What are the odds?
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Today's Document
Mike Driver

No title available
DEAR READER
Xuebing Du
dirt enthusiast
NASA
YOU ARE THE REASON
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
No title available
AnasAbdin
$LAYYYTER

pixel skylines

Love Begins
One Nice Bug Per Day
almost home
Sade Olutola
wallacepolsom

tannertan36
seen from United States

seen from Estonia
seen from Germany

seen from United States

seen from Indonesia
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Netherlands

seen from Brazil
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States

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seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
@nanamimybbg
What are the odds?
wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
they call me the forgetter because i uh
𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 ⚘( ၴႅၴ𐚁᭢༘۠
cw: no gender of reader mentioned but written with fem in mind. self indulgent. a/n: took a self-ship answer & made something real quick ☕🪻lavender dividers by @/saradika-graphics. sparkle dividers by @/anitalenia
from this universe: 🌧️ |🪻| 🌷 | 🌲 | 🍃|☕| 🦢| 🧺 | 🍓|
"I love you."
Three little words spill from your mouth like a broken faucet until they're an ocean of him, like the flooded levy that made your story fall together in the first place. Trickling like the eternal rain from the nimbus clouds when you bump bellies to exchange baskets between loads of laundry, in hallways littered with socks for little feet, in the midst of that healing first sip of coffee with your fingers in his rain soaked hair by the stove, save for that endearing cowlick he can never tame, when you're on the verge of sleep or barely rousing from it from the gentle drumming of his scarred fingers along your nape that faintly overshadow the passing rumblings of thunder that hover over the old roof that once carried a draft the first time you fell into each other, when you can manage a breathless murmur within his earshot as you hand him your fussy baby, both of you afflicted with the weight of only a quarter night's sleep.
His "I love yous" are proclivities forged in tangible manifestations of the sacred words he vowed to you that lay folded in his wallet, ordinary happenings with eternal implications, wordlessly baked into rituals he ties himself to with less rigidity, loosened from loving someone who was the opposite.
The fifth quilt that finds its way onto your bed but not because he's the one who needs it, the endless bouquets in the chipped mug in its stalwart place on the nightstand that you never had the heart to substitute for a proper vase, which eventually find themselves pressed between the pages of his novels as he might encounter as unexpected bookmarks, joining the mosaic of the melding of your two worlds on the shelves that carry traditions of the past that bleed into the present, when your mother brings up news you hadn't told her yet because Kento already gave her a phone call, and the way he steadily, preemptively, and consistently gives you so damn much without you ever asking for it.
So, you will always proudly say it more than him.
thought I was muted and just had this exchange with a coworker on a zoom call
one dude will ask you what you bring to the table while there are at least five dudes willing to carry you and the table
let's tussle with mama
My watchful mama
going for a ride with mama
struttin with mamaaa
lets kissy mama
Being nefarious with mama
curled up with mama.... protected by mama.... let's be warm with mama...
let's loaf with mama
Let’s scream with mama