That’s My Girl 💞💞

poor chubby reader thinks that he’d never be into her, thinking that she turns him off when in reality he can hardly hold back from getting hard whenever she’s around. he always has to adjust his pants and lays his cock against his thigh so that she won’t notice how hard he is. he jerks off to the smallest of things that she does like, placing his hand on his thigh, fixing his collar for him and fixing his hair for him. sigh if only she knew how infatuated he actually was with her :(

That’s my man ☆૮꒰ˊᗜˋ* ꒱ა

𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞

pairing:: onyankopon x reader

wc:: 2.6k

warnings:: umm starts off as soft sex, they get a lil crazy (my fault), tongue sucking, squirting, cunnilingus all that. nothing too crazy. using 'mama' and 'ma', reader has braids and acrylics.

note:: heyy.. how yall doin 😅 work below the cut.. dont beat my ass

“You remind me of the sun, ony’,” you mumble, cheek pressed against his bare bicep with your head resting soft against the picnic blanket as you look up at the night sky. He's like the sun to you. “mm, yeah What– does that mean, pretty?” His voice is deep… just above a whisper and in your peripheral vision you see him looking at you but your eyes are fixated on the stars above. “I dunno, your skin is always so warm when I feel cold but– I gravitate towards you all the time. Like all the other stars do. You exude something… mmph, what m’ I saying rightnow.” You fumble, chuckling lightly at your lack of words.

“do you believe in destiny? like ‘written in the stars’ n’ shit? Hm?” Onyankopon speaks up, you feel an emotion behind his tone you can't quite describe. It sounded like… uncertainty, insecurity. “Well, you know how my exes were… I'd like to think those were just unfortunate circumstances that I'm tryna grow from, baby. I don't wanna think the universe puts us through that on purpose… y'know?” You sit up, pretty little night dress falling down to cover your thighs. Your hands holding you up as you look around the night sky. The full moon tonight facilitated an impromptu shoving of a picnic blanket onto the balcony, warm glasses of chai tea emptied and hot in your bellies as you laid together to watch the moon.

Onyankopon rests his head with his hands behind his head, admiring you. He clears his throat, “I love you. Y'know that?”, “I do know that, you know I love you too?” You look at him over your shoulder before turning over and pressing your palms onto his stomach, he groans in faux pain. “Mhm,” He purrs, sitting up to clasp your hands in his own, tugging you onto his lap. “I know that, mama,” the moon was so bright. It illuminated the darkness around you both on the balcony and glimmered in his eyes. You stare. His moistened lips glistening in the light, you scoot closer to him. Chest pressed against your breasts and he sits handsomely, basking in your gaze and touch. Pretty white french tip acrylic nails with bow decor caresses his neck, scratching the back his neck and playing with his ears. Ony’ shivers lightly.

“Why you touchin’ on me like that, hm?” He bites back a smile when u tug at his earlobe. “Gimme a kiss,” You murmur, lips sealed by the clasp of his against yours. He pecks your lips several more times, Onyankopon really liked the texture of your lip gloss on his lips. Hands drag down his chest, following the tiny lines of his wife-beater: twirling the drawstring of his sweats.

“Do you wanna–”

“No,” Your eyes meet his, and Ony’ watches you as kind as ever, with his stupid handsome face. “No, baby,” He kisses his teeth, “Not g'na fuck you out here. Not on the balcony,” his cheeks deepen with dimples as he offers you a low chuckle.

“‘M not asking you to fuck me.” You roll your eyes teasingly,”And what's wrong with out here . . . we got blankets and pillows, s'comfy baby,” He's offered a sweet smile, the lavender rubber bands on your braces reminded him of the colours of the night, so he looks up at the sky.

The moon colours dusted blue and purple hues onto the clouds that bordered it. Reflecting and sparkling in your eyes and your face. Shit . . .

“What I'm asking, is that you make love to me, Ony’,” You whisper, resting your head in his neck. Onyankopon sucks a deep breath in between his teeth. “Grab some f'them pillows.” He uttered.

Ony’ scoots forward, shamelessly staring at your ass as you bunched up the pillows scattered across the balcony and stuffing them behind where he previously sat, blankets included and teacups pushed far aside. “Lay back right there,” , “Mkay . . . ,” You whisper, eyes flickering to his position while he only eyes you, fixing your braids behind your ears and tucking yourself comfortably back into the mound of pillows and blankets. “Mhm, pull it up,” Onyankopon turned to you and gave your night dress a light tug, eyes still focused everywhere else but your own.

You shuffled, clutching the little thing up above your hips, pretty panties scrunched up between your legs . . . you wore some random ones with rainbows on it. “Take it off, ma’,” Onyankopon ordered, his mouth muffled by the hand on his chin, finger pressing into his lips while he watched you. Gingerly, you hook your acrylics beneath the band slipping the panties off. Flustered, your legs remained snapped shut, though your puffy cunt still pushed itself out, feeling tickled and tingly at the touch of the cold air. It was the type of wind that blew before a cozy storm. And you nibble on your bottom lip. Ony’ grabs your knees, prying them apart. He watched how the moonshine glistened against your pussy.

He pushed your legs back ‘till your knees brushed the blankets behind you, “Ony’ don't stare,” a grumble escaped you, body warm. He hummed. Leaning down, Ony’ spread your pussy further with his thumbs before offering your clit a kiss. You gasp softly, expecting the upcoming stimulation anxiously, wishing he could just skip this part n’ pull his dick out. You drop your head back into the pillows, eyes to the stars and moon when you feel Onyankopon's tongue swirl over your hole before dipping in gently. He likes to take his time. He does this a few more times and you whine, eyes falling shut when you feel him drag his tongue over your clit. Then, he's going in; he's licking up n’ down your cunt, sucking your clit into his mouth n’ tugging it to let it snap back into your pussy. You moan freely, thick into the air. The clouds above moved with the wind and suddenly the moon sent glows onto your face, so much so that you opened your teary eyes to see what was so bright on your face.

Onyankopon groans vibrations into your pussy when he sees your face, overcome with pleasure under the moonshine. He dips his face into you, licking circles about your cunt, kissing and suckling, and spitting, and slipping his tongue deep in you. “Ony’, Ony’ c'mon,” You whine, hands dancing behind his neck, pushing his face deeper into your cunt when you feel your clit throb hard. He makes circles around your clit, kissing it and once sucking it into his mouth. “Right there, right there,” You ache when he tilts his head and tongues a spot of your clit and you start grinding your body into his face. He thinks he might suffocate in the best way possible. Little glossy pearls of tears glide down the sides of your cheeks and tickle your ear. Head pressing back into the pillows when the rest of your body arches forward to Ony's mouth. You spread your legs so wide and they stiffened, all you feel is his tongue around your clit now pushing out undisturbed by your folds and you grab your braids tight. He stuffs two fingers inside you while maintaining his motions on your clit, sloppily fucking them into you, twisting them with each stroke and you think your ears are actually ringing. With it, you let out a sob and squeal, “Fuck! Fuck, oh-my-god, Ony–,” then it was silence, “Breath, mama, breathe,” Ony groaned, and suddenly you were gasping for air, cumming hard.

Your lips were quivering, feeling somewhat numb while Ony’ offered you some slow calming strokes with his fingers as you mellowed down. “Shit, you still want s’m cock after that?” He gave your clit a final kiss, seeing your bleary eyes as you sniffle and sigh. Your legs ached when you tried to move, closing them slowly. “Gimme a minute,” you pout and flop your head back down into the pillows, collecting yourself a bit, eyes blinking wearily. “S’ sensitive, m’ sorry,” Ony’ only re-fluffs some of the blankets and pillows that were now pushed askew, lifting your lower body by your legs while he pushed them back beneath you.

“Chill out,” He whispered, shifting to lay beside you and look at the sky. “S’ finna rain soon,” He announced,”Mhm, yeah,” You push your legs out, throwing your arms above you for a big stretch, squeezing your thighs tight to block your exposed pussy from the cold air. “Want head?” you peep at Ony’ who rests his hands behind his head. He shakes his head ‘no’ and stretches. You observe him and openly stare at his hard dick printing out of his sweats. Leaning forward, you rub, ever so gently, along the shaft while he watched you.

“‘Kay, get over right here,” Ony’ sat up moving from his spot, gesturing for you to situate yourself there with a quickness and brushing your hand off him. You huff, teasing, and pull your night dress back down as you crawl on your hands and knees to the pillows. Lay on your back and braids adjusted, Ony grabs your night dress, tugging it back up your body and kissing his teeth. “Keep playin’,” He gives your ass a playful smack and you giggle.

Grabbing your ankles, Onyankopon pushes your legs all the way back. What you'd like to call, ‘knee headphones’ the way they were in line with your ears. Some traces of creamy white release cooled under the air, clit puffing out and hole aching to be stimulated again. Ony’ adjusts himself above you, leaning close and tugging his sweats down, letting his pretty, dark dick fall out and slap your thigh. Fuck, you might cry. Little beads of pre-cum dripped from the tip, he was already girthy, yet his cock got thicker and meatier towards the center of the shaft. “Y'gonna go slow?” Ony lines up, pressing his tip into you and smiles,”Yea, mama, i’mma go slow,” He sinks and drawls out a long, ”Fuck.”

His heavy hand grips your thighs, pressing you down into the pillows. Onyankopon adjusts himself over you, letting his weight hold you down while he all but throbs in you. Legs now thrown over his shoulders and dark brown eyes staring deep into your own, fighting your weighted eyelids. “Bet’ not run, ma',” Onyankopon observes your face, licking his lips and giving you a quick peck, he resists indulging you when you pout and instead kisses about your damp cheeks and neck. “Oh-my-god,” you squeal when he begins to lift his hips out of you.

Onyankopon's hands cage your head, and the closeness leaves you nowhere to grab; thus your hands are left to mindlessly flop back onto the pillows. Nice and easy . . . proper n’ slow, he begins to rock his hips into you, “Why you suckin’ me in like that, mama?” He groans low. Ony’ let's his forehead rest on yours while the tip of his dick nudges the spongy mound inside you. “Ony’ your fuckin’ dick,” you whimper, “W’ssup wit’ it, huh?”, Onyankopon pressed his lips to yours in a wet kiss, grinning when he sees your pretty little eyes welling with tears. “Deeper–,” a sniffle, “Want it– deeper, shiiiit,” And he gives you just that, digging his fat dick deeper with each antagonizing stroke. Your cleavage bounces beneath your chin with each thwack of his hips into yours, tits having been firmly mushed into Ony's chest and you feel like you're gaping. Thighs burning n’ cunt stretching as he slowly builds the well in your tummy to milk you. “Mhm, watchu’ wanted?” You only groan and bite your lips, eyes screwed shut as you lay limp on the pillows getting fucked. Onyankopon gives your cheek a few slaps, “Answer me ‘fore I stop, don't play,” You force your eyes open and see Ony's eyes locked on yours. Brows furrowed and mouth ajar, that pussy felt fuckin’ good. “Yea, s’ what I wanted– daddy, fuck,” You let out a bratty sob when sloppily fucks into you faster before slowing again.

“Stick y'tongue out,” Onyankopon hums lowly, and you're not sure if you can focus on anything besides the smack of his hips and the squelching coming from his cock. You still comply, tongue lolling out from your mouth with heavy breathes. Ony’s dick throbs inside you, and he slurps your tongue into his mouth, suckling on it before locking your lips to his, tongue massaging yours. “Takin’ that fuckin’ dick, mhm,” His lips glide over your cheeks, fucking into you with fervor. He mumbles a chant of, “Shit, shit, shit,” pummeling you with his cock, reaching depths in your cunt you hadn't even discovered before. Ony’ seemed determined on knocking the fucking wind out of you and stuffing your swollen, little pussy full of dick. “Oh–,” wails escaping your lips, “Ohmygod unh, f– daddy, fuck,” you continue to mewl.

Your hands frantically grasp any and everything, your braids, Onyankopon's back, your ankles, the pillows; entire body gyrating as he fucks you. Onyankopon tongues your neck, licking about your ear, kissing your cheek. Your cunt feels sticky, s’ sloppy and warm and your entire body feels hot all over. Your eyes roll back and he's got you so trapped under him getting pounded that you can't even arch up into him. Cunt remaining spread at just the right angle and makes your legs quiver. Onyankopon let's out a tight groan and you feel the curve of his cock digging you hard. “G'nna make me fuckin’ cum. Squeezin’ on me like that, mama.” His sharp words muttered right into the shell of your ear making you clench hard. “Mu'fuckin’, sloppy pussy,” He lifts off you and pushes your legs above your head, crossing your ankles as he holds them together for leverage.

“N– Oh, no,no,no, Onya–!” you uttered out with gasps at the new angle. “Take it, take it, take it,” Ony’ murmured. Just like that, warmth squirted out of your cunt, dripping down his abdominals and pooling right between you where the hilt of his cock slapped into your folds as he kept drilling himself into you. “Mmmmph,” You can't help but cry and moan, cheeks feeling a bit warm with embarrassment yet it's overcome by the exponential throbbing of your clit. Your hand started tapping the pillows, shaking as you tried to tap out of whatever Ony’ was serving you right now. “C'mon,” He whispered, “I gotchu’.” It's like he senses it, thumbing your clit lightly.

“Need it! Need– it, daddy, shit,” You peer up at him.

“I know you do, baby, give it to me,” His commands echoes in your head, over and over. You're gasping, body jiggling off the pillows and slapping back up into his, “‘M . . . fuck, daddy,” sobbing and failing at formulating your words.

“‘M cumming, I'm cumming, oh my god.”

Your hips stiffen up and with each pelting thrust Ony’ cussed above you; a harsh wind blows and you think the coldness against your hot body makes you gush all over his cock while he cums alot. You blink the tears out of your eyes when Onyankopon fucks your cum mixture back into you a couple more times, before pulling out quick to avoid you being too sore and pained for him to move then plopping beside you on the pillows. Your legs fall carelessly below and all you hear besides silence are his harsh breaths and his deep voice asking you something you can't yet register, your clits throbbing too hard.

The moon really did look pretty tonight. Onyankopon does remind you of the sun. Shit, you felt like you were sitting among the fuckin’ stars.

I love when my favorite’s are perverts ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/

Wet-handed

All characters are aged up 18+. MDNI

𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

Pervert!Bakugou who knows every single pair of your panties, not just visually but by smell and touch as well.

Pervert!Bakugou who is also you best friend and roommate, who claims to have no interest in dating because he has a career to focus on, who calls his guy friends perverts for ogling women, for stealing glances at their cleavages for even indulging porn.

Pervert!Bakugou who is also a fucking hypocrite, ogles you when you aren't looking, who helps you get ready for events under the guise of improving you fashion when really the only things his eyes are on were the articles of clothing you tried on but didn't wear.

Once you leave the house, he grabs the pale blue shirt, you barely put it on, opting to try a different shirt, but few seconds on your body were enough. The shirt still smelled like clean laundry, Bakugou turned the shirt over and took a sniff from the pit of the shirt, probably the only part catching your scent.

His dick was already hard, 45 minutes of helping you pick an outfit acting like foreplay for him. He moved ahead into the bathroom, your used pair of panties placed within the pile of dirty laundry.

Pulling the panties out, he looked at it, old pair of cotton panties, the tear near the elastic adding fuel to the fire in his stomach. The idea of jacking off to your old panties making his cock throb, precum oozes out of his tip, staining his sweats.

"old panties do get you going, Suki." You purred, finally catching the culprit wet red-handed. He could feel the heat spreading across his face, the humiliation already setting in, regret followed because he assumes he fucked up the friendship.

You notice the wheels turning in going in wrong directions, some other day you'll tease him,"I never said I minded it, infact I am quite pleased", you walked towards him, putting your hand under his chin, forcing him to look at you.

He lets out a breath, shame paints his chest a rosy hue but so does arousal. You run your hands from his chin to his shoulder then fingers spread open on his chest."I was curious, panties that I don't remember washing, drying on the rack", your hand continued downwards, pinching his hardened nipples through the shirt. Bakugou let's out a hiss, cock throbbing and dribbling pre.

"I am sorry", he grumbled.

"For?"

"for being a sick pervert." He shuddered. He morals clashing with his needs, you take him out of his misery and into your hands. Literally.

"would I be sick pervert too, if I say I liked it?", you question, your mouth replacing your fingers and sucking his nipple through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"N-no i..it won't", he moaned, words threatening to lodge in his throat.

"they are sensitive", you pulled away from his chest, a string of saliva connecting your lips to him. "Let me see them, take it off." You hastily pulled his shirt over his head, he was a sight for sore eyes. Shirtless, his skin smooth blush spreading over his chest, nipples hard and his poor neglected cock bobbing between you both.

"he looks like he is in pain", you grabbed his cock and squeezed at the base.

"hnng", Bakugou whined.

"lemme help", you kneeled down and stroked his cock, your other hand reaching below to lower the pants and pull out his balls.

You kissed his pale pink tip, before taking him in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, Bakugou let out a hiss, the display of you on your knees sucking his cock pushing him closer to edge.

You took him as far as you could in your mouth, hand jerking the base, your other hand fondled his balls, gently squeezing and pulling on them.

"Holy-shiii- I'll cum-" he hunched over placing both his hands on the back of your head,"Cum- fuck I am cummin'." He let out a series of moans before forcing your mouth and hands off him, overstimulation being too much for him.

"it's a good thing you have god diet", you spoke, he was still standing, you were still on your knees.

"I am still sorry."

"for stealing my panties or cumming down my throat." You teased.

His ears turned red, the post nut clarity and your teasing burning him up like a fever dream.

"I don't get on my knees for just anybody, Suki." You admitted, before getting up and moving out of the bathroom.

Before you could step out, you pulled down the panties you were wearing and tossed them to Bakugou, the centre wet with recent slick.

"for you" and you left with a wink.

𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 𖥔 𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

Feels nice to be chubby today (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ(๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ(๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ(๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

(you and john price, your bear of a man, spend a winter day together. Chubby!reader)

The snow piled high against the cabin windows, muting the world outside into soft, endless white. It was the kind of winter storm that promised days of quiet seclusion- a chance to disappear from the world and pretend it was just the two of you.

Wrapped in a thick quilt, you lay curled against John’s furry chest, your body pressed so close to his that you could feel the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing. He was impossibly warm, his body heat wrapping around you like a living furnace, and his scent- smoke, pine, and something uniquely him- made you feel so safe and content.

His large hand rested on your hip, fingers splayed wide as if to remind himself of just how much of you there was to hold. He traced idle circles through the soft fabric of your sleepwear, but the barrier did little to dull the sensation of his rough fingertips against you.

“You’re so soft.” He murmured, voice low and honeyed with sleep. He shifted slightly, pressing his nose into your hair to breathe you in. His beard scraped lightly against your skin, and you shivered despite the warmth.

“Too soft, some would say.” You mumbled, though your voice was half-hearted.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes catching the firelight as they roamed over your features- lazy and reverent, like he had all the time in the world to admire you, admire every inch of soft, supple flesh.

“There’s no such thing,” he said firmly, his voice like gravel but softened by the affection in his tone. “Not for me.”

His hand moved again, trailing from your hip to your waist, then higher, brushing over the curve of your belly. He lingered there, his palm flattening against the plushness as his thumb stroked gently.

“Love this,” he murmured, grumbling, almost to himself. “Every inch of you- soft, warm. Like you were made just for me.”

Your breath caught, and you squirmed slightly under his touch, but his grip tightened- not enough to hold you still, just enough to let you know he wasn’t letting go.

“John-”

“Let me look at you,” he interrupted gently, pulling back more so he could take you in. The blanket shifted as he guided you onto your back, his body following so that he loomed over you, one arm propping himself up while the other continued its slow exploration of your curves.

His gaze dragged over you, lingering at the soft swell of your stomach and the plushness of your thighs. He made no attempt to hide his admiration- his eyes darkened, his lips parting slightly like he couldn’t quite find the words to describe how much he loved what he saw.

“You’re perfect,” he said finally, thick with conviction. He leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the curve of your collarbone before nuzzling into your neck, the soft skin of your chin. “So damn perfect, love.”

Your heart fluttered, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. It wasn’t just lust in his eyes- though there was plenty of that, too. It was adoration, raw and unfiltered, as if he couldn’t believe you were real and with him.

He trailed kisses down your shoulder, his beard scratching lightly against your skin, but his hand never stopped moving- palming your waist, gripping your hip, sliding down to cup the curve of your thigh. Every touch felt reverent, like he was memorizing you all over again.

“Always thought I’d end up alone,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as his lips brushed your ear. “Never thought I’d be this lucky, having such a sweet, soft lady waiting for me at home.”

“John-”

“Shh,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your lips to quiet you. “Let me show you.”

And he did. He pressed gentle kisses to your cheeks, your chin, your jaw. He worshiped you with his hands, tracing every soft curve and plush line like he was afraid you might slip away if he stopped.

Eventually, he settled back against the pillows, pulling you with him so you could curl into his side once more. He tucked you close, burying his face in your hair, and the rumble in his chest was unmistakable this time- a low, contented sound that almost made you laugh.

“I knew it,” you teased, your voice muffled against his chest. “You can purr.”

His chest vibrated again, but this time with laughter. “Only for you.” He admitted, tightening his arms around you.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, but inside, the world was warm and quiet. Wrapped in John’s arms, with his steady heartbeat in your ear and his hands never straying far from your soft, warm body, you couldn’t imagine anywhere else you’d rather be.

Taste of Heaven | Sugar Daddy!Gojo x Bimboish! Chubby Reader

Warnings: (Smut; oral, fingering, vibrator, light impact play, ‘toru’s a bit mean in this one)

Gojo loves your smile.

He loves the way your cute, chubby cheeks lift. How he can actually see stars in your eyes when your lips curve upwards.

It really doesn’t take much.

New Jimmy Choos here, Telfars different colors and sizes there. He barely made a dent in his pocket yet you thought he was spoiling you.

He hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface of spoiling you.

How you met was of pure chance. Gojo felt there was something, someone lacking from his life. He had all this wealth, yet no one to share it with. As he was browsing through the various expensive clothes in front of him, he hadn’t bothered to pay attention and bumped into you. You were trying to decide which mini skirt would go with your bubblegum pink top. “Oof- Hey, Mister? Which do you think is cuter, light blue or dark?” Satoru almost didn’t catch your question because he was too busy gaping in awe.

The only way to describe you was angelic. Gorgeous eyes that he could already feel himself getting lost in, pouty, plump lips that he could only imagine felt like pillows, cute, pudgy tummy that complimented your bodycon dress deliciously.

Pure heaven.

He let out an awkward cough before answering, “Why not both?” You let out a soft giggle, “I can’t get both, silly! I’m already buying a bunch of stuff.” Satoru smiles, peeking over his shades, “That’s not a problem, Angel.”

— —

“Are you sure about this, ‘Toru?” You murmured, glassy eyes staring back into light blue ones. He gave you a loving squeeze as a smirk made its way to his face, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips. “Of course, Angel. Has daddy ever been wrong?” You shake your head, pressing a brief peck to his lips before moving to check yourself in the mirror again, Satoru raking his eyes up and down your figure.

You looked great, you always do. Satoru decided to splurge, once again, treating you to a shopping spree and now dinner. You decided to wear one of the many Armani gowns that you’d bought, though this one hugged your curves impeccably. You paired it with your sleek black Louboutin heels, which made your thighs look even more yummy than they already do, and Satoru can already feel himself getting hard. But he can’t get ahead of himself.

You’ve got a cute baby blue vibrator nestled in your cunt just begging to be tested out.

So for now, he’ll put his desires aside and sit through dinner.

— —

You’d made it as far as the door before both you and Satoru lost your patience.

He pressed you up against the door, his tongue swirling in tandem with yours as he hoists you up. You wrap your legs around his waist, soft whimpers spilling from your lips. “On. Turn it on, ‘Toru.” You whine against his lips. He abruptly pulls away from your lips, pushing you back as you chase after him. He delivers a slap to your cheek, not enough to hurt, but enough to know he means business. “Since when did you start telling daddy what to do?” He says, carrying you over to your couch. He takes his time peeling away at your clothes, leaving you bare while he remains fully clothed. A shiver runs down your spine as he lays you across his lap, kneading your ass cheeks. “Seems like someone needs to be reminded of their place.” He muttered before reeling his hand back and delivering a harsh slap to your ass. You whine at the pain, but your cunt clenches at the slight pleasure that comes afterward. “You’re my cocksleeve, love. A dirty. Fucking. Slut.” He says, delivering a slap between each pause. Your body shifts as he spanks you, and it doesn’t take long before he realizes what you’re trying to do.

He grabs a handful of your hair, pulling you up so you can really hear him. “I see you trying to get off on my thigh, fucking slut. Since you wanna cum so bad, I’ll let you cum, but you’re gonna cum for me all. Fucking. Night.” He sits you up so that you’re straddling him before he reaches for his phone. He taps his chin, almost as if he’s in thought. “Hmm, should I make you work for it, or should I just put it on the highest setting?” He contemplates, though he already knows his answer. He turns it on the highest setting and you yelp, startled by the intense vibrations in your cunt. “How about both?” He smirks, snaking a hand down to rub at your sensitive clit. “You’re gonna make cum, Angel. You’re gonna make daddy feel good then he’s gonna make you feel even better. How’s that sound?”

You try to whine out an answer, but the thrumming of the vibrator in your cunt is just too intense. You’re taken aback when Satoru delivers another slap to your cheek, gripping your chubby cheeks between his fingers. “Answer me.” He grumbles, flicking your clit with his middle and forefinger. “Good! Sounds good, daddy. Please!” You whine. You’re so close! “Cum, Princess. Cum for daddy.” He grunts into your mouth as he presses a hot kiss to your swollen lips. You whine as your orgasm washes over you, your body practically conditioned to cum at his command.

He lowers the speed as you come down from your high, though doesn’t completely turn it off. He takes to lowering his pants before giving you a quick kiss. “Make daddy feel good, yeah?” You nod, lowering yourself so that you're faced with his cock.

You run your tongue along the veins of his cock, before lapping up with drops of pre oozing from the tip. You moan at the taste and Satoru takes that as invitation to grip your hair, forcing you to take more of him in your mouth. “That’s it, pretty. Suck that fucking cock.” He orders and well, you’ve always been a submissive little thing.

You swallow more of his length, crystalline tears building up in your eyes, and Satoru thinks you just look so gorgeous with his cock stuffed down your throat, your cute chubby cheeks just waiting to be stuffed with cum. It’s with that thought he starts to feel his climax building and when you notice the slight jerk in his legs, you take to fondling his balls, knowing that’s just what he needs to push him over the edge.

Satoru cums with a shout, thrusting deep inside your mouth as his seed slides down your throat. You hum at the taste, savoring his flavor.

He pulls you up by your chin and plants a sloppy kiss to your lips, groaning at the taste of him in your mouth. “Fuck, Angel. Let daddy taste you, hm?” You nod, eager to cum again.

Satoru shuts the vibrator off and carefully removes it from your cunt. You hiss at the feeling but he soothes you by laving his tongue over it, paying special attention to your clit. You whine, running your hands through his hair and giving a slight tug at the root. He grunts before sucking on your clit and flicking his tongue over the bundle of nerves.

It doesn’t take long before your hips start bucking against his face, chasing your orgasm for the second time that night. “Gonna cum for me, pretty? Gonna cum for daddy?” You nod, breath getting caught in your throat. Satoru speeds up his movements, moving to press two fingers into your cunt. “Cum for daddy, Angel. Make a mess f’me.” You barely manage to make out his name as you cum, cunt spasming around his fingers as he milks your orgasm for all its worth.

He trails soft kisses up your body before planting a sweet kiss to your lips. He hums against your lips, content being so close to you. He pulls away slightly to look you in your eyes. “Want more, daddy.” You say, grinding your cunt against his steadily growing cock.

He can never say no to his Angel.

— —

Taglist: @xogabbiexo @kinq-sleazee @dabilovesme @sintiva @blkchxrryblyss @tenyaiidasslut @luna-indigoduh @bookwormsenpai @bl--ankhaeji @thicksimpx @namjoonswifeyy @nasty-quillz @haikyutiehoe @musicisme333 @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @celi-xxmoon

AAAAHHHHH This is fantastic like it’s so beautiful chefs kiss ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/

imagine the task force 141 falsely accusing you of being a traitor to the team. knowing your biggest fear, they use it against you. water. water, where your feet can't touch the ground. water you can't see through. at first it started with waterboarding. then slowly but surely they threatened to drop you into the pool. into the dark, deep pool. even john, who was like a father to you before, didn't help you. no. not at all. actually, he was the one who stepped into the water fully clothed, dragging your crying and squirming form with him into the bloodcurling liquid. your tears blended in with it while you we're screaming, practically begging that you were the wrong one. that you'd never do something like that. but they just stood at the edge of the pool, watching their captain almost drowning your terrified self. how would they react, when they get the information that you really weren't the one...?

Some rather unlucky investments have landed you in a tad of debt. However, you have know of a way to get out of it that requires very little work on your part.

The "Pussy Portal" company are always hiring after all.

All you have to do is have a portal directly connected to your pussy that any paying customer can use at any time. What could go wrong?

Just realized u didn't actually say it had to be monsterfucking specifically but I made it that anyway lmao.

At least you thought it was going to be very little work on your part.

But now you're not so sure as you sit on the train ride home trying to act like there isn't a monster cock reaching deep in your cunt.

You curse yourself for not reading the terms and conditions of the contract properly. You thought they were just being hyperbolic when they said "Prime Pussy Anywhere, Anytime!" Surely they would have down times right?

No. There are no down times unless you call in a sick day of which you only have few. You shoulda known that pay was too good to be true.

At least whoever's using your portal seems to only be cockwarming themselves for the time being, although that could change at any moment. Every jerk of the train makes you tense up as you try and act as nonchalant as possible. The cock sits so snug and warm inside you, it twitches every time you tense around it.

On the customer app your portal is advertised as specifically "Human pussy" so you like imagining the kinds of monsters who would pick that out specifically. You haven't figured out what monster this one might be, it's rather thick and hot with a very generous amount of precum.

When you get to your stop the train jerks more than you expected and you have to subtly cover your mouth and grab the railing to avoid making a sound. Your customer definitely felt you clench down in panic as their cock jumps in excitement.

They start grinding down slowly on the portal, their cock thrusting shallowly. You speed walk straight for the train station bathrooms and lock yourself inside a stall. Close call but you made it and just in time for their shallow thrusts to turn into full pumps into your slick pussy.

You lean your back on the wall of the stall as your cunt is now being thoroughly pounded by this stranger. You have to crouch to your knees as your orgasm builds up, rubbing your clit with one hand while the other covers your mouth.

Just as you're about to tip over the edge you feel something bigger at the base of the shaft bump against your pussy with each hard thrust. You gasp in realization but it's too late as the monster thrusts their knot past your entrance and you cum hard with a silent scream, spasming and shaking against the bathroom stall.

Their cum fills you to the brim, kept inside by their inflamed knot. They don't stop cumming for several minutes but when they do it takes you several more to compose yourself enough to step out of the bathroom on wobbly legs.

You make the slow and embarrassing walk home while the monster's knot sits snuggly inside your pussy, keeping all that warm cum inside you.

The knot inside you doesn't deflate fully until you're already home and making dinner. You have to grip the counter, shivering slightly as your customer pulls out and goes on with their day having been properly satisfied. The thought makes you feel a strange sense of pride. Just then your phone beeps with a notification from the Portal companies app.

The customer left a tip!

How nice! They also left a review on your page,

"10/10. Best stress relief. Would fuck again."

My man (づ￣ ³￣)づ

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!”