Heyyyyy I Love Your Writing So Much!!!! Plus Your Theme Is So Nice!! It Looks Amazing 🫶🏾

“cover her mouth and make her listen to how wet she is” aka jackson!ellie putting in WORK. i’m sick.

⭐️ warnings: smut(obviously), dom!ellie, language, ellie has a dirty mouth, an ass slap. think that’s it? 18+ minors dni <3

you’re pretty sure you’re dead, or at least you will be soon at this rate. you don’t even realise the obscene noises you’re making until ellie slaps a palm down onto your ass.

“shut the fuck up,” ellie hisses from behind you, breathless. she’s fucking into you at a speed that you’re certain she’s never met before and if she goes any faster you think the bed might break the thin wall separating the both of you from the bathroom.

“fuck,” ellie’s voice snaps you back into reality and you find yourself reaching back to push at her stomach, looking for some relief from her practically bruising your cervix. “you really want me to stop?”

you whine, but don’t respond. she knows you don’t want her to stop, especially when your legs give way and you slip forward onto the bed, chest pressed against the mattress. she knows you like it like this.

she slows her pace, switching to slower, deeper strokes and she leans back slightly, sucking in a small gasp when she sees how wet you’ve gotten. it’s all down your thighs, between your ass cheeks and ellie’s thighs are beginning to get sticky and she can’t tell if its from your or her but she doesn’t really care.

“you’re wetting the fucking bed, babe.” she teases, leaning forward until her chest is pressed against your back and you’re almost sticking together from the sweat. she shuffles closer to you until your ass is flush against her lower stomach raises a hand to push against your head, keeping you flat to the bed.

“ell-fuck, please, please..” you’re whimpering at her, trying to look at her from the corner of your eye but she’s just out of sight. you feel her though, her breath hot against your ear.

all she does is scoff and draw her hips back before pistoning in, somehow even harder than before, and you’re basically fucking crying at how good it feels.

“i thought i told you…” ellie leans down and you think she’s going to brush the hair from your eyes or give you a quick kiss but instead she grabs a fistful of your hair, arches your neck up and slaps her palm against your mouth. “to shut the fuck up?” she whispers in your ear and you practically gush against her, the wet noises coming from your pussy echoing through her room.

“you hear that?” she’s still in your ear, breathing heavily as her hips slap against your ass. “hear how fucking wet that pussy is? how much she loves me?”

you’re definitely crying now, nodding frantically against her hand. you’re gripping at the sheets so hard you’re certain you’ve ripped holes into them and your eyes have rolled so far back into your head you don’t think they’ll ever go back to normal again.

ellie knows she has a dirty mouth and she uses it to her advantage when she’s fucking you like this. knows that you could cum alone just from the dirty shit she says to you, and she’d have it no other way.

the squelching noises coming from your pussy are so loud - you’re thanking heavens that joel opted to cancel his garden party tonight. both of ellie’s hands are now covering your mouth and she’s leaning back, using her grip on your cheeks and jaw as leverage to fuck into you.

she’s hitting right against your g-spot and you’re biting at her palm, trying your best not to scream bloody murder but it’s becoming increasingly difficult when she’s fucking you so good. she leans forward again, hard nipples pressing into your back and you feel her lips ghost the shell of your ear,

“want you to make a fucking mess for me. can you do that, hm?”

you are absolutely going to die tonight.

ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕 acting like she not stuck with me for forever ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: vi's a bit emotionally immature but well-intentioned, slight mention of a past abusive relationship, implied smut at the end, a bit of fluff sprinkled in, very light fingering lmao, i like visualizing the fits of my characters so this was what the reader's wearing but like better, black! reader as always

𝔞/𝔫: finally smth that isn't only a paragraph long 😭, this was going to be smth kinktober related originally but i changed my mind halfway through, i probably WILL be participating in kinktober tho so stay tuned <3

(also reblogs are always welcome. like, always. forever)

“….vi? baby? please tell me what’s wrong. i don’t get why you’re so angry with me.”

for the first time in your two years of being together, she actually ignored you. you slumped in your seat, acrylics beginning to curl into the stretchy fabric of your skirt. unsure of what to do, you gently reached for her right hand, trying to interlock your pinkies (a tradition you guys had ever since your first date). the tip of your nail was barely able to graze the cool metal of her ring before she snatched her arm away, placing both hands back on the steering wheel. she looked agitated, but also lost in thought. sighing in defeat, you turned your head to look out the window, the stars and inky night sky serving as comfort as you toyed with one of your necklaces (vi’s favorite, she usually adored the way it dipped down to the valley in between your breasts, the stark silver standing out beautifully against your dark skin). “well i don’t know how you expect for us to work this shit out if you can’t even explain what the damn problem is, violet.” you were well aware that there was nothing she hated more than being called by her government name, but you had a point to make. and yet, still no response.

the night had started out peacefully enough. the two of you had been invited to a party that night that “what’s-her-name” was hosting (some girl from your psych class, but the don julio always fucked with your memory). you scanned your brain, trying to figure out what the problem was. it wasn’t your outfit (she already fucked you in it earlier, whispering endlessly about how beautiful you were as she shoved her ringed fingers into your cunt, dripping so much it almost stained your new fur boots). it’s not like y’all had any arguments before you left. she had a little bit to smoke, a little to drink, hell it looked like she was having the time of her fucking life as she gripped your hips and caught every ounce of ass you threw at her every time you felt like dancing. so yeah, you were hella lost. you took out your (sadly dying) cart, ghosting the last bit of what was left as you started scrolling on your phone. if she wants to be petty for no reason, then fine. that also happened to be your area of expertise.

it was the most awkward 15 minutes of your life.

“i just don’t know why you had to talk to her”. oh, so now she has something to say.

“i’m not sure if you noticed this, but we were at a lesbian bar, violet. there were a shit ton of “shes” and “hers” present.”

“and out of all of them you still choose to talk to your bum ass ex.”

oh. oh.

like you said earlier, the second even the slightest bit of liquor hits your system ….and suddenly you're not the most reliable of narrators. it’s one of your quirks.

“we literally had a 3 sentence conversation, babe. she said hi, i said hi, she asked how class was going, i said fine, and that was the end of it.” the brief encounter was so irrelevant to you that you didn’t even bother to answer her questions with enthusiasm. for context, the ex in question’s name was niyla, aka the biggest mistake you’ve ever made in your entire twenty-one years of life. you weren’t together very long, just 6 months your freshman year of college, but her toxicity and borderline emotional abuse took its toll on your mental state at the time. every attempt you made at trying to change her behavior failed, every apology that ever came from her mouth was half-assed and empty, and you ran for the hills the moment you could.

but granted, that was a really long time ago, and you were proud to say that you were 100% over her. besides, the queer community at your school was notoriously small, the sapphic side even more so. you accepted the fact that running into her would be inevitable a long time ago. you’ve seen her out and about since the breakup, but this was the first time you’ve actually spoken to her.

vi slightly softened, releasing her vice grip on the wheel and exhaling deeply. “i know, y/n. it’s just…”. she suddenly held your hand again, lightly stroking the pretty henna that decorated it as she tried to find the words. “i can’t stand the fact that she still thinks she has the right to talk to you.” it wasn’t everyday that vi was so…vulnerable. even though she had the utmost amount of trust and respect for you, really sitting down and discussing her thoughts and emotions wasn’t something that came easy to her. you kissed her hand and nuzzled it against your cheek, urging her to continue. “she treated you like absolute garbage…i just don’t want you to get swept up in all that bullshit again, you know?” you listened intensely, absorbing every single word as your heart began to swell with love.

she chuckled humorlessly, seemingly dismissing her thoughts. “but i guess i should’ve just started off with that rather than giving you the silent treatment. my therapist always talks about how i need to work on my ‘communication skills’. or ….something like that.” her eyes, deeply apologetic, glanced down at yours. “forgive me, cupcake?”

“mmm, maybe. on one condition”. truth is, you already forgave her the moment she explained herself, but god, seeing her all sincere and introspective did something to you. a mischievous smirk graced your features as you took the hand that was still caressing your cheek and began trailing it down your body. vi’s eyes widened as she felt the dampness of your thin lace panties, slick slowly starting to gush out as your face got hotter and hotter. “you have to make it up to me.”

YESSSS😆😆😆

streamer!ellie pt.2

summary: i hated the other one of this that i made, so REMAKE TIEM!!!

warnings: miiinor sexual content, shit talking, gay people 😒

authors note: heheheh ples don’t flop this time..

- during her faceless days, she opened up a po box so ppl could send her things, and she made an amazon wishlist and she unboxed stuff on stream 😍😍

- one day she was unboxing a giant box of cat toys. string, those little feather stick things, even that weird automatic flapping fish thing (that she secretly loves and taped to her back one time)

- she was playing with this one toy that was a little fishing reel, and it had string and a little fish on the bottom. she went on and onnn about how shes a self proclaimed “fishing master” while garf chased it around, letting out little meows and growls of frustration.

- eventually, she lost her grip and let go of the pole. she bent down to pick it up, forgetting that her face would be in view. thus, the chat started blowing up.

ewwwbruh: FACE REVEAL

ewwife: EW WE CAN SEE UR FACE

ewwife: JUST THE SIDE BUT WE CAN SEE YOUU

ewssidechick: her nose looks so rideable…

- she got distracted petting garfield, and didn’t realize anything until she stood up. she was getting tagged over and over again on twitter, blurry pictures of her face (curtesy of the shitty webcam) circulating through her subreddit.

- “guys. im gonna erase this from ur memory…” and she literally held up this goofy ass hypnotizer pendelum and started fake hypnotizing everyone like “that never happenedddd” “you don’t know what i look likeeee” “that was fakeeee” “chat that was not reallll”

- and everyone literally js went along with it and pretended it never happened. like ppl were tweeting about it and everyone was like “huh??? what are u talking about bruh??”

- she did the same thing after falling off her rainbow unicorn scooter 😞

- one time she revealed that the “ew” in her username stood for her initials, and everyone was making the most horrendous guesses. elliam willace being the favorite one.

- “guys, my name is not edward wilson??? i am…not a man”

- shes gotten into so much drama…multiple notes app apologies have been issued via her instagram story.

- people would ask her opinions on other streamers, and she’d literally just be like “…i have no idea who that is.” and people would get so MADDDD but homegirl is literally just blatantly unaware

- or she would know , and would literally be like “they’re honestly super annoying and i would rather kill myself than watch them but whatever floats ur boat ig!”

- she played that “womp womp womp womppp” sound effect on her soundboard afterwards.

- SPEAKING OF. she abuses that soundboard sooo much. its so obnoxious and annoying like I SWEARRR!!! she’ll tell a horrible pun and play the crowd laughing and cheering sound effects while literally no one laughed.

“guys. whats the best way to watch a fly fishing tournament??”

“…live streaming.”

(crowd cheering sound effect)

“nooo thank you thank you, you’re all too kind, really!!”

- meanwhile chat was dead silent.

- every time she gets to choose her own name on a game its some dumb shit like "jizzmaster" or "chris fucker"

- “it appears you have entered innapropriate content.” “OHHH LOOK AT EPISODE LOOK AT THESE CORPORATE BIGWIGS TRYING TO CONTROL THE LITTLE MAN???”

- she just ended up naming him “chris phucker”

- like when she played episode on stream and made up really annoying voices for all the characters and made her character look like an elderly man, and made the love interest look like you 😍😍

- she messes up sm on games when she streams normally, but when you're there? she is LOCKED THE FUCK IN. sitting there so focused the entire time just to show off

- whenever she randomly goes silent she just starts SINGING. it's either nicki minaj or some fucking fnaf song

"IS THIS THE THANKS THAT I GET FOR PUTTING U BITCHES ON???"

- speaking of, her favorite fnaf song is def “stay calm” cuz she loves saying “hey kids. Nice to eat ya.”

- bought one of those "i paused my game to be here" tshirts…ironically. you refuse to let her wear it in public

- beefs w kids on fortnite sm... she has definitely gotten banned for saying she was gonna bomb a kids house or fuck their mom 😞

- every time she plays a game, she'll literally sit there and watch an 8 hour long video about the lore. she'll plop down on the couch and watch it like a movie

"did you know everyone actually thought that fnaf one took place in 1993, but it was actually 1992?"

- she definitely had you sit next to her when she played through fnaf because she was lowk scared the entire time whenever she heard you walking around the house while she was playing she'd hear footsteps in the hallway and be like. WHAT THE FUCKKK

-she'd have you right next to her, laying your head on her shoulder and messing with her free hand. if you fell asleep, she would be sitting there slapping her hand over her mouth whenever she gets jumpscared bc she doesn't want you to wake up 😞

- sometimes, while she streams , she plays one handed games and lets you sit and draw on her arm for fun. even got you a whole set of those skin markers so u could go ABSOLUTELY HAM. she got one drawing you did that said “r + e 4eva” tattooed in ur handwriting…such a sap

- she loves watching fan edits of herself...AND OF YOU. she'll be on her burner account with a whole collection on tiktok of edits of you.

ewwsbiggestfan: shes so bad i want her to hit me w her car...

- speaking of. imagine her using that account to make shitty capcut edits of you like

- shes ur biggest fan ongod

-WHILE WE’RE ON THE TOPIC OF “fans”…what if i made a completely new origin story for streamer!ellie and reader. what if they were both streamers….

- OKAY SO BASICALLY.

- you had started streaming about a year before ellie did. butttt, you two did very different types of streaming.

- you weren’t very into like, SERIOUS video games. sure, you played some stuff, like animal crossing and roblox and the sims, but nothing more than that.

- that wasn’t what you were streaming though.

- ever since you were younger, you had been wayyyy into…literature.

-by literature i mean fanfiction. heaps of it.

- actors, anime characters, BOOK CHARACTERS, you were in DEEP

- sometimes, for fun, you used to read them out loud in stupid voices. when you were alone, or with your friends, it was very entertaining

- that’s when you got the idea to start streaming it. if it could entertain your friends, and you, whos to say it wouldn’t entertain other people.

- well, it definitely did. in your first year, you hit 10k followers. people loved you. theyd make edits of you, send in requests of fics for you to read, everything.

- a while later, ellie started gaining more and more popularity. out of all the incomes of fame, fanfiction was the most. abundant!

- one day, you got a request to read an ellie x reader fic. at the time, you barely had any idea who she was, but you decided to just go with it 🤞🏽

- “who the fuck is elliam willace???”

- the fanfic was definitely very…graphic!

- “your hips rolled onto her thigh, her slender, tattooed hand palming at your waist. ‘you’re doing so good babe, fuck.’-“ “GUYS. ISN’T SHE NOT ON MUTE RIGHT NOW???”

- you couldn’t help but giggle the rest of the fic, feeling a nagging heat in your core. you didn’t even know who the girl was, but if this fic was accurate, someone would have to sedate you.

-“im actually. gnawing at the iron bars of my enclosure. GUYS. who is this woman…is she real… if she is. things are about to get WICKED.”

- not very thankful to you at the moment, she was very real. apparently, you and her were streaming at the same time, and your followers raided her stream telling her she was reading about you. her curiosity was obviously piqued, and why would she NOT join the stream?

- creeperewman: im definitely real!

- the text on your screen literally made your stomach fall into your ass. you stood up and legit just walked out of the room, camera still on. was she there the whole time???

- creeperewman: aww 😞 where’d she go she’s so badddd

- you eventually returned after a minute of calming yourself down, and low and behold, she gifted you 100 subs and followed you on instagram.

- she was definitely very real!! and that fanfic was…lore accurate. to say the least 😊

- after you two started dating, the two of you would often show up on eachothers streams. ellie, teaching you how to play cod, and you, reading with her.

- she secretly loves reading the fics people write about her and making fun of them, and every time you stream with her shes “subtly” hinting that you should read about her

sitting there pulling on her collar, looking away like “gee, wonder who you’re gonna pick today” with the worst fake laugh ever.

- “ellie can barely ride a scooter, idk why she’s in the mafia rn…” “you fall off ONE TIME and all of a sudden you cant ride a scooter. bullshit.”

- she makes fun of all the dumb pet names like “babygirl” and “darling” and randomly calls you them and bursts out laughing

- you still read those fics when you’re bored sometimes. and ellie MERCILESSLY makes fun of you for it

“yknow, if you missed me that bad, you should’ve just told me.”

try it on (+ ai audios)

a/n: girl. i know ive only posted smut so far but i promise i have 2 fluff coming + a req. req are open beeteedubs >:) sorry if the audios are fucky wucky, i just learned to use the program. requests are open n encouraged :D

-content/warnings: 782 words, semipublic sex in a fitting room, fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), kinda bratty/annoyed!r, ellie is way too cocky lmao, my slight hand kink showing, gn reader but has a pussy

Ellie Williams knew she was hot- the hungry look girls gave her as she walked past was proof enough. She knew her veiny arms drove her hookups crazy, knew her slim fingers hit all the spots to make someone shudder, and knew her hair pulled back into that signature half-up was perfect for gripping as she dug her face in a pussy.

And because Ellie knew she was attractive, she knew there were certain things she could get away with. Ever the witty and observant one, she could manipulate her actions in a way to get you riled up in record time, and it pissed you the hell off. Especially when she would utilize this skill during the most inconvenient of times.

You really just wanted to have a nice mall day with her. Walk around, window shop, pick up some trinkets, and maybe grab some Wetzel's Pretzels if you were feeling risqué. But no, Ellie had to insist that she wanted to spoil you by buying a new lingerie set.

"Babe, c'mon, I just got my paycheck. Let me blow some cash on you, yeah?" She stretches her arms in front of her, interlocking her fingers as she shamelessly showed off her lean build. Slut.

You roll your eyes. "You're the worst with money management."

"Well, I'm doing it anyways. So come with me or don't." You know she's not kidding. Might as well go help her out, right?

All it took was one lacy, forest-green set to drive her nuts. Ellie man-spreads on the dressing room bench, all but eye-fucking you. She stands and comes up behind you, purring compliments into your ear, hands roaming your body: caressing, squeezing, pushing your legs apart. Her breath is hot on your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"Babe", she sighs, "Look at you. You look like a fuckin' angel, you know?" Her teeth graze the crook of your neck as you attempt to shoot her a dirty look.

"Don't even. Not right now." Even as you weakly protest, her hand trails to your inner thigh and traces soft patterns into your sensitive skin.

That was how you ended up leaning against the door of a Victoria's Secret fitting room. The door shook violently with every tremble of your body despite your best efforts to be as subtle as possible. Your right leg was hooked over Ellie's shoulder as she crooked her fingers inside you. You bit your hand to stop from making noise.

Ellie looks up at you with the most infuriating grin, as if to say I knew you couldn't resist me. You roll your eyes but don't say anything. She's already down there, so she might as well make herself useful.

She sees your little eye roll and pulls out, shoving her fingers back in harshly, the base of her palm coming into contact with your clit as you hold back a scream. "Hate that bratty attitude of yours." She mutters.

"Says you!" You hiss.

The dressing room is deathly silent apart from the soulless corporate music over the loudspeakers, so if someone listened closely, past the electronic squeaking of The Chainsmokers, they'd hear the repeated slapping of Ellie's fingers against your skin.

Her thumb rubs your clit as she thrusts at a nearly inhuman pace, and your eyes roll back into your head. You leave bite marks on your hand. Ellie's stupid, arrogant, sexy face grins up at you, slightly flushed and eyes glinting in the harsh fluorescents. With no warning, she pulls the leg hooked over her shoulder closer, shoving your pussy in her face and kitten-licking your clit, sending you over the edge.

You can't hold back the animalistic moan that comes from the back of your throat, and Ellie slaps her free hand over your mouth, slyly smiling up at you as she fucks you through your orgasm. You try to shove her away, overstimulated, but her grip on your thigh tightens.

"Stop, 'm cleaning you up."

You groan, holding her stupid little bun as she continues. When she finally pulls away and your leg comes off her shoulder, it's asleep, thousands of little pinpricks across your thigh. She gives a gentle kiss to your forehead and chuckles as you limp to take off the lingerie set and shuffle on your clothes.

"Aw, did I blow your back out?"

"No, Ellie, my leg is asleep. Asshole." She smacks your ass and picks up the now-crumpled underwear.

You sigh and unlock the stall door, Ellie trailing behind you. When you get to the front of the dressing room, the employee smiles brightly, asking, "Did everything work out?"

Your eyes flicker to Ellie's stupid smirk because you just know she's gonna say something stupid.

You're right.

"Yeah, I think this one's a keeper."

This man needs more love ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

Hear me out: ageplay w Fatgum. He's enormous it would be so easy to feel tiny and safe with him! Plus the man's always got candy, he'd be such a sweet daddy~ #askgame

when i looked up how tall he is... i need to sit down

Taishiro was many things, but 'a man who was able to resist when his baby said please daddy' was not one of them.

No matter what it was, he couldn't say no to you when you asked him like that. So you got the candy, or the doll, or the stuffed animal, every fucking time.

He spoiled you rotten, and you knew it too.

"Who's daddy's spoiled baby?" He would always ask, usually when he was balls deep inside you and making you cling to his large frame for support. His size was a challenge for you to take but when you were both patient nothing was better than feeling so full you thought you'd burst. (You told him once how sex during regression felt overhwhelming in the best of ways, how you needed to hold on tight to him to feel safe while you felt good.)

"I am daddy!" You cried out your nails digging into his shoulders as you moaned into his ear.

"That's right sweetheart, and you spoil daddy with your perfect fucking pussy don't you?" Taishiro loved how easily emotional you got from his praise, a wobbly smile on your lips and hearts in your eyes as you looked up at him above you.

"Jus' for daddy," you nodded and held him closer.

So yeah, you might be spoiled rotten and a little bratty when you don't get your way, but Taishiro doesn't care.

He gets spoiled too.

WOULD LICK HER BACK UNTIL MY TONGUE DISINTEGRATES

A girl could dream ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

Ghost bf craves more than anything to taste the nectar that gushes from your folds whenever he brings you to orgasm. The fact that he can’t ingest anything that’s not on his physical plane slowly brings him to feel as if he is dying all over again. Your essence so close and yet unreachable.

He refuses to give up, pumping load after load into your sloppy wet cunt. He grits his teeth, staring at the wet sheets under you in envy. The way they so easily soak up your glorious release. He doesn’t stop as he fucks his cock into you, watching you arch off the bed like a woman possessed.

His hand makes contact with your clit and you jolt, pleasurable goosebumps trailing down your legs. Your body seizes, exploding around his ghost cock just as he releases another hefty load inside of you.

Your bf doesn’t hesitate to slip out of you, leaving you to hiss at the faint stinging sensation. Your pussy fluttering closed now that his invisible length left you. His hands push against your soft thighs and you see them spreading wider in what appears to be all on their own.

A moan rips out of you, a much smaller pressure gliding between your puffy lips. Your ghost bf laps at your pussy, his spirit aching for just one taste of your sweetness.

“Wait…” you croak out, legs shaking. This being the umpteenth time he’s repeated this cycle, giving you an idea what of what he wants and is not getting.

When you don’t feel what you assume is his tongue a moment later, you weakly rise onto your elbows. Despite being spent, pleasure swirls in your gut as you watch his spectral-cum ooze out of you.

Reaching down you whimper at the sparks of over sensitivity as you move your fingers through your folds in small circles, mixing your release with his. Your breathing picks up, the sight more erotic than you can admit. But you can feel yourself growing wetter and you can only imagine your bfs smug expression.

“That should work, right?” You ask into your seemingly empty bedroom, not expecting an answer as always.

A moment later you feel that pressure return, a gasp escaping your lips. Your bf slowly licks at your combined cum. His own musk crashes into his tastebuds and for a moment that’s all he tastes. But then, as if the door to the afterlife has finally been opened he tastes the most heavenly flavor as it coats his tongue.

Ghost bf moans, the sound moving through the wind and sending a shiver up your spine. You chuckle lightly but you quickly choke on it as your bf returns full force, happily slobbering up every last drop of cum he can find. His cock already prepped to do this all again.

visions — abby anderson.

summary: a love letter to trying (or the time when you met your favorite people in the world, an overly stressed med student and her overly adventurous one-year-old, in your apartment's hallway).

notes: constantly suffering from chronic baby fever so this is a present from me to you because i spend way too much time thinking about abby as a mom <3

୨・┈﹕✦﹕﹕✦﹕┈・୧

You’re stepping out of the elevator when you suddenly hear it— a series of light thumps on the floor, fast but determined like a tiny little elephant who really has somewhere to be right now. Another step and then you stop clumsily when a flash of golden hair comes rushing past you. You follow the sight with your eyes, tilting your head. A little girl is walking, no, stomping through the hallway. She’s no older than two years old, her thin shining hair in two short braids, blue jean overalls and red socks on her feet. She moves so confidently that you almost don’t think about it, almost have the instinct to look away as if to not accidentally appear nosy, but her tiny stature and wobbly sense of direction keep your attention.

You look around the hallway, expecting surely the sound of the little girl’s parent calling her name (something sweet and pretty and classic, you imagine; it’d suit her). You picture her name being followed by a tired sigh before her patents rush to catch up, maybe rolling their eyes in a way that pretends to be annoyed but unmistakingly holds a million times more affection. A perfect family, a tiny glimpse of a full life somehow existing right in your unimportant building.

The hallway is long and terribly empty. You look back at the little girl who is striding forward in less of a rush now, with no worries, like this is the same route she’s taken for years.

What are you supposed to say to get a kid’s attention when you don’t know their name? What’s something concise, yet nice, yet simple enough to be understood? Babysitting as a teen has prepared you for a lot, just maybe not all of it. It's been a little too long. You linger on it for just a second before spitting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Hi, princess,” It’s a little awkward, but you’re relieved when she immediately stops and spins around, like something about it sounded familiar— could be your sweet tone or the nickname, you’re not sure. The little girl tilts her head to the side, round cheek lightly squished against her shoulder. It's the cutest thing you’ve ever seen and it makes you giggle like a charmed kid. “Where did you come from?” you ask, but before you have the chance to reach her she pouts her lips, as if just now realizing that you’re not who she thought you were. And then she turns her back, like there's no time to waste, to return to her journey with renewed enthusiasm.

In a scarily fast moment, you realize that she’s going for the stairs. It would maybe be a slightly less terrifying idea if that stupid door actually worked— but it doesn't, it broke sometime last May and now it's awfully easy to open, no strength or shove required. Sometimes, if it's windy and quiet enough, you can faintly hear it swing back and forth from your apartment. The little girl reaches a hand out, not intimidated by the tall door more than three times her height. If you weren’t this terrified, you’d find it amazingly admirable. 

You don’t register you’re running until you reach her, don’t register the sound of fast steps behind you or the scream of Rue! or anything else other than the heavy relief on your chest when you lift the baby by her armpits and hold her over your hip against your side. She’s fussing in your arms immediately, upset that she’s being interrupted, especially by a stranger. “I know, I’m sorry, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay,” you coo, though trying to be soothing when your heart is beating this fast is admittedly not the easiest task.

“Rue!” Someone repeats, and this time you do hear it. A woman is running down the hallway, hand coming down to mindlessly drop a tote bag bursting with groceries on the floor by the time she’s in front of you. The little girl reaches out her arms immediately, tiny fists opening and closing furiously and you sigh with relief as you carefully pass her over to the arms of the tall stranger. Her hair is blonde but darker than Rue’s, held back in a braid that looks both pretty and messy, like it was once pristine and then slept on. She’s wearing jeans and a half unbuttoned white shirt, a black tank top underneath. Her chest rises and falls and you notice that yours is no different. Adrenaline is a strange bond to share with a stranger, but it does make things less awkward, knowing you’re both here, feeling the same thing. You meet her expertly focused eyes for just a second before she turns to look at the little girl, searching for anything that could be wrong. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl. You’re okay, right? You’re okay,” the baby flashes a precious, wobbly smile at the sound of her voice, but she’s quickly distracted by the endlessly fascinating rainbow of groceries that lie on the floor. Her tiny head peeks over her mom’s shoulder to observe and it’s like you both can take a more soothing breath now, knowing she’s okay. “Thank you so much,” Abby says. You blink a couple times before you realize that she’s talking to you. “Sorry, I really don’t know how that happened. We were— we just got home from the store and I hadn't even put down all the bags yet and I thought— I was convinced that I shut the door, but…” her rambling drifts off and the stranger takes another breath, reddish embarrassment crawling up her neck.

You understand, suddenly, that she’s not only struggling with the stress of losing and finding her baby, but also the shame of having to face a stranger who might judge her for it. It feels insane to you, to think that she would be forced to prioritize that right now. “Oh, no, it’s okay!” you rush to respond. “I saw her immediately, and you were here in seconds! She wouldn't have gotten any further than that,” your smile is soft, but you speak with enough confidence to be reassuring (babysitting lessons, perhaps), “It was just a scare— don’t be too hard on yourself, please.”

Abby looks disarmed by your answer, her eyebrows raised in surprise. A short moment passes before she nods and smiles back, a small gesture without any less warmth. It’s the most relaxed you’ve seen her so far and it suits her beautifully, enough to make your face feel warm. Her blushing is much less forgiving though, more physically evident on her skin, spread over her cheekbones and the bridge of her pretty nose.

Rue giggles and it distracts you both, her hand waving excitedly at the colorful bird printed on a box of cereal as soon as she spots him. Abby looks at you for a second too long before she clears her throat, joking, “Sorry, she really loves that guy.”

You hum. “He is pretty cool, to be fair.”

Abby tilts her head, copying your sincere tone. “I don’t know, I always thought he’d be kind of a dick in person. He just looks like the type.”

Your startled laugh makes her smirk but she's frustratingly good at hiding it, free hand covering her mouth casually enough that you don’t notice. You look at the grabbing motion of the baby’s hands and pout with sympathy. “She loves him, though. We should probably get him off the floor.”

“Yeah, I should get that— I guess I just ran out with the bag, huh?” Abby huffs. She looks and sounds, physically, a lot less anxious now, less ashamed and more annoyed at herself.

“Would you like some help?”

“That’s okay, I got it,” she’s not sure that she does but she says it anyway, instinctively. Abby tries to lean down and Rue clutches her shirt, pulling enough to communicate that she is not ready to be put down yet. Abby straightens her back quickly enough to communicate that she is not ready to risk getting her any more upset for today. She meets your eyes for just a second. “Well, maybe some help.”

“Sure, just some,” you chuckle. “I’ll get it, don’t worry about it.”

People say that to Abby a lot— don’t worry about it! She hears it from her colleagues when she inevitably asks for the notes from the last class she ran a little late to, from a few of her kinder professors when she’s a day past some assignment’s deadline, from the guy at the grocery store that picks up the packets of M&M bags from the floor when Rue’s curious hands knock them over, from her dad when she asks if he’d be okay with babysitting for just a tiny bit longer. It always makes her stomach turn with guilt, some cases more intense than others, her lips usually pursed as she turns around and takes a breath. This time when you say it, she finds the guilt passing through her with ease, a short visit that makes her shoulders tense before it gets replaced by something else. She believes you, for some reason. Her brain is quiet except for thinking, for once, that there could really be nothing to worry about.

Your hands move casually as you pick everything up, resting on your knees like it’s not uncomfortable, like they might as well be your groceries. The idea is startling. Abby thinks, suddenly, that if someone were to walk into this scene, they wouldn’t read you as a kind stranger. Your ease would hint to something else, a friend, a lover, a picture of a family. Abby finds herself looking at your hands again, brought back to reality only by the slight tug of her hair. Rue plays with her braid distractedly, mumbling to herself about her froot loops friend— except she hasn’t quite learned to pronounce it yet, so it sounds more like oot oops.

Abby chuckles, brushing some of her loose baby hair behind her ears, mumbling back answers to her gibberish to keep her entertained even if Rue doesn’t seem to need it. She’s always endlessly thrilled to just be outside, perhaps the one trait she got from her grandpa rather than her mom. Other than her light snoring.

“She loves you a lot,” you comment, rising from your knees with the bag hanging on your shoulder. You don’t ask and Abby doesn’t think about it—  you just start walking back to her apartment together. “Don’t you, Ru-Ru?” the baby giggles, her head turning to you, blue eyes sparkling. You laugh, “Oh, you like that name. It suits you, Ru-Ru.”

“That’s what my dad calls her,” Abby explains.

“He sounds like a man with taste,” you say. “What do you call her?”

“Princess.”

Your smile is wide and pleased. “That suits her even more, I fear.”

“I think so, too,” Abby agrees, a proud little glimmer in her eyes. She stops in front of her door, B06 engraved in silver. Is it always such a short walk from the elevator? She’s seriously thinking about it until, after realizing in an embarrassing second that she never introduced herself to the person kind enough to chase after her baby, help pick up her groceries and carry them home, Abby suddenly turns to you with widened blue eyes and pretty, reddened cheeks. You forgive her before she even says anything, and forget your traitorous reason before it gets a chance to warn you about how dangerous that thought is. “God, sorry, I never told you my name. I’m—”

“Abby, right?” you smile softly at her surprised face, chuckling before you explain, “One of our neighbors is an old friend of mine and she kinda threw this welcome party for me when I moved in. I promise we weren’t gossiping, but I think someone mentioned you.”

“Oh,” Abby nods casually, brushing it off as if she won’t be spending all night thinking about what your first impression of her might’ve been like. Rue fusses in her arms, a little grunt as she kicks her legs to be put down. “Sorry— I‘ll be right back,” Abby shares a quick look with you and you wave goodbye, not surprised to be missing Rue as soon as she turns around. You watch them walk inside together, a tiny hand waving back at you and making you smile as she excitedly makes her way to her playpen, shrieking bye-bye! Abby places a kiss on top of Rue’s blonde hair and makes her laugh with some noise that you don’t quite catch. She’s comfortable here, walking amongst colorful toys and biology books. She moves like an expert, pulling down her shirt where it rode up somewhere along the way. You make half an effort not to stare, but it’s half more than the effort Abby makes to not let it get to her head. The most confident she’s felt so far, she asks you, “Did that totally innocent welcome party of yours happen, like, two weeks ago? I think I heard some music.”

“It was extremely innocent,” you insist, eyebrows raised teasingly, “And no, sorry, not sure what that was— I moved here like a year ago.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You grace her (or yourself) with a second of silence before you laugh at her awkward expression, the way she brushes a hand over her flushed face and huffs. “Fuck, that’s embarrassing. I’m kinda terrible at keeping up with this type of, uh, social stuff.”

“It’s not embarrassing, I promise. It’s a big world,” you reassure her. “Even bigger when you’re doing a million other stuff.”

You tell her your name and Abby, who is young like you but also highly knowledgeable on little specific human interaction cheat-codes that come with being a mom, nods her head and makes her eyes light up with what seems, to the naive eye, like recognition. “Oh, that’s right!”

You stare for a second before squinting your eyes. “Are you lying to me, Abby from B06?”

Abby grins, wondering when was the last time she found being caught this funny. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve never heard that name in my life.”

You laugh the loudest you have so far and a daydreamed life flashes in Abby’s head— in that big, dramatic way that it does only when you’ve been watching too many rom-coms every night, or when you’re getting too much dating advice from your friend who’s been married since eighteen, or maybe when you fall in love with a pretty stranger who seems to be able to read your mind. It’s an idealized vision of an idealized world, and Abby finds herself being completely okay to clutch it in her fists to keep, because it’s fucking lovely.

“Well, I forgive you,” you tell her, unaware (maybe?) of the chaos that you’ve induced inside of her. “You’re a busy girl.”

Abby tries to think of a good, smooth way to tell you that she could see herself saying your name everyday, placed adoringly after good morning and I miss you. All she comes up with is, “I got enough time to learn it.”

—

You play with the hem of your shirt, pajamas made of mostly Abby’s clothes every night, a scent on them that’s not yours but it might as well be. It’s yours in all the ways that matter, in the same sense that she is. Abby walks out of the bathroom wearing her usual pajamas— a shirt that fits too loose and boxers that are a little too tight around her thighs. She doesn't seem to mind them, and you don’t seem to wanna complain. She knows by the way you look at her. You’re leaning back on your palms, your head tilted, the same shyness and sparkly adoration in your eyes that you’d get when you didn't know each other all that well. It’s not too often that she sees that nervousness anymore, but she still gets glimpses of it, a blink of something on your face or your tone or your breathing that says I have a crush on you and I’m hoping you can’t tell. She likes that nervousness the best right now, the way it’s timid and then settles into something like cockiness when you remember that she’s looking at you just the same, when you remember how much you like the way she copies the tilt of your head and teases you as if she's not also smiling like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.

Abby loves every moment like this, loves getting home and helping prepare dinner and making Rue laugh before kissing her goodnight, loves doing the dishes with you and flirting and talking about the day. Today, she’s especially looking forward to the latter.

“So, how was it?” she asks, the back of her thighs resting against the dresser. She’s trying to play it cool and she's annoyingly good at it, even now.

“Hm?” you hum, leaning further back to rest on your elbows, your back almost fully touching the bed. Abby feels a little bad keeping you up, but she knows she’ll be tossing and turning all night if she has to wait until the morning to ask.

“The school meeting.”

“Oh,” you smile wide enough to look silly and beautiful, sweet enough to rot teeth. She feels like she could sink in it, your smile and the relief it brings to her well hidden nervousness. “I loved it so much, Abs.”

Abby is smooth when she walks closer, soft when she cups your cheek, but there's something anxious in her eyes if you know where to look. “Yeah?” she insists.

You nod your head and kiss the palm of her hand, your lips pressed together in that funny way of trying to hold back an excited giggle. Abby smiles and feels nostalgic for the time, many many months ago, when she’d bring a finger to her lips to shush you and then remind you in an expert whisper that Rue is sleeping in the other room. She doesn't have to teach you much at all anymore, and every moment that proves that to her feels like the most beautiful, unfamiliar peace.

“I’m so happy,” you announce, looking up at her. You’re tired enough that it feels almost like being drunk, which is maybe why a short giggle manages to escape. Abby finds it contagious, your joy moves through her as naturally and importantly as the pumping of her blood. “I’m so excited for all of it.”

It’s the second parents' meeting that you’ve attended at Rue’s school— but you spent that first one sitting quietly by her side, practically hiding behind her, too aware of yourself and of the fact that you don’t really know what you’re doing. “Nobody knows,” Abby confessed on your way home, a hand on the steering wheel and another over your leg, her fingers tapping a comforting rhythm. “Parenting is beautiful, it just comes a lot less naturally than you’d think. That thing about a biological, primal wisdom or whatever— it’s a nice concept. But the best things I know came from me actively trying.”

Her words echoed in your head when you said yes to attending this school meeting alone, when you smiled and made the effort to look as calm as you could, kissed her cheek and said “of course!”. Being Rue’s parent doesn’t always come naturally, but it comes from the most genuine love, every single time. Of course you can go to her meeting when Abby can’t reschedule work, because of course you want to know about how Rue is doing in school. It’s an honor to be there for her, to speak for her when you know she needs you to. This is you actively trying.

“How were the other parents?” Abby asks, lying on her side now, her finger tracing unreadable patterns on your cheek. She craves physical contact more than she’d like to admit— but it works great, because you never ask her to admit it if she doesn't want to. The pads of her fingers say enough.

“They were cool, they were all very sweet to me. Well, Leo’s mom is a little passive aggressive but she’s that way with everyone,” you comment through a yawn, the side of your face comfortably pressed against your pillow. Abby hums, agreeing. “Sophie’s mom was the nicest, she sat next to me and invited me to join her and Jade’s mom for brunch.”

“Which Sophie?”

“The one that gave Rue a Valentine’s gift, that milk chocolate that she loves.”

“Oh, I like that Sophie.”

“Me too. I think I wouldn't mind joining a weekly brunch cult with her mom.”

Abby laughs in the way that she only does when she’s sleepy, where she sounds almost like her teenage self, shy and sweet. By the time it dies down, you’re almost asleep. But then, softly enough that you almost don’t hear it, she asks, “How do you think you would feel if she called you that?”

You make a questioning little sound that sounds like "what?" but not quite.

“If Rue called you mom.”

Your eyes open in a second, though not without effort. You look at Abby’s face, her pretty, relaxed features, and answer honestly. “I would probably cry. And then kiss her cheeks for as long as she let me.”

Abby chuckles. “Like when she fell off the swing and got the tiniest scratch on her knee?”

“Yeah, just— the joyful version of that, I guess. They would be the happiest tears ever spilled,” you explain, so sincere that Abby almost tells you. And you know her enough to read it on her face, the way she barely parted her lips and then pressed them back together quickly. Your head lifts from the pillow. “Wait, why? She told you something? Did she ask about that?”

Abby is great at keeping it cool, but less so once she’s been caught. Her nervous chuckle says it all. “I…”

“Abby, I swear to god, I will not let you sleep until you tell me.”

She more than believes you, but a flash memory of her pinky finger wrapped around Rue’s holds her back from spilling any more details. “Sorry, baby, I’m not allowed to say.”

“Oh my god,” you drop back onto your pillow, this time lying flat on your back. “You think she’s gonna say it?” you ask, and Abby is unsure if you’re asking her or the ceiling or a godly presence way above it. Or yourself, most likely. “It’s okay if she doesn't, maybe she was just curious. Maybe she needs time. I mean, obviously. She probably won’t say it, like, tomorrow, right?” you turn your head and look at her, so wrapped up in your inner monologue that you don’t process the amusement and adoration that’s all over your girlfriend’s face. “What if I react super weird and she doesn't say it again?”

Abby’s lips stretch into the softest smile, so in love that she almost forgets to answer and instead holds her hand on the back of your neck and pulls you close to press a kiss against your forehead. Your eyebrows are still furrowed worriedly when she pulls away, and she brushes her thumb over your cheek as she lets out the kindest hum, acknowledging your question. “You’re not gonna react weird, sweetheart.”

Momentarily flustered, you shake your head to remember the point that you’d been thinking about. “But I shouldn't cry, imagine how confusing that would be for her— what if she thinks she made me upset?”

“That won’t happen. She cried happy tears when you moved in, remember? She knows what they are,” she says. It’s one of the best memories you have, the nervous look on Abby’s face when she asked you, rambling, “It would be a big change, but not the worst, right? You’d just be a couple doors down the hall. It would be a lot of the same in a lot of ways, just with us.”

After that came the late nights at your apartment, dates hidden behind the excuse of packing, half empty boxes on the floor and Abby stuck to you like glue, a kiss or ten whenever she got too carried away with excitement. A couple weeks later came your clothes in her closet, your favorite blanket on the couch, and Rue’s eyes glimmering with happy tears as she hid her face on your neck and tried to understand her feelings. Then, after a few minutes of patiently rubbing her back, came her little frown of concentration and the way she attentively listened to you and Abby explain that her reaction was normal, that sometimes happiness feels like too much to hold in just a laugh or a dance. “Oh, okay,” she’d said, in this cute proud tone that she gets whenever she learns something new that makes sense to her. It was the sweetest thing. She’s the sweetest thing— and you can’t believe this is your life, that you get to take care of her and hang out and teach her new things to be proud of.

“You think she wants me to be her mom?”

Abby smiles. “You are her mom, baby.”

Rue doesn't say it the next day. You don’t overthink it— couldn't if you tried. It's a nice feeling to be so happy that you don't feel the need to think. She doesn't call you mom that morning, but she runs to the doorway where you’re putting on your shoes to get to work and wraps her arms so tight around your legs that you have to balance yourself with a hand against the wall. Her hair is messy from sleep, her yellow pajama shirt wrinkled, her eyes blinking lazily as she looks up at you and asks, “Back soon?”

“Soon as I can, princess,” you promise, leaning down to kiss her head. What is there to overthink? What more could you possibly need?

You can do this forever, have mornings like this and feel grateful in a way that you didn't know existed until now. You love the way it comes at random times, the way you’re still you, still grumpy when your coffee tastes watery, still a little bad at getting to the train station on time, still learning not to burn the first batch of pancakes. It’s a big change, but not the worst, right? It’s a lot of the same in a lot of ways, except Abby is there at the kitchen kissing your cheek, and a tiny head of blonde hair is peeking from the back of the couch, gummy smile and freckled cheeks, saying, “I like my pancakes like that, mom!”