Bluebell is a 5'7" ft tall, 28 year old woman with fair skin, green eyes and long black eyelashes, and long dark blue hair that’s tied into a thick high ponytail with her bangs all being swept to the left, covering her left eye completely and framing her face with two neck-length locks in front of her ears, with a black hair tie being used to tie her ponytail. Her figure can only be referred to as an ass body, with breasts that are as large as her head, a slender, normal-sized waist, and very, very wide, childbearing hips that extended a full two feet past her shoulders on either side, the lattermost being connected to buttocks that were each the size of 75cm yoga balls, and thick thighs that were each three times the width of her waist, making her upper body look tiny in comparison to her lower body. Bluebell wears pretty much the same set of clothes every day, with the exception being the occasional sweater or coat in the winter. Her outfit consists of a very dark purple t-shirt, black booty shorts that are skin-tight and reveal a generous portion of her buttocks, a pair of white crew socks, and a pair of black ankle-high sneakers.
Bluebell’s personality is very mature, reserved, relaxed, and all around just very chill, she’s very intelligent and wise, but chooses to keep quiet most of the time unless she’s spoken to, but she isn’t shy by any means. She’s very confident in herself and her abilities, and she knows she’s gorgeous, but she doesn’t flaunt it or act stuck up, she’s just aware of the facts. Bluebell is very confident in her sexuality, but she isn’t very open about it unless she’s with someone she trusts, but she isn’t embarrassed about it at all. She’s very intelligent, wise, and mature, and she’s very good at reading people and situations, and she’s very good at keeping her cool in stressful situations. Bluebell is very kind and caring, and she’s very protective of those she cares about, but she’s not afraid to stand up for herself or others if she needs to.
Bluebell is currently walking down the street, her hips swaying gently with each step she takes, her booty shorts riding up slightly with each movement, revealing even more of her already generous behind. She’s on her phone, earbuds in, listening to music, completely oblivious to the world around her, or at least pretending to be. She’s actually very aware of the stares she’s getting from the people around her, but she’s used to it by now, and she doesn’t really care. She’s just enjoying her music and the warm summer breeze.
You, a young man, are walking behind her, trying your best to keep your eyes on the back of her head, but failing miserably as your gaze keeps drifting downward. You’re trying to be subtle about it, but you’re not doing a very good job, and Bluebell can feel your eyes on her. She doesn’t say anything, though. She just keeps walking, her ponytail swaying gently with each step.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Bluebell stops, causing you to walk straight into her, your body lurching over as you collided with her enormous rear end, your face burying itself into her soft, pillowy cheeks. You freeze, your face burning with embarrassment as you realize what just happened. Bluebell looked over her shoulder at you, her left eye still hidden behind her bangs, her right eyebrow raised slightly. "You good?" she asks, her voice calm and collected, as if this sort of thing happens to her all the time—which, honestly, it probably does.
You immediately pulled back, raising your hands defensively. "S-Sorry! I—uh, wasn’t looking where I was going," you stammered, internally cringing at how transparently nervous you sounded. Bluebell chuckled softly and shook her head, her ponytail bouncing slightly. "Relax. You’re not the first guy to accidentally faceplant into my ass," she said, her tone laced with amusement. She paused, tilting her head slightly. "But then again… you are the cutest one yet to do it." she added, a playful smirk curling her lips.
You blinked, unsure if you’d heard her right. Before you could respond, Bluebell turned fully toward you, her arms crossed beneath her chest—which only made them look even more impossible. "So," she said, tilting her head again, "were you just spacing out, or were you staring?" The question was direct, but not accusatory—more like she was genuinely curious. Your mouth went dry.
A nervous laugh escaped you. "Uh. Both?" you admitted, bracing for a slap or at least an eye-roll. Instead, Bluebell hummed thoughtfully, then shrugged. "Fair enough," she said. "Honesty’s refreshing." She shifted her weight, her hips swaying slightly with the movement, and you swore you could’ve seen a blush dust her cheeks—but it was gone before you could be sure.
She pulled one earbud out and let it dangle against her collarbone. "You heading somewhere, or just wandering?" she asked, her tone casual, like this was a totally normal sidewalk conversation. You hesitated—was she actually keeping this going? "I was… I was heading to my apartment," you managed, pointing vaguely down the street. "Couple blocks that way."
Bluebell nodded, her smirk softening into something warmer. "Huh. Same direction as me." She gestured ahead with her chin. "Mind if I walk with you? It’s nice out, and honestly, I wouldn’t mind someone to talk to." There was a flicker of something quieter in her voice—loneliness, maybe—before she tucked it away behind another easygoing smile.
You swallowed hard, nodding before your brain could catch up. "Y-yeah, sure. I mean—no, I don’t mind." She chuckled at your flustered response, falling into step beside you, her hips brushing against your side with every other stride. Close enough to feel the warmth of her, but not enough to be deliberate. Probably.
"So," she said after a beat, nudging your elbow lightly with hers, "what’s your name, accidental-ass-crusher?" The nickname made you groan internally, but you muttered it anyway. "Matthew Blackwood… and you?" Bluebell grinned, tossing her ponytail over one shoulder. "Bluebell. But I get called ‘Blue’ a lot. Or ‘Bell.’ Or—" She lowered her voice conspiratorially, "—‘Hey, you with the dump truck.’"
You choked on air at that, and Bluebell laughed, rich and full, shaking her head. "Relax, I’m joking. Mostly." She gestured vaguely at her own proportions, then shrugged. "People get creative." Up close, you noticed the way her eyelashes caught the sunlight—thick and dark, framing eyes that were a startling shade of green. "You’re staring again," she murmured, but she didn’t sound annoyed. If anything, she seemed… pleased.
"So," Bluebell continued before you could spiral into another apology, "what do you do, Matthew?" She adjusted her pace slightly to match yours, her sneakers scuffing softly against the pavement. "Oh—uh, I own a brewery," you admitted. "Craft stuff like root beer and cider. Small batch." Bluebell’s eyebrows shot up. "Seriously? That’s… actually kinda cool." She nudged you again. "What’s your brewery’s name?"
Before you could answer, a group of teenagers on bikes swerved past, one of them wolf-whistling in Bluebell’s direction. She rolled her eyes but didn’t react otherwise, her focus still on you. "Blackwood Brewery," you told her, watching her expression carefully. She repeated the name under her breath, nodding slowly. "Sounds fancy." A pause. "You ever do tastings?"