her mouth to tell you “In three, two, one.. uppsie”

She’d lift your pregnant belly for some relief, and you’d sigh, rolling your neck halfway, sugared sweet smile that faced the ceiling. “Daisy..”

“Will you be doing that every time you lift our bakery up?”

“Of course cupcake. Gotta let the batter know it’s time to rise” you’d roll your eyes at her comment, letting out a huffed laugh.

And when your child was born, a few months later down the line, she do it again, picking them up from their crib. Your child laughing with bubbles coming out their mouth, “uppsie!”

“Daisy!” Lifting them up high, and laughter growing louder, giving them a slow spin. You would watch, lounging against the entrance of the door, leaning next to the arch of it, a soft smile beamed on your face.

She kept her word.

-

Before you were both married, you had this feeling.. that she would be someone that you’d enjoy. That she was that someone to bring in all the warmth that you’ve never experienced before. You didn’t know how you knew but you knew. Especially after a third date, you went home with her, not to have sex but, to spend more time.

You both somehow got into the desert, and when you we’re both done, you washed the dishes the together. It was nice, peaceful, it was.. human.

After 11 years of being with each other, you still both wash the dishes together, with an addition of a mini version of your love together. With every kiss or longing stare, your child witnessed and without questioning it, they knew that if any asked what is love. From observing you both.

They’d answer with 2 words no explanation needed. “my family”.