#now that the basic tags are out of the way

[ohgodthevoices]

going crazy over how husband material osamu is, hear me ouuutttt

tags : fluff, time-skip, f!reader, tattoo , he listens to, he cares , and he cook , i’m thirsting m sorry

osamu would be the type of bestfriend that knows damn well you want him bad but keeps on teasing you and acting clueless just to see how far you can go before you crack

as childhood friends, it was normal for you to be touchy and generally comfortable with each other but it raised his suspicions when you now looked away when he was topless around you. it’s not like you were uncomfortable with it ?

you’ve basically lived your whole life with the miyas, you’ve seen osamu wet the bed as a kid, get rejected by his middle school crush you’ve even witnessed him putting his hand in his pants and scratch his butt, seeing him topless in the comfort of his apartment was a casual thing so why the hell would you look away , did he lose his shape ? no, he still worked out frequently even if he’s not an athlete anymore…

either way osamu always took care for you, he was always so careful when it comes to you , sure he’d playfully hit you here and there but it was nothing you couldn’t handle

just imagine him cooking you a nice heart-warming meal, glancing at you every now and then while you’re sitting on the counter looking like a mess after a long exhausting day , wine glass in hand and rambling your worries away. it really became a ritual for you to swing by his place unannounced after a bad day.

he’d open the door with his signature lazy smile “ya had a bad day?” you finally let you shoulders relax “long story..” he steps back, inviting you in “i got time”.

sometimes osamu gets this weird feeling he can’t explain when he realizes he’s seen you grow into a real woman, it really freaked him tf out when you told him you had your first time with some boy he never heard the name of.

he scolds you after a bad decision for sure , but he’s always there to comfort you right after. SO imagine his surprise when during a drunken confession after you finally listened to him and dumped your toxic bf, you admit to him between sobs that broke his heart into pieces

“why can’t i find a guy that actually likes me—?” your face was buried in his now wet tshirt , his strong arms holding you tight as if they were gonna protect you from feeling hurt, your words were muffled, melting together “why can’t i find someone like you samu…im so jealous of the girl that’s gonna be yours” holy fucking shit how was he so blind to never realize this…

thank god that night was complete blurry in your mind , so when you woke up the day completely hung over and found your beloved best friend making you breakfast with a bed hair and his sleeves rolled up showing off his forearms that you find really hot for some reason , your slight blush was explained.

omfg the day he showed up to your workplace during his break with a well crafted lunch box he made full of delicious onigiris because he listens and he remembers that your annoying coworker kept flaunting her relationship to you and it pissed you off and you wanted to show her that you can pull too

ever since he realized the power he had over you, he wouldn’t stop just picking at you and seeing how far he can go, he was basically testing the waters by stretching until his shirt lifts up, hold eye contact for a lil longer than what he should, and how he praises you don’t get me startedddd

“yer actually pretty decent at this” when you cook dinner with him, “look at ya bein all confident and independent !” when you actually tell the waiter they got your order wrong, “yer pretty distractin’ yk that? that’s kinda dangerous.”

osamu was a pretty touchy guy, not overly cuddly or anything but he did enjoy proximity, he’d usually hold your wrist when passing crowds but for some reason he now held your waist, his touch gentle yet firm on you. istg his hand placement is impeccable

there’s just something about him keeping a hair tie on his wrist for you that’s so endearing, so caring and attentive to your lil daily struggles.

it all happened when you got your first tattoo, he had sent you to his friend whom he deemed good enough to ink your body. he was nervous and excited as if he was the one getting tattooed but that’s mostly because you wanted to keep it a mystery, he knew that when he came home after closing the shop he’d find you there already.

there was just something so intimate about him coming back from work and finding you already at his place , he liked it, he could get use to it.

“ ‘m here !” he yelled out closing the door behind him , analyzing you from head to toe as you pop infront of him with his tshirt and shorts on displaying an almost mischievous smile, his eyebrows creasing as he doesn’t see any trace of a tattoo on your arms or legs, maybe it was on your shoulders?

he plopped down on his couch , man spreading “soo… are ya gonna show me or ?” you happily turn to the side, his eyes widen as you lift up the shirt enough to reveal a sideboob tattoo. he sits up the shock visible on his face “holy shit cmere” you obey him , getting closer for him to get a better look. with a swift motion his arm was now around your hip , pushing you to sit on one of his legs

he clearly recognized his friend’s intricate style, the design cupping the side of your boob, he wanted to admire his work but damn he felt a lil jealous that he worked so close to you. he finally looked at you only now noticing your reddish face

his face was just inches from yours, his previously shocked expression fading as he met your eyes. he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your jaw, and for a split second, everything around you felt quiet, just the two of you in that small space. he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, though, breaking the tension as he nudged you lightly

“didn’t know you had it in ya to do somethin’ like that” he whispered.

before you could answer, his hand found its way to the back of your neck, gently pulling you in. his lips brushed yours, just a soft, teasing touch, before pulling back slightly with that same smirk. “couldn’t resist,” he muttered under his breath, and this time, when he kissed you again, it was longer, deeper—no more teasing, just the feeling of the moment taking over.

i’m currently such a sucker for time skip osamu he’s all i’m thinking about

[jiminomenon]

model! karina gets sick

pairing: model! karina x assistant! female reader

word count: 926

tag(s): karina being stubborn, y/n is tired she literally needs a break now gang-, sick! karina, princess aka their child makes an appearance, just a really soft moment between these two

from my series: the devil wears prada

if y/n had known jimin was going to be this insufferable when she was sick, she would have never let her step out in the rain yesterday. in fact, she should’ve just grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her under the umbrella instead of letting her prance around like she was immune to basic human conditions. but no, jimin had insisted she was invincible, brushing off y/n’s concerns with that same haughty confidence she wore like a designer coat.

“you’ll catch a cold,” y/n had warned, holding the umbrella over them as jimin strutted toward the car, completely unbothered.

“i don’t get sick,” jimin had scoffed, flipping her damp hair over her shoulder before tossing her equally soaked coat at y/n. “only weak people do.”

fast forward to today—jimin was curled up in bed, nose red, voice hoarse, and shivering beneath a mountain of blankets. weak people, huh?

y/n stood at the bedside with her arms crossed, staring down at the miserable lump that was once the almighty yu jimin. “i told you so.”

jimin peeked at her from beneath the covers, her glassy eyes narrowed into a glare. her voice was raspy, almost pitiful, but her bratty attitude remained intact. “shut up and make yourself useful.”

y/n exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “so bossy even when you’re practically on your deathbed.” she set down a tray on the bedside table, pushing a bowl of steaming porridge toward jimin. “eat this.”

jimin wrinkled her nose, shifting further into her blankets like a petulant child. “no.”

y/n’s eye twitched. “yes.”

“don’t want to.”

“jimin, you’re literally sick.”

“so? i don’t like porridge.”

y/n clenched her jaw, inhaling slowly as if it would give her the patience not to smack the stubbornness out of this woman. after a moment of internal struggle, she scoffed and threw her hands up. “fine. starve, then.”

she spun on her heel, making her way toward the door. she wasn’t going to coddle someone who refused to help themselves—jimin could sit in her self-inflicted misery all she wanted. but just as y/n reached for the doorknob—

“wait.”

y/n paused, glancing over her shoulder. jimin wasn’t looking at her directly, her fingers fiddling weakly with the edge of the blanket. her voice was smaller this time, almost hesitant. “where’s princess?”

of course. leave it to jimin to refuse basic human nourishment but demand to see her cat. y/n sighed, but she left without protest, heading toward the living room. sure enough, princess was curled up on the couch, a tiny bundle of fur nestled into one of jimin’s designer pillows. the kitten barely stirred as y/n scooped her up, her soft little body warm against y/n’s palm.

when y/n returned to the bedroom, jimin was watching her expectantly, her expression softening the moment she saw princess in y/n’s arms.

“here,” y/n muttered, setting the kitten down gently on the bed.

princess blinked sleepily before stretching her tiny paws, letting out a delicate meow as she toddled over to jimin’s side. jimin immediately reached for her, stroking her fur with weak but affectionate fingers.

a small, satisfied smile graced jimin’s lips as princess nuzzled against her chin. “at least someone still loves me.”

y/n rolled her eyes, arms crossing over her chest. “you’re impossible.”

princess purred, rubbing her cheek against jimin before curling up into a tiny ball beside her. jimin let out a contented sigh, her body visibly relaxing as she snuggled into the blankets. but just when y/n thought she could finally leave—

“this is nice,” jimin murmured, peeking up at y/n. “all that’s missing is—”

she patted the empty space beside her, her meaning very clear.

y/n blinked. “oh, no. absolutely not.”

jimin pouted, her bottom lip sticking out in a way that would’ve been cute if y/n wasn’t so tired of her antics. “y/n, i’m cold.”

y/n deadpanned. “you have five blankets.”

“and yet, i’m still freezing.” jimin’s voice was thick with faux suffering, her lashes fluttering dramatically.

“what do you want me to do? magically turn into a human heater?”

jimin didn’t answer—just kept staring at her with those expectant, slightly fevered eyes.

y/n exhaled through her nose, already regretting what she knew was about to happen. “seriously?”

jimin didn’t blink.

there was a long moment of silence, a battle of wills that, to y/n’s dismay, ended in her eventual sigh of defeat. “fine.”

grumbling under her breath, she kicked off her slippers and crawled into bed, slipping beneath the covers with a reluctant sigh. the second she was within reach, jimin latched onto her like a heat-seeking missile, tangling their limbs together as she buried her face into y/n’s collarbone.

“you’re warm,” she hummed, sighing in satisfaction.

“if you get me sick, i swear—”

“shhh,” jimin hushed, her breath tickling y/n’s skin. “let me enjoy this.”

princess let out a tiny yawn, stretching out her paws before snuggling further between them, her warmth adding to the cocoon of coziness surrounding them.

jimin sighed again, a lazy smirk creeping onto her lips. “we should do this every night now.”

y/n scoffed, shifting slightly but making no real effort to pull away. “not happening.”

“we’ll see,” jimin murmured, already halfway to sleep.

y/n rolled her eyes, but as she felt jimin’s breathing even out and princess’s soft purring vibrating between them, she figured… maybe this wasn’t too bad.

[cleoselene]

FINAL RESULTS

it is my bad for forgetting to make this a week long poll and not a day long poll

anyway as someone who lives in Florida there are at least... 7 states there where I'd rather stay in Florida; but I'm not trans so I get why people who are would vote Florida.

My vote was for Missouri because it's an awful place and also for sports fan reasons. And like. Josh Hawley. Ewww. Idaho is a VERY close second and if they had a sports team I hated they would have one. It is a trashbag Nazi state. Ohio I hate for petty reasons and also it's ugly, boring, and it's my midwestern enemy as a natural born-Illinoisan.

States I didn't include. Utah. Look I thought long and hard on this but i have been knees deep in ex-Mormon youtube lately and did you know that Mormons now make up less than 40% of the state now? The number of Mormons is declining steeply for many of the same reasons Scientology has -- the internet has made it kind of embarrassing with their sci-fi secrets. And also, you know, the rampant bigotry turns people off. But Utah is also GORGEOUS, like really really beautiful. So with tumblr's limits, they didn't make it. Ditto Wyoming.

I didn't include either Dakotas because honestly no one cares about these states but I have no doubt the fucking suck

I didn't include any New England states because y'all are living in like the highest quality of life human rights are of the country, your petty squabbles between Connecticut and Massachusetts or whatever, are lame. I mean, okay, yeah, Boston is SUPER racist, I'll give you that, but with only so many slots and so many other super racist states, no way.

Didn't include North Carolina because the Carolinas are one. Sorry. It's true. Just like I didn't include Indiana because it's basically the same state as Ohio. But trust that Indiana was a DIFFICULT omission. Mississippi not included because it's basically Alabama (Don't @ me college football fans you are fans of the worst most exploitative major sport)

Someone mentioned Nebraska and I legit dropped the ball on that one. When I road-tripped across the country it was hands down the worst state I passed through and it felt like I was there forever.

But y'all. The only difference between Florida and Texas is that Texas doesn't have a functioning electrical grid to handle hot weather, I will die on this hill. Like both states are more diverse than you think, are oppressed by gerrymandered cheater shit, voter suppression, etc. But when a heatwave hits Florida my MS-having ass never has to worry about a blackout or some shit. Texas is so much worse.

States that are worse than Florida, in this poll alone: Texas, Arkansas, Idaho, Ohio, Missouri, Alabama, South Carolina

as an expert Floridologist who views my field with a very critical eye (check out my 'fucking florida' tag), I'd still rather be here than the seven states listed in the paragraph before this.

I put in some of the states that I personally hate and ones that I've seen get a lot of hate. So like while I personally love California people in neighboring states harbor a lot of hate for the way they hike up housing prices when Californians move to there. And I know Jersey and Pennsylvania got some beef.

i know this is very American centered but even if you aren't American just tell me which state has given you the worst vibes from afar

[mimikittysblog]

Poly! Ateez: How You Started Dating

Synopsis: Self explanatory but this is where your relationship truly began!

Genre: Fluff and some angst, a bit of smut but really nothing explicit! | Headcanons

Warnings: Mentions of Hookups so ⚠️MNDI⚠️

A/N: This one is pretty long so bear with me 😭 Also if you have any specific requests or questions about their relationship then please just ask! I’d love to answer them!

Tagging: @stay-tiny-things @jaerisdiction @bee-gremlin @gae-ping-boosay @xh01bri @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @buttercup0024 @bigarinotthelilone @faeprincess777 @starygw3n @pinkpearlstar @sweetinsaniiity @heiswan @dalsuwaha @girl-in-love-with-kpop @ateezswonderland @starryjoong-jeongcheollie (Join my Taglist here!)

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

After texting Wooyoung for a bit you finally decided to go out together

Wooyoung sent you the address of this adorable cafe

When you got there though, you didn’t expect Seonghwa, Mingi and San to be there as well

“Oh! Hi everyone!”

“Y/n!!” They practically cheer

Basically what happened was they found out Wooyoung got your number and practically asked you out on a date

So they wanted tagged along

Wooyoung wanted to say no actually

He was scared you’d get overwhelmed

But San made him flustered by kissing him on the cheek

So Wooyoung folded 🤦‍♀️

“Heheh hope you don’t mind they decided to tag along.” Wooyoung said sheepishly

“Oh of course not! The more the merrier is almost always my motto!” You giggle

Oh your smile..

It’s brighter than any star and it makes them so happy

You guys were there and talked for hoursssss! Just having the best of times

You got to learn more about them and vice versa

Each new information you learned really deepened your feelings towards each other

It was exhilarating honestly, albeit a bit scary

It’s just happening so fast and so strong like an oncoming train

None of you would have any other way though.

After a while all of you then agreed to move to a nearby park and have a spontaneous picnic

So Wooyoung along with Mingi and San went to order more pastries while Seonghwa kept you company

While it was just the two of you, you decided to ask Seonghwa something

Throughout the entire day you’ve noticed how close to each other they really are

Like you knew how close kpop groups can be, and how sometimes it’s fanservice but these boys…

It’s just different.

Hanging out with them you can really tell how close they really are

“You guys are really close huh?”

That took Seonghwa aback and he couldnt help but feel a bit worried

“uh y-yeah we are.. we just.. love each other a lot.”

Hearing his answer you knew what he meant

But also hearing how he answered it, you knew it was kind of a sensitive topic so you didn’t want to pry.

So you simply looked up at him and gave him a comforting smile.

“It’s beautiful to see.”

The truth is… none of them are dating yet

Though none of them could deny their feelings and chemistry

But they knew how difficult it would become if they actually confronted it

So they kind of just let it be

The only one who really has a thing going on is Wooyoung and San

But they never really put a label on it

They hooked up one night after all the tension build up and ever since then they just.. became “official” but not

It’s complicated

But their “relationship” also didn’t really stop them from hooking up with the others

Actually most of them have hooked up with each other

Some are a bit afraid to take it that far though

Jongho for example once got caught up in a makeout sesh with Yeosang but he didn’t feel ready or comfortable

It wasn’t Yeosang’s fault!

He’s just never been a touchy guy and he’s just now facing the reality that he has feelings for one of his members

Possibly more…

Yeosang understood so they stopped and just cuddled and talked a bit

Though he was still kinda riled up

So the next day Wooyoung was happy to help him out

Mingi also finally confided in Yunho about his feelings one time

Yunho knew.

Everyone did.

But Yunho didn’t know what to do due to his beliefs and upbringing

So he held back his tears and just gave Mingi a long passionate kiss

Whispered a soft “I’m sorry” and just left it at that

Mingi knew what Yunho meant with that kiss

It’s the best Yunho could give to him (at the time)

It’s Yunho’s way of telling him that he feels the same but he can’t act on it

Mingi of course respected that but he was heartbroken

He confided in Seonghwa soon after and asked him to distract him

Seonghwa was also happy to help

While they were often paired up and at first gravitated towards a certain member

They still found themselves deeply connected with everyone else outside of this natural pairing

Like while Hongjoong had that married vibe with Seonghwa, he couldn’t deny his feelings for Yunho from the first moment they met

Seonghwa also wanted nothing more than to always take care of and love Yeosang

Yunho adored Mingi from childhood but Wooyoung was always able to bring the feeling of comfort to him

Yeosang treasured Jongho but he’d also do anything for Hongjoong

San couldn’t imagine a life without Wooyoung, while he also cherishes Seonghwa like diamonds

Mingi has an incessant need to make sure Jongho is safe from harm all the time

Wooyoung would move heaven and earth for Mingi

And Jongho will forever admire San and everything he does

And whats listed here is just the tip of the iceberg

It goes for everyone and honestly runs deeper than what words can describe

It’s all just a big mess right now

Their jobs and society has made it all too difficult for them

But they all knew what they felt was real.

Even with the unknowingness of it all, they’d still do anything for each other.

…And possibly you.

“..yeah you think so?” Seonghwa asks back

“Of course! Like I said, the more the merrier. I see no reason to put a limit on a beautiful thing such as love.”

Seonghwa was really touched.

“Society has put useless and cruel rules on everything. Especially love. And For what? Power? Money? God knows. It’s frustrating.. but I don’t think it should stop us. It’s what makes us human. And hey!” You say before looking back up at him.

“Some rules are meant to be broken.”

Seonghwa honestly felt his brain chemistry being altered 🤯

And after about a week since your hang out, he still couldn’t get your words out of his head.

He decided that it’s finally time to really confront their feelings.

No matter how complicated.

No matter what consequences it’ll bring

It just has to happen now.

‘Cause he fears that if it doesn’t, it may never.

So he one night sat everyone down and then just confessed.

“It’s no secret. But It’s best I do say it. I love all of you. Romantically. And i think we really need to talk about how we should go about this. I won’t pressure any of you to do things you don’t want or aren’t ready for. But again.. a clear understanding needs to be had. I don’t think any good will come out of side stepping this anymore.”

To say they were surprised that this was what Seonghwa wanted to talk about would be an UNDERSTATEMENT‼️

To put it lightly, they were hesitant to say anything at first

When in fact they were LEGIT TERRIFIED ACTUALLY

One of them probably almost shat their pants, they were that scared.

So the room was silent for a while after Seonghwa first spoke

But then in a blink of an eye, everything came spilling out

Confession after confession filled the room

Followed by wishes of their hearts desires

And burdens being lifted one after the other

They all spoke about their true feelings in this vulnerable moment

All except one.

“..Yunho..?”

At the call of his name he looked up with tears in his eyes.

“..I-I need time..”

He says with a shakiness the boys have never heard from him

“alone.”

And with that he just got up and left.

Leaving the boys absolutely concerned with an indescribably tightness in their hearts.

Belief is a fickle thing that one

What he’s feeling…

What the members are feeling and doing..

It wasn’t what he was taught.

So he’s lost

It wasn’t like he hated the members or anyone for their sexuality

He could never hate them for anything

He was actually more jealous.

He felt jealous that he couldn’t act upon what he was truly feeling

When Mingi confessed to him that night he has never felt more sad and never cried harder

He wanted nothing more to yell out to the world how much he loved Mingi..

How much he loved all of them.

His belief always brought him comfort and it was never something that felt restrictive thankfully

So when this happened..

The first ever time his belief caused him to feel like this..

His mind and heart feels like it’s in tatters.

He needed an answer or some kind of sign!

So now he’s walking to the nearest church

Already praying for his God to tell him what to do

And when he almost arrived, thats when he spotted none other than you

You were just about to enter a small little cafe that was just near the church

She looks beautiful with the moonlight shining on her…

Is this the answer..? The sign?

It couldn’t have been just a coincidence that the one person who also has been shaking his heart and wasn’t there at the dorms happened to be right there in front of him when he was looking for an answer.

So he walked up to you hoping that you were indeed the answer

“Y/n…”

“Yunho..?! Omg Yunho! Hai!”

When you noticed his distressed state you quickly invited him in to sit with you at the cafe

You told him you’ve always wanted to try this cafe out but never had the time

Yet for some reason on this particular night you decided to finally try it out..

“So.. What are you doing here? ..oh! There is a church nearby! Were you going there?”

You asked with such concern and softness that he couldn’t help but let the tears spill

Not just the tears but his feelings as well

He told you everything, what happened with the members, how he feels, and his conflicts within

“I-I.. I just don’t know what to do… I.. I love them.. I do… so much!! But.. can i?”

You’ve followed Ateez for the longest time and yet you’ve never seen this sunshine of a boy so broken

This must be that difficult for him

So you held his hand as gently as you possibly could before speaking just as gently.

“Yunho.. I’ll tell you what I told Seonghwa… Love is a beautiful thing. And it shouldn’t have limits.”

Those words touched Yunho as much as it touched Seonghwa.

However you then went on to explain how you didn’t want this experience to sway his faith

You told him how admirable his dedication to his faith is and how it helped mold him to be the person he is today

Finally you explained how while that was your answer to his question, he still needs to answer this on his own.

“Whatever the answer will be… remember it shouldn’t be hurting you in the long run. Coffee is on me this time Yunho. I hope you find it and get home safe okay?” You tell him softly

You then softly wiped one of his tears that was still flowing, got up, payed and left.

He thinks he found it.

He still decided to stop by the church though

He prayed and confessed one last time about how he truly felt about everything and begged for one last sign.

A sign to tell him that he’s mistaken, that if this truly wasn’t the answer then tell him now.

Yet nothing came.

Well there was one…

But it wasn’t exactly the sign he was asking for

But one he needed.

When he entered the dorms again, Mingi was there waiting for him on the couch.

The boy who he first had feelings for.

“Yunho…”

He knew that this was his answer too.

He wasn’t gonna hold back anymore.

So without hesitation he raced to Mingi, grabbed his face and gave him a passionate kiss where he poured everything into it.

“I won’t hold back anymore. I want to love you all. No limits.” He confesses softly

From there the two went to bed together

And made love actually 🥹💕

Then the next morning he called for another meeting and official confessed how he truly felt.

Asking for all of them to be together

And just like that they made it official 🩷

The next day after that, you received another text from Wooyoung asking to meet up again

Which of course you happily agreed to!

Yet when you arrived this time, all of them were there too.

And they were oh so happy to see you.

Their catalyst.

You all had a wonderful time once again

And by the end of the day, you went from having 0 boyfriends to 8 just like that

You lucky dawg 🤭

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

© mimikittysblog 2025

[snoozify]

Me and My Husband PT2

Milf Abby x Suburban Wife Reader

Warning: Abuse, Sexism, Smut (in later part), cussing, homophobia, Men being Men, child abuse, happy ending, substance abuse, cheating.

A/N: This fic is based off the song Me and My Husband by the Queen Mitski. 8k words.

tags: @glass-apothecary. @asothinking. @half-of-a-gay. @0h-basic. @antobooh

P1 P2 PT3

It’s been days since the kiss. Days filled with the weight of silence, of not knowing how to look at her, how to look at yourself. The memory of her lips—soft, fleeting, but searing—lingers in the back of your mind, always there. You try to bury it, to drown it in the routine of your daily life, but it keeps resurfacing, like a whisper that won’t go away.

Each time you see her, you look the other way, pretending not to notice her standing just across the street, pretending she’s not there, like she doesn’t occupy a space in your heart that you can’t shake. You feel guilty—so guilty. Not because you don’t know what to say to her, but because you wish you didn’t feel that way at all. You wish you could pretend like it didn’t happen, that it didn’t matter.

But it does. It matters more than anything, and that’s what scares you.

The first light of morning seeps into your room, slanting through the curtains, casting a faint glow across the floor. The quiet is thick, the kind of quiet that follows a night spent tangled in your own thoughts. You shift in the bed, blinking the sleep from your eyes as your mind refuses to quiet down. Your eyes drift to your husband, turned away from you, deep in sleep. His back rises and falls in an even rhythm, unaware of the turmoil swirling within you.

You stare at him for a long moment, searching for some kind of comfort, but it’s no use. There’s nothing there but the same distant emptiness that’s been there for months now, maybe even longer. His body takes up space in the bed, but it feels like there’s a thousand miles between you.

You shake your head, the exhaustion from the past few days weighing on you. You don’t even have the strength to keep pretending, to keep up the act. You want to slip away from this—away from him, away from the guilt that churns in your stomach every time you think about Abby.

You slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake him. The cool floorboards press against the soles of your feet, sending a chill up your spine as you move toward the door. For a moment, you pause, casting a glance back at your husband’s sleeping form—his steady, rhythmic breathing a stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside your chest. The weight of it all crashes over you, a tidal wave of guilt, confusion, and frustration, but you don’t let yourself linger. You can’t afford to. There’s no time for weakness, no time for any of this.

You let out a quiet sigh, closing the door softly behind you as you step into the hall. The house is still, eerily so, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant creak of floorboards as you make your way down the hallway. The silence feels suffocating, a constant reminder of how far you’ve fallen from what you once hoped for, from what you once promised yourself.

You stop in front of the kids’ bedroom, hand hovering over the door handle. There’s a moment of hesitation as you draw in a breath. And then, with a quiet push, the door creaks open.

Your eyes immediately find Madison. She’s sitting up in bed, her small body curled into the softness of her blankets, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her face, still heavy with the remnants of slumber, lights up when she sees you, her lips forming a sleepy smile.

“Mornin’ momma,” she murmurs, pushing herself off the bed with a small groan, her tiny hand clutching the stuffed animal she’s never without. The worn edges of the fabric are familiar, comforting in a way you wish you could be for her.

Her eyes—half-lidded and still filled with the haze of sleep—search your face for something. Comfort. Reassurance. The answer to a question she doesn’t know how to ask yet. She doesn’t know how broken you feel, how fragile the thread holding you together is. All she knows is that she’s still her innocent, trusting self, believing that everything is okay.

Your heart aches as you look at her, at the way she clings to the safety of her stuffed bunny as if it can protect her from everything in the world. You want to believe that it can, want to believe that you can, but the weight of the day presses on you.

For a brief moment, you forget everything else the guilt, the confusion, the tension. You forget about the kiss that has turned your world upside down, the storm that’s been brewing inside you. All that matters is her. This small, precious part of your life.

You kneel down in front of her, letting your smile slip out even though it feels foreign on your face. You reach out, brushing her messy hair away from her face, the soft strands still damp with sleep.

“Morning, sweet girl,” you whisper, your voice soft despite the storm brewing deep inside you. You kneel down to her level, your hands gently cupping her small shoulders, pulling her into a hug. Her tiny frame melts into yours, the warmth of her little body against you grounding you in a way you can’t explain. It’s a fleeting comfort, a moment of peace in the chaos, but for that heartbeat, you let it fill you.

The scent of her hair, faintly sweet and so familiar, clings to you as she leans against you, her small hands resting lightly on your back. The weight of everything falls away for just a second, and in that moment, she’s your world. The kiss that changes everything, the confusion in your heart none of it matters. Not when you’re holding her, when you feel her so close that her breath mingles with yours.

After a beat, you pull away reluctantly, though her little arms stay wrapped around you for just a moment longer, as if she knows something you’re not ready to admit. You smile softly, brushing her messy hair from her forehead, your fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary. Her face, still marked with the remnants of sleep, gazes up at you with wide eyes full of innocent curiosity.

“Can I help you clean, Momma?” she asks, her voice sweet and earnest, her words thick with the slowness of early mornings. The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re struck by how much she wants to help, to be part of something, to ease your burden in the way only a child can.

Her eyes search your face, her little brow furrowed as if she’s trying to figure out if you’ll let her. The innocence in her expression makes your heart ache—a gentle reminder of the simple world she’s still living in, unaware of the messiness that exists beyond it. It’s almost unfair, you think, that she should be forced into this too early.

You swallow the lump in your throat, forcing another smile, though it feels tight and hollow. “Not today, baby,” you say gently, stroking her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin under your fingers. “You just go sit at the table, okay? Let me take care of breakfast.”

She looks at you for a second, her brows furrowing slightly in quiet contemplation, as if she doesn’t quite understand why she can’t help. But then, with the same unwavering trust that only a child can have, she nods, the tip of her stuffed bunny still clutched tightly in her tiny hand.

“Okay, Momma,” she says, her voice small and soft. She gives you one last lingering look before turning to shuffle off toward the kitchen, her steps still clumsy with sleep.

You watch Madison as she trudges toward the kitchen, her little feet padding softly on the floor, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. There’s something so painfully normal about this moment, something that makes the chaos in your mind feel so foreign to the routine of this life you’ve built. It’s all so normal, so mundane, yet you can’t shake the feeling that you’re losing grip on it.

The clock is ticking louder in your ears as you move toward the kitchen, still caught in the weight of the moment with your daughter. You glance at the hallway mirror for just a second as you pass, catching a glimpse of yourself—tired eyes, hair slightly mussed from sleep, shoulders tense with the weight of everything unsaid, unresolved. It’s like staring at a stranger, someone who’s supposed to be in control, who’s supposed to know what to do. But you don’t. You can barely keep it together.

In the kitchen, the sunlight filters through the window, casting soft light on the countertops and the little chairs where your children sit. Madison is already at the table, her bunny still clutched tightly against her chest, and you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. She’s so small, so innocent, and yet, here you are—holding it all inside, pretending that everything is fine.

“Momma, are we goin' to church today?” Madison asks, her tiny voice drifting over from the kitchen table. She peeks over the top of her chair, her big brown eyes already searching for reassurance. You pause for a moment, glancing up from where you’re pouring the orange juice, catching the innocence in her expression.

You smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yes, dear. After breakfast,” you say, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

As you pour her a glass of juice, you walk over to where she’s sitting and place it gently in front of her. She looks up at you with a soft smile, her fingers wrapping around the glass like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Thank you, Momma,” she says, her voice still thick with sleep, before her little hand caresses your cheek. You lean into it for just a moment, letting the softness of her touch remind you of something pure, something you’re desperately clinging to.

You return her smile, though it’s brief, and continue your movements—trying to keep the world at bay. You turn to finish preparing breakfast, the sizzling of the pan and the smell of eggs filling the air. But before you can focus, you feel small feet smacking against the floor. The sound is familiar, like the thudding of tiny hearts that always need something from you.

Suddenly, you feel a tiny arm wrap around your leg, a gentle, unrelenting pull that makes it hard to move. You look down, already knowing who it is without having to check.

“Jayden,” you say softly, your voice tinged with patience, but also a little exhaustion. “You need to let go of my leg so I can finish making breakfast.”

But he doesn’t listen. Instead, his little arms tighten around your leg as he looks up at you, his wide, pleading eyes silently asking to be picked up. You sigh quietly, the weight of the moment pressing against you.You bend down slightly, resting one hand on his small back, but you don’t pick him up just yet.

Before you can respond, you hear a soft giggle from behind you. You turn, and there’s Kimberly, already out of bed and standing next to Jayden, holding the glass Madison had been drinking from. She’s sipping from it with an exaggerated slowness, clearly enjoying the attention it brings. Her messy curls are sticking up in all directions, and her pajama pants are a little too big, trailing on the floor as she moves.

“Momma, she’s drinkin’ my juice!” Madison’s voice rings out, sharp and accusatory as she points at Kimberly, who is savoring the last of the orange juice in the cup that had once been hers. The three-year-old’s small hands wrap around the cup with exaggerated care, making sure she gets every last drop.

You turn toward Madison, catching her eye as you try to soothe the situation. “I’ll get you more, okay?” you say gently, your tone soft but firm. You know it’s a small issue, but you also know how big these moments feel to them. Madison’s face scrunches for a second before she nods, the hint of a frown still playing at the corners of her mouth. She then turns back to the table, her focus shifting from the juice to the task at hand.

You let out a quiet sigh, your eyes scanning the room—your kids, the mess, the dishes piling up in the sink, the sound of the ticking clock echoing louder with each passing second. Time is slipping away, and you feel like you’re falling behind, trying to keep up with a constant whirlwind of needs. The push and pull of duty—caring for them, tending to the house, getting everything in order—is a familiar rhythm, one you know well. But right now, it feels like more than you can keep up with.

You don’t have time to stop, though. You don’t have the luxury of slowing down. You move, you keep going—because that’s what you do. For them. For your kids.

“Alright, alright,” you murmur, crouching down to scoop Jayden up into your arms as his soft whimper reaches your ears. His little face is scrunched in frustration, clearly wanting something that you can’t quite understand, but as soon as you pull him close, his small hands wrap around you, and his head presses into your shoulder. His warmth is like a balm, settling your restless heart for just a moment. You close your eyes, allowing yourself the briefest taste of peace as you feel the gentle rhythm of his breath against your skin. It’s fleeting, but it’s enough.

You pull yourself back into the present, gently placing Jayden back down on the floor. His small feet begin wiggling, eager to get to work on his own breakfast, his determination as strong as ever, even at his tender age.

“Can I help set the table, Momma?” Madison asks, her voice sweet, but you can hear the excitement bubbling in it as she looks up at you. Her eagerness to help, to be part of the action, is both endearing and distracting.

You smile softly, grateful for the momentary relief. “Yes, sweetie. Put the napkins on the table, please.” You try to keep your tone calm, to keep your voice from betraying the chaos that’s swirling just beneath the surface.

Madison’s face lights up, her eyes sparkling with joy as she hurries to grab the napkins. Her little feet patter against the floor, quick and purposeful as she scurries off, determined to help in whatever way she can. You turn back to finish breakfast, the sizzle of food on the stove a constant reminder that there’s no time to waste, no time to slow down.

Your husband’s heavy footsteps thud down the stairs, breaking the quiet of the house. He appears in the doorway, stretching as he yawns and looks around the kitchen. “Good mornin’,” he mutters, his voice low and groggy from sleep.

Madison, focused on the task of finishing up the table, doesn’t respond right away. She’s arranging the utensils and napkins, meticulously placing them in their spots. When she looks up and catches your eye, you give her a gentle smile and nod, signaling that it's okay to greet him.

“Good mornin’, Daddy,” she says finally, her voice soft but sweet as she carefully sets a fork down, her tiny fingers brushing the table’s surface.

Your husband nods, distracted, and without another word, he turns toward the door, heading outside to grab the morning paper. The cold air rushes in as the door opens, and the sharp click of it slamming shut causes a slight jolt in the room. You hear him muttering to himself as he shuffles through the paper. He doesn’t waste time before speaking, his tone irritated, the sharpness clear in his voice. “Hurry up, why don’t you? I don’t wanna be late to church.” The words hang in the air, heavy and impatient.

Before you can respond, the sound of the door slamming behind him echoes loudly throughout the house, a final punctuation to his command. The noise is too much for Nico, still in his crib. The sudden sound jolts him awake, and his wail rings out, cutting through the air with urgency.

You glance at your husband, hoping for some recognition, some shift in his expression. But his gaze never leaves the paper. He remains seated at the table, sifting through it as if nothing has happened. His eyes flicker toward Nico’s cry, and then he sighs, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “You gonna shut that baby up?”

The words strike like a cold slap. You feel the frustration well up, but you swallow it down and manage a tight smile. “I’ll go do that, dear,” you reply, the words a mere formality, as you turn away to deal with the mess the morning has stirred up.

You walk down the hall and into the nursery, the sound of Nico’s cries getting louder the closer you get. As you open the door, the sight of him sitting up in his crib brings a mixture of exhaustion and tenderness. His tiny face, scrunched in discomfort, softens when he sees you. His cries instantly stop, and he breaks into a soft, happy giggle, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

The moment he giggles, your heart catches. He’s so small, so innocent, and so full of life that it feels like the weight of everything else can be pushed aside, if only for a second. You smile down at him, reaching into the crib to scoop him up, cradling him close. His warmth calms you, even if only for a moment, and you allow yourself to breathe deeply, letting go of the noise and tension of the house.

Breakfast is finally on the table, and the smell of it fills the air, but there’s little time for you to savor it. You sit at the table, holding Nico in your arms, spooning bits of soft cereal into his mouth as you try to keep him content. He gurgles and kicks his little legs, his tiny hands grasping at the spoon with more interest than his actual hunger. You smile down at him, but there’s no real time to enjoy the moment—there’s too much to do. The clock ticks away, each second pulling you closer to the time you need to leave.

Your husband finishes his breakfast quickly, pushing his chair back with a slight scrape of the legs on the floor. Without a word, he stands up, grabs his jacket from the back of the chair, and heads for the hallway, likely to get ready for church. The sound of his footsteps fades as he disappears into the bedroom, leaving the weight of the morning all on your shoulders.

You sigh softly, trying to focus on the task at hand. As Nico babbles happily in your arms, you turn your attention to the chaos at the table. Madison is finishing her last bite of toast, Kimberly is poking around at her bowl of cereal, and Jayden is already starting to squirm in his seat, clearly done with his food. You give them all a look, your smile warm but tinged with the exhaustion that’s been building all morning.

"Alright, let’s get you gremlins ready for church,” you say, your voice light despite the underlying tension. The kids look at you, their faces a mix of anticipation and the remnants of sleep. They all seem to know the drill by now—church means more clothes, more brushing, and a little less time to play.

Madison, always the helpful one, hops off her chair and starts gathering her things, ready to get dressed. Kimberly follows her lead, mimicking her older sister with enthusiasm, while Jayden, still too small to fully understand, just starts to wander around, his small feet pattering against the floor. You can’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, even as you feel the weight of everything pressing in.

You gently place Nico back in his high chair, making sure he’s secure, before standing up and walking toward the kids' room to get them dressed. The day is already slipping through your fingers, but as always, you push forward, taking one step at a time.

Once the kids are dressed and ready, you finally slip away into the bathroom, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. The room is small, the air still carrying the faint scent of lavender soap and baby powder. For the first time this morning, you are alone. No tiny hands tugging at your clothes, no cries demanding your attention—just you and your reflection.

You take a deep breath, turning toward the mirror. Your dress is simple yet elegant, the fabric soft against your skin as you smooth it down over your hips. The color compliments your complexion, bringing a subtle warmth to your tired features. You reach up, your fingers slipping through the tight coils of your hair, adjusting a few stray curls that frame your face. No matter how much you try to tame them, they always have a mind of their own. Some days, you find it frustrating. Today, you don’t have the energy to care.

You take a step closer, examining the woman staring back at you. There’s exhaustion in your eyes, dark circles just barely concealed beneath a thin layer of makeup. You tilt your head slightly, searching for something beyond the weariness—something that still feels like you. But before you can dwell on it for too long, a voice slices through the brief moment of peace.

"Can you hurry up!" your husband’s voice rings from downstairs, sharp and impatient. The sound grates against your nerves, making your shoulders tense involuntarily.

You exhale slowly, gripping the edge of the sink for just a second longer before forcing yourself to let go. One last glance in the mirror, one final adjustment to your dress, and you step away. The moment of solitude is over. Time to go.

You step out of the bathroom and make your way into the living room, smoothing out your dress once more as you enter. The morning sunlight filters through the windows, casting a soft glow over the room, making the scene feel almost peaceful—almost.

Madison is the first to notice you. She turns from where she’s standing near the couch, her big, expressive eyes lighting up as she takes you in. A wide, toothy grin spreads across her little face as she hurries toward you, her small hands reaching for the fabric of your dress.

"You're beautiful, Momma," she says sweetly, tilting her head as if she’s admiring you like one of her storybook princesses.

Your heart swells at her words, a warmth spreading through you despite everything weighing you down. You crouch slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Thank you, baby," you murmur, brushing a stray curl away from her face.

Before you can savor the moment any longer, your husband strides toward the front door, his heavy footsteps echoing through the space. Without a word, he pulls it open, letting the morning air rush inside.

"Let's go," he says curtly, his voice lacking the warmth you just shared with your daughter.

You swallow down the sigh threatening to escape and straighten up. Turning back to your children, you gently herd them toward the door, checking to make sure their little shoes are on properly, their clothes are neat. Jayden clutches your hand tightly, his tiny fingers wrapping around yours like he’s afraid to let go. Kimberly trails just behind, still clutching a toy she refused to leave behind. And Nico, bundled in your arms, lets out a soft coo, entirely unaware of the tension surrounding you all.

With everyone gathered, you follow behind your husband, stepping outside into the bright morning light. The crisp air greets you as you carefully help the kids into the car, making sure seatbelts are fastened and little legs aren’t dangling awkwardly.

The ride to church is fast. Too fast. The silence in the car is thick, heavy uncomfortable in a way that makes your chest feel tight. No one says anything. Not Madison, who usually chatters about everything she sees out the window. Not Jayden, who often hums under his breath when he's content. Even Kimberly, your little mischief-maker, sits quietly, uncharacteristically subdued.

Your husband keeps his eyes on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel just a little too tight. You stare out of the window, watching the world blur past, your own thoughts just as tangled as the curls on your head.

The church appears in the distance, its tall steeple standing against the sky like a quiet reminder of the place you’re heading a place of worship, of peace, of reflection. But as the car slows to a stop in the parking lot, you can’t shake the feeling that none of those things will come easy today.

"Welcome," the pastor greets warmly as you step inside with your children. His kind eyes sweep over your little ones, offering them a gentle nod before turning to the next family arriving behind you.

Your husband barely acknowledges the greeting, already walking off in another direction where to, you don’t know, and frankly, you don’t care. You exhale softly, adjusting Nico in your arms before scanning the room for an open seat.

You find one near the middle of the congregation and begin making your way toward it, guiding Madison, Jayden, and Kimberly along. But just as you step closer, your movements falter. Someone’s already sitting there.

Abby.

She’s leaning back slightly, her muscular frame relaxed in the wooden pew, her expression unreadable. Your breath catches for just a moment, your mind instantly flashing back—to the last time you saw her. The last time you spoke. The last time her lips were on yours.

You don’t say anything. You simply lower yourself into the seat beside her, placing a pacifier in Nico’s mouth to quiet his soft babbling. The warmth of Abby’s presence lingers at your side, almost palpable, yet neither of you move.

"Y/N," she finally says, turning toward you, her voice softer than you expected.

For the first time in days, you glance up at her really look at her. It’s brief, fleeting, but your eyes meet, and the unspoken weight of everything that has happened sits between you.

You don’t answer. Instead, you give her a small, polite smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Before she can say anything else, your husband appears beside you, settling into the pew with a heavy sigh. His presence feels like a shift in the air, pressing down, suffocating.

And that’s when the pastor begins his sermon.

Abby slides a folded piece of paper toward you, the slight rustle barely audible over the pastor’s voice. Your fingers hesitate before picking it up, unfolding it carefully beneath the shield of the table.

Are you gonna continue to ignore me?

The words are scrawled hastily, but they hit like a hammer to your chest.

You swallow, your grip tightening around the note as your eyes flick up to her. Abby doesn’t look away. She holds your gaze, her expression unreadable, but there’s something there—something expectant, something frustrated. She places a pencil in your hand, her fingers brushing yours for the briefest second, sending a jolt up your arm.

You inhale sharply, turning your focus back to the paper. The weight of everything of the sermon, of your husband’s presence, of your children sitting beside you presses in on all sides. But still, your fingers move.

I don’t know, Abby.

You hand the paper back without looking at her.

There’s a pause, long enough for you to hear the scratch of the pencil as she rereads your words. You can feel her reaction before you see it—the way her body tenses ever so slightly, the way she shifts just a little away from you, like your words pushed her back.

You don’t turn. Instead, you stare ahead, eyes settling on Madison, who sits with her hands neatly folded in her lap, the picture of a little lady in public, soaking in every word from the pastor. Meanwhile, Kimberly and Jayden fidget beside her, their tiny bodies struggling to keep still, feet kicking lightly against the pew.

Your husband's glare burns into the side of your face, his displeasure a silent but suffocating presence. You place a gentle hand on Jayden’s lap, shaking your head in a quiet warning. He stops immediately, Kimberly following suit, though the restless energy still hums beneath their tiny limbs.

Nico shifts in your arms, his small body pressing closer as he buries his face into your chest, his breathing slowing.

You exhale softly, rocking him just a little, grounding yourself in his warmth.

Beside you, Abby is still.

The note is gone.

But the words between you feel louder than ever.

Minutes pass, the weight of the sermon pressing down on you, but your mind is anywhere but the words being spoken. The steady hum of the pastor’s voice fades into the background as a gentle touch brushes against your arm. The warmth spreads across your skin, slow and deliberate, and for a second, you think you imagined it.

But then it happens again—soft, lingering.

Your breath hitches as you glance down, watching as Abby’s fingers trail featherlight along your forearm before she subtly intertwines her hand with yours. Her grip is firm yet careful, as if she’s testing how far she can go, how much you’ll allow.

She doesn’t look at you.

Her eyes remain ahead, fixed on the pastor, her expression unreadable. But her thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles against the back of your hand, grounding you in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Your stomach twists.

You should pull away. Your husband is right beside you, just inches away, unaware of the way your fingers are slotting so easily between Abby’s. The air feels too thick, too dangerous, like one wrong move could bring the whole world crashing down around you.

But your heart is screaming something different.

You want this. You want her.

For the first time in a long time, something as simple as holding hands feels like breathing again, like being seen. Like being wanted.

But then Madison’s laughter echoes softly from the pew beside you, the sound pure and innocent as she giggles at something Kimberly whispers in her ear. Jayden kicks his feet against the bench, restless, while Nico sleeps soundly against your chest.

Your babies.

They need stability. They need a father.

Your throat tightens as guilt claws its way up, drowning out the desperate ache inside you.

But Abby? She doesn’t let go.

And when you finally turn your head, meeting her gaze, she’s already looking at you—her face bathed in soft, warm light filtering through the stained-glass windows. A quiet, knowing smile tugs at her lips, as if she already knows what you’re thinking.

As if she’s willing to wait.

The pastor’s voice shifts. It’s subtle at first, but you notice it immediately. The words coming from the pulpit are still about marriage, but there’s a sharp edge to them now, a condemnation of something unsaid, something hidden.

“Marriage, the sacred union between a man and a woman,” he begins, emphasizing each word as if he’s driving a point home. “A covenant made before God, one meant to reflect His love, His plan. Yet, we live in a world where many try to twist that meaning, where people think they can redefine love, change what’s holy to fit their desires, to suit their will.”

You feel your chest tighten. It’s not loud, but it’s there like a dark cloud forming in the room. You glance at Abby, whose hand is still gently resting on yours, and for a moment, you feel the weight of the pastor’s words sink in like an anchor. The tension in the air is palpable.

“Some people believe that love can exist outside of what God intended,” the pastor continues, his voice thick with disapproval. “That love can be shared between anyone, regardless of the bounds He set. But the truth remains: God’s word doesn’t change, and His truth is eternal.”

A quiet chill runs down your spine. The words are directed at you, at what you’ve been hiding, at the way Abby’s hand feels in yours, so natural, yet so wrong in this moment.

You try to focus on anything else, but the room feels suffocating. You hear the faint rustling of the papers your husband is flipping through, unaware of what’s happening around him, and for a moment, you wish you could disappear.

“There are those who take what is sacred and twist it into something unrecognizable, to fit their desires and pleasures,” the pastor’s voice rings out, almost louder now. “But don’t be deceived. What is unnatural cannot stand in God’s eyes. What is not meant to be will crumble under the weight of its sin.”

You feel a wave of panic surge through you. The pastor’s words sting, each one a direct hit to something deep within you. You want to pull your hand away from Abby’s, but the weight of the moment keeps you frozen in place. Your heart is racing, a knot of guilt tightening with each word. This isn’t just about faith or religion anymore it feels like an attack on who you are, on who you and Abby are together.

Abby’s hand moves slightly, as if sensing your hesitation, but neither of you speaks. The tension between you both is thick, but neither of you can break the silence. You don’t dare meet her eyes, terrified of the truth they might hold, terrified of what she might think if she sees the panic in yours.

The pastor’s voice grows louder as he delivers the final blow: “Do not let sin rule your heart, for those who fall into temptation will find that they’ve strayed too far to return. It may feel right in the moment, but it leads only to destruction. And those who partake in it, no matter how much they try to hide it or justify it, will be called to account for their actions.”

You slowly pull your hand away from Abby's, the loss of her touch like a cold breeze against your skin. Your fingers linger for a moment, but then you place your hand gently on Nico, cradling him in your arms as if that will make everything okay. The weight of the pastor’s words presses down on you like an invisible hand squeezing your chest, suffocating you with its intensity.

You glance up at Abby, and her eyes meet yours. There’s a flicker of pain there, an unspoken question hanging in the air between you. She doesn’t say anything, but the hurt in her expression is unmistakable. It's like the connection you had—something so simple, so natural—has been shattered in an instant. You look away, unable to meet her gaze, afraid of what you’ll see in her eyes, afraid of what she might think.

The pastor’s voice swells again, his words cutting through the tension that now clings to the air like smoke. You feel exposed, like a spotlight is shining down on you, pulling everything you’ve tried so hard to hide into the light. Your stomach twists into knots as you try to steady your breathing, but it’s no use. It feels like everyone can see the turmoil inside you, see the truth you’ve been hiding from your family, from your community. It’s all out there now, hanging like a dark cloud over your head.

Nico stirs in your arms, his small hands reaching up for you as if he can sense the shift in your mood. You rock him instinctively, your gaze fixed on your husband, who’s still completely absorbed in the service, oblivious to the storm that’s brewing right next to him. You want to scream, to shake him awake, but instead, you hold Nico tighter, hoping the physical act will somehow center you, make the world stop spinning for just a moment.

The pastor’s words continue to echo in your mind, louder now, as if they’re meant to be a reminder of the sin you’re entangled in. You can feel the weight of the judgment hanging in the air, suffocating any hope you had of escaping it. You glance down at your lap, wishing you could disappear, wishing you could erase the space between you and Abby, wishing you could undo everything that’s happened in the last few days.

But you can’t.

You glance at Abby again, and she’s looking ahead, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her face carefully neutral, but you can’t shake the feeling that she’s fighting something too. The silence between you feels like it’s stretching on forever, thick with the unspoken. Your heart aches with a mix of guilt, longing, and confusion.

The sermon drones on, the words meaningless now, just background noise to the chaos that’s unraveling inside you. The damage has already been done. The secret you’ve been hiding, the bond between you and Abby, has been exposed, even if only to yourself. There’s no going back now

__________

The evening is thick with the hum of forced smiles and conversations you’re not really part of. Your husband’s church friends fill the house, laughing too loudly, clinking glasses, and pretending like everything is normal. But you know better. You know it’s all a façade, and the cracks are beginning to show. Abby is here, of course, a little too present in every corner of the room, her gaze never straying too far from yours. She’s holding a beer, her fingers wrapped tightly around the bottle as she watches you from the couch. Her face is tight with something—anger, frustration, maybe even hurt. You can’t tell, but you feel it, like an electric pulse connecting the two of you.

Nico is asleep in his crib, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening the air. Your other three kids are outside in the backyard, playing with the other children who came over. They’re lost in their own little world of laughter and shouts, and for a moment, you allow yourself to wish you could be as carefree as they are.

But instead, you're stuck playing this role. The perfect wife, the dutiful hostess, the one who smiles and serves.

“Y/N, get me another beer,” your husband’s voice cuts through the noise of the room, his tone sharp and demanding, as though he believes that’s the least you can do. You don’t argue. You don’t have the energy to.

You nod, giving a soft “Yes, dear,” and walk over to the kitchen, trying to move like it’s just another task, another thing on the endless list you’ve been given. You grab a beer from the fridge, your hands shaking slightly as you twist the cap off. The cold metal in your palm feels like a lifeline—something tangible you can hold onto, even as everything around you feels wrong.

You walk back into the living room, handing the beer to your husband without saying anything. He takes it without a second glance, already absorbed in a conversation with one of his friends. You should feel relief, but instead, it’s just another reminder of how little you matter here. He’s not even looking at you. Not really.

"I’m gonna get the chips from the pantry. I’ll be back," you say, your voice too bright, too forced. It’s a lie, but it’s the only way you can escape.

You don’t wait for a response, just turn and walk away before he can demand anything else. You move quickly, almost too quickly, towards the pantry. Your heart is pounding now, the quiet thud of it growing louder in your ears with every step. The last thing you want is to stay in that room, to be near Abby, to feel her eyes on you, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and things left unsaid.

When you slip into the pantry, you push the door closed softly behind you, the darkness offering a momentary escape from the chaos of the house. You rest against the shelves, taking a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. For a few seconds, you let the silence wrap around you, the stillness almost comforting. But then the reality of the situation crashes back down on you.

Abby. The way she’s been looking at you. The way her presence alone feels like a weight you can’t lift. You should have handled things differently. You should have said something. Done something. But all you can do now is hide, just a little longer. Just enough to breathe.

You wipe your hands on your dress, trying to shake off the nerves. You know you can’t stay in the pantry forever. You know you have to go back out there, back to your husband, back to the role you’ve been cast in. But for just a moment, you let yourself be still. You let the noise from the party fade away, as if this tiny space could give you a breath of freedom.

Until you hear it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps. Heavy, deliberate steps approaching the door. Your heart skips a beat. The door opens, and Abby walks in, closing it behind her with a soft click. She stands there, taking up the small space between you and the shelves, her eyes not leaving yours.

Neither of you says anything at first. The silence is thick, almost oppressive. You both know exactly why you’re here, why you're in this cramped, dark space away from the prying eyes of the party, away from everything that’s been gnawing at you all evening. The tension that’s been simmering for hours finally finds its release, but it’s more suffocating than freeing.

“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” Abby says, her voice low but sharp, cutting through the quiet like a knife.

You don’t answer right away. You can’t. The words feel stuck in your throat, tangled in the mess of everything you’re feeling. Instead, you cross your arms over your chest, refusing to look at her directly. Your eyes are locked on the rows of canned goods in front of you, as if they hold some kind of answer.

“I’ve been busy, Abby,” you say, your voice a little too defensive, a little too brittle.

Abby lets out a bitter laugh, a sound that’s not at all amused. Her gaze burns into your side, and you can feel the weight of it even without looking. “Busy? Really?” she says sarcastically, her tone dripping with disbelief. “Is that what you’re going with? Because I’m pretty sure you’ve been busy avoiding me, not just the damn chips.”

You wince, the words hitting harder than you’d like to admit. Her voice cuts through you—like she’s reading you, peeling back the layers you’ve been trying to hide behind. She knows. She knows exactly what you’re doing.

“Why are you doing this?” Abby continues, her voice quieter now, but there’s still a sharp edge to it. She takes a step forward, closing the distance between you two, though you don’t move. She doesn’t touch you, but her presence is almost too much to handle. “You can’t keep pretending, Y/N. Not with me, not with yourself.”

Your breath hitches. Her words rattle something deep inside of you, something you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. You know she’s right. You’ve been running from this, from her, for so long. But the world outside this pantry—the world with your husband, the role you’ve played for years feels like a trap you can’t escape from. Not yet.

“I’m not pretending,” you say, though you know it’s a lie. You’re pretending to be someone you’re not. You’re pretending to be someone your husband wants, someone your kids can rely on. Someone perfect. But when Abby looks at you like that, when she makes you feel seen, truly seen, you realize how far from perfect you really are.

“You are, though,” Abby replies, her voice softer now, but the pain in it cuts through you. “You’ve been pretending for so long that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to just be... to just feel.”

Her words hang in the air, and for a moment, all you can hear is the faint sound of the party in the other room—the laughter, the chatter, the clinking of glasses. It feels distant, like a world you don’t belong to anymore.

You want to respond, to say something, but the weight of it all crushes your chest. Abby’s still watching you, her gaze never wavering, waiting for you to answer. You feel like you’re standing on the edge of something, and if you move even a little bit, you’ll fall.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you say, your voice trembling. The words feel foreign, like you’re speaking someone else’s truth. You wish you had more to give, more to offer, but all you feel is exhaustion.

“I want you to talk to me and stop avoiding me,” Abby says, her voice quiet yet firm, as she leans in closer, invading the small space between you both. Her eyes lock onto yours, unreadable but full of intent. “You’ve been weird since that kiss at my house.”

The words hit you like a wave. Your heart stutters in your chest, and suddenly, everything feels too much. The kiss, that kiss plays over and over in your mind, but hearing Abby bring it up like this only makes you tense up. You instinctively turn your head away from her, feeling the heat rise in your face.

Abby doesn’t let you off the hook. Without hesitation, she reaches forward, her fingers brushing gently against your chin. She tilts your face back to meet hers, her smirk soft but knowing. “If you’re feeling guilty about it, don’t,” she says, her voice low and almost soothing, like she’s trying to take the weight off your shoulders.

Her words land in the pit of your stomach, and for a brief second, it feels like time stops. You’ve been carrying this guilt, this feeling of what am I doing? for days now, but hearing her say it don’t feel guilty is like a brief moment of release. It’s as if she’s given you permission, even if you’re not entirely sure what that permission means.

You look up at her, your thoughts spinning. Abby’s gaze is steady, unflinching, but soft. She doesn’t look at you with judgment. Just understanding. A part of you wants to pull away, but the other part of you—the part that feels so exhausted from holding everything in—just wants to let go, to let her in.

You stand there, caught between two worlds—one where you're still clinging to the role of the perfect wife, and the other, where Abby's presence pulls you in directions you never thought you'd go. The tension crackles in the air, thick and palpable, and for a moment, you feel paralyzed. You want to speak, to let everything out, but the words are locked behind a wall in your throat. The silence stretches between you, suffocating, and it feels like the longer you stay silent, the harder it becomes to break the stillness.

Abby doesn't let the silence grow too long. She takes a small step closer, the space between you narrowing until you can feel the heat of her body radiating against yours. Her hand hovers near yours, just a breath away, as if she's waiting for you to make the first move, to close the gap, to break down the wall you've put between you two. It's a silent invitation, one that you feel deep in your bones, but you're not sure if you're ready to cross that line.

“I know this is hard,” Abby says, her voice barely a whisper, yet it cuts through the tension. It’s soft, but carries an edge of determination. “But you can’t keep running, Y/N. You don’t have to keep pretending.”

Pretending. The word hits you like a punch to the gut. That's exactly what you’ve been doing—pretending everything is fine, pretending that you can hold everything together while you're suffocating. You want to argue, to tell her that it’s not that simple, that it’s too complicated to walk away from everything you’ve built. But the words don't come. The weight of her words is enough to stop you in your tracks.

“I know it’s not easy,” Abby continues, her voice steady, but the quiet urgency behind it is clear. “But you deserve more. You deserve to be happy. And your kids deserve to see you happy too. They’re gonna grow up seeing the way you are, and they’ll start to think that this—” She gestures between you and  behind her, “—is normal. That this is okay.”

Her words lodge themselves in your heart. The thought of your children growing up, learning from you and believing this chaos is what love is supposed to look like, breaks you open in ways you didn’t think possible. You’ve always tried to protect them from it, tried to shield them from the anger, the cold distance, but Abby’s right. They’re learning from you. They’re watching everything, and if you don’t change, if you don’t do something, they’ll grow up thinking this is how relationships are supposed to be. That thought claws at you, making your chest ache with a mix of guilt and pain you can't escape.

“I don’t know how to leave,” you finally say, the words barely a whisper. Your voice trembles, and your hands begin to shake. “I don’t even know where to start.” The weight of everything presses down on you, suffocating. How do you walk away? How do you leave when you’ve spent so long trying to keep the facade intact?

Abby steps forward, her presence steady and calming. She reaches for your hand, her touch gentle, but firm. Her thumb brushes over your knuckles, and it’s enough to make you pause, enough to make you feel like you’re not completely alone in this. “I’m here,” she says softly, her voice so much more than just words. “I’ll help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Her words are a lifeline, but they bring a new kind of fear. What if you do this? What if you let go of everything you’ve known? Everything changes the moment you reach for her, the moment you accept her help. And yet, as much as you’re scared, there’s something inside you that’s telling you this might be the only way to breathe again. That you deserve more than what you've been settling for.

“I... I’ll think about it,” you whisper, your voice wavering, unsure but desperate for change.

The silence hangs in the air, but it’s different this time. It’s not the suffocating kind you’ve come to know; instead, it feels like the world is suspended, waiting for something to happen. There’s a shift between you and Abby, something unspoken but undeniable, and for a brief moment, everything feels still. You can almost hear the beating of your heart in your ears, drowning out the noise of the world outside.

And then, just as you begin to think you’re safe, as if you can breathe again and maybe just keep the world at bay for a little while longer, Abby steps forward. There’s no hesitation, no second guessing. She closes the distance between you with quiet certainty. Her hand reaches out, her fingers brushing your arm lightly, sending a wave of heat through you.

Without a single word, she leans in. The space between you shrinks, and then, her lips are against yours. The kiss starts soft gentle, like she’s testing the waters, unsure of how far you’ll let her go. But it doesn’t stay tentative for long. It deepens almost instantly, as though it was always meant to be this way, as though both of you have been waiting for this moment your whole lives. You can feel it—the raw urgency in the way she pulls you closer, the electricity that builds with every second.

Abby’s hand moves up to cup your face, her touch warm and steady, and suddenly, everything falls away. The walls you’ve built around yourself, the guilt, the fear, all of it crumbles. There’s no room for any of it now. It’s just the two of you in this moment, the weight of everything else fading to nothing. She kisses you with an intensity that steals your breath, a kiss that’s more than just a physical connection. It’s an unspoken promise, an understanding that says, I see you. I’m here.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself go. You let the world outside disappear, and you let Abby pull you deeper into the kiss, into this uncharted territory. The pull between you is magnetic, a force that feels both terrifying and liberating, and you let yourself surrender to it, not caring about the consequences. You feel seen for the first time in forever, like she’s holding you in a way no one else ever has.

When the kiss finally breaks, you’re left breathless, your chest rising and falling quickly as you try to regain some semblance of control. Abby pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes searching yours, her gaze soft but filled with something more, something that makes your heart race all over again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers, her voice low and full of conviction.

You don’t need her to say anything more. At that moment, you know. You know that whatever happens next, whatever the future holds, you don’t have to face it alone. For the first time in a long time, you feel like you can breathe.

second part done the third part will be the final part so if you wanna be tagged let me know Ⓒ︎ seulszn

[gingerteafairy]

Hii, you could do some Dave doing. Where the reader has curly hair, and she has always told Dave to define their curls, so one day they try it and he likes it. So every day before she goes to school she goes to his house to do it. that has a lot, a lot of lint.

I've always imagined Dave as the silly boyfriend who is so in love that he lets himself be done by his girlfriend, so why not

hi! sure, he's definitely like this. as a curly hair girl, that's basically the dream goal. hope you like it!

𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

tags n warnings: fluff, dave lizewski x reader. word count: 1.6k masterlist

Dave considered your hair a masterpiece. It was so defined, so mesmerizing. It was impossible not to want to touch it, and he felt honored to be the only person you allowed to mess up the perfect finish just a little. But he wasn’t the only one admiring the curls, because you loved Dave’s curls too, and that was exactly why you knocked on his door an hour before school.

"Babe, what the hell are you doin' here this early?" he groaned, still half-asleep, opening the door and squinting through his glasses. He had that look of someone who was very much not a morning person.

"I came to give you a really good surprise," you said, your voice full of excitement, stepping inside and immediately getting out of the freezing cold air outside.

"Really?" he perked up, rubbing his eyes as he walked past you to close the door. He came back and wrapped you up in a hug, not letting go as you made your way into the kitchen. As you walked, he inhaled deeply, clearly appreciating the scent of your curls. "What is it?"

You set the bowl on the counter and pulled off the cloth covering it. "Voilá."

Dave leaned his head over your shoulder to peek at what you were hiding. "What is this?"

"Cinnamon rolls," you explained, slipping out of his embrace and moving around the kitchen with a confidence that made it feel like you lived there—partly because you practically did at this point. You opened cabinets, pulled out flour, and grabbed a cutting board. From your backpack, you pulled out a rolling pin and a small bowl filled with a shiny, thick liquid.

"Is that the filling?" Dave asked, clearly intrigued as he leaned over to get a better look. "Smells amazing."

"Yep, we’re gonna spread it on the dough, and you’re gonna help me," you said, smiling sweetly as you motioned for him to join you. He nodded enthusiastically, ready to dive in.

Making cinnamon rolls at the crack of dawn wasn’t exactly Dave’s idea of a perfect morning, but seeing how excited you were, he felt this weird urge to get involved in your little surprise. You’d always talked about how cool it would be to cook together on a date. But really, you couldn’t have chosen a better time?

"You’re gonna roll out the dough with this pin, spread the filling, and make little rolls," you explained, demonstrating your technique.

"Like this?" Dave asked, raising an eyebrow, his hands moving with surprising skill.

"Exactly like that!" you said with a big grin, grabbing some more dough. "You’re good at this, Dave. You’ll make a great helper for my next surprise."

"Wait, there’s more?" he groaned dramatically, raising an eyebrow as he finished shaping another roll.

"Oh yeah, and the cinnamon rolls will be your reward," you teased, noticing the dough was almost finished.

"Alright, alright," he grinned, still playing along. Minutes later, the rolls were shaped perfectly, and you placed them in the oven.

"Now, Dave, we’ve got the baking time to work on the next part of the surprise. Let’s head to the bathroom," you announced with a playful glint in your eyes, heading up the stairs. Dave followed, still a little confused.

"You’re way too mysterious," he laughed, glancing at you over his shoulder as you shot him a mischievous smile. "See? This is what I’m talkin’ about."

Once inside the bathroom, you closed the door behind you. You pulled your backpack off your shoulder, rummaged through it, and pulled out two containers, holding them up for him to see. "You're gonna shower and wash your hair with this."

"Is this part of the mystery, or are you gonna tell me what this stuff is?" Dave asked, his curiosity growing as he took off his glasses and set them down on the sink.

"You’ve always said you love my hair, so I figured I’d do yours the way I do mine," you said, raising an eyebrow, expecting him to catch on. But there was a clear look of confusion on his face followed by a shake of his head. "Come on, Dave. Please?" you pleaded, leaning in closer, and giving him your best puppy-dog eyes.

He squinted, pressing his lips together in thought. "Ugh... Fine, why not?" he finally agreed, flashing you a playful smile before pulling off his shirt and getting ready to hop in the shower. He glanced at you over his shoulder as he grabbed the waistband of his shorts. "Gonna stare at me the whole time?"

"I need to make sure you’re doing it right," you said with a straight face, although you could feel a smile creeping up.

Dave mumbled something about being embarrassed under his breath, pouting in that way that made you melt. You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head at how adorable he was.

"Fine, but follow the instructions. Leave the mask on for five minutes, just like it says on the package," you said, giving him one last set of instructions before closing the bathroom door.

"You got it!" he called from inside, and you walked back to his bedroom to wait for him.

You prepared everything you needed: hair cream, split-end repair serum, gel, brushes, microfiber towels—everything to make his hair look perfect. You had to admit, this was so much fun, and you were excited to see the results.

Minutes later, Dave came back, a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping everywhere.

"My hair’s never been this soft, check it out," he said, pulling a lock of his hair to show you. "It’s shiny. Is there glitter in this stuff?"

"Nope, babe. Just a good treatment mask," you laughed, turning away so he could get dressed in private.

"It smells just like those cinnamon rolls you’re making," he said, pulling on the bottom half of his clothes and choosing a shirt. "You can turn around now."

You turned back around and found him sitting on the bed, looking so cute and relaxed. You sat next to him, placing all the hair tools beside him. "Why all the stuff? Don’t you just brush it?"

“No, Dave. And to be honest, I do this every time I get ready,” you laughed, starting to comb through his hair to get rid of any tangles. “My hair doesn’t just get perfect on its own, you know?”

“But it is perfect on you…” he complimented, looking up at you, his eyes locking with yours. “I’m scared I’m gonna look like a damn clown.”

“You won’t, Dave,” you giggled, grabbing a towel to dry off the excess moisture from his hair and continuing to comb. “I’ve always wanted to do this to your hair, you know? Your hair is so beautiful.”

He shook his head slightly, confused. You took some oil in your hands, rubbed it together, and spread it through the length of his hair. Then, you grabbed some cream and worked it through evenly. Finally, you picked up some gel, and Dave raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that?” he asked, his face making a disgusted cat-like expression.

“Gel.”

“I know what it is, but why do you need it?” he asked, leaning in closer to smell it.

“To make your curls last longer,” you explained, applying a little and scrunching it to enhance his curls. “Done! First part's all set.”

“First?” he asked, his voice sounding a little whiny.

You cupped his face in your hands, giving him a quick kiss on the lips before pulling away to look at him. “Just one more step and we’re done, okay?”

“That’s a low blow,” he mumbled, then laughed softly. You grabbed a towel to wipe off the cream that had dripped onto his face, then went for the blow dryer with an attachment. “Now this I have no idea what it is.”

“It’s a diffuser,” you laughed, plugging it in and adjusting the device to work on his hair. “It helps dry the curls without damaging them or making them frizzy.”

“Whoa, this is a whole new world,” he said, his voice full of enthusiasm as he soaked in every moment of this pampering session. You were close to him, giving him special attention to make sure he looked perfect.

“Finished,” you announced after a while, adding a little more split-end repair serum to loosen his curls. “Okay, you can take a look.”

You stepped back so Dave could get up and walk over to the mirror. He touched his curls, laughing lightly and admiring how they turned out. “Wow… it’s like doll hair,” he whispered, pulling at one of the curls with his hand. “It looks like yours.”

“That’s because this is how I do it,” you smiled, walking over to him. “When you do it yourself, just grab a section of your hair and roll it like a cinnamon roll.”

“So that’s why you brought me the cinnamon rolls,” he rolled his eyes, smiling at you. “You’re clever. But just one thing… don’t your arms hurt from doing all that?”

“A little, but you get used to it,” you shrugged, still admiring his curls. The timer on the oven dinged. “The rolls are ready. Let’s eat and head to school.”

“Sounds good!” Dave grinned, and you both made your way to the kitchen. Dave loved the cinnamon rolls, and as always, everything you did seemed to be perfect. You packed some of the cinnamon rolls into a bag to take to school, and Dave grinned. “If I get these rolls every time I let you do my hair, I might just go buy that infuser thing.”

“It’s diffuser,” you corrected him, laughing. “And maybe I can reward you with that.”

That ended up becoming a routine, where you would do his hair every morning before school, sometimes even doing your own hair alongside his. It was kind of a fun little ritual, especially since the day before you’d been too lazy to do yours, and you took the opportunity to spend just a little more time with your gorgeous, curly-haired boyfriend.

[4vanaa]

WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, rafe cameron, 19

summary: y/n left the outer banks years ago, determined to build a life far from the memories of her childhood love, rafe cameron. now a botanist, she's moved on-though a quiet part of her still clings to the past. when an event brings her back to OBX, she's forced to confront the one person she never truly forgot.

cw: none | masterlist | 18 | 20 |

rafeupdates 3h

liked by rafefan, weekndlover, and 25,670 others

rafeupdates Rafe Cameron spotted out with friends tonight in the Outer Banks before his sister’s wedding! He was seen laughing and talking with the group, but fans couldn’t help but notice one mystery girl who had his attention all night. 👀 Who is she??

view all comments

carter_bby WHO is the girl in the black dress bc Rafe was looking at her like she hung the moon

rafeszn nahhh this gotta be the girl he’s always singing about… he’s back home, the lyrics always mention ‘small town’ and ‘should’ve never left’ 👀

rafecameronwifey y’all I’m sick. physically unwell.

user not me abt to deep dive through his following. we will FIND HER.

brooklyn24 lmao let me know what you find bc I need answers.

kildarefan someone in the group tagged a girl on their story but her acc is PRIVATE. this might be her 😭

obsessedoverrafe he better not be soft-launching someone right now bc I’ll actually cry.

carolinagirlxo I’m gonna hold off my jealousy until we have real proof but it’s NOT looking good for us 😭

rafeswife the way he’s staring at her in EVERY clip… like sir blink twice if ur okay

user24 um. y’all. the girl literally has a boyfriend 😭 there’s a pic in someone’s story where a guy has his arm around her.

camrafe WAIT and in another one they’re literally kissing wtf. Rafe why u staring like that 😭

basketballbaby NOOOO NOT UNREQUITED FEELINGS I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY

allthingsrafe no bc imagine being her bf and seeing rafe cameron looking at ur girl like that… I’d simply walk into the ocean.

xorafe wait. didn’t he say in that interview last year that he was in love with a girl who had a boyfriend??? and we all thought he was joking??

xoangelkiss LMFAO NOT RAFE LIVING HIS OWN LYRICS. THIS IS A FANFIC.

abelfan the way we should’ve KNOWN bc he makes music w the weeknd… of COURSE he’s gonna be messy 😭

rafeupdates2.0 hold on bc people are saying her bf isn’t even all that… let’s be so serious.

camwife imagine having rafe cameron writing songs abt u and u still picking some random dude. could never be me

user idk y’all I saw the bf and he’s actually kinda fine, like I lowkey get it 😭

user yeah he’s cuteee I’d be loyal too tbh

angelrafe her man is cute but rafe being obsessed with her is kinda eating… like the plot is juicing rn.

rafesgf watch her be an old family friend or something and we’re all losing our minds for nothing 💀

a/n: ngl i think it’s safer for this story, that i don’t write/update bc the only thing in my head is angst angst. i’m sorry it’s taken almost a month for this chapter but i’m like basically finished drafting the rest of the story so.. i originally wanted to end the story on valentine’s day but yk ill say it’ll be done by the end of the month!!

🏷️: @xoxo-ada @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @sleepiibunniiii @urbrunettebombshell @sideboobrry11 @acidfeens @marleymarleymarleymarley @hadids-world @ursogorgeous13 @louxmcl @cyberkitty1 @pogueprincesa @drewrry @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not

[itsabouttimex2]

Yes! <3 I love the concept of Macaque and Y/N both being yandere for Wukong!!! How do you think they would react when they see Wukong in the future (after Macaque is resurrected) as a retired deity!? With a student (MK)?! Oh I would love to know how they plot to get Wukong back and the punishment for killing Macaque?! I wonder how the other characters would feel about it? Do they know about Wukong’s obsessive/possessive “lovers” or do they think that Wukong is overreacting and see nothing wrong with them?!?!

Our Sweet Sage

(Yandere Y/N and Macaque x Sun Wukong)

Even "just" putting Y/N beside Macaque as a yandere for the Great Sage himself is going to; though perhaps not radically, change the story, because the reader would basically have to be part of the Brotherhood alongside the two Mystic Monkeys (This is assuming Y/N isn't the Long-Armed Gibbon or Red-Buttocked Baboon themselves!) if they and the resident umbrakinetic are working in tandem to snare this lovely simian as their mutual "darling".

The most likely course being ran is that you and Macaque are partners already, on your end spending long loving days in your own little corner of Flower Fruit Mountain, lathing tongue to dark skin and darker fur and secretly, shamefully, simmeringly longing for a brighter hue, counting from hours to minutes to the tortorously long seconds that you spend away from him, sweet, sunny, him. Him, him, him, on your mind and in your heart and struck through the core of your being, leaving the desire to take and have and love.

gold eyes and soft fur and sweet lips and a thousand more "ands" that leave your mind spiraling into a pitch abyss of obsession, too snared to crack these lovesick chains and be content with here and now when then and there are and is him him him with his laugh and smile and perfect fangs that you would feed and nourish to bring happiness to him and only him and never anyone but him because he should be yours like you want to be his and then he would love you like you love him him him him him

Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Future Mate and Husband-To-Be, waiting for a wedding ring and a diamond cuff around both wrists and maybe a chain between them or even a collar and a leash with a shiny golden tag so that EVERYONE will know that- HE. IS. YOURS. and there will be NO EXCUSE!! or FORGIVENESS! if ANYONE or ANYTHING on this wretched and UNLOVING planet dares to touch WHAT! IS! YOURS!

And the one day that you let it slip, the truth fed by wine held in a goblet, only at your sweetly poisonous lips for the fact that it is held by your umbral mate, purring and upon you in arm and leg and tail, wrapped like a snake but twice as toxic, crooning for you to take more and more and more because there's still some love left in his heart for you and inebriation will soften the truth's blow, perhaps, so he quenches you with man's oldest potion.

And then it oozes out, easy and low and sick, "I wish Wukong were here instead~" and Macaque agrees. Because yes, a hundred lives and deaths over, yes, it would be better if the Great Sage were here!

And it starts-

"His perfect fangs-" "And those soft lips-" "All his lovely fur-" "That sweet scent-"

-until neither of you remembers who is saying or has said what, and every loving detail has been remarked upon at least twice, and you both have drained half the cellar, as much as half because you needed to toast to how perfect your mate is, as few as half because you'll need the rest to celebrate a three-way marriage already in the making and there will be hell to pay if the love of your lives is not happy and drunk with you.

You and Macaque. Both. Always. Because even with all the obsessive longing, you still love each other just enough to share, to plot, to scheme in tandem, in perfect, twisted harmony.

The idea is so natural, so blatantly obvious, that you wonder why it never took root before now. You love Macaque, yes, but hardly with every "breath and pulse of your being"- the space in your heart has always had a third shape carved into it, waiting to be filled with warmth, and Wukong, your radiant, incandescent star, was obviously meant to burn there.

Macaque sees it, as clearly through your eyes as he sees it through his own, and though his smirk is slow and knowing, his own claws tighten possessively at your wrists, tail curling at your waist. You are still his, and he is still yours, and now, so soon, so inevitably, Wukong will be something undeniably and mutually owned.

"We'll make it work," Macaque murmurs, voice velvet and honeyed darkness, pressing his forehead to yours. "We'll have to, if we want him."

You lay together, lip to lip and hip to hip, entwined like leeching vines and between you is a plan unfurled like the petals of deadly nightshade.

Sun Wukong, for all his strength and cunning, has a weakness or two-and there is one you both know well. He trusts. He believes in his own charm, his own invincibility, his own legend. And you, oh, you and Macaque, you are shadows and whispers and waiting teeth, predators in love.

And that is a behaviour that persists long after the Brotherhood fails, all through the agony he endures buried under the weight of a mountain built five centuries strong, even after he is stolen away by that damned monk, and... you lose Macaque. Your plans are sunk for at least a few hundred years, and you run off into the night, bunkering down to scurry for scraps of power in order to enact an old ritual.

In return, the king receives a a life of peace, of redemption, of something more than battle and blood.

He retires.

Steps away from the chaos of gods and demons, finds a place to rest his weary soul. Takes a student, even! A bright, eager boy with a wide grin and an open heart, someone to teach, to mold, to guide away from the mistakes of his own past. It’s a good life, a quiet one.

But good is a fragile, fleeting thing.

And the past does not stay buried.

You claw your way back to your partner in obsession, your tether in darkness, and Macaque claws his way back to you. The ritual works. It takes centuries, a hundred whispered incantations and sacrifices, the unraveling of fate itself- but it works.

Macaque breathes again. His heart beats again. His lips curl into that slow, knowing smirk again.

And he asks, first thing, “Where is he?”

Not "What happened?" and not "How long has it been?" and not even "Did you miss me?"- because of course you did, and of course he knows you did. But that's not what really matters. What matters is the third piece of your puzzle. The missing part of your hearts.

Sun Wukong, radiant star and light of your life.

It takes time to get back to him. Macaque has to regain his strength. You hardly have to remind him of all your many plans, to retrace old schemes, rekindle the flames of love, sharpen the edges of your devotion. All you have to do is play nurse, and dream of a happier life when the king is back in your hands. And when you do- oh, when you do- it’s almost laughable how easy the tracking is.

Wukong is right where you imagined he would be, on his mountain with all his little monkeys.

And a student.

A student.

Macaque laughs at first, a low, rasping thing, dark and rich and so very cruel. He leans into you, his tail winding around your waist, his hand finding yours and squeezing. "He thinks he can just play house? Like none of it ever happened? Like he doesn’t belong to us?”

Your heart pounds, your fingers twitch and then curl around the nearest limb, settling deep into black fur. Tamed. The word sours on your tongue, because—no. No, Wukong is not some house pet to be caged by the mundanity of mortal life. He is a king. A warrior. A god.

Your nails bite into his arm and Macaque hums in bitter approval at the raw hatred in your gesture.

You watch Wukong from the shadows, from just beyond the veil of his peace, unseen but ever-present, and every soft moment he shares with that boy, every little laugh and casual touch, makes something ugly and feral curl in your stomach.

He should be yours.

And yet, the king sits there as if he belongs to this- to this false little family, to this child and the friends he dares to call his.

Macaque clicks his tongue. “I bet he hasn’t even thought about us,” he muses, voice lilting, teasing, but you can hear the barely masked venom beneath it. “I bet he hasn’t even dreamed about us.” He leans in closer, the warmth of his fur seeping into your side, breath hot against your skin as his lips brush the shell of your ear. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Your breath shudders, hot and heavy and hateful. You do know.

He needs to be reminded.

He needs to remember.

And if that means tearing him away from this little fantasy, from this fragile, laughable life he’s tried to build- then so be it.

You have a king to collar.

[aziraphales-library]

do you know any fics with aziraphale having chronic pain and crowley taking care of him? there isn't a lot and i really want someone to expand on it more in regards to azi :( thanks!!

We have a #chronic pain tag. Here are some where Aziraphale has chronic pain...

Subtraction by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

After Aziraphale accidentally exhausts himself performing too many miracles, he calls Crowley to come help him.

Sink or Fall or Blink by buckysbears (G)

It's the early days, and Aziraphale hurts. It's the middle days, and Aziraphale hurts. It's the late days, and Aziraphale hurts. He hurts, and it doesn't stop hurting. Sometimes it feels like there's nothing that could make it stop. (Enter one fallen angel.)

The Quality of Mercy by AlineRusu (G)

"Aziraphale had heard the word before. He knew it was invented during the Fall as punishment for those like Crawly who turned away from the Almighty’s Grace. Even so, he wasn’t sure he understood the concept, but Crawly didn’t need to know that." In which Aziraphale's corporation wasn't put together quite perfectly and he learns to accept himself as he is (with Crowley's help.)

at the edge of the water by viperinz (G)

“Hello, dearest. Do you mind miracling a cold pack for me? I’m afraid I can’t focus enough to do it.” Crowley swallows, his eyes wide. He does what he’s asked to do, because of course he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all. He walks to the side Aziraphale is facing, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He hands the cold pack to Aziraphale, who gratefully takes it. “Thank you,” he whispers, and Crowley watches as he puts the pack on his right thigh. Aziraphale sighs in relief, but his face still conveys how much pain he still feels. And, Crowley gets it now. The pain that needed a cold pack, the way that Aziraphale was limping. It was an injury, wasn’t it?

Crowley notices that there's something going on with Aziraphale's leg. He realizes the pain lies deeper than he first thought it would.

First Impressions by DawnOfTomorrow (M)

The first time Crowley saw the most beautiful man in the world, he was… in a bit of a state. Hammered, you could say. The second time he saw the most beautiful man in the world, he was, while not drunk, possibly even more of a mess than when he had been drunk, because he was sitting on the hallway floor of his apartment building, sweaty, covered in paint splotches of various colours, and about 30 seconds from having a nervous breakdown. It all got worse from there.

A Lunch on the Horizon by Inherently_human (T)

Aziraphale and Crowley meet on the day of Aziraphale's first-ever therapy appointment. Their unexpected connection has the promise of blossoming into a kind of friendship neither of the two has ever experienced. They have a lot of growing to do: Aziraphale’s sense of self-worth is as non-existent as his healthy work-life balance, while Crowley is so agoraphobic that the mere thought of going to the supermarket round the corner gives him clammy hands. And he hates clammy hands. It’s not going to be easy and it's definitely not always fun, but it very much helps to have a friend who will say comforting things—or challenge you to a friendly competition to try and get a free lunch out of you. [Or: Basically a QPR slow burn with lots of mental health stuff, fluff, and, for some inexplicable reason, references to the film Ice Age]

- Mod D

[dae-hos-wife]

would you mind elaborating on dae-ho’s breeding kink….. thank you for your service 🙏🙏 if youre able… gnc or gn reader for it 👀… dae-ho driven to breed them even tho they arent female identifying. your fics got me back into x readers 😭

-Make You Mine.-

Kang Dae-Ho x AnyPov!Reader.

[reader is seemed to have male reproductive system. :3]

(req 1/6 :P)

(gn reader !!)

(Warnings: SoftDom!/Rough!Dom Dae-Ho, breeding kink, unprotected sex, slight jealousy if you squint.)

A/N- Ofc! I love this man sm- he'd definitely have a breeding kink js look at himmmm T-T (also ty for the request !! Sorry if it's too OOC-)

[cut off here :3]

Dae Ho loved you. He loved the way you look, the way you talk, the way you walked. The way you even breathed made his heart race in his chest like a teenage school girl in love with.

But, after he met your family something, was added to the mix. See, you had multiple siblings. 4 to be exact. One was.. basically a baby, which your mother had obviously recently had.

Once he saw you cooing and giggling with the baby he stared at you in awe, a feeling of adoration fueled dizziness washing over him, does...he want kids?

No. No he can't have kids, he's..too young..but God..the way you look when you play with your little brother. As if your the happiest you've ever been..he couldn't help but imagine you playing with a mini mix of you and him, running around the house playing a game of tag or something.

"what's wrong?" Your mum patted Dae Ho on the back softly and he tensed up before relaxing his muscles, realising she's not a threat.

"they're..really good with kids.." he mumbles, half under his breath, half at your mother. Smiling to himself but a red tint dyed his face.

"...heh- they sure are. Y/N helps a lot with little Jun-San here, he's only a baby so he needs lots of attention." She says back, smiling as well, obviously proud of how she raised you.

Dae Ho blushed again, and looks at you again, now playing with some Hot Wheels car as Matthew giggled at the little voices you gave for the cars.

He slowly makes his way over to you and plops himself behind you, cross legged as he lays his head on your chest.

"...can we go somewhere..I need to.. ask you something." He mutters in your ear, his warm breath hitting your ear, making you shiver slightly.

"uhm..yeah, yeah of course." You say as a hurried reply before waving a quick goodbye to Matthew and giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead.

"I'll be right back, okay hon-?" You grin at the infant and it giggles back, doing grabbie arms at your mum and she rolls her eyes playfully as she raises him up in the air.

Dae Ho gently takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom upstairs, where he knows people can't hear anything inside.

"..s-so... uh..I saw you with Matthew..uh! Adorable kid- b-by the way!-" he stutters out nervously and goes slightly red, before blurting out as fast as he could suddenly.

"iwaswonderingifyouwanttohaveakid-!!" He basically stutters out plain gibberish and he can tell he has as your expression shows nothing but confusion.

"..what..? Dae..can you go a bit..slower?"

He breathes in softly and breathes out.

"o-okay, so...feel free to say no! But- uh..do you, perhaps want...kids-like..kids kids...like uh.." he mumbles, fidgeting with his fingers and shirt nervously, a nervous tic he has whenever hes scared/ anxious about an outcome.

"oh..! Uh..well- it's kinda a..hard decision and—" you start but he cuts you off needily.

"p-please..i-i don't care if you can't, have them..i-i can try my best..y-you don't know if my cums different-" he whimpers out desperately, wanting to breed you so, so badly. Fuck, he was willing to do anything...

"..i-..Dae...I mean..you can try—" you start to chuckle softly but you get cut off by Dae Ho picking you up and chucking you on the counter and kissing you.

This wasnt his, 'normal' kisses, this was rough, searing. You whimper into the kiss which makes him groan softly.

"b-baby-.." he whispers, pulling away from the kiss reluctantly, a line of saliva connecting your tongues. He presses his bulge against yours and he starts grinding against it slightly.

"..ha-haah.." you moan gently and dig your nose into the crook of his neck and nuzzle it hard, whining like a dog that's just been denied a treat.

"shh..shh baby- don't worry.. I'll- ngh..look after you-" he whispers, trying to keep his own moans in, but they come out as choked, soft sounds of pleasure.

He tugs slightly on your shirt and lifts it over your head, revealing your chest, he whimpers as he begins basically worshipping it with his teeth and tongue, biting gently and licking anywhere he could possibly leave a mark.

"s-sweetheart- lemme-lemme fuck you..breed..you..please-" he whispers against your chest and digs his face into it.

"o-okay- ill- should i-"

"s-say you consent..please—" he whines out softly, God he's so cute..

"i-i consent.." you whisper back and almost immediately you feel your pants get pulled off, he grabs you and pulls you on the floor.

"G-get on top of me—r-ride me—" he says, trying his best not to just grab your hips and rut into you like a man possessed.

You nod softly and quickly straddle the desperate man, and begin to take off his pants too, only a pair of sweatpants, pronouncing his already twitching cock.

He whimpers needily and shivers as you outline the pulsing bulge in his boxers.

"d-darling...d-dont tease.." he whispers and moans softly, almost desperately as he softly humps into your hand, whimpering like a puppy in heat.

You suddenly pull down his boxers and let his ever hardening cock slap against his stomach, drooling precum down it's already soaking shaft.

"aw...you must've been desperate huh?" You coo softly and spit onto your hand, beginning to stroke his cock softly, pumping it slow at first, making him let out soft mewls and curses under his breath as he fucks himself with your hand.

"baby—" he whines softly and tilts his head back, quivering harder as you begin to get faster with your strokes, making it wet and ready for it to just, slip in without any restraint.

"jus' lemme...fu-fuck you...please.." he whispers gently and shivers.

You nod and let go of his leaking cock, as he whimpers in protest, but instead of letting him get used to the feeling of nothing wrapped around him, you begin to lower yourself down on his length.

".. h-hng-..." You feel him start to press into you, and you shiver as he starts to rock his hips up into your soft, tender bounces.

Loud moans and slaps of skin on skin fill the air for a while until you hear gentle desperate words.

"i-i wanna—breed- you— so bad— let me- c-cum inside you..."

He mumbles needily, his thrusts up getting more erratic as time goes on.

"please—im-im gonna cum- please..i-i wanna breed you—breed...my- my beautiful partner...mh-mine— y-your mine—" he slightly growls into your neck and you feel him tense up and dig his nails into your shoulders.

"C-cumming- cumming...i-in...haah...good...hng..." He says, his voice completely stripped of any past dominance.

"..d-dae ho..." You whisper softly, your voice hoarse from the intense ectasy crashing over you like a tidal wave, your orgasm melting through you.

"..i-i love you.." he mumbles and nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

"love you..too.." you mutter back, panting from the strain.

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

For the wip ask game, the crying weeping sobbing getting together (cause it sounds funny)

ooh boy

this one is basically "wow you two are a mess"

It actually started with me writing an argument between them in Japanese. It was the first time I pushed myself to write their whole dialogue exclusively in Japanese before I decided what it meant in English, so it was a big deal for me.

Then, I wrote a doujinshi idea for this argument to happen in.

Basically, Katsuki starts actively wining-and-dining Izuku, being a perfect gentleman, doting on him, inviting him over for homecooked meals, and he thinks he's doing it exactly right, building up to making a move.

On his side of things, Izuku doesn't recognize what Katsuki is doing as courtship. Instead, he feels guilty and useless over how much Katsuki does for him, because he doesn't know how to reciprocate his kindness and companionship in a way that won't reveal that he himself wants more. So his behavior unintentionally reads as him pulling away and rejecting Katsuki, because he doesn't want to ruin what they have with his own selfish desires. Eventually they have this big fight about it and, well, end up crying sobbing getting together XD

Izuku sees himself as lucky to even be allowed in Kacchan's life. He doesn't know how to ask for more, and I think he's probably actually too scared to do it.

He doesn't understand that selfishly demanding the time and attention of someone you love shows them you care and that you want them around. He doesn't see the way other people reach out to him as them caring about him personally, it's simply proof of their virtuous and admirable heart.

Izuku gratefully takes everything Kacchan gives of himself, but he doesn't know how to offer something Kacchan would want in return—because he can't see that they both want the same thing.

And I think it'd be real good for Katsuki and Izuku to realize that they both see themselves as chasing after the other person.

These two are literally playing tag and they both think they are "it." Just chasing each other in circles, failing to grasp that the other person isn't running away, they're trying to keep up.

Thank you for asking about this one!! The whole wip folder collection is now complete! :D

[alpaca-clouds]

How Media Taught Us a Wrong Image of Fascism

Okay, I have seen during the last two or three weeks a couple of posts of the argument going back and forth: "Is this fascism already? Or isn't it fascism? Isn't fascism when there is like people marching with weapons and what not?"

To which I say: No, the people who says this, what you see in America right now, is fascism. Let me tell you as a German. We have... a bit of history with this topic.

But I also can tell you why you kinda have expected some soldiers marching into your capital. And the reason is simple - but also complicated.

Are you ready?

Am I saying it is because of Star Wars? No. It is because of media in general.

See. Here is the thing: Even us here in Germany, we do not learn the real history of the Nazis and the Third Reich. Because... Well, people kinda have an issue confronting one aspect of it: The aspect of where the Nazis were put into power by democratic election. They won the election. They just then made sure that there would no longer be more elections. Something your parliament is working, too.

But there is another thing that kinda gets lost, because in some way we mythologize the Nazis way too much. And I mean, I get it. They are pretty recent, and what they did was so unambigiously evil, that they just make for really good villains in media. But... See, there is an aspect of this, that also gets lost.

Hitler was actually not that "great" in a lot of aspects. And with that I do not mean that he was an angry, evil goblin, I mean that he was also not a good politician, and not good tactician.

But there was one thing he was good at: Aethetics. I mean, what do you expect? He was an artist. And he loved cinema. Which translated into him having a very good understanding of how to construct propaganda.

When you think of the Third Reich, you will probably think of that Propaganda, and nothing else. Because yes, it looks visually stunning. Which is also the reason, why again and again we see that same visual language used in media to signify the bad guys in it.

But this gives us a problem: Our first thought when we hear "fascism" is this aesthetic, rather than any content.

Yeah, here we are again. My good old enemy: How we humans often hang onto aesthetics over the contents. And it is a big issue in this regard.

At the same time it also paints over one other thing: The fact that the Nazis were a bunch of fucking weird little losers.

You know, in 2019, when Jojo Rabbit came out, a lot of people were outraged about the fact that the movie made light of the Nazis. But the fact is: Yes, you should do that. You should make fun of them. Because they are insecure little losers with delusions of grandure. Especially as the movie did it right: It made fun of the Nazis, but not of the horrors committed. This is the right way to deal with it.

Especially as the movie also makes very correct fun of the propaganda. See, in the movie there are some really weird lines. Both of the anti-semitic propaganda, and the pro-Hitler propaganda. Stuff where Jews are described basically like some sort of DnD monster, while Hitler is described as some sort of superhero. But pretty much every one of those lines is actually taken out of actual propaganda. Yes, they were stupid like that.

If you compare Hitler and the Trump-Musk tag team... It is actually really, really similar. They are about as incompetent. Just as they have sadly about the same amount of flat out luck. (See: surviving assassination attempts.)

It is just that we do not talk about how fucking stupid Hitler was anymore. Because that in turn makes everyone else look even dumber. Both the other contries that have allowed that stuff to happen for so long, and then almost lost - and the people who actually voted for that moron and went along with everything without fighting back.

I will leave you with this good old clip from Horrible Histories.

[rovinvelor]

Chapter Two - No Use in Here

Wattpad link 🖇️

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Tags - fluff, romance, SMG34, love confessions, missing pet, SMG4

Summary - After SMG3 reveals the disappearance of his pet EggDog, Both him and SMG4 look for the lost pet. But instead of finding him, they end up getting lost themselves.

—

As SMG4 headed out of the house, the rain suddenly got louder, thunder crashing from afar. SMG4 shivered from the cold as he grabbed his jacket from the coat rack. As he shrugged it on, he glanced at the other beside him.

SMG3 stood there, his eyes fixated on the ground. He seemed deep in thought, obviously worried sick for Eggdog. SMG4 had felt guilty. He approached his partner and put a hand on his arm.

“Hey, you ok?”

He asked, the concern in his mouth clear and dripping.

“I'm fine, scrub..”

SMG3 muttered, shrugging away from his partner. SMG4 sighed at him as he finished knotting his shoes, taking a while to do so. SMG3 scoffed at the stupidity of the blue meme guardian, pushing SMG4 a bit to the side to tie his shoe.

SMG4 blushed softly— Wait. Why was he blushing? This was his ex-rival for God’s sake. He stared at him for a moment, the blush way too visible on his face.

“What? Embarrassed that you can't tie your own shoelace, and got found out? No shame, asshole.”

SMG3 remarked at him, his pride brighter than the sun. SMG4 scoffed at him, the blush fading slightly. He stood up, brushing off the dust on his chest. He stretched his limbs, trying to get the boredom out of his system.

“So.. Where should we start?”

Asked SMG4.

“Well.. I guess we could start around the cafe…?”

——————

The two meme guardians entered the dreary cafe as SMG4 flipped on a light switch. The cafe lit up for a moment before the electricity decided to cut itself off, making SMG3 groan in annoyance.

“Out of all the times to cut the power, they choose now..??”

“Who's they??”

“The power company, duh. Get with the times, scrub.”

SMG4 looked at him, disproval across his face. He grabbed a flashlight he had brought before and switched it on, it's small light illuminating a part of the cafe. Both partners searched around, from flipping tables over, to even opening the coffee machine, with left SMG4 dumbfounded.

“Why the coffee machine??”

“He likes to nap in here…”

SMG3 smiled softly, which was a rare sight, which made SMG4’s heart flutter. He blushed softly, before shaking it off and staring down. He coughed, before speaking.

“Well.. He isn't here, let's look in your roo- secret lair. I meant lair..!”

He added abruptly. He knew how much his purple partner had specifically wanted it to be called ‘Secret Lair’, which he thought was dumb, obviously. He looked back at his friend, a shy expression on his face.

“...Yeah.. “

The two entered the back door as SMG3 walked to his secret elevator. (Well not really, but who are you to judge?) The two descended in silence, not giving each other a single glance. The only sound in the elevator was their soft breathing. The doors pried open to reveal SMG3’s, surprisingly, clean room.

“You've been uh.. cleaning the place?”

Said SMG4, looking to SMG3 with a friendly smile on his face. SMG3 looked at him with a bored expression before scoffing.

“What? You think I don't clean my room? I have average human hygiene, you know. Unlike someone next to me..”

He scoffed, as he walked before him. SMG4 stood there, mouth agape. He had basic human hygiene! What was SMG3 even talking about!?!? He groaned before catching up with the other's search.

After flipping the entire room over, with no avail or trail of where EggDog could be, SMG3 rubbed his temple.

“God Fucking dammit!! Where could he have gone!?”

He grumbled in annoyance, he was seething in rage and worry. SMG4 looked at him with guilt in his eyes, the man was devastated at losing his pet.

“... It'll- be okay! Don't- don't worry! Maybe he snuck out, you know!”

He exclaimed, hoping to get the other's hope's up. SMG3 sneered at him as he stomped out of the room. SMG4 rubbed the back of his head as he watched his friend walk out the door.

“I… should leave him be..”

SMG4 sighed as he sat on the bed.

[utilitycaster]

As someone who dropped off last year because the aimless indecision annoyed me SO MUCH: the tag being filled with people who feel entitled to a happy ending from entertainment "because the world sucks so bad right now and we need it" is making me feel some kinda way. If the world sucks so bad, maybe put half the effort into making it marginally better that you do defending a DND game? Is that a shitty take on my part, or is there some correlation between "happy ending to make me feel better" and "dooming about politics is action actually"

If it's a shitty take, it's a shitty take I share. I have long suspected a lot of the C3 defenders to be variants on Fandom Is Activism, whether it's having a blog where basically all you do is accuse anyone who has any criticism of any of Bells Hells of the form of bigotry that that character would experience; posting all kinds of tankie propaganda while probably still voting after spending months telling your followers not to; making movie lists with two films about the same group white Vietnam war protestors and four animes and then tossing on the most obvious Iranian and Holocaust films in the context of our current political moment; and whatever has led a bunch of white middle-class southern 20-somethings to decide they are the most oppressed people on earth and deeply lacking in representation on a show where half the entirely white cast is from appalachia or the south; all while talking nonstop over countless nonwhite and non-Christian people in the fandom.

I've already said that I don't find overly sweet fluff where everything works out fine despite anything you do comforting - hell, Sesame Street doesn't have that - and if people do want that, might I recommend Hallmark movies, but I suppose it's fine if you do. It's just...man I could have sworn these same people only a few weeks ago were accusing us evil C2 fans of being mad this isn't a comfort show? must have imagined that.

[wizzard890]

Bastian Bellefleur divorce era!!!!!!!????? What happened!!!!!

Bastian: "I'll be honest kitten, daddy's about to kill himself."

Okay he's doing a bit better than that, but boy there has been CHAOS in Bastian's court. Aria (@pyrrhiccomedy) went into it a bit in her tags:

SO HE'S GOING THROUGH ALL THE STAGES OF GRIEF but has really settled into swinging between "anger" and "acceptance" - well okay, maybe more of an acceptance that makes him insane with rage and made him throw his wife out of France and maybe all the way back to the Wood where she came from.

The thing is, Bellefleur and Bastian met when Bastian was twenty-six, furiously resentful and ambitious, and a total naif in the ways of the secret world. He was ready to tear down heaven with her, and she used that to point him in exactly the direction she wanted: a path that, on the other side of total victory, eended with the two of them falling into the jaws of the Emperor Wolf. He was wounded and incensed that she would use him like that, she was affronted and bewildered that he wouldn't think that he'd be willing to die after a thousand years of getting what he wanted.

And BOY did she try to gaslight him in their confrontation; she's gotten so used to using his ego to lead him around that she did indeed think she could get him wrapped back around her finger.

Unfortunately for her, Bastian is now thirty-two, less susceptible to flattery, more furiously resentful and ambitious than ever, and most importantly, has the baddest bitch of all time in his corner.

Olivie literally came to Bastian while Bellefleur was out of town and basically told him that his wife was a fucking snake and that she wanted to let him know that before she, Olivie, walked out on him.

And it all suddenly hit Bastian like a truck that not only was she right about Bellefleur, but that he was on the verge of fumbling the most incredible woman he'd ever had in his life. Olivie, whose future is written in blood and darkness, who sees in her mind's eye throngs of worshipful followers begging for her to use them as a carpet.

That's his woman! That's his ride or die! That's the girl Bellefleur has kept on the outside while she worked on Bastian.

And so Bastian spent the next few months trying to balance being deranged about Bellefleur and Making It All Up To Olivie. It was sort of like watching a guy lose his footing on ice and somehow manage not to fall shatteringly on his ass.

Anyway then Bellefleur came home and Bastian accused her (j'accused, because they're French) of what she had absolutely been doing for years, and when she realized he had her dead to rights she sent a dragon to attack Paris and tried to kidnap their daughter. Oh, and take Innokenti, Bastian's adored blood brother (and boyfriend? don't worry about it) with her, as her sworn champion. Bastian and his court managed to fend off all her efforts, but Jesus.

The Prophesied Rise of the Antichrist:

[gurobitsu]

Hello hello, I’m sorry for doing this anon but it links back to my dead main that I don’t use anymore 😅 I saw your reblog of my Mista backstory rant and the tags reallyyyyyyy interested me, we have a lot of the same ideas! If it’s alright with you, would you be willing to share a more in depth version of it? I’d love to read it! (o^^o)

YIPPEE i’m so happy to hear that!! i pretty much never talk about my own hcs (kinda nervous 😛) so here’s what i got…

* for the gurobits nation keep in mind this is SPECIFICALLY only for mista IN JJBA, usually the mista i draw/my “version”/characterization of him is a completely different au. this is just how i see Him as the Character in the show

⚠️ TW for some sensitive topics !!

guido mista backstory written by yours truly…

* i’ll use an asterisk for when something that’s ACTUALLY from his canon backstory pops up

mista, youngest of 4 (3 sisters who are 10+ years older than him), was born to (unnamed… never headcanoned a name for them…) mother and father in palermo, sicily. i’d picture his mom to be short and stout, and his father tall and bulky. his mother was loving and sweet, but his father was a deadbeat jackass who… wasn’t a good rep for mista, the only other boy in the family. and despite being a caring mother, she couldn’t be a good mother. she couldn’t always be there for her children due to their household already struggling with income, living in a poor part of the city, taking care of 4 children, and verbal/physical abuse from mista’s father. and being a victim, she ended up also contributing to the cycle of abuse but in a neglectful/emotionally unavailable way.

later along the line, mista’s parents divorce and his father eventually goes to prison (either for battery or assault… smth bad but expected). mista is around 10-12 now, and is pretty much told to be the “man of the house”. their way of living was honestly… heavily patriarchal.

* this is around the time his neighbor’s eye got scratched by the cat. he may not have developed a fear of the number 4 because of it, but it certainly made him scared of cats lol. and also! i don’t really think there was any big event that “gave” him tetraphobia. i personally headcanon he has ocd and has always been particular about numbers and patterns in general, and as a kid he learned and observed 2 things: 4th cat went crazy, and he’s the 4th child (at this point in time he began to really hate his life and had become heavily neglected).

he was homeschooled until 14 when he started high school. a very bad student. big jock though. no he did not get along with the ladies, no he was not popular. he was bullied actually. skipped all the time, which is what caused him to drop out. started smoking and sneaking out a lot, quite reckless behavior. not to be “cool” or anything, but just to feel something. he’s honestly always been alone with only a few friends who were neighbours, street thugs, or… dealers

* a funny little thing i like to think is that mista always had long curly hair that went to his neck/shoulders. around 15, he got lice and had to go bald 😭😭 and he hated it and wore a beanie all the time. which is why when we see him at 17 in his backstory, he has a buzzcut (he just decided to continue keeping his hair like that because he thought if he grew it out he’d get lice again) and that damn hat he STILL doesn’t take off (he’s insecure about his hair. i also think he was bullied for his hair BOTH when it was long and after he had to shave it. poor boy)

he left at 16 after dropping out and financial issues in his home. it wasn’t “kicking out” necessarily, his mother didn’t want to, but she couldn’t afford to keep him in the house and his sisters were already beginning to move out. his mother also got in a fight with him the night before about dropping out of school and not getting his life together, so he technically it was also his choice to “run away”. she basically implied she was kicking him out, but he decided to take on the decision for himself (like finishing off what she started i guess).

mista is now homeless. he had frequently stayed either at friend’s places or on the street (upgraded to a tent at one point). eventually, due to mutual connections, he ended up getting close with a group of people who were… up to no good, to say the least. bad, bad people. think narancia’s backstory. but they didn’t treat him badly — just got him into bad situations. lots of drugs. clubs. hookers. started smoking (don’t really think he stops until bucciarati discourages it, but he was never strict enough to make mista quit). and the classic beating up people for money (over clint eastwood. this petty mf 😭). but mista never really saw it as “bad”. he was having fun, making money, had friends, and wasn’t getting abused. in his eyes, at least.

eventually he ended up prostituting(?) himself… like, shin-from-nana style. and that’s how he got places to stay and made good money. often from older women and sometimes men. he never really saw it as “wrong” though, because he didn’t know any better. but he glorified it and thought he was the luckiest guy ever because “ooh they all think i’m mature for my age and are letting me into adult spaces! and i’m getting women! cool!” (no mista you are a victim)

* aaand now he’s 17, with a decent rental apartment. he’s not as close with the “bad” group anymore, kinda stopped being into it. didn’t leave them in bad faith tho (he’s just a chill guy like that… literally “i have no enemies”) (although let’s be real he did NOT need to be put in those situations at that age).

* and then boom ladidadida the same backstory sequence you see in the anime.

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and if all of this was hypothetically canon, we can extrapolate so much more from his personality/character, like:

- hypersexuality due to Exposure throughout his life and especially during his teen years

- lots of insecurity… that never gets talked about because this boy REPRESSES!! doesn’t like showing vulnerability.

- mommy issues and daddy issues

- used to being independent, but DESPERATE for attention and love. but won’t accept that 🤪🤪

- not including hookups, he’s never been in an actual relationship. he’s too messyyyy and has commitment issuessss and doesn’t know what real love feels likeeee

- he’s not a suave playboy he’s a WEIRDO. an oddball. he’s a strange NEURODIVERGENT man with TRAUMA (i mean yeah, he’s a sleazy outgoing flirt, but he does NOT have game)

- he misses his family a lot. especially his mom. he regrets leaving her but he’s too afraid to come back. he doesn’t like facing reality. he’s all for blissful ignorance. a bit selfish, yeah. his family was left to assume he was dead. he wishes he got to enjoy his childhood more. although he was never really able to.

- also he had a family dog. one of his sisters took it though (he’s a dog guy, really likes animals actually. took care of the dog a lot as a kid. that’s kinda why he’s good with the pistols)

- actually like tons of untreated diagnoses holy hell

- i’m probably forgetting more rahhh

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anyways, hope you all like it !!! idk if this is an unpopular opinion but i really do believe mista’s personality is a complicated one. i feel like everyone slightly mischaracterizes him one certain way, even if only slightly (like if he had a route in a dating sim, it’d probably be the hardest one. he’s a messy character). he’s not quite a “himbo”, but he’s not smart either. he’s flirty but he isn’t a charmer either. he’s outgoing but he isn’t a people-person either. i think that’s what makes him so interesting, he’s the most realistic character to me.

that’s honestly why he’s my favorite, he INVOKES something in me and captured my attention in such a way that i HAD to investigate him and understand him further… IK his ass is hiding so much. i’ve psychoanalyzed him so much that i’ve accepted him as an oc atp 😭🫶 can’t let him go…

feel free to share your ideas everypony!! ^_^ i’d love to hear more… (this was super long sorry)