No one but writers can understand this feeling... ABSOLUTE RELIEF.

Black Panthers & Palestinian delegation at the first Pan-African Cultural Festival in Algiers. July, 1969.

I'm not phone addicted. I'm friend addicted. It's not my fault that for some cruel and senseless reason my friends live in my phone

punk choso 🤟

"You were so...fat."

Zayne frowns at you, gaze flicking between your face and the photo album you're holding, currently open to a page of him as a baby.

"I believe I was an average size at this age." He notes, flipping to the next page. Sure enough, there's another picture of his chubby cheeked toddler face smiling toothily at the camera. Immediately, you coo.

"You were such a fat baby! I could just eat you up." As if to satisfy said urge, you squeeze his hand tightly, eagerly flipping to the next page.

This photo is one of his earliest, only a few months old in his crib. He can admit that he does look quite chubby in this one. Apparently, he was a large baby. You make an odd noise, practically squealing as you suddenly grab his face, squeezing his no-longer-chubby cheeks.

"Look how cute you were! I hope our babies are this cute." You sigh, pulling away from him to once again admire the photos.

Zayne however, is thinking at a mile a minute.

You had said "our" babies. Did you want children with him? Of course, he knew the two of you were in a moderately serious relationship and having children was likely going to be a topic of conversation eventually but still...

"I hope they look like you." He murmurs, leaning closer to smell your sweet perfume. You smile softly, mirroring his actions to rest closer to him.

"For the sake of their cheeks, that would probably be best."

guys I’m gonna be so honest, if these first 11 days of 2026 have taught me anything it’s that maybe 2027 will finally be my year

Athlete!Sukuna who you have the biggest, fattest crush on. And everyone knows it. You’re not exactly subtle about it – trailing him through the halls like a lost puppy, eyes latching onto his form when he walks into a room. Little bubbly smile curving at the corner of your glossy lips.

Athlete!Sukuna who knows you like him. He thinks it’s silly that you get hissy over him when you think he’s not watching. You’ll poke his arm when he’s ignoring you, whine about how he hasn’t texted all day, try to catch his eyes across the cafeteria. Half of the time, he doesn’t even look at you. The other half, he smirks like he’s in on a joke you’ll never get. You’re a doll, a pretty girl with so many friends that just so happened to fall in love with this tattooed, sharp-mouthed boxer asshole! And he knows. He, of all people, knows that the most.

Athlete!Sukuna who uses you for convenience’s sake. If he’s bored, he’ll text you to come over. Sometimes it means you end up in his lap, his big hands palming your thighs while he kisses you hard enough to leave your lips swollen. Other times you run your hands through his hair and talk about your day while he lies in your lap, only half-listening.

Athlete!Sukuna who leaves when he’s done. Every time. Always with the same excuse – he’s got to train or his coach needs him. And every time, your heart sinks in that quiet, invisible way you’ve trained yourself to hide.