#because he is her SAFE PLACE HE IS HER HOME

[keehomania]

homesick — rcm (18+)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ smut, fluff, minors dni, pining, childhood romance, soft!asshole!rafe, very conflicting lol mb, rafe is an asshole with a soft spot for you, could’ve just said it like that sry, sex is slightly sweeter than what i’m used to writing, i know you don’t need me right now, to you it’s just a late night out

longing for something was the most painful thing you could go through. it was the gray area between loving something and obtaining it, more often than not leaning toward loving rather than obtaining. everybody longed for something, at least once in their lives. you knew you did. you longed for everything you once had, everything that slipped through the cracks of your fingers like grains of sand. sand.

you longed for the feeling of sand beneath your bare feet, the scent of saltwater colliding with a freshly opened bottle of sunscreen, for the feeling of the wind in your hair just one more time. today, you would stop longing for it. you would reach the end of the spectrum after twelve long years and pray it would feel the way it did when things were easier.

the car door creaked open, and you stepped out, blinking as the sun met your face. the morning light was blinding, casting a golden glow over the familiar yet unfamiliar streets. your legs ached from the long drive, but it was the dull throb in your chest that you couldn’t shake. something was brewing in the pit of your stomach, poisoning your soul and making your heart clench. nostalgia.

it coursed through your veins, a bittersweet sensation that left you teetering between comfort and pain. everything felt the same, but nothing didn’t look the same. the sun was just as bright, but maybe there were more people now than you’d anticipated. there were more shops lining the streets, more boats anchored at the docks. more had a knack for being better than less, but the difference didn’t sit well with you.

you locked your car, the sharp click echoing louder than you expected in the stillness of the early morning. you promised yourself you’d return for your things later. for now, you needed to jog your memory. the air smelled of salt and sunblock, a scent so ingrained in your childhood that it almost made you choke up. your feet carried you instinctively, down streets you didn’t have to think twice about, past houses that seemed to carry fragments of your past.

you loved your father, because he was so much more than your father. he was your hero, your role model, the man who checked for monsters under your bed and whispered bedtime stories when you couldn’t sleep. he had a quiet strength about him, the kind that made you feel safe no matter how chaotic the world around you became. he was patient, endlessly so, and always seemed to know exactly what to say, even when there were no words to mend the situation.

he had spent his entire life taking care of you, alongside your mother. together, they had built a world where you never felt the weight of their struggles, only the warmth of their love. your mother was the heart of that world, as much a protector as your father was. she had a laugh that could brighten even the darkest days, and a way of knowing what you needed before you ever said a word. you loved them equally, because there was no father who could do it without a mother there, and no mother who could do it without a father by her side.

but you also loved the outer banks. you loved the place you grew up in, the salty air that clung to your skin, the way the waves crashed against the shore in a rhythm that felt like home. you loved the endless summers, the laughter that echoed through the streets of figure 8, and the friendships that felt as unshakable as the tides. yet, when it came down to leaving it, you did what was necessary.

it was three weeks after your mother had gone on a business trip, one in charlotte, just a few hours away. three weeks. that was all it took for everything to unravel. your father had gotten the call two days before he told you, and you could see the heaviness in his eyes, the way his shoulders carried the weight of a decision he didn’t want to make. but he knew—he knew you couldn’t spare another second there. it was time to leave.

and when the time came, it was done quickly, like ripping off a bandage. nobody could hear of it. even if they did, there was nothing they could do about it. lord knows they tried. ward and rose were the first to reach out, their voices frantic, pleading for answers. you remembered the way your father’s jaw tightened as he ended the call, refusing to explain, to argue, to justify. you had been too young to understand, but old enough to sense the finality of it all.

the last you heard, their family had become somewhat of a mess. the perfect veneer of the camerons had cracked, exposing something raw and broken underneath. you tried not to think about it too much, but it seemed impossible. every street, every house, every crashing wave brought memories rushing back, unbidden and unstoppable. but you pushed them down, telling yourself there was no use in dredging up the past—not yet, anyway.

the houses you passed were a symphony of elegance and familiarity, each one a beacon of the wealth that had defined figure 8 for generations. they stood tall and proud, their façades polished to perfection. you could see the care etched into every detail—the manicured lawns with grass so green it seemed unreal, the trimmed hedges sculpted into geometric shapes, and the vibrant flowers lining cobblestone pathways.

the porches were wide and welcoming, adorned with rocking chairs and hanging flower baskets swaying gently in the breeze. some houses boasted wraparound balconies, their railings painted crisp white, while others had large bay windows that gleamed under the sun, curtains drawn just enough to reveal a hint of the lavish interiors within.

you noticed the details, the things you’d forgotten until now: the way the golden plaques glinted with family names, the faint sound of wind chimes echoing from porches, the occasional bark of a dog from behind wrought-iron gates. it was all so familiar, yet so distant, like a photograph you had stared at for so long that it felt unreal.

as you walked, memories followed, clinging to you like the humid air. they weren’t all of this place—most of them were of him. you had no issue remembering him. the problem was forgetting him, something you could never bring yourself to do no matter how hard you tried.

the memory struck you like a wave. You were six years old, standing in this very neighborhood. your parents had just moved in, and the camerons had wasted no time in welcoming you. you could still see it vividly: rafe, two years older than you, standing with his arms crossed, his nose slightly upturned like he was better than everyone else in the room.

you remembered the way you’d clung to your father’s leg, peeking out only to find his piercing blue eyes staring back at you with a mischievous glint. he was mean, even then. spoiled. his first words to you were, “your hair looks funny.”

your cheeks burned at the memory, the sting of his words fresh even after all these years. you could still hear your mother laughing softly, your father gently patting your shoulder, and ward scolding his son. but then there was sarah. sweet, sunny sarah, who had marched right up to her older brother and smacked him on the arm. “stop being mean, rafe!” she had said with all the conviction her five-year-old self could muster.

and then she turned to you, her eyes wide and sparkling with sincerity. “i like your hair,” she had said, her voice gentle, her small hand reaching out to yours.

“i like yours, too,” you had replied, the tears in your eyes disappearing in an instant.

“wanna be friends?” she asked, tilting her head.

“sure,” you had said, a grin breaking through your tears.

rafe had rolled his eyes then, muttering something under his breath as if he couldn’t believe the exchange happening right in front of him. now, as you walked, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought. it was so vivid, so alive, as if it had happened just yesterday. but you wondered—was he the same? had he changed at all, or was he even meaner now?

the shops along the way were a kaleidoscope of charm and nostalgia. their exteriors were bright and inviting, painted in pastel shades of pink, blue, and yellow, with hand-painted signs swaying gently in the breeze. glass display windows showcased trinkets and souvenirs—everything from handwoven baskets to seashell jewelry and t-shirts with “outer banks” scrawled across them in bold, faded lettering. the aroma of fresh pastries wafted from a bakery, mingling with the salty air and drawing a smile to your face.

you paused at a familiar ice cream parlor, its striped awning unchanged after all these years. the sight of children clamoring for cones, their faces smeared with chocolate and strawberry, made your chest ache. it reminded you of summers spent running through these streets, rafe and sarah in tow, chasing the melting sweetness before it dripped down your arms.

the path narrowed as you moved closer to the beach, the buildings giving way to sand dunes and patches of seagrass. the sound of waves crashing against the shore grew louder, accompanied by the cries of seagulls circling above. the salty air thickened, wrapping around you like an old friend. and then, as the beach came into view, the memory struck.

you had just turned seven, the world still a canvas of endless possibility. you were on the beach with sarah, the two of you crouched in the sand, determined to build the most magnificent sandcastle the outer banks had ever seen.

“we get to be the princesses, right?” you asked, your small hands gripping a bright red bucket as you filled it with wet sand.

“yeah! rafe can be the guard,” sarah replied, her tone decisive as she smoothed out the castle walls.

just a few feet away, rafe sat with his legs crossed, focused on his fishing gear. he had been trying to teach himself to fish, his brow furrowed in concentration as he prepared the bait. ward had given him some of his more expensive gear that morning, clearly hoping his son would find purpose in the sport.

you couldn’t help but frown, suddenly dissatisfied with the childish simplicity of your sandcastle compared to the serious task rafe was undertaking. “i wanna try that, too,” you declared, abandoning your bucket and scrambling toward him.

he barely spared you a glance, scoffing as he tied a knot. “as if. you don’t know how to fish.”

you planted your hands on your hips, standing beside him with a determined pout. “why can’t you teach me?” you challenged, tilting your head. then, with a sly grin, you added, “you don’t know either.”

that got his attention. he turned to you with a dramatic sigh, his face a mixture of annoyance and reluctant amusement. “i know how to fish,” he insisted, standing up and brushing the sand from his shorts. “fine, i’ll teach you. but don’t cry when you mess it up.”

he reached for your hands, his grip surprisingly gentle as he guided you toward the rod. his blue eyes softened, though his voice remained gruff. “first, you hold it like this,” he explained, positioning your hands on the handle. “not too tight, or you’ll mess up the cast. got it?”

you nodded eagerly, your small hands dwarfed by the rod as you mimicked his movements.

“now, watch carefully,” he said, stepping behind you to adjust your stance. his hands covered yours, steady and sure, as he helped you draw the rod back. “when i say ‘go,’ you flick it forward. like this—”

“go!”

the line soared into the water, the bait landing with a soft plop. your face lit up with excitement, and you turned to him, beaming. “i did it!”

he rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a small smile. “barely. don’t get cocky.”

you laughed, unbothered by his tone. “thanks, rafey.”

“whatever,” he muttered, but there was a flicker of pride in his expression as he returned to his spot.

even then, he was a contradiction—tough on the outside, but with glimpses of something softer beneath the surface. as you stood on the shore now, the memory faded, replaced by the crashing waves and the unanswered question: had he changed? or had time only sharpened his edges?

the beach stretched out before you, golden and endless, shimmering beneath the late morning sun. the air was thick with the scent of salt and sunscreen, the sound of waves mingling with the occasional bark of a dog or the laughter of children playing nearby. seagulls circled above, their cries sharp but oddly soothing, a familiar soundtrack to a place you once called home.

you slipped off your shoes and stepped onto the sand, warm and soft, a sensation you hadn’t felt in years. the grains clung to your skin, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. it was as if the beach itself were welcoming you back, whispering that some things never changed, no matter how much time passed.

a crowd had gathered in the middle of the shoreline, their figures blending together in the bright sunlight. you couldn’t make out any faces, but the hum of their voices and the sight of carefree movement filled the air with life. despite the busyness of the scene, the beach itself remained a sanctuary—a timeless, comforting space. the wind tousled your hair, and for a moment, you closed your eyes, letting the nostalgia wash over you. it brought you back to a day much like this one, years ago, when the beach had been alive.

your parents had joined ward and rose for a picnic, the two families spreading out a blanket beneath the shade of an umbrella. everyone had been vibrant, so alive. the adults laughed and chatted over glasses of chilled wine, while you and sarah shared slices of watermelon, sticky juice dripping down your chins. she had her head resting on your shoulder, her blonde hair tickling your cheek as you both giggled over nothing in particular.

“it’s really sweet,” you’d said, savoring another bite.

ward had turned to you with a smile, always proud of his ability to impress. “imported from south america,” he’d explained. “you like it?”

you and sarah had nodded enthusiastically, neither of you having a clue in the world what a south america was. the sweetness of the fruit a perfect match for the sunlit day. but as you turned your gaze toward the water, you noticed rafe sitting alone by the shore. he was quiet, his toes buried in the gentle surf, drawing patterns in the wet sand with a stick. there was a tension to him, a nervous energy that seemed out of place amidst the carefree atmosphere.

you set down your half-eaten slice and rose to your feet, brushing sand from your legs. “i’m gonna go check on rafe,” you told sarah, who only shrugged and returned to her watermelon.

as you approached, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, scoffing lightly. “you’re all sticky,” he muttered, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.

you grinned, unbothered. “are you hungry?” you asked, crouching beside him.

he shook his head, the stick in his hand still tracing lines in the sand. you frowned, leaning closer. “what’s wrong?”

for a moment, he didn’t answer, his usual bravado replaced by something softer. finally, he turned to you, his blue eyes filled with a quiet uncertainty. “i have to tell you something,” he said, his voice low.

“what’s wrong, rafey?” you pressed, your concern genuine.

he fidgeted, the stick falling forgotten into the sand as he reached into his pocket. When he turned back to you, his hand was outstretched, holding a small metal ring. it was simple, almost too small, as though it had once belonged to a charm bracelet—or maybe it was something he’d found in rose’s jewelry box or bought with the few dollars he had.

“what’s that?” you asked, curiosity lighting up your face.

“i got it for you,” he said, his tone serious, almost awkward.

“why?”

his gaze dropped to the sand, his cheeks reddening. “because i’m gonna marry you when we grow up.”

you gasped, your excitement bubbling over. “really?”

“yeah,” he mumbled, looking at you with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. “so, here.”

without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, sticky hands and all. “thank you, rafey!”

“stop, you’re still sticky,” he protested, his voice muffled against your shoulder, but he didn’t pull away.

instead, you took his hand, tugging him to his feet. “come on!” you exclaimed, dragging him back toward the picnic.

as you reached the blanket, you held up the ring proudly. “rafe and i are gonna get married!” you announced, your voice loud enough to draw the attention of everyone there.

rafe’s face turned scarlet, his hands stuffed into his pockets as laughter erupted around you. even rose, who was usually so composed, chuckled warmly at the sight of her son’s flustered expression.

sarah ran to you, throwing her arms around your neck. “yes! you’ll get to be my real sister!” she cheered, her enthusiasm matching your own.

the memory made your chest tighten as you stood on the beach now, watching the waves roll in and out. how simple things had been then, how full of joy and possibility. the weight of the years since that day pressed down on you, and you couldn’t help but wonder: had rafe ever thought about it? had he ever remembered that promise?

the sound of the crowd jolted you from your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. laughter, cheers, and the unmistakable hum of engines filled the air, growing louder with every passing second. Intrigued, you turned toward the commotion, your curiosity outweighing the tranquility the beach had offered moments before.

you wove your way through the crowd, dodging elbows and shifting bodies as you tried to get a better look. the closer you got, the more the scene came into view. dirt bikes, sleek and muddied, were scattered along the sand, their riders gathered near the starting line. the crowd pressed in around them, forming a makeshift arena.

at the center of it all were three men who stood apart from the rest, their presence commanding attention. two of them were on one side, seemingly strategizing. one had curly hair that bounced with every movement, his wiry frame radiating energy. the other was blond and lean, his sharp jawline illuminated by the sunlight. a few feet away stood the third man, tall and broad-shouldered, his blond hair buzzed short. even from a distance, there was a quiet intensity to him that made him stand out.

you tapped the shoulder of the girl beside you, who was cheering loudly. “what’s all this?” you asked, your voice just loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd.

she turned to you, her eyebrows furrowed as if surprised you didn’t already know. “you’re not from here, huh?” she asked.

you hesitated before replying, “not recently.”

“it’s the kildare enduro,” she explained, a hint of excitement in her voice. “biggest race of the summer. you’re in for a show.”

the name didn’t ring any bells, and you realized this must have been something new, something that had started after you’d left. still, the anticipation in the air was contagious, and you found yourself eager to see what all the fuss was about.

engines revved, the sound sharp and exhilarating as the riders mounted their bikes. the crowd roared as the signal was given, and within seconds, the racers were off, their tires kicking up sand as they sped down the makeshift track.

the racers weaved skillfully around obstacles, their movements a blur of precision and daring. the man with frosted tips was quick, taking sharp turns with practiced ease, his bike seeming to glide over the sand. the lean blond wasn’t far behind, his focus evident in the way he leaned into every curve, his bike roaring as he pushed it to its limits.

but it was the third man who drew your attention most. he was fast, incredibly so, his broad shoulders steady as he maneuvered through the course with calculated aggression. every movement was controlled, deliberate, as though he knew exactly how far he could push the bike without losing control.

the race was a spectacle, a blend of more speed, less skill, and pure adrenaline. the crowd erupted into cheers as the racers hit the halfway mark, neck and neck. it wasn’t until the blond man attempted a daring jump over a dune that things took a turn. his landing was rough, causing his bike to wobble dangerously before he recovered. he seized the opportunity, pulling ahead with a burst of speed, but the tall blond wasn’t far behind. they pushed their bikes to the brink, sand flying in every direction as they closed in on the finish line.

just as it seemed the tall blond had the race in the bag, the one with frosted tips made his move, attempting to overtake him on the final stretch. their bikes collided briefly, sending both riders skidding across the sand. gasps rippled through the crowd as the tall blond man capitalized on the chaos, speeding past the lean one to take second place.

the race was over before it even started, but the energy in the air was electric. you found yourself pushing closer, eager to see the aftermath. the tall blond, covered in sand and visibly frustrated, rose to his feet. he glanced toward the lean blond, who was still brushing himself off, their exchange charged with tension. and then he turned.

for a moment, his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. there was something achingly familiar about him—the shape of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze. it was as though you’d seen him before, in another life perhaps, but the memory was just out of reach. your heart raced as he continued to stare, his expression unreadable.

you hesitated as the scene unfolded before you, your gaze fixed on the lean blond. a group of people ran toward him, their laughter and shouts mingling with the lingering roar of the crowd. one of them threw their arms around him, but the others had snapped like a twig, shoving him, yelling at him. you couldn’t help but stare, curiosity hitting you.

the realization hit you—you stuck out like a sore thumb, gawking as if you didn’t belong, and you probably didn’t. you started to shift back into the crowd when a gentle touch on your shoulder jolted you. you spun around, your heart leaping into your throat, and froze.

she didn’t need a single word of introduction. the familiar honey-blonde hair, the sharp yet kind eyes, the bright smile etched into your childhood memories—it was unmistakably her.

“sarah?” the name tumbled from your lips before you could stop it.

her eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth as if to stop herself from crying out. shock rippled across her face, her features softening and trembling all at once. she didn’t say a word, not at first. she just stood there, eyes scanning your face like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

then, suddenly, her arms were around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. “oh my god,” she breathed, her voice quivering with disbelief. her grip was strong, desperate, as though letting go would make you vanish again.

the eyes of her friends were on you, you could feel their curious stares, but you didn’t care. at least now, you knew it was really her.

“sarah,” you repeated, your voice cracking. the name felt strange on your tongue after so many years, but it was real. she was real.

“it can’t be you,” she whispered, her breath hitching. “it can’t be.” she pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands gripping your shoulders as tears pooled in her eyes. her gaze darted across your features, her trembling lips curving into a smile of disbelief. “it’s you,” she said again, shaking her head, her voice catching in her throat. “it’s really you.”

tears blurred your vision, your chest tightening as you threw your arms around her this time. you held on tightly, suppressing the sobs clawing at your throat. “sarah,” you said again, her name a lifeline tethering you to the moment.

“are you—are you back?” she asked breathlessly, pulling back just enough to search your face. her voice was thick with emotion, her words tumbling out in a rush. “are you back for good?”

“i am,” you managed, your voice shaky but sure. “i’m back, sarah. for good this time.”

she laughed through her tears, pressing a hand to her chest like she couldn’t believe it. “you have no idea,” she began, her voice breaking, “how much i’ve missed you. how much we’ve missed you.”

she turned then, gesturing toward her group of friends who had been watching the reunion unfold. “guys, this is,” She paused, the words catching in her throat as she turned back to you, her eyes still wide with disbelief. “this is my best friend growing up. this is—”

you gave them a nervous smile as sarah continued, her excitement bubbling over. she rattled off introductions, naming each of them—jj, the boy with the shaggy blonde hair who had lost the race; john b, whose gaze lingered on you with a kind curiosity; and a few others who smiled warmly despite the obvious confusion etched on their faces. they greeted you with nods and hesitant smiles, but you barely registered it. your heart was pounding, your focus still tethered to sarah.

then, almost without thinking, you asked the question. “is rafe here?”

sarah’s face shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her features. you noticed jj and john b exchange a quick glance, something unspoken passing between them.

“he was just here,” sarah finally said, her voice quieter now, almost cautious. “racing.”

the realization hit you like a wave, the memory of the second racer—the tall blond with the piercing blue eyes—crashing over you. your breath caught in your throat as the pieces fell into place. the familiarity you’d felt, the tension in his gaze—it had been him.

you blinked, the realization sinking in deeper than you wanted it to. that had been rafe. older, rougher around the edges, but still undeniably him. you barely heard sarah when she grabbed your hand and said, “come on, let’s head back to john b’s. we can talk there.” her friends nodded, beginning to walk, and you followed them automatically, your feet moving on instinct as your mind raced. sarah walked beside you, her hand gripping yours like she was afraid you’d disappear again.

the walk to john b’s house stretched longer than you anticipated, the weight of sarah’s questions and the unfamiliar tension in her friends' eyes making the air feel thicker than it should have. the sound of your footsteps crunched against the gravel path, each step sinking deeper into the realization that you were walking into a life that no longer felt like your own. the salty breeze carried the faint scent of bonfires and ocean spray, and yet it did little to settle the nerves curling in your stomach.

sarah had stayed close, her hand brushing yours occasionally as if afraid you might disappear again if she didn’t tether you somehow. you glanced sideways at her, taking in the subtle changes in her features—she was still sarah, but her edges had softened, her face more weathered by years of joy and hardship than the carefree girl you’d once known.

when the small house came into view, you nearly stopped in your tracks. it wasn’t the grand estate where you used to sit on the veranda sipping iced tea or sneaking snacks with sarah when ward wasn’t looking. it was modest, its weathered exterior standing in defiant contrast to the glossy life sarah had grown up in. surfboards leaned against the porch, the peeling paint whispered of simpler days, and the scent of fried food wafted from an open window.

“this is where you live now?” you asked softly, unable to mask the disbelief in your tone.

sarah hesitated, then nodded. “yeah,” she said, her voice carrying a mix of pride and resignation. “it’s home.”

you didn’t say anything else, but you couldn’t help wondering what had happened to bring her here. what had pulled her away from the life you once knew?

inside, the house was alive with chatter and movement, the kind of casual chaos you could only find among close friends. jj had thrown himself onto the couch, beer in hand, while kiara rummaged through a drawer for something. john b stood by the kitchen, leaning against the counter, his eyes flicking between you and sarah as if trying to read the situation.

but sarah didn’t let you linger in the room’s atmosphere for long. she tugged you toward the porch, where the sound of the waves was clearer, the salty breeze brushing against your skin. you sank onto the steps beside her, the wood warm beneath you from the day’s sun. for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“how could you?” she asked suddenly, her voice breaking the stillness like a clap of thunder.

you turned to her, startled. “what?”

her gaze was locked on the horizon, her hands gripping the edge of the step. “how could you just leave? how could you stay quiet for twelve years?” her voice trembled, her pain spilling out in waves.

you swallowed hard, the knot in your throat tightening. “sarah, i—”

“you didn’t even say goodbye,” she interrupted, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “you just disappeared. do you have any idea what that did to me? to all of us?”

your breath hitched, and you looked down at your hands, unable to meet her gaze. “i didn’t have a choice,” you said quietly.

her head snapped toward you, her expression a mix of confusion and anger. “what does that even mean?”

“something happened,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “something horrible. and i couldn’t stay. i had to face it.”

her anger melted away, replaced by a sorrow so deep it made your chest ache. “what happened?” she asked softly, her hand reaching for yours.

you shook your head, biting back the emotions threatening to spill over. “i can’t talk about it. not yet.”

she nodded slowly, her fingers tightening around yours. “okay,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. “but promise me you’ll tell me one day.”

“i promise,” you said, your voice cracking under the weight of the moment. the silence returned, heavier this time, until you found the courage to break it. “what about rafe?”

her breath caught, and she pulled her hand back, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “what about him?”

“i need to see him,” you said, your heart pounding.

kiara’s voice cut in from the doorway, sharp and unflinching. “you don’t want to do that.”

you turned to her, frowning. “why not?”

“because nobody here is friends with rafe,” she said, her tone laced with bitterness.

you turned back to sarah, your stomach sinking. “what does she mean? what happened to him?”

sarah’s expression darkened, and she looked away, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the wood. “he’s not the same,” she said finally. “he’s gotten into some bad things. drugs. crime. hurting people. he’s not the rafe you remember.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut, the air rushing from your lungs. “no,” you whispered, shaking your head. “that can’t be true.”

“he tried to kill me,” sarah said, her voice trembling. “he’s different now.”

you stared at her, your mind racing, memories of the boy you once knew flashing before your eyes. without thinking, you stood, your chest tight and your breathing uneven. “i need a minute,” you muttered, stepping off the porch.

“wait,” sarah said, her gaze dropping to your hand. her brow furrowed as she leaned closer. “you still have that?”

you followed her gaze to the small metal ring on your pinky, its once shiny surface now dull and worn. “i haven’t taken it off,” you said quietly. “not once these twelve years.”

her breath hitched, and tears filled her eyes. “he gave you that,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

you nodded, your throat tightening. “he did.”

she reached out, her fingers brushing against the ring. “even after everything?”

you swallowed hard, the weight of the ring heavier than ever. “especially after everything.”

her tears spilled over, and she pulled you into a hug, her breath shaky against your shoulder. “we’ll find him,” she said softly. “we’ll fix this. somehow.” but as you pulled away, the doubt lingered in her eyes—and in yours.

your walk was slow, your feet dragging against the dusty path as your mind swirled with thoughts of what sarah had told you. the crisp evening air nipped at your skin, and the faint hum of crickets filled the silence. your fingers brushed against the cool metal of the ring on your pinky, twisting it around absentmindedly as you tried to piece together how everything could have gone so wrong.

the roadside bar loomed ahead, a place frozen in time. its weathered wooden sign creaked faintly in the breeze, illuminated by a flickering neon light that buzzed softly. this was a place your father and ward used to frequent, their laughter and hushed conversations floating in your memory like ghosts. you hesitated for a moment, gripping the ring tighter before pushing open the heavy door.

the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke hit you first, the dim light casting shadows that danced across the scuffed wooden floor. the low murmur of voices and the crack of pool balls filled the room, but the moment you stepped inside, it felt like every pair of eyes turned to you. men leaned against the bar, their gazes lingering a little too long, and a few heads turned in the corner where a card game was underway. your pulse quickened, and you adjusted your stance, trying not to show the nerves that prickled beneath your skin.

you found an empty stool near the bar and slid onto it, the worn leather cool against your legs. the bartender, a woman with kind eyes and a bright smile, approached. she leaned slightly over the counter, her voice warm. “hi, sugar, what can i get you?”

her friendliness put you at ease, and you adjusted yourself on the stool, thinking back to the times you had sat on your father’s lap here as a child, the smell of whiskey and tobacco clinging to his clothes. you tried to remember what he would order, something simple, something that wouldn’t make you stand out.

“just a beer, thanks,” you answered, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your chest.

she nodded and moved to grab a bottle, setting it down in front of you with a napkin. you paid, sliding the money across the counter, and took a sip, the bitter taste grounding you in the moment.

as you sat there, you let your thoughts wander. you thought about sarah’s words, about how rafe had spiraled into a person you could barely recognize. you thought about the ring on your finger, its weight heavier now than ever, and how you’d kept it on all these years as a symbol of a bond you once thought unbreakable. the sound of the door opening barely registered until you heard the voice.

“gin straight.”

it was deep, rough, and unmistakable. your stomach churned, your breath caught in your throat, and before you could stop yourself, you turned.

there he was, standing a few feet away at the bar, his profile sharp against the dim light. his buzzed hair was shorter than you remembered, his jaw more defined, but it was the same face that had haunted your memories for over a decade. he turned slowly, almost as if he could feel your gaze on him, and when his eyes locked onto yours, the world seemed to tilt off its axis.

it all stopped. the noise, the movement, the air in your lungs. everything came to a grinding halt as his piercing blue eyes met yours.

“rafe,” you exhaled, so quietly you weren’t sure if the word even escaped your lips, but it did.

his gaze stayed on you, unblinking, unreadable. for a moment, he didn’t move, as if frozen in place. then, hesitantly, he stepped closer. you held your breath as he reached out, his hand brushing yours as he lifted it to inspect the ring on your pinky.

he turned your hand slightly, his thumb grazing the metal as his jaw tensed. the silence between you was deafening, his face a mixture of disbelief and something you couldn’t place. but then, as quickly as he had reached for you, he let go, your hand falling limply to your side.

“rafe, please,” you said, your voice louder this time, tinged with desperation.

“no,” his response was barely audible, but the weight of it crushed you. he shook his head, stepping back. “no, you don’t get to do this.”

you blinked, your heart breaking at the quiet finality in his tone. “do what?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“you don’t get to come back after twelve years and act like everything’s the same,” he said, his voice low but sharp. “you don’t get to look at me like that.”

he grabbed his jacket from the stool beside him, abandoning the drink he’d ordered. you reached for him, stepping closer, but he moved away, his movements hurried, as if he couldn’t get out fast enough.

“rafe, wait!” you called after him, but he didn’t stop.

the door swung shut behind him, and you were left standing there, your heart in pieces on the scuffed wooden floor. you sat back down slowly, your hands trembling as you picked up your beer, the cool glass doing little to steady your nerves. tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, unwilling to break down in front of the strangers still watching you. the ring on your finger seemed heavier now, its meaning twisted and warped by the person rafe had become.

the world seemed to turn on you as you staggered along the dirt path, the alcohol buzzing in your veins far more than you'd intended. you cursed under your breath—why did you even drink in the first place? the bar was supposed to be a brief stop, a distraction. now, here you were, stumbling through the outskirts of town, hopelessly lost.

the cool night air pricked your skin, and you wrapped your arms around yourself for warmth. trees loomed overhead, their branches tangling into an almost suffocating canopy as you ventured deeper into unfamiliar woods. your steps were uneven, crunching against the dry leaves and snapping twigs underfoot. the stillness was eerie, broken only by the distant sound of crickets and the occasional rustle of something unseen.

you didn’t realize you had stopped until you heard faint voices carried on the breeze. they were low, hurried, almost conspiratorial. your muddled brain told you to turn around and leave, but something else—a mixture of curiosity and recklessness—drew you forward.

as you approached, the silhouettes of two figures came into view, faintly illuminated by the pale moonlight breaking through the trees. one was shorter, stocky, with buzzed, dark hair, a mustache, and a chain glinting around his neck. he was gesturing animatedly, his hands moving with the urgency of someone trying to make a quick deal. the other man stood taller, his broad shoulders stiff, his body language more guarded. it wasn’t until your unfocused gaze settled on his profile that your breath hitched in your throat.

even through the haze of alcohol, you could recognize him. the strong jawline, the tense set of his shoulders, the way he ran a hand through his short blond hair—it was unmistakable. but this rafe was different. the sight of him clutching a small, crumpled bag of powder made your stomach churn.

your eyes darted between the two men, trying to piece together the scene in front of you. money exchanged hands, crisp bills slipping from rafe’s grasp to the other man’s. the bag of powder followed, its stark white contents nearly glowing in the faint light. your chest tightened as the reality of what you were seeing hit you. a twig snapped beneath your foot.

both heads snapped in your direction instantly, their movements sharp and alert. rafe’s eyes widened, his entire body tensing as he registered your presence.

you took a step forward, anger and disbelief swirling together in a volatile mix. “really, rafe?” the words came out harsher than you intended, but you couldn’t stop them. “this is what you’ve been up to?”

the shorter man frowned, his expression shifting into one of irritation. “excuse me,” he said with a mocking edge, “this is a private transaction.”

you ignored him, your focus locked on rafe. he sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face as if trying to summon patience. fully turning to you, his jaw clenched tight, he spoke with a tone that brooked no argument. “this doesn’t concern you.”

“who's this, country club?” the dark-haired man asked with an amused smirk. “got yourself a girlfriend?”

rafe didn’t answer, but the anger in his eyes was unmistakable. it wasn’t just anger—it was frustration, shame, and something deeper, something raw.

your own emotions bubbled over. “you know what? fine.” you reached into your pocket, fumbling for your wallet. “i’ll join the fun. i want some too.”

rafe’s reaction was immediate. he grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but not painful, his eyes boring into yours with a mixture of disbelief and fury. “what the hell are you doing?”

“what?” you shrugged, yanking your arm free as you pulled out a few bills. “you can have fun, and i can’t?”

he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a furious hiss. “you think this is fun?” his eyes darted to the other man, who was now watching with an amused grin, clearly entertained by the unfolding drama. rafe’s attention snapped back to you, his expression dark. “i’m dealing with shit, okay? now, i know you’ve been gone for a while, but this—” he gestured around him, his tone bitter—“this is the way things are now.”

you let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “dealing with shit? this is your solution?”

rafe clenched his jaw, his hands flexing at his sides. for a moment, it seemed like he might say something, but instead, he abruptly slammed the small bag of powder onto the ground, startling both you and his associate. without another word, he grabbed your arm, yanking you away from the scene with a force that left no room for argument. the shorter man called after him, his voice dripping with annoyance, but rafe didn’t even glance back.

you wrenched your arm free from rafe’s grasp, the momentum staggering you backward a step. his grip had been strong, almost desperate, and as you finally stood still, you took him in.

the years hadn’t been kind, and yet, they had. he was sharper somehow, more defined. his jawline was stronger, his shoulders broader, but his eyes—god, his eyes. the bright blue you remembered so vividly had dimmed, clouded over with something you couldn’t quite name. he looked good, and yet, he looked like a man you barely recognized.

“what the hell is your problem?” the words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice sharp and cutting.

rafe was already pacing, his hands on his hips, his head tilting back as he let out a bitter laugh. he dragged his palms down his face, his movements frantic, unstable. “what’s my problem?” he repeated, his voice laced with mockery. “let’s see, what’s my problem?” he turned to face you, his expression twisted with something you couldn’t quite name—anger, hurt, disbelief, maybe all of it at once. “maybe it has to do with you, showing up after twelve years.”

his words hit like a slap, but he wasn’t done. “i mean, what’d you think? that we’d hug, hold hands, shed a few tears? that it’d be like old times?” his voice rose as he took a step closer. “after you left? after you left?”

the weight of his words made your chest tighten, guilt curling in your stomach like a living thing. you opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off, his voice growing louder, more unstable. “you thought we’d just pick things up where we left off? are you that delusional?”

he leaned in close, his face inches from yours, and jabbed his fingers against his temple as if trying to make sense of it all. his words spilled out in a rushed, angry torrent, each one hitting you like a blow. “you left, and you stayed gone. you didn’t call, didn’t write. hell, you didn’t even think to check if i was still breathing.”

“she died, rafe,” you said, your voice cracking under the weight of your words.

the sentence stopped him mid-rant. his pacing halted, his brow furrowing as he turned to look at you, truly look at you, for the first time. “what are you talking about?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less intense. “who died?”

your chest tightened, and it took everything in you to speak the words aloud. “my mom, rafe,” you said, the pain evident in every syllable. “she died, and we had to go back. we didn’t have a choice. and when we did, we couldn’t face coming back here. it was too much—it’s still too much.”

rafe’s face crumbled, the anger draining from his expression as sorrow took its place. he ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping to the ground as he processed your words. your mom. the woman who had always cared for him in ways his own mother never had. the woman who had bandaged his scraped knees and made him dinner when rose was too busy entertaining guests. she was gone.

the silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. finally, rafe spoke, his voice softer than before. “why are you back?”

you swallowed hard, your hands trembling at your sides. “i came back for you,” you answered, your voice steady despite the tears welling in your eyes.

for a brief moment, something in his face softened—something familiar, something achingly rafe. but then he shook his head, his gaze hardening once more. “don’t,” he murmured, almost a plea. “i’m not the same person anymore, and i haven’t been for a long time.”

“i don’t care, rafe,” you shot back, your voice rising with desperation. “nothing could ever change the way i see you. please—”

“stop.”

“no,” you interrupted, your heart breaking with every word. “i know you, rafe. i know who you are underneath all of this. you’re still the same boy i grew up with, the same boy who—”

“stop!” his voice cracked, loud and raw, silencing you. he took a step back, his chest heaving as he struggled to keep himself together. “you don’t know me anymore. you don’t know what i’ve done, what i’ve become. you don’t want this, trust me.”

“i do,” you insisted, tears streaming down your face. “i want you. i came back for you because i never stopped caring. please, rafe, just—”

“i can’t,” he said, his voice breaking as he turned away. he grabbed his jacket from the ground, his movements hurried and clumsy. “i can’t do this.”

“rafe, please!” you called after him, your voice echoing through the trees. but he didn’t turn around. he walked away, his figure disappearing into the shadows, leaving you standing there, shattered and alone.

your knees gave out, and you collapsed to the ground, sobs wracking your body. the ache in your chest was unbearable, like someone had reached in and ripped your heart out. you buried your face in your hands, the cold dirt beneath you offering little comfort. your head throbbed, the pain sharp and unrelenting. the world around you spun, the trees and stars blending together into a dizzying blur. and then, everything went black.

rafe clutched the steering wheel with both hands, his knuckles white as he sped down the dark, empty streets. the tears that streaked his cheeks blurred his vision, but he didn’t care. he couldn’t stop the flood now. this was his only safe place to fall apart—behind the wheel, alone in the cocoon of his car, where no one could see, no one could judge. his chest heaved as sob after sob broke free, and the memories he had buried for so long clawed their way back to the surface. he could still see it, clear as day. the moment everything changed.

he had been eleven years old, standing on your porch, knocking on your door. it had been like any other day—he’d woken up with a plan to drag you outside and teach you something new. maybe you’d climb trees together, or he’d show you how to skip rocks at the creek. you always lit up when he taught you something; it made him feel like a hero.

but when no one answered the door that day, his excitement faded to confusion. he tried again, banging harder, calling your name. still, nothing. the house was eerily quiet, no muffled footsteps, no voices, no sound of the television in the background. he glanced around, noticing for the first time that your father’s car wasn’t parked in the driveway. his heart sank. something felt wrong.

he pushed the door open—it was never locked back then—and stepped inside. the air was still, heavy, as though the house itself had lost its heartbeat. “hello?” he called, his voice echoing faintly. othing. no one. rafe felt panic prick at the edges of his chest as he backed out of the house and ran down the street to his own. when he slipped through the side door, he heard voices. quiet, tense, the kind of voices that told him he wasn’t supposed to be listening.

he crept toward the living room, where his mother and father were standing close, their voices low and hurried. rose’s arms were crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line as ward leaned in closer to her, his face drawn with worry. sarah sat on the couch, her small shoulders shaking as she cried into her hands. rafe froze in the doorway, staring at them.

ward was the first to notice him. his father’s eyes softened, the corners of his mouth pulling into an expression rafe rarely saw from him—sympathy. “dad,” rafe said quietly, stepping further into the room. “she wasn’t home, so i came back.”

he glanced at sarah, confused and a little scared. “why’s she crying?”

rose and ward exchanged a look, a wordless conversation passing between them. finally, ward sighed, walking over to his son. he crouched down, his large hands resting on rafe’s small shoulders. “she’s not going to be home for a very, very long time,” ward said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

rafe frowned, trying to understand. “why not? where’d she go?”

ward didn’t answer. instead, for the first time in as long as rafe could remember, his father pulled him into a hug. a real hug, not the kind meant to placate or perform, but one that felt like comfort. one that made Rafe’s chest ache because he didn’t realize how much he needed it.

“i know it’s hard, son,” ward murmured against his ear. “but she’s gone now.”

rafe let his father hold him that day, clinging to the one solid thing he had as his mind raced to comprehend what “gone” meant. the realization hit later, slowly and painfully, when day after day, week after week, he knocked on your door and was met with silence. for a whole year, he went back, hoping, praying that one day you’d answer. but you never did.

and now, twelve years later, you were here again. like a ghost, like a dream he’d stopped believing in. rafe wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, pulling himself out of the memory as he glanced to the side. his heart clenched when he saw you slumped in the passenger seat, unconscious. your face was pale, your body limp, and the sight made him grip the steering wheel harder.

he took a shaky breath, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer. you looked so small, so vulnerable, like the girl he used to know and the stranger you had become all at once. “i'm sorry,” he whispered, the words catching in his throat as he turned his gaze back to the road.

the world was hazy when you opened your eyes, the faint, warm glow of a lamp on the bedside table guiding you back to consciousness. your head throbbed, the dull ache intensifying with each second, and for a moment, you weren’t sure where you were. slowly, you blinked, your vision sharpening. the room around you felt familiar.

a large bed cradled you in its softness, the smooth fabric cool against your skin. the lamp’s golden light cast gentle shadows on the walls, illuminating a painting hanging across from the bed—a serene coastal landscape you swore you’d seen before. beneath the painting sat a neat stack of white drawers. the faint sound of cicadas chirping outside suggested it was night, but how long had you been out? an hour? two? you brought a shaky hand to your temple, pressing lightly against the pounding pain in your head as you tried to piece together how you got here. then you saw him.

rafe was sitting on the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, his hands clasped together as if he were trying to hold himself together. his eyes, red and puffy, were fixed on you, his expression a mixture of relief, guilt, and something deeper—something unspoken. your lips parted, your voice faint as you murmured, “rafe.” the sound of his name felt foreign on your tongue, yet familiar, like a forgotten melody.

he didn’t respond immediately, just continued to watch you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

“rafey,” you whispered, your voice cracking as your senses fully returned. the nickname slipped out before you could stop it, dragging you both back to a time when things were simpler, softer. a time when you’d tug on his sleeve and call him that, and he’d groan in mock annoyance, but secretly love it.

to your surprise, he smiled—small, fragile, but real. “you haven’t called me that in a long time,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges but warm in a way that made your chest tighten.

you shifted, straightening your back and sitting up to get a better look at him. the movement made you grimace as your headache flared, but you ignored it. you couldn’t think about yourself right now—not when he was here, not when he was looking at you like that. you must be a mess, you thought. your hair was probably tangled, your makeup smeared, and your clothes wrinkled from sleep. but if rafe thought so, he didn’t show it. his gaze remained steady, unwavering, as though you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“i’m sorry,” you blurted, the words escaping like they had a mind of their own. your throat tightened, and the floodgates opened before you could stop them. “i’m so sorry, rafe.”

your voice cracked as the first tear fell, and then another, until they were streaming freely down your cheeks. the weight of years of guilt and regret crushed you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

“please, don’t cry,” rafe murmured, his voice soft and pleading. he climbed into the bed beside you, reaching out to gently wipe your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. his touch was tender, careful, like he was afraid you might shatter. he had never enjoyed seeing you cry. not when you were kids, and certainly not now.

“i couldn’t have stopped it, could i?” you choked out, your voice trembling. “i could’ve helped you, but i wasn’t there. i left you, rafe. i left you, and look what happened.”

his hands cupped your face, tilting it upward so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. his blue eyes, raw and filled with emotion, bore into yours. “of course you could’ve,” he whispered, his tone tinged with something like sorrow. “nobody could’ve stopped me, but you.” your heart clenched at his words, the truth of them cutting deeper than any blade.

“but,” he added, his thumbs brushing away the fresh tears that streaked your face, “it’s not your fault you weren’t here. you couldn’t have known.” he leaned in slightly, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “you’re here now,” he whispered, his voice steady, reassuring.

you nodded, the lump in your throat too big to speak around. his warmth seeped into you, his presence grounding you in a way nothing else could. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close until you were cradled in his lap. your head rested against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat calming the storm inside you. for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. it was just you and rafe, tangled together, trying to piece each other back together.

he shifted slightly, his hand brushing against yours, and his gaze dropped. his fingers stilled when they grazed the small, tarnished ring on your hand. “i can’t believe you’ve kept it all these years,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

you looked down, following his gaze to the ring he’d given you all those years ago. it was simple, unassuming, but it had meant everything to you.

“it’s all i had left of you,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

rafe’s fingers closed around yours, lifting your hand to his lips. he pressed a soft kiss against the cool metal of the ring, then another against your knuckles. the tenderness of the gesture sent a fresh wave of tears streaming down your cheeks.

“you’ve got me now,” he said, his voice low and certain. he placed your hand against his chest, directly over his heart. your breath hitched as his gaze locked onto yours. his eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up, searching for permission. you gave it with a barely perceptible nod, and in the next heartbeat, he leaned in.

the kiss was soft, hesitant at first, as though he were afraid of breaking the fragile moment. but as your lips moved against his, the hesitation melted away, replaced by something deeper, something more desperate. his hands cupped your face again, tilting it just right as he kissed you like he’d been waiting twelve years to do it. and maybe he had.

your hands found their way to his shoulders, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that had shifted beneath your feet. his lips were warm and soft, moving with a purpose that made your heart race. time seemed to stretch, the rest of the world fading into nothing as you lost yourself in him. it wasn’t rushed or hurried; it was slow, deliberate, filled with all the emotions you hadn’t been able to say out loud.

the moment lingered, your foreheads pressed together as your breaths mingled in the quiet intimacy of the room. rafe’s hands stayed on your face, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks as if he were memorizing every inch of you. his blue eyes burned into yours, filled with an intensity that made your heart race and your stomach flutter.

his lips brushed yours again—tentative, almost like a question. when you didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, the motion slow and deliberate. his lips moved against yours with a softness that contradicted the desperation in the way his hands held you, like you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

your fingers slid up from his shoulders, tangling in his hair as you tilted your head, giving him better access. he took the invitation greedily, his kisses growing bolder, more insistent. his hands left your face, one settling at the base of your neck while the other pressed gently against the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

when he finally broke the kiss, you were breathless, your lips tingling from the way he’d kissed you like he was afraid it might be his last chance. but he didn’t go far. his lips found your jaw, pressing soft, lingering kisses down its curve. “rafey,” you murmured, your voice barely audible as your head tilted instinctively, giving him more room.

the sound of his nickname, the one only you were allowed to use, on your lips seemed to spur him on. his kisses trailed lower, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear, where his lips lingered, warm and soft against your skin. a shiver ran through you, and you felt his smile against your neck, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“tell me to stop,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. but there was no hesitation in his voice, no real expectation that you would.

“don’t stop,” you replied, your fingers tightening in his hair.

he groaned softly, the sound low and rumbling, sending a wave of heat through you. his lips continued their journey, trailing down the column of your neck, his kisses deliberate and unhurried. he paused at the base of your throat, pressing a kiss there that was more reverent than anything else, like he was worshipping you.

your breath hitched as his lips moved lower, brushing against your collarbone. his hands shifted, one sliding to your waist, the other splayed against your back, keeping you anchored to him. his lips lingered on your collarbone, the warmth of his mouth contrasting with the cool air of the room.

“rafe, please,” you whispered again, your voice trembling.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with something you couldn’t quite name. his thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch gentle despite the fire in his gaze.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice raw and earnest.

a tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught it with his thumb, shaking his head slightly as if he couldn’t believe you were here, in his arms, letting him hold you like this.

“you don’t have to cry anymore,” he whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to the opposite side. “i’ve got you now. you’re not going anywhere.” his words settled in your chest, a balm to the ache that had been there for years. you believed him. you felt it in the way he held you, the way he kissed you, the way he looked at you like you were his entire world.

his lips found yours again, this time softer, slower—like he was savoring you, trying to memorize the feel of you against him. his hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair as his other hand rested at your waist, keeping you steady.

you melted into him, your hands gripping his shoulders as his warmth enveloped you. he kissed you like he was afraid to rush, as though he wanted to take his time and show you everything he couldn’t put into words.

when he pulled back, his lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. his thumb brushed your cheek, his touch impossibly tender.

“i’ve thought about this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “about you. about us. for years, i thought i’d lost you for good.” his blue eyes searched yours, his vulnerability shining through.

“i’m here now,” you replied softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “and i’m not going anywhere.”

he let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours as if grounding himself in your presence. “i don’t deserve you,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “not after everything i’ve done, after the person i’ve become.”

your heart ached at his words, at the pain you could hear in his voice. you cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “rafe,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. “you deserve love, just like anyone else. and i’ve always believed in you. always.”

a tear slipped down his cheek, and you caught it with your thumb, your heart breaking and mending all at once. he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if he was letting your words sink in.

“i’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. “if you’ll let me.”

you didn’t answer with words. instead, you closed the distance between you, kissing him with a softness that spoke volumes. he responded immediately, his hands sliding down to your hips as he pulled you closer. the kiss deepened naturally, his lips moving against yours with a newfound urgency, but still gentle—always gentle with you. his hands remained steady on your waist, grounding you as his lips traveled once more, pressing kisses along your jaw, down the curve of your neck.

you tilted your head, giving him more access as his lips found the sensitive spot beneath your ear. a soft sigh escaped you, and you felt his smile against your skin. “you’re incredible,” he whispered against your neck, his voice low and filled with awe. “every piece of you. i don’t know how i got so lucky.”

your fingers found their way into his shirt, tugging gently as his kisses trailed lower, to the hollow of your throat. his lips pressed there for a moment, lingering as if the feel of your heartbeat beneath his lips anchored him. when he finally pulled back to look at you, his eyes were darker now, filled with a mix of emotions—adoration, desire, and something deeper, something that made your stomach flutter.

“you have no idea how long i’ve waited for this,” he murmured, his hands sliding up to cradle your face again. “to have you here, to hold you, to kiss you. i thought i’d never get this chance.”

“you have me now,” you said softly, your voice trembling with the weight of the moment. “i’m yours, rafe. always.”

the words seemed to shatter something in him. he leaned in, capturing your lips in another kiss—this one more heated, more desperate, as if he was trying to pour every unspoken word, every unshed tear into the connection. his hands wandered to your back, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you deeper, his lips leaving no part of yours unexplored. when he finally broke away, his lips trailed along your jaw, to the sensitive spot below your ear, down your neck, and finally to your collarbone.

you shivered under his touch, your breath hitching as his hands skimmed your sides, his fingers brushing against your waist with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “you’re everything,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with reverence. “everything i’ve ever wanted.”

his touch seemed to grow bolder, his hands moving to the buttons of your blouse. you helped him, eager to feel the heat of his skin against yours. the fabric parted with a harsh tug, revealing the simple, lacy bra that had been hidden beneath. his eyes darkened as he took in the sight, his breathing growing ragged.

“so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. his fingers traced the edge of the lace, his eyes never leaving yours. the anticipation was almost unbearable, your heart racing as you waited for his next move.

when he finally did, it was with a gentle touch that belied the intensity in his gaze. he cupped one of your tits, his thumb brushing against the nipple until it tightened into a peak. you gasped at the sensation, arching into his touch. his praises grew more fervent as he played with your sensitive flesh, his voice a soft, muffled whisper that seemed to wrap around you as he pressed the surface of his tongue alongside the valley of your boobs, making you feel desired in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

his other hand found the zipper of your skirt, pulling it down with a slow deliberateness that had you squirming in anticipation. the fabric fell away, pooling around your ankles, leaving you in just your panties and bra. the look in his eyes was one of pure hunger, but it was tempered with a love so fierce it stole your breath away.

he leaned in, his mouth capturing one of your nipples through the lace, his tongue teasing it into a hardened point. you moaned, your hands fisting in his shirt. you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the wetness of his mouth, the roughness of the fabric against your sensitized flesh.

his hand slid down, hooking into the waistband of your panties. you lifted your hips slightly, allowing him to pull them down your legs. the coolness of the air against your bare cunt was an incredible contrast to the heat of his touch. you allowed him to pull your panties down, feeling exposed and vulnerable, yet safe in his arms.

his eyes traveled over your body, taking in every inch of you as if he were worshipping a goddess. his gaze made you feel powerful, beautiful, and utterly wanted. his hands found your hips, his thumbs digging in slightly as he tugged you closer to him. the fabric of his own clothes were rough against your skin, a reminder that this was real, that he was really here, touching you with a love that seemed to consume him.

his mouth moved down, kissing a path from your neck to your chest, pausing to worship each tit in turn. his teeth grazed the flesh gently, making you gasp as he sucked and nibbled. it was erotic, the way he took his time, savoring every moment as if it might be his last. you felt the ache between your legs, the wetness growing slicker with every kiss, every caress.

his hand slid down, his fingers slipping into your wetness, exploring your folds with a gentle yet firm touch. your eyes fluttered closed, your head falling back as he found your clit, stroking it with a precision that made your legs tremble. “fuck, rafe,” you moaned, your voice a breathless whisper.

he kissed you deeply, his hand never leaving your pussy as he began to rub circles around your clit, increasing the pressure with every pass. you could feel yourself getting closer, the tension building like the crescendo of a symphony. his thumb circled your clit as his forefinger slid into your wetness, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through your body.

his mouth moved to your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “i love you,” he whispered, the words sending a shiver down your spine. “i’ve loved you for so long. i wanna make you feel so good, to show you just how much you mean to me. can i?”

you nodded, unable to form words as the orgasm crashed over you, your body shuddering with the force of it. he didn’t stop, his hand moving faster, his thumb pressing harder until you were panting and trembling in his arms. when you finally stilled, he kissed you again, a gentle press of his lips to yours, his tongue sliding in to taste you.

his hands slid away, and you felt the loss acutely, but only for a moment. he stepped back, his own shirt and pants joining the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. his cock stood erect, showing you what you did to him in every sense of the word. you couldn’t help but stare, taking in the sight of him—his chiseled abs, the muscles in his arms, the way his chest rose and fell with every ragged breath.

“you’re so beautiful, rafe,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe.

his eyes never left yours as he stepped closer, his hands coming up to cradle your face again. “says you,” he murmured, the words a declaration that sent a thrill through your body.

his cock brushed against your stomach, hot and hard, and you reached for it, wrapping your hand around it. he groaned, his hips jerking slightly at the contact. you began to stroke him, your hand moving up and down in a slow, steady rhythm that had his eyes fluttering shut.

his hand slid down to your pussy again, his fingers finding your entrance. he slid one inside you, the sensation making you moan. he watched your face as he began to move it in and out, his thumb circling your clit. your breath grew shallow as the pleasure built again, your legs threatening to give out.

his eyes snapped open, a fierce love shining in their depths. “don’t think i’ll be able to stop myself,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “are you sure you can handle it?” you nodded, unable to form words. your heart was racing, your body more than ready for him. he kissed you once more, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance.

the first push was slow, deliberate, giving you time to adjust to his size. he groaned, his eyes never leaving yours as he inched inside you. it felt like coming home, like the missing piece of a puzzle sliding into place. the feeling was so intense that you had to bite your lip to keep from crying out. once fully seated, he paused, his chest heaving against yours. “are you okay?” he whispered, his voice strained with restraint.

you nodded again, feeling a mix of pleasure and pain as he stretched you. you reached up, pulling his head down for a deep, desperate kiss. “i’m okay, fuck. make love to me, rafe,” you urged.

his eyes searched yours for a moment before a fierce smile spread across his face. he began to move, his strokes long and slow, each one driving him deeper. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your nails digging into his back. the room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, your gasps and moans mingling with the crash of the waves outside.

his hand found your tit again, his thumb teasing your nipple as his hips rocked against yours. he picked up the pace, the friction building a delicious ache deep inside you. “you’re so wet, so tight,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “feel so good, baby.”

the words spurred you on, your hips moving in sync with his. you could feel yourself getting closer again, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. “yes, rafe, yes!” you moaned, your voice echoing in the room. his hand slid down to your clit, his fingers moving in time with his thrusts. the sensation was almost too much for you to handle.

his strokes grew more erratic, his breathing more ragged, and you knew he was close. “gonna cum, baby,” he grunted, his eyes never leaving yours. “gonna fill your pussy up, make you mine forever.”

the raw possessiveness in his voice sent you over the edge. you came hard, your body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you. he followed soon after, his cock pulsing inside you, filling you with his warmth.

you held onto him tightly, your breathing matching his, as the world outside the mansion faded away. it was just the two of you, connected in a way you’d never been before. as the aftershocks of your orgasm faded, you felt his weight shift, his body collapsing slightly against yours. it felt like the end to a dream, to something you’ve been chasing after your entire life, but it was only the beginning.

he didn’t pull out, and he wouldnt for a while. instead, he looked up at you, pushing away the sweaty strands of hair that stuck to your forehead. as he did so, his gaze dropped to the ring wrapped around your finger, slick with sweat. “pretty cheap for an engagement ring,” he murmured. “you should throw it out.”

you couldn’t help but frown, “why?”

“so that i can get you a better one.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

a/n: ok guys yes im aware that canon rafe would NOT be this sweet lovey dovey hopeless romantic but idgaf i have free will and tumblr so grease my feet

[athenajbrooks]

Here's one from Lucioden the Warbringer's POV:

"AITA for trying to liberate my home country from a pathological liar and murderer?

My (26M) former friend Abrahath's (26M) dad is the leader of the new country his father founded, Aldea. He announced his retirement and decided to set up a new system of government and place whoever the people wanted as the first king. Abrahath and I were both candidates. Abrahath had always been a bit of a prideful prick, so he assumed he wasn't going to have competition. He complained, I told him to be a good sport about it, and I thought that was the end of it.

Then one night, I saw him leaving his house with his dad, who looked to be not in the best of health. Sure, the guy was old, but something about it didn't seem right to me, so I followed them. I watched Abrahath toss his own father to a pack of demons outside of town.

I was outraged. I confronted him the next morning. Two days later, my beloved wife went missing. My precious, darling Muen was never seen again. It broke me.

This time, I made sure to confront him at midday in front of the city hall so I had an audience and told them everything.

Now, here's the problem: Abrahath was a prideful prick, but he was also really good at putting on a show. His whole life was a string of good deeds done solely to bask in praise. Only I knew him well enough to know it was just an act. He spun a convincing cover story. Most of the people sided with him. They called me power-hungry and exiled me.

Now, let me reiterate: I did not murder my own father and cover it up. I did not create a spell to turn innocent people into demons and punish my enemies with it--because, oh yes, that's what he's doing now, so I hear. You know who did all that? Abrahath. And yet, somehow I'm the bad guy here?! Somehow Abrahath is more suited for the throne than me?! Give me a break.

I don't hate the people for that. They'd been manipulated and brainwashed, which isn't their fault. In fact, I decided that since I knew the truth, it was my responsibility to break the spell, so to speak. So, I traveled up north, started my own settlement, and...well, I'm thinking of preparing for war, because what else am I to do? An evil king isn't just going to sit down for a heart-to-heart and give up the power he killed for.

So, I ask, AITA for trying to take over Aldea?"

One of the comments would be: "This is BS. I was there. Sotalbin sacrificed himself willingly to keep Aldea safe. As for OP's wife, there's absolutely zero proof Abrahath killed her. Also, OP forgot to mention he made a pact with the demons recently to help him kill as many people as possible."

To which Lucioden would respond, "I know what I saw. As for the pact, my friend Xijikh pressured me into that decision. I was not in a good place at the time, and he took advantage of it."

if you're trying to get into the head of your story's antagonist, try writing an "Am I the Asshole" reddit post from their perspective, explaining their problems and their plans for solving them. Let the voice and logic come through.

[butuhaventseenmyman]

Girl dad Curly but like you were on the original crew but you had to go on maternity leave so u got replaced by Daisuke and then when they all get back (everythings fine alright the crash never happened) and he gets to see his baby girl and it's just cute fluffy yk? It's been on my brain for the past like 5 days dude

ohhh i LOVE Curly being a girl dadddd

my first sfw writing lmao

(btw i always envision Grant & reader + babies living in Montana- his birth state- since he loves winter sports and winter is his fav season canonically)

Curly missed you. So, so bad.

he was so happy that he could have you on the ship for most of your pregnancy, but the two of you knew it would be best for you if you left right before giving birth. as much as Curly wanted to be there, he knew it would be the safest at home, where you felt comfortable. the Tulpar was no place for giving birth.

so, another person was brought in to replace you- Daisuke. you'd met him before the crew left, let him feel your bump. he was really sweet, and you were glad your captain was in good hands.

Curly, unfortunately, couldn't make it to the birth because he was stuck at work for the next 3-month haul (he was lucky it was short).

you, of course, gave birth in the hospital to a healthy, beautiful baby girl. Curly was so sad he couldn't be with you, and he also had no idea how you were doing or if the birth even went well.

he tried to distract himself by being busy on the ship. you were also grateful that the baby was so needy, because it helped you forget about your postpartum depression and missing your husband- at least, for a little bit.

you rocked her and showed her pictures of her daddy, played pre-recorded videos of him singing and playing guitar as she fell asleep. he would cry in his quarters every few nights when the homesickness got too much, and Anya, Daisuke, and Swansea would take turns talking to him and making him feel better.

in this case, 3 months was a really long time.

but finally, that day came where the crew completed their delivery and were able to come home. you bundled your baby girl up and put her in her car seat, making sure her stroller was secure in the trunk before making the drive to the landing site.

Curly's mom came with you, just to make sure you were okay. you took turns driving, and she did most of it to let you rest.

thankfully, it was only a few hours away, so you weren't too tired by the time you got there. you buttoned up your jacket and the two of you made the walk to the waiting area a safe distance away.

that was where you met Daisuke's parents and Swansea's wife and one of his sons. you showed them your baby and introduced yourself as the captain's wife and, fuck if that didn't turn you on just saying it.

the seven of you watched the ship land together. actually, you didn't watch much of it- you were more focused on the look of pure wonder in your baby's eyes. even if she didn't remember it when she was older, she was about to meet her father for the first time.

people helped the tired crew adjust as they exited the ship. Curly always let his crew go first- you bit your lip at the suspense that caused the three of you.

and when he finally emerged...you remembered what you had been waiting for all your life.

he didn't even glance at the assistants as he ran towards you, his eyes on his beautiful baby. he embraced you first, kissing you passionately and wrapping his arms around you. you were both teary as he assessed you and your body. "how was the birth? no complications? she's alright?"

he kissed you again before hugging his mother, sobbing like the child he used to be in her presence. he broke down and she comforted him like only his mother could.

once he had calmed down a little, Grant took a look at the pride and joy he had helped to create with you. she had your eyes with a few tiny wisps of curly hair. he fell to his knees and pressed his lips to her delicate, tiny little forehead.

he went around and showed her to everyone- his crew and his crew's family. Anya, Daisuke, and Swansea loved her almost as much as you two did. you all talked about her and your lives for a while before it started to get closer to sunset.

everyone said goodbye, a farewell until the next haul, and headed home. Grant's mom offered to get the car started and allow you two a moment alone.

he bounced the new love of his life and tickled her, watching her toothless giggle.

and as he embraced you and his beautiful new daughter, he knew he'd always strive to protect the two things in his life most worth fighting for- and you also knew that you'd be your strongest when you had the man that was the most worth waiting for.

a/n: so sorry chat (and especially you Sage my love <3) i had this in the drafts for a while and just finished it up tonight- hope you like it!!!

[c0s-lettuce]

Hii if it’s okay, can I please request a Sergei x fem!reader where she was walking home and was in the wrong place at the wrong time and witnessed something bad guys were doing and was in danger, but she was saved by Sergei (the bad guys were on his list so he happened to show up). She meets Sergei again when the same bad guys come after her again because she had seen too much, and he saves her again. Because it seems that the bad guys will not stop going after her because of what she saw, Sergei brings her to his cabin to protect her until he has taken out all of the bad guys? He’s super protective of her and she’s really scared about everything that’s going on and feels safe with him, and after a while of staying with him, they both start to fall in love and she doesn’t want to leave even after everything is safe 🥹

guardian angel - sergei kravinoff x reader

fem!reader, minor movie spoilers

a/n: thank you for the request! sorry this took a while, i hope i did it justice 😭 happy holidays everyone!

word count: 3317

warnings: descriptions of violence, mentions of blood

A shortcut. That's all it was supposed to be - a quick detour down an alley. You've taken it a few times before, usually to escape the rain like tonight. It's a light sprinkle. One that might have been pleasant if it wasn't for the dark and your long day at work. Your walks home were, fortunately, mostly uneventful.

But not tonight. You'd blame it on bad luck. Or fate, if such a thing exists.

Unfriendly-sounding voices should have been your first clue to something being amiss. But curiosity drives you forward. Peering through the darkness, you see two figures surrounding a third person kneeling on the ground.

It seems like a confrontation of sorts, a heavily one-sided confrontation. They don't notice you, so you deem this a good moment to leave. You back away as quietly as possible. But as you approach the street, a black car pulls up, blocking the entrance.

The next few moments pass in a blur. There's a scream. A horrific squelching noise. You look back to see the third person now slumped on the ground. A silver glint in the hand of one of the other men. Two more men exit the car. There's shouting from one side, then both. You realise you've been noticed. You panic. Then, chaos.

You're unsure if you fell or were pushed, but you end up on the ground. You scramble away, and your back hits the wall of the alleyway. Bodies begin to go flying around you. Any attention that was paid to you is diverted. One man is in the middle of it all. He seems to know his way around killing, like a hunter.

Your front-row show is interrupted when you're dragged to your feet. A cold barrel is pressed against your temple. You freeze as you're held hostage. The hunter pauses and turns to you. Four bodies now lay dead, all killed in different ways. The man holding you is the only one left.

"Enough. Stop now, or the girl dies," the voice behind you speaks.

You notice that despite the man's intimidation, fear laces his tone. It's a mutual feeling as you stand silent and wide-eyed, afraid to move. The hunter raises his hands as if surrendering. You're not sure what to make of it.

But you don't get given the time to decide. In the blink of an eye, the hunter pulls out a knife, flicks it out and throws it towards your head. For a split second, you think it's all over. You squeeze your eyes shut. Either by bullet or blade, this is the end for you.

But then, the man's grip around you loosens, followed promptly by a dull thump. You turn around to see what happened. The man lies on the ground, a knife protruding from him square in the eye. Blood begins to pull around his head.

You bring your hands to your mouth and back away from the body. The sight is unlike anything you've seen. You're stuck between screaming, throwing up or passing out, but a voice from behind interrupts you.

"Are you hurt?" it asks, gruff and breathless.

You flinch at the sound. You turn back to look at the owner of the voice. The hunter stands before you, covered in the odd splatter of blood, hair and clothes mussed. You stare for a moment, bewildered.

Once you find your bearings, you reply, "Uh, no… no, I'm alright."

He nods, walking past you to retrieve his knife. The sound of the blade leaving the man's head makes you cringe.

"Sorry," he says, cleaning the knife on the man's clothes, "I would've warned you before I threw it, but that might have defeated the purpose."

You don't respond. Was that… a joke? What are you supposed to say to that?

In your silence, the hunter looks at you again. "You live around here?"

Again, it takes you a moment to answer. "Yeah, just a few blocks away."

"You should get home," he tells you, standing up. "Forget you saw anything."

You nod. That sounds like a good idea. A great idea, even. You force yourself to move, deciding on the regular route home instead of continuing this shortcut.

The hunter watches you pass but speaks up again before you get too far. "I'm sorry you had to see all that."

You pause, taking in his… somewhat considerate words. You glance back at him and mutter, "Thank you."

Once again, he nods, sighing as he looks down at the bodies. You turn away again and continue your way home. The journey passes in a haze, and you immediately go to bed once you arrive.

As days pass, that night feels like a fever dream. Details don't come to you, with everything being a messy blur in your head. It was probably a good thing. However, the only part that remains clear is the elusive hunter.

A tall, muscular frame. Wavy, brown hair. Bright, blue eyes.

You clear your head of these thoughts as you stand and pack up your things. You're the last person left in your work building today, having stayed late to finish some extra work.

Just as you're about to head downstairs, you hear a loud crash. It's followed by more sounds, a mix of grunts, thumps and things breaking. You look around but can't see anything from where you are.

You grow anxious and search your desk for a weapon. You settle on a large paperweight, gripping it firmly and sneaking out. You bypass the elevators and go to the emergency staircase, carefully opening the door and ensuring it's empty inside before slowly heading down.

The sounds have stopped once you reach the bottom. You poke your head out, giving an obscured view of the ground floor. As expected, it's a mess of broken glass and wood. Crimson paints the floor, blood coming from three bodies. There's one man left standing. You recognise him immediately. The hunter.

You let your guard down, lowering the paperweight in your hands. You step out and look around again, getting a better look at the damage. You feel bad for whoever has to pay for all this. You turn to the hunter. He's already looking at you.

"It's you," you say.

"It's me," he replies. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, completely fine. You?" you ask.

"I'm good," he says, looking around at the mess. "We should stop meeting like this."

You let out a small huff. "You're telling me. Who are these people?"

"They're part of a large criminal organisation. Their influence runs deep. They have people all over the continent."

"Criminal organisation…? Why are they here?"

"You saw them kill someone. You're a liability."

"They were here for me? But didn't you kill everyone who saw me?"

"They have eyes and ears everywhere. Must've found out some other way."

The thought unsettles you, and you sincerely hope you won't regularly be pursued by criminals. Suddenly, you miss the comfort of your home.

Then, the hunter speaks up. "I'm Sergei, by the way."

You're slightly caught off guard. But you tell him your name, and he repeats it with a nod.

"You should get going," he says. "The police will be here soon. I'll handle things here."

"Are you sure? This is my workplace."

"I'm sure. Go," he insists.

You acquiesce, collecting your things again. Before you leave, you and Sergei exchange contact details. He tells you to call him if anything happens. Once again, you find yourself walking away from the hunter and a pile of dead bodies he saved you from. But at least now you know his name.

You've been home for the past few days since the building became a crime scene. You gave the police a vague description of what happened, and they haven't bothered you since.

You think about the hunter, who you now know to be Sergei Kravinoff. A Google search and some light stalking didn't reveal much about the man. And with no work to do, you continue to lie around at home.

But one morning, you wake up to a phone call. It's Sergei.

"Hello?" you answer.

"Where are you right now?" he asks immediately.

"At home. Why?" you say.

"Hard to explain, but you're in danger. I'm going to send you a location. I need you to go there. I'll have someone meet you."

He hangs up before you can get another word in. Seconds later, he sends the location for a terminal at the airport. Despite the abruptness and absurdity, his words worry you, so you quickly pack a small bag and head to the airport.

A dark-haired woman greets you at the terminal. You board the small aircraft landed there as she takes the pilot seat. She answers a few of the many questions you have. Sergei has been in different parts of Europe to eliminate this criminal organisation. It seems you have not left the group's radar because they had your address. Afraid they're planning on tying up loose ends, Sergei asks you to go to his safe house in Russia.

Great, you think. This is a totally regular occurrence.

It's a long flight. After hours, you finally arrive, landing on a secluded airstrip surrounded by bush and mountains. Sergei waits for you outside, approaching the aircraft as the door opens.

"Thanks for trusting me," he speaks over the noise of the aircraft.

"Well, you've given me enough reason to," you tell him.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this," he says.

"Don't be," you reply.

He gives you a grateful nod as he gestures with his head. "Follow me."

He leads you away from the runway. The landscape turns forest-like as you walk along a trail. You look around at the surprisingly picturesque view despite the strange circumstances you're in.

"So, what is this place?" you ask.

"I live here most of the time," Sergei explains. "This property used to belong to my mother's family. It's pretty much all I have left of her now."

"Right," you reply. "And do you make a habit of bringing many women out here in the middle of nowhere?"

He shrugs. "Just the ones whose lives are threatened by criminals."

"…Is that a lot?" you ask.

Sergei smirks, leaving your question unanswered as he picks up the pace. "Come on, it's just ahead."

You watch him go ahead of you, letting out a huff at his non-answer as you try to catch up. After a small trek, Sergei leads you to his cabin. It's a pleasant spot, a geometric glass dome surrounded by shrubbery and nature. There's also a scenic body of water nearby. This place would do great on Airbnb, you think to yourself.

You spend your first evening getting settled in. Sergei tells you he's heading to Romania, so you'll have the cabin all to yourself. He makes sure you have everything you need before leaving. He also advises you not to wander far while he's gone, telling you there are leopards, tigers and bears in the area. Well, there goes your Airbnb pitch.

Later that night, you climb to the loft and get into bed. A stranger's bed. A stranger who has saved your life multiple times, but a stranger nonetheless. It's almost dead silent at night, nothing like back home. The rustle of leaves in the wind and the quiet chirping of insects act as your lullaby.

The glass gives you a perfect view of the starry sky as you lie back. With no light pollution, the sight is nothing to scoff at. And after everything that has happened in the last few days, it doesn't take much longer for you to find respite in sleep.

Sergei calls to check in with you from Transylvania on the second day, asking how you're doing and updating you on the situation. He tells you he's on the home stretch, and it'll all be over once the last few people are weeded out. He stays on the call for just a moment longer to tell you a joke about vampires.

Once he hangs up, it doesn't take long for you to become incredibly bored. You do what you can to entertain yourself. You take pictures of the scenery, snack on whatever is available, take naps, and discreetly poke around through Sergei's belongings.

By day three, there was nothing left to snoop. You've looked at everything, from the fridge to the bathroom cabinet. And more absurdly, from the alchemy station to the weapons collection. Sergei doesn't keep many things around, so there wasn't much you could learn from your nosiness.

You wake to a text on the fourth morning. Sergei tells you the job is finished. He's already on his way to the cabin. You let out a breath at the message. It's done. You're safe.

You look around at the space you've called home for the past few days. A strange feeling claws at the back of your mind. A sense of disappointment. At what, you can't yet place. So, to distract yourself, you spend the day tidying. Closer to the evening, you make dinner to the best of your ability with what's available.

Sergei returns and is greeted with the delicious aroma of your food. The smell is foreign to his cabin, foreign to him. You welcome him back, doing a quick once over. He's weary and battered but otherwise seems to be in good shape. And he's incredibly grateful for the food. It's almost amusing watching him eat, like a cat with a bowl of wet food.

After dinner, he's too tired to do anything or talk about what happens next, so you call it a night. You feel bad making him sleep on the couch. You tell him you don't mind him taking the bed. He agrees as long as you stay as well. Neither one of you bother to argue after that.

He passes out quite quickly, sleeping on his stomach with his head facing away from you. You lie on your side next to him, staring at the back of his head. Spending days doing nothing has made it so you're not all that tired. So, you lie in silence, a million thoughts running through your head.

Now that the situation is handled, Sergei will probably send you packing in the morning. That should be a good thing. You can get back to your home, your friends, your job. No criminals after your head, no fearing for your life. So, why is part of you reluctant to go?

You're pulled from your thoughts when Sergei stirs, yawning as he turns onto his back. He settles back down, and you think he's fallen asleep again until he turns his head towards you.

You meet his gaze, and for a moment, you're unsure what to do. You think about pretending you usually sleep with your eyes open to make up for the staring.

But all that proves unnecessary when he smiles and asks, "You okay?"

"Yeah," you reply. "Just not that tired."

Sergei nods, also turning on his side to face you. "I'm sorry you got caught up in all this."

"No, don't be," you say. "None of it was your fault."

"Still, I know it wasn't ideal, having to deal with something like this. And having to deal with me," he says.

"Dying wouldn't have been ideal," you tell him. "And I've been hiding out here the whole time, doing nothing. If anything, you're like my guardian angel."

He laughs, "That's one way to put it."

You smile back, and the two of you fall into a moment of silence.

"Thanks for looking after the place, by the way," he says.

"What? You mean leeching off of you for four days?" you reply.

He lets out an amused scoff. "I mean for cleaning up and making dinner. Especially the dinner part."

You nod. "It's the least I could do."

"I don't think I've had a proper home-cooked meal in years," he says. "The last time must have been when I still lived with my mother."

You pause for a moment, taking in the information. "No other cooks in the family?"

"No, my father never cooked," he replies. "He would make some poor, overworked chef do it."

You hum in response. "So, you've got low standards? That's a good thing for me then."

Sergei chuckles, appreciating your comment. The two of you stay awake for a while longer. Sergei tells you more about his childhood, his family, the accident that changed him, and his life after he left to be on his own. You also tell him about your past, which paled in comparison to his, but he seemed to appreciate it regardless.

His hand wanders under the sheets as the two of you talk, coming to rest on your waist. His thumb idly strokes your side. He listens to you intently and laughs at any funny parts you share. As his touch grows bolder, he pulls you closer, moving his arm to wrap around you.

You happily accept his embrace. Soon, the warmth of being in his arms and the comforting sound of his voice lull you to sleep. Sergei watches as you drift off. Out like a light. Adorable.

His mind thinks back to the first night you met. He remembers how scared you were, how you looked at him when your life hung in the balance. He felt sorry for you, a poor woman caught up in a mess that wasn't hers.

Sergei doesn't know why you trusted him so quickly, but he's glad you did. He's glad that you're here now with him. He's glad for it all. He realises then how nice it is to have someone to come home to. Someone who cares. Someone he can talk to other than his pilot or his brother.

He wonders what you think. He hopes you feel something similar. You must, right? Though there's a very good chance you think he's a lunatic, and you've just been humouring him. But he tells himself not to overthink, closing his eyes and holding you a little tighter as he waits for sleep.

When you wake in the morning, Sergei is already up, preparing a simple breakfast for the two of you. You eat together, engaging in light conversation. Despite your unspoken reluctance to leave, you know you must return to your life sooner or later.

He helps you pack up after breakfast, and you head to the airstrip. Sergei's pilot picks you both up, and you sleep most of the way back on the aircraft. After a smooth ride, you finally make it back home.

Sergei goes with you all the way back to your place. You open the front door and take a look around. Everything is how you left it, thankfully. Getting back to see your home trashed would have really soured your mood. You step in, place your bag down and let out a sigh. You're ready to continue sleeping, but your stomach rumbling redirects your priority.

Sergei leans against the door frame, watching you. He must have heard the evidence of your hunger because he chuckles. You turn to send him a glare, but he speaks up first.

"If you're up for it, I know a place. Good food, great music," Sergei says.

"Really? I thought you'd be happy to finally get rid of me," you reply.

Sergei snorts, shaking his head. "Quite the opposite, actually. I haven't actually gotten to spend that much time with you."

You're tempted, very tempted. But you pretend not to be. "As long as it's not in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country."

He laughs. "It's not. It's a normal restaurant. I promise."

You let out a sigh, feigning exasperation. "Alright, I trust you."

Sergei grins, pushing himself off the door frame. "Great, let's go."

➸

[bubbarnes]

oh my god this is so sweet.

made my heart so happy because she is his safe place. his happy place. his home.

and the fact that she waited until he was sober and didn't like, take advantage of it? it's the bare minimum but yes, i live for it. so cute.

i bet that he was already almost sober once he was home and only saw his chance. and thanks life everything works for him.

now it's gonna be her baking the cookies and him being her little helper and only asking for kisses because he's so good at it. i could die.

By The Warmth Of The Oven

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You are baking cookies for the Avengers holiday party when a certain super solider comes into the kitchen tipsy for the first time...

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning(s): none. pure fluff. tipsy bucky.

Prompt/Event: @the-slumberparty december daze -> is it those cookies that smell delicious or is it you?

a/n: This fluffy drabble is my holiday gift to you my dear Bella @nickfowlerrr ♡ In honor of Can You Feel It? being the first of many beautiful fics I read of yours 🥹🩷 Thank you everyone for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

bucky masterlist ♡ || fluffy winter drabbles masterlist ❆

“Smells good…” Bucky’s voice comes out of nowhere from behind you as you grab another tray of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. You glance over your shoulder to find him sauntering into the kitchen, making his way over to you. 

“Freshly baked cookies always do,” you reply with a gratified grin, placing the tray on top of the stove so the cookies have some time to cool off before you plate them. Your friends had already gone through three batches of them and they practically begged you to make more. It was a nice feeling, almost rewarding in a way, knowing something you made was so loved by your friends. 

“‘m not talking about the cookies, doll,” there’s a bit of a slur in his cadence that catches your attention at the same time that your heart skips a beat at his words. You turn to him to see he’s staring at you with a dreamy smile and a twinkle in his eyes, propped up against the counter by his elbow. You frown at his unusual nonchalant demeanor. You’ve never seen him act this way before. 

Your head tilts slightly as you examine him a little closer. There’s a bit of a sway to his stance and his cheeks are tinted pink. “Bucky, are you drunk?” Almost immediately he shakes his head at your question, “No. I can't get drunk,” he replies with an obvious tone, and yet the pouty frown on his face tells a different story. 

“Right, you can’t…” you affirm, mulling it over for a moment,“Unless…did Thor give you some of his special Asgardian liquor?” You ask, stepping slightly closer to him, the apples of his cheeks getting rosier in response. 

“I took a shot. I started feeling funny and came here—felt safe,” he mutters that last part reluctantly, sharing something with you he wouldn’t if it weren’t for the alcohol in his system.

“In the kitchen?”

“With you.” 

Your amusement is replaced with a soft expression at his response. He most likely hasn’t felt the effects of alcohol in decades and a part of him doesn’t know how to cope with the resurfaced inhibitions. The fact that while feeling unwell his first instinct was to come looking for you—it made a warmth spread throughout you that could easily rival the heat of the oven.

You reach out to cup his cheek, soothing the flushed skin with your thumb. He instinctively leans into your touch, his eyes shining with a gentle vulnerability that causes your heart to squeeze in your chest. You and Bucky have always had a flirtatious friendship for as long as you can remember, but it's never gone past that. Seeing him so openly affectionate with you stirs emotions deep within you that you aren’t sure you’re ready to bring to the surface.

“I don’t think the alcohol is going to stay in your system for long, Buck. How about we do this…you wait for me here while I go out and serve the cookies I baked,” his eyes widen slightly and you can tell he wants to protest until you add, “I’ll bring back some hot chocolate for us to share and we can enjoy it along with some cookies while we wait for that liquor in your system to wear off. How does that sound?” You suggest softly and you can see the way he thinks it through before he agrees with a nod.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as you plate a few dozen cookies on decorative plates, leaving a handful behind for you and Bucky to share. You make sure to quickly take them out to your friends and serve up two piping hot mugs of hot chocolate before making it back to the kitchen in no time. 

When you meet back with Bucky you find him sitting on the counter where he watches his legs as he swings them lazily to and fro. You observe him fondly for a moment longer than necessary. Trying to commit to memory how carefree and unguarded he is at this moment. When he notices you his face lights up in a way that makes you feel like the most precious person on earth. 

“Here, as promised,” you hand him a mug of hot chocolate which he takes eagerly—too eagerly—as he immediately goes for a sip of it. Before he can, however, you stop him, placing your hand as a barrier between his lips and the mug. His mouth ends up pressed into your palm, and you ignore the heat that finds its way to your face at the softness of his lips brushing against your skin.

“Bucky, it's scalding hot! You’ll burn yourself! Wait until it cools down a bit, please.”

“It’s not gonna burn me, doll. I’m a super soldier. Watch—”

“Bucky!” 

You use the cookies as leverage to coax Bucky into waiting for the hot chocolate to cool down before he drinks any of it. For the next hour or so, you enjoy each other's company. Between the sweet treats and the lighthearted conversations, time flies by in a heartbeat. 

Then, while in the middle of a discussion over your last mission, Bucky does something that completely takes you by surprise in the best way possible—he kisses you. It’s short, but profound in the way he pours everything into it. Every flirtation you ever questioned could mean something more was proven here with this kiss, that it had meant so much more for more than just you. 

You’re speechless when he pulls away beaming as if his heart might burst.

“Looks like I was right.” 

“Huh?”

“I asked myself what was sweeter. You or the cookies. I knew it'd be you,” he states as a matter of fact, drinking up the way his words affect you as much as the kiss had. There’s a part of you that doesn’t believe him, but it's not because of him, but more so because you think you must be dreaming. 

“That's the liquor talking.”

“I've sobered up a while ago, doll.”

You search his eyes for the truth of it all and you find it. This is real. This isn’t a dream. And the yearning that burns bright in his eyes is one you know all too well. It’s the same one reflecting in your eyes as your gazes lock on one another.

“I still think the cookies are sweeter,” you whisper, your eyes shining with a playful challenge despite the way your heart races in your chest with anticipation. He catches on, licking his lips as his flesh hand snakes its way to the back of your head to cradle it gently.

“‘m gonna prove you wrong, doll,” he declares in a huskier tone as he pulls you in for another kiss. And that night, by the warmth of the oven, Bucky continues to kiss you until he successfully proves you wrong. 

[mythicmanuscripts]

I can't remember where you said it, but I remember you saying how Aemond likes the deep pressure feeling of you lying on top of him. I was wondering if you could write smth about that?? Like, I personally LOVE having someone lie on me, too. It's like the ultimate weighted blanket! I'd love to hear more thoughts on this, and maybe even with the roles reversed and him lying on you

Absolutely anon!! Absolutely!!

This is mostly just soft and SFW but since it mentions nakedness and some suggestive themes then I'll hide it under a cut just to be safe. Enjoy lads!

This is something I think Aemond would always have liked and sought out even before he fully knew what it was. When he was younger he used to wrap his blanket as tightly around himself as possible. Often that was the only way he could fall asleep.

That's also one of the reasons why he loves traveling with Vhagar so much. She always opens her wing out and stretches it over him while he sleeps, never moving until he wakes up. He always used to sleep so much better while traveling with her, and often he would willingly take longer routes home just to spend an extra night or two like that.

It's not really a desire he fully understood back then. He just knew that the feeling of something heavy or tight around him made him feel so much better, so much safer.

You first discover this a few weeks after you finally start cuddling regularly. One of Aemond's favourite cuddling positions is to lay cuddled up against you, resting his cheek on your chest and bending his legs to rest on top of yours. He especially loves it when you wrap an arm around his shoulder.

But sometimes it seemed like Aemond couldnt relax? He'd constantly be shuffling and nuzzling against you, pulling your arm tighter around him. You ask what he wants and honestly he's not even sure? He just knows he could be closer somehow, and he wants it.

The next time you're laying together, you come to bed after him and he's laying on his back. So you switch places with him and this time it's you cuddled against his chest. He pulls you closer, tighter and buries his nose into your hair, like he can't get you close enough.

You try to change positions and in doing so you accidentally end up nearly on top of him. Before you can even apologise he is already pulling you closer so your weight it on him. You try to get off, telling him that you must be squashing him but he won't hear it. He falls asleep so easily and in the morning when you bring it up all he can say is that he felt secure.

Of course now that you're armed with this information you lay on him much more often, sometimes he even asks for it. Maybe, since we all know how much he loves to be of service, you ask him if he would like to try reading to you while you lay like that?

He sits up against the headboard with you curled up in his lap. You let your body rest over his legs rather than try to avoid it. He loves it, always keeping a hand on your back.

At first he would only read you whatever you had suggested, and never suggested anything himself. But over time as he grows more comfortable with you and begins to show you all the different sides of himself, then he starts to read you history books? It becomes one of his favourite things to do.

I also think he would love that sort of pressure when not in the bedroom as well? Obviously far more toned down.

If you two are watching Aegon hold court then you tend to stand off to the side with Aemond. He leans against the wall and then pulls you closer, holding you against him and letting him hold up some of your weight. He wraps one of his arms around your waist and will often rest his head on your shoulder (especially because he can whisper things to you about how boring this is and how Aegon made the wrong decision and all his other complaints.)

[occasionalsnippets]

Hello! I have an ask for your family dissonance au. It’s a scenario I’m curious about that you mentioned in one of your writings. What would happen if reader needed up in an alternate au that doesn’t have her in it dressed as Robin because she was filling in? (In like a Yandere way btw). Would she be able to hide, would she reveal herself? What would the Batfam she was originally with do when they notice she is gone??? And for drama sake what if Tim in the other au she falls into was in the time period he was banned from being Robin for his safety due to Redhood just appearing? What would Redhood do about another Robin?

I hope you have a wonderful day!

When you aren't acting as Robin, everything is fair game.

If you don't land near a bat, you're not likely to reveal yourself or go to the manor until you do some information gathering. You play it careful, avoid getting caught on any cameras and head to a safe house. Disabling all the hidden mics and trackers is child's play and the safe house is stocked enough for you to get your bearings.

First things first, the internet. Doing an quick search reveals the current state of Gotham, its vigilantes and rogues. Pretty standard stuff. Your plan is mainly to just bunker down until you're found. There's nothing stopping you from doing so and sooner or later, your family will find you.

Those plans are ruined deep into the night by someone else breaking into the safe house.

Red Hood stumbles in, trailing blood all over the place. You're already categorizing his injuries by the time he drags himself over to the couch. Several bullets. Dislocated shoulder. Some kind of fear toxin. All things you can fix if you chose to get involved.

You might as well. Jason will live whether you do or don't but you would feel bad about leaving him. He's not all that there while you're treating him but he's definitely more lucid after getting the antidote.

"So," you hum as you dig bullets out of his flesh, "do you specifically want Batman to kill the Joker or do you want to kill him yourself or are you okay if anyone kills him."

He mutters something you can't hear. The blood loss is probably getting to him. By the time you're finished wrapping him up, his breathing has slowed and become steady. You pat his smooth helmet. Even if it's part of his brand, it kinda makes him look bald.

"Sleep tight, Hood."

By the time he wakes, you are gone and the Joker is dead.

I'm not really sure how to spin the rest of it in a yandere type of a way since you don't stay long enough in the universe to really trigger anything.

Jason's helmet probably has some kind of recording thing though so there's evidence of you in the universe before you disappear. Plus in your quest to commit murder, you run into a couple other bats too. The bats in that universe might end up spiralling trying to find you though since a. you killed the Joker, b. you patched Jason up, c. you look like Tim, and d. you broke into a safe house too easily.

Maybe they'll find where you came from, maybe they won't, but regardless, they're sure to have questions.

---

On the other side of the coin, what is going on with your batfam?

They notice within probably 10 ish minutes or less that your trackers are down. In less than half an hour, their facts are confirmed. You’ve gone missing. Like any good detectives, information gathering comes first and conclusions drawn from evidence last. Despite that, they’re actually pretty frantic in their search for you.

Most resources are diverted solely to finding you, everything else is dealt with quickly and efficiently so they aren’t wasting time. Once they narrow things down to magic, fixing everything is actually quite easy. Thank goodness you’re not difficult to find. If it took any longer, you probably wouldn’t want to know the lengths they’d go to for you to be back home and safe.

—

There are three Robins in Titan’s Tower. One current Robin, one former Robin and one not-Robin. It is, in summary, a Spider-Man pointing meme situation.

There’s a lot of yelling and fighting and “you’re ruined my plan” and “well I wasn’t trying to” but it doesn’t end with any major injuries.

Tim and Jason definitely think it’s a time travel thing where future Tim came back to the past to fix something. You don’t have enough energy to correct them. Either way, you stall long enough for the big Bat and Nightwing to come crashing into Titan’s Tower for an early reveal.

You’re gone by the time they get back to the topic of your presence. Hidden away, waiting to return home.

[sokkastyles]

It's very weird to me that people will talk about the scene in "The Awakening" as if Zuko is dumping his trauma on Mai, when what he says is like, incredibly subdued and dancing around the actual issue. I also had someone tell me today that he was "probably venting the whole time" during the journey, and the thing is, I very much doubt that considering the context.

Not only is Mai the one who prompts the conversation by asking him if he is cold - because she noticed something was wrong and that being out on deck at night was unusual - but what Zuko says sounds like he actually hasn't said anything about going home before this point.

I've got a lot on my mind. It's been so long, over three years since I was home. I wonder what's changed. I wonder how I've changed.

He doesn't even talk about the real issues, just vaguely says that it's been a long time and he wonders if anything has "changed." Of course, the audience knows, because of what happened in the caves, that Zuko is starting to realize that he made a mistake by choosing to come home. The audience also knows that Zuko has started to realize that what his father did to him was something he did not deserve, which also means that it wasn't about his honor, which also means Ozai might hurt him again even if Zuko comes home victorious. But Zuko doesn't actually say any of that. What he says is actually very similar to what he said in the war meeting to Ozai when asked how to defeat the earth kingdom. It's a neutral statement that is masking what Zuko really wants to say. Which implies that Zuko hasn't talked about it before, and doesn't know how Mai will react to it, has reason to believe she might turn on him if he were to voice the things he voiced to Katara in the caves.

So the idea that Mai shutting him down is like, the result of her having to listen to it the whole trip (which isn't an excuse in the first place) is just obviously not true. And if Zuko was testing the waters to gage her reaction, she pretty much proved that she wasn't a safe person for him to confide in with her dismissive response.

[dustisus]

more hints about Jeremy's possible backstory in tsc I have not seen people mention

so i'm rereading tsc in preparation for tgr and am listing some things i think could be hinting at jeremy's backstory. other people have already made good lists but here are some things i have not seen talked about yet:

"Knowing Bryson was home had Jeremy slipping out the side door. [...] Jeremy would rather leave his keys than risk a confrontation this early in the morning. He was far too tired and sore to put himself through that." (p58) +

"Jeremy asked, 'Do you feel safe with him there?' 'He's my brother,' Lucas said. 'That's not what I asked, Lucas.' (p120) This quote could just stem from emotional intelligence and secondhand knowledge about abuse, and the last quote about him being too tired and sore to confront Bryson could just mean that he doesn't have the energy to confront him verbally. But I think this could mean that Jeremy knows from experience that you are not always safe with family, and the reason that he makes a point of being too sore to confront Bryson could be that he is to sore to fight him. I think Bryson could be physically abusive. The butler also knows to warn Jeremy about Bryson's whereabouts, so it's no secret that they do not get along at least.

"(Annalise) insisted on keeping her own place on the other side of the city year-round." (p118) Jeremy is not allowed to move out but Annalise is. I think we've all kind of figured out that Jeremy has a different relationship to his parents than his siblings do but this is just a clear example of Jeremy's limitations of freedom being just his own, and not equally enforced on the whole family.

Speaking of Annalise, she treats Jeremy very strangely in the scene they have together. Jeremy is sitting and reading rumors about EAU, the Ravens, and Jean on his phone when Annalise comes into the room, and "Jeremy immediately tucked his phone into his pocket and went to meet her at the front door [...] he held the door for her." (p118) Annalise hints at the scandal in his past, and then "He followed her out to her car, but Annalise made him wait as she dug lip balm out of his purse." (p118) Once she has applied her lip balm and insulted him some more, she says "'Door.'" (p118), "He got her car door open, jaw working on arguments that would always ring too hollow. Annalise got into the driver's seat and motioned an okay to him as soon as her legs were out of the way. Jeremy pushed her door closed and took a step back." (pp118-119). If Jeremy had a more seemingly normal relationship with his family I would just read this as him following her out to her car, but as is I think this just reads as Annalise treating Jeremy as some sort of servant. Weird dynamic either way.

Later, Jeremy is talking to Jean about Kevin and says "Oh, to be the pampered elite." (p128) This just caught me off guard because to an outsider, Jeremy would certainly seem as part of the pampered elite. His family has a butler. Only reason I can see him saying this is if he does not see himself as part of the pampered elite.

During these passages when he is at home is when he most frequently thinks about confronting his family, something he has discussed with his therapist. But when Annalise has insulted him and said he's ruined the family in the scene where he acts as her doorman, he thinks "arguments that would always ring too hollow." (p118) Either this is something about Jeremy's skewed perception of how much he is to blame for whatever 'broke their family', which causes him not to be able to form cohesive arguments about why they are incorrectly blaming him, or whatever arguments he could make are actually hollow because whatever he did is not justifiable.

Annalise also says "'Overdue for a new scandal, hm?' she asked. 'End the way you started.'" (p118) This could just mean that the scandal was at the start of his NCAA Exy career, but it could also mean that the scandal was what started it, or started his relative fame as a NCAA big three team captain.

idk i've read some very intriguing theories on here so i just thought i should add some material to those of you who can shape it into theories

[unknownperson246]

a/n: a story about izzy stradlin and female reader where izzy is married to a woman, but is on the verge of divorce and stays with y/n, please

sure

The Divorce:

Words: 493

Warnings: *angst* *fluff* *divorce*

✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:*

You were met with guttural sadness when Izzy told you he was on the verge of divorce from his wife. He does not know whether to be hurt or play it off since his wife is the one who initiated the divorce. He was sad but you could tell he was hiding it. He asked you if he could stay at your place for a couple of days since the interactions with his wife were horrifically insane to him. She was a wild card.

 She was losing it whenever Izzy was around and she couldn’t stand him anymore. She was burdened by the fact that Izzy could never love her the same as she did him. Izzy was confused by her thought process. You were Izzy’s friend from school and he was the only person he trusted with all of this information. If it was any other person they would sell the news to the media. 

He wanted to stay at your place because you were comforting. He found you as a safe space. His wife was hard to live with and he was glad he had you. Last night Izzy went home to grab a couple of his things. He saw his wife who was now for sure his ex-wife. In her hand was Izzy’s favorite guitar and she was by the window. The window was open and the guitar was hovering twenty feet over the ground. His wife’s hand was trembling.

“Don’t you dare leave Izzy” she said in a pissed-off tone.

“Or else your guitar is going to crash into the ground and die,” She said with a poisonous tone.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Izzy asked, annoyed.

“I’m done with your dumb antics. I’m free now. I want nothing to do with your ridiculous nonsense” He said, seizing his guitar from his wife’s hand.

“So we’re just done?” She asked not expecting this to happen. 

“Yeah. I’m staying with a friend. I don’t want to look at you anymore. I can’t stand you.” He said. 

He looked heartbroken that this is what his marriage with the woman he loved turned out to be. She just turned into a narcissistic devil. Izzy left his house that night. He crashed at your place and you comforted him about his nasty interaction with his wife. 

“I know I’m going to sound like an ass when I say this but it’s going to be okay. I know I haven’t been through a divorce process but-“ you said but you got cut off by Izzy.

“I don’t care about her. I’m done with her ass. I care about you,” Izzy grabbed your hand and stroked it lovingly. 

He brought your hands to his lips and gently kissed them. You started to blush. The next morning you woke up next to Izzy who was naked in your bed with wine bottles all over your apartment and hickeys everywhere on your body and his body.

[tiedyeflannels]

Did We Forget...

OT7 x f!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre: Angst

A/N: Heyyyy... I'm finally back from the dead! Turns out being busy and having writers block is definitely not a fun combo, but I wanted to finish this since I started it last year on my birthday. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and happy new years!!

Masterlist

“Happy Birthday, Y/n!” Your parents exclaimed.

It probably wasn’t too late over in the States where they were right now, but it was really early in the morning in Korea and they claimed that they needed to call you ‘as soon as possible’.

You sleepily smiled at them, “Thanks, you guys! But… you do know that it’s 5 am over here right? I don’t have to get up until later and now you guys woke me up.”

“Well, why did you pick up then,” your dad teased.

You deadpanned, “Because mom ingrained it in me that I can’t not pick up a call from you guys, or she would have my head.”

Mom shook her head, “I never said that.”

“It’s implied, Mom!” You chuckled when she let out a frustrated huff. 

“Anyway, thank you for the birthday wishes! I’m coming home for New Year’s, don’t forget! We can do something then, okay?”

They nodded.

“Yep, we’ve got your room ready and we’ll be picking you up from the airport. All you have to do is let us know where you are,” Mom said.

You hummed in agreement.

“Oh! Are you going to spend the day with the boys? Are they going to take you somewhere special,” Dad asked.

You laughed, “Yeah, I plan on spending the day with them seeing as I don’t have any work to do until I come back from my trip, but I don’t think they have a special event planned.”

“Okay well, don’t party too hard with them! Have fun, be safe and we’ll see you when you visit.”

You fondly smiled, “You got it! Love you guys!”

“Love you,” they said in unison before waving goodbye, then hanging up. 

You sighed as you locked your phone and let it drop on the bed before shifting in bed trying to get comfortable so you could go back to sleep.

~

KNOCK! KNOCK!

You scrunched your face at the sound of light knocking and groaned as you stretched before pulling the blanket over your shoulders and rolled over on your side, trying to go back to sleep.

You didn’t get very far until another round of soft knocking woke you up once more before the door slowly creaked open.

“Y/n,” Jungkook whispered. You sleepily hummed, peeking an eye open to look at him.

“Jin told me to let you know that breakfast is almost ready.”

“Okay, I’ll be down there in a sec,” you croaked out.

He nodded and closed the door, leaving you to wake up on your own, so you stretched once again to get rid of the sleep from your body before reaching up to grab your glasses off of the night stand. You sat up, moved the blanket off of me and placed your feet on the floor. With a yawn and one final stretch, you stood up and made your way to the bathroom. 

Once you were done, you started down towards the kitchen and upon reaching the bottom of the steps, there was a delicious smell wafting through the air. You walked over to the kitchen to see Jin hovering over the stove before picking the pan up and plating its contents. You took a seat at the island as Jin turned around and placed a plate of (y/f/f) in front of you.

“Tada! Breakfast is served,” Jin said, taking a towel off of the oven handle, wiping his hands clean.

You looked down at the food and then at Jin, smiling. “Ooh~ my favorite! What’s the occasion?”

He shrugged as you took a bite of food, melting at the familiar taste. “I figured since you haven’t gotten to eat it in a while and all of us really like it so… I would go ahead and make it!”

You stopped for a second.

Just because? Did he-

You lightly shook your head at the thought.

You tried again, “So, that’s the only reason? Nothing special?”

He shook his head as he looked at you. “Nope, why? Should there be another reason to make this?”

You shook your head, breathing out a laugh before giving him a smile.

“Nope! Thank you for the food, Jin,” you said, before going back to eating.

You finished the food a while after Jin had left the kitchen. You thought it was interesting that he didn’t seem remember your birthday considering that he was excited for it a few weeks back.

Maybe he’ll ‘remember’ later, you thought as you washed the dish and put it on the rack to dry. 

When you was done with that, you looked over to the living room to find Jimin, Hobi, Tae, and Yoongi sitting on the couches scrolling through their phones. You walked up to where Hobi and Jimin were sitting and placed your hands on the back of the couch resulting in a soft pat sound.

Hobi lifted his head. “Oh hey, Y/n,” he said with a smile.

You looked at him and saw that he was dressed up; still casual, but better than sweats, so you looked around the room at each of them and saw that they were dressed the same, fancy but still casual.

“Are you guys going out,” you asked, hinting that they had at least put some thought into what they were wearing instead of the sweats you had gotten used to over that past few days.

Jimin breathed out a chuckle and shook his head, “Nah. We’ve just got practice in bit.”

“Oh yeah! That reminds me,” you turned over to Namjoon, who was adjusting his coat as he made his way over to where you and the guys were, “We’ll have practice until 5 and we have a company meeting and dinner after that, so we won’t be home until late, okay?”

Oh.

You plastered a smile on your face and nodded as Jin and Jungkook came into the room, prompting the others to get up from where they were sitting.

“Yeah, that’s fine. You guys go… be great or whatever you do,” you force a laugh, giving Jungkook a light nudge on his arm, hoping to hide your slight disappointment. 

Might’ve worked too well as they laughed and started heading out.

“We’ll see you when we get back,” Yoongi turned to me. You nodded,

“Okay. Have fun! Be safe! Work hard!”

You waved good-bye to them as you watched them file into the black SUVs and drive away from the house. You sadly sighed at the thought that they forgot, but decided to make the most of it while you still felt like it. So, you went back upstairs, got ready, shrugged on a jacket and went out to who-knows-where. 

Turns out that spending a day by yourself on your birthday was get a little tiring after a while. You sighed as you plopped down on a random park bench, letting the shopping bags fall on the ground next to your legs. Though it was late December, there wasn’t any snow on the ground due to the weather being weirdly warm, which just created slush and puddles.

You rolled up the sleeve of jacket and stared down at the watch as its hands ticked just passed 5 o’clock.

“They should be done with practice now,” you quietly muttered and dug into the coat pocket, pulling out your phone and checking if the members texted.

I wonder if they remembered yet?

Looking through the notifications, none of their names showed up, giving you your answer.

You sadly nodded as disappointment started to seep in before putting your phone back into its hiding place and grabbing the bags as you stood up and started to walk back home. As you drew closer to home, you stopped by the convenience store and picked up a slice of cake and a box of candles, hoping that maybe the members would remember before the day was over so you could celebrate together.

Once home, you set all the bags in your room then remembered the slice you had bought and quietly made your way to the kitchen to put the cake in the fridge, then plopped down on the couch and put on a movie as you waited for the boys to come home. Slowly, your eyelids started to feel heavy and as you tried your best to stay awake, the tiring day finally got to you as you let your eyes close.

You didn’t start to stir until the sound of shuffling made its way to your ears. Opening one eye to peak around at what was happening, you saw the members filing into the house one by one. You sat up immediately and rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you looked at the time on your phone.

11:45. 

“How was your day, you guys,” you yawned out the question, getting up from the couch and stretching.

“Tiring,” Jin said as he walked passed you towards his room.

“Yeah, we’re probably just head to bed,” Hobi said with a tired smile. You sent back a small but warm smile and nodded in understanding,

“Yeah, of course. Good night.” 

There was some tired muttering of ‘good night’s from the others as they passed by and a small nod from Yoongi as they quietly made their ways to their respective rooms, turning off the kitchen light therefore leaving you to stand in the dark alone. You looked at the time on your phone and knew that they weren’t going to come out anymore. 

So… they didn’t remember after all?

You walked over to the fridge and pulled out the slice of cake, carrying it to the counter and setting it down before opening a drawer and taking out a candle and lighter.

Sticking the candle in the center of the cake, you took the lighter and lit it. You stared at the tiny flame, putting my hands together as you made a wish before quickly blowing out the candle and placing it back in the fridge and the clock struck midnight.

~

“Are you sure you have everything,” Yoongi asked as Jungkook handed you the carry-on bag and backpack.

You nodded, “Yep! I should be all set.”

You looked around the group before your eyes settled on Taehyung.

“I’m sorry that I won’t be able to make it to your birthday dinner tonight,” you sadly smiled.

He waved you off, “Don’t worry about it! You can’t exactly control flight times and I know you are dying to see your family. Oh, and thank you for the gift.” 

You took a few steps towards him and pulled him into a hug to which he happily reciprocated.

“Of course! And there’s also a slice of cake I bought in the fridge for you, if you want,” you said, pulling away from the hug in order to say bye to the rest of them, seeing as you won’t be back until the New Year. 

“I should get going,” you said, taking the luggage in your hand as you started to slowly back away from the group.

“I’ll be back in a week! Happy New Years, you guys!”

“Be safe!” “Take care, Y/n/n!” “Bye!” The members waved as they watched you turn around and walk toward your gate.

There was this feeling that Jimin had that he couldn’t seem to shake as he watch you disappear into the crowd of people.

“Guys… I feel like we’re forgetting something.”

“What do you mean? Y/n said she had everything,” Taehyung commented as he placed a hand on Jimin’s shoulder. 

The latter shook his head, “No. I think we’re forgetting something.”

The members looked around as if trying to retrace their steps. “We dropped off Y/n. Later, we’re going to dinner for Tae’s birthday,” Namjoon listed off as something seemed to collectively click in their brains.

“Did we forget,” Jungkook started.

“Y/n’s birthday,” Hobi finished the thought and everyone’s eye widened in realization.

Oh no…

[chillian-murphy]

Last Caress

SUMMARY: Jonathan finds a way to still have fun with his favorite plaything, even after scaring her to death

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

WARNINGS/ADDITIONAL INFO: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. Smut 🔞, necrophilia, noncon (unsure how to categorize corpsefucking consent wise, but I'm calling it noncon just to be safe), rough sex, accidental death, panty stealing, slapping, references to Jonathan being a rapist, some light misogyny, Jonathan is basically just an incel and a creep in this, maybe a little delusional

Not beta'd because how do you even ask for that with a necro fic. I am clearly having a weird one.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you, at least not permanently. You were too much fun to toy with, the way you squirmed and panicked and cried every time you realized he was near. Most of his victims weren’t nearly as fun as you. You’d changed the way you drove to work, the way you dressed, the rhythm of your gait, where you parked your car, all in a vain attempt to avoid his terror, but he tracked you down every single time, enjoying the puzzle of it all. And whenever he found you, you would scream in the most delicious way. Some nights you’d beg, some nights you’d dart down darkened alleys, some nights he didn’t even need to dose you with fear toxin for you to collapse into a pitiful, fearful mess.

Even when he didn’t confront you, you were a joy to watch. How you desperately tried to convince the Gotham police department that you were being stalked, only to be met with apathy from officers who were likely on the payroll of some other criminal, or who just plain didn’t care. How your hands began to tremble so badly that you could no longer accurately type at a computer, nearly getting you fired from your job.  How you couldn’t sleep at night and curled your entire body into a tense ball any time you heard a noise that even remotely resembled the hiss of aerosol spray.

But now you were dead.

Your heart gave out during your nightly game of cat and mouse. When you first collapsed, he thought you had fainted in fear, an exciting new response for him to explore, but upon closer inspection, you weren’t breathing and had no pulse. Jonathan would’ve thrown a tantrum of disappointment right then and there if it wasn’t for one detail: your body was still warm and lifelike to his touch.

This wasn’t the first time Jonathan had handled a corpse, but he was much more used to preserved cadavers that had been donated for medical research. Intellectually, he knew that this was no different and that over the next 12 hours, your body would cool and stiffen, but for now you were soft, pliant, looking no worse for wear.

There was no way to transport your body back to his place without blatantly carrying your corpse through crowded city streets, but luckily for Jonathan, most Gothamites lived their lives by the motto, “if you see something suspicious, mind your business.” If anything, having you around made his commute home quicker: two occupants in the car meant he could drive in the carpool lane.

 Once home, he unceremoniously tossed you on the bed and began inspecting your body more closely. He had never had the chance to see you this still; he always kept his distance while watching you sleep, and during the wakeful encounters, you were always struggling to get away from him. You were pretty, and part of him regretted not pumping you full of sedatives and having his way with you while you were alive. Your skin was slightly clammy as he stroked your face, although your lips still felt plush and soft as he dragged his thumb over them. He wondered how you might look with a bit more of a healthy flush across your face, and what you might have been like with a wanted partner. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen the movie Weekend At Bernie’s?” he quipped as he positioned your body into a more natural looking position. “Of course not, you’re too young.”

Cutting your clothes away would’ve been easier, but he wanted to undress you by hand. It was so much more intimate that way. The clothes you were wearing were unfussy, making it that much easier for him to unbutton your blouse and slide your pencil skirt down your legs.

He couldn’t help but be disappointed in what you were wearing underneath: a cheap looking bra that matched your skin tone and plain cotton panties that were starting to fray at the elastic waistband. It was practical, sure, but couldn’t you have worn something a little more special for such an occasion? It’s almost like you didn’t want him to fuck your corpse.

As flimsy as the bra looked, it proved troublesome for him to remove, and he eventually settled for pulling your breasts out of the cups. They felt so soft in his hands, he couldn't help but moan as he kneaded them roughly. Not having to care about your pleasure or comfort was its own reward, especially as kneading turned to slapping and pulling. He could be as rough with you as he wanted; after all, what were you going to do, complain?

Your panties, however, he removed with the utmost care. While he would've preferred something prettier, they would make a fine keepsake. They smelled like you, maybe even tasted like you. He’d have to be careful with them to preserve the scent as much as possible, but he anticipated them coming in handy on future lonely nights.

Wanting to taste you, he spread your legs and curiously extended his tongue. Jonathan could count the number of women he’d tasted on one hand; most of his partners were less than willing and keeping a struggling victim pinned down didn't lend itself well to tenderly exploring a woman's folds with his tongue. You weren't especially wet anymore, which was disappointing, but he rationalized that beggars can't be choosers. Still, there was enough of your essence left for him to savor how you tasted, even if it was just a whisper of flavor.

Realizing that a dry, dead pussy would be no fun to fuck, he momentarily left you to retrieve the lotion he kept in his nightstand. He rubbed a generous amount between his hands to warm it up, and began the familiar process of pulling himself out of his pants and pumping himself to hardness. Even as you lay there lifeless, he found you absolutely irresistible in the way only something unattainable could be. Your body was like a precious, delicate bauble that he couldn't wait to smash to pieces.

It took a few tries to angle your body correctly and push himself inside, but once he was fully sheathed inside your pussy, he began thrusting with wanton abandon. The outside of your body was cooling, but inside you felt hot and tight. He swore he could feel your walls fluttering around him, even if he knew it was impossible.

“God, I bet you were the hottest little slut when you were alive." He panted out, imagining how you would've looked flirting in bars and going home with random, faceless men. Of course, he knew you seldom went anywhere other than work and home, futilely attempting to avoid Scarecrow, but you had a whole life before your first encounter that Jonathan could only speculate on. Maybe you were prim and proper, maybe you were carefree and fun. It didn't matter now, you were only going to exist in his fantasies now.

The movement from Jonathan's sharp thrusts jostled your body and made your head loll to the side. Not liking your new position, he grabbed your face and pulled it so you faced forward.

“Look at me, whore." he snapped as his movements grew rougher. "You think you don't deserve this? You're better than this? God, you're pathetic.”

Even as your head drooped to the side after he let go, he smacked the exposed side of your face, with all the contempt he’d ever felt, not even for you, but for the abstract amalgamation of every woman who had ever avoided or rejected him.

“Not so fucking high and mighty now." 

He punctuated his statement by spitting in your face, satisfied by how all you could do was lie there limply, with a lifelessly serene look on your face. There was no rejection, no fighting back, just a perfect little pussy to fuck.

As much as he wished he could spend an eternity inside you, Jonathan felt his orgasm approaching. He groaned loudly as he spilled his seed inside you, feeling no need to hold back as he rode through the waves of his climax. His come only made everything feel hotter and stickier, an absolute perfect ending to what had started as a disappointing evening.

Once he was completely spent, he lingered on top of your body, pondering what he would do next. Originally, he was going to shove you in a trash bag and unceremoniously shove you in a dumpster, but now that just seemed… cold. Cruel, even. 

Not that he was ever one for sentiment, but when he looked at you now, he felt what he could only describe as something dangerously close to affection. He could do you a kindness, clean you off and redress you, and drop you off anonymously at the coroner’s with whatever identification you had on you when you collapsed. Your family would be given definite answers about your fate, and an intact body to bury. Hell, if he was going to clean you up, he could even warm your body up in the bath and enjoy one last cuddle, something he had never shown much interest in before.

Jonathan had never thought to play favorites with his victims. But now, you were definitely his favorite.

[aspoonofsugar]

Hi

A lot of people keep saying Sera from Hazbin hotel and Satan from Helluva Boss are quite similar of how they run Heaven and Hell and personality wise. Would it be possible if you can do an analysis of how similar they are and how heaven and hell isn’t much different from Sera and Satan running both places.

Hi!

Sorry for the wait and thank you for the ask because I have been wanting to discuss this since the episode first came out!

SERA AND SATAN: KNOWLEDGE AND JUSTICE

Sera and Satan are superficially opposites:

Sera is an angel, who presents herself as virtuous, merciful and understanding. She is polite towards Charlie and acts as if she is gonna judge her Hazbin Hotel idea fairly.

Satan is a demon, who presents himself as strict, violent and scary. He is dismissive towards I.M.P., openly racist and all he wants is to find someone to punish.

However, neither is exactly what they seem, as both are wearing a facade.

Sera isn't interested in hearing Charlie out. She manipulates events, so that the Princess of Hell has no chance of succeeding. Moreover, she uses Adam's malice to present him as Charlie's opponent, when she is the one getting in the way. In other words, Sera is the mastermind behind Charlie's failure.

Satan isn't really that much in control. He is easily manipulated by different people, as Andrealphus, Blitz and Stolas all trick him. Moreover, he can't really hide the growing tension among the Sins, no matter how much he tries. In other words, Satan is really no mastermind nor leader of Hell.

What is the point of Sera and Satan both wearing masks?

Both Sera and Satan try to fit the role of leader they are given. Sera is the High Seraphim of Heaven, so she must be perfect and rightful. Satan is instead the Leader of the Deadly Sins, so he must command respect and instill fear.

Most of all, Sera and Satan believe Heaven and Hell can keep going only if the status quo is uphold.

This idea permeates all their actions, including their role as judges. Sera is in charge of a "questioning", whereas Satan presides a "trial". However, neither of them is a good fit.

A questioning is about knowledge. It is about questioning the status quo to discover if there is a new way to do things. It is about pursuing truth and understanding. Still, Sera herself has knowledge she doesn't disclose:

Lute: SHHH. Sir, what was the Seraphim's one rule? Adam: Uuughhh, "No one but the exorcists can know about the exterminations". I know, fine. 

Not only that, but she doesn't want the other angels to ask difficult questions:

Sera: This questioning stops now. We know when a soul arrives, we know when they pass divine judgment, it is our job to ensure these souls are safe.

She uses ignorance as a weapon to keep the system in place.

A trial is about justice. It is about judging if a person is guilty or innocent. It is about giving retributions, which are proportionate and fair. However, Satan is "accuser", as his name implies, "jury", as he manipulates the other demons' votes:

Satan: Why don't we take a vote. Who wants to listen to hours of testimony? Who wants to kill this imp bastard and get home for lunch?

And "judge", as he makes the final decision:

Satan: So you see Next to me, your master plans all look so small Little mice When you break my rules You pay the price!

He embodies a draconian law system. In this sense, he himself is "the law". He is an unjust justice, which strikes fear in people.

Ignorance and fear are what Sera and Satan use to preserve things as they are. They do so because they both believe "order" is necessary to prevent chaos. And yet, both their authorities are challenged during "Welcome to Heaven" and "Mastermind". This happens because two characters choose to stand up against them.

EMILY AND STOLAS: UNDEXPECTED OPPONENTS

Emily and Stolas are respectively a Seraphim and a Goetia. So, they are members of the groups Sera and Satan are doing the interests of. In fact, both Emily and Stolas are powerful, sheltered and at the pinnacle of their respective hierarchies. All they have to do is to stay in their place to keep indulging in their privilege. And yet, both decide to side with respectively Charlie, a demon, and Blitz, an imp.

Emily, differently from Sera, is curious about Charlie's idea and she is interested in discovering the truth about how souls get to Heaven:

Emily: Yeah, why isn't he here?

She is genuinely pursuing knowledge and virtue:

Emily: To think that I admired you Well, I don't need your condescension I'm not a child to protect Was talk of virtue just pretension? Was I too naïve to expect you To heed the morals you're purveying?

Stolas, differently from Satan, doesn't want I.M.P. to die, so he uses the classist ideology Satan understands to manipulate him into showing mercy:

Stolas: I came down just as soon as I heard of the imp Stood accused of a devilish crime Could it be that a worm such as this half a brain Could concoct such a plot so sublime? Does this fool deserve the flame? Or is someone else to blame?

He is acting out of personal feelings, rather than political ideology. However, he is protecting lower demons at a high personal cost:

Stolas: I am the mastermind, the hand that holds the strings! No simple imp of mine could master the disaster Oh it stings! That you thought You had caught the schemer of the schemes I wrought! I confess! It was me and I have no regrets!

Emily and Stolas's "rebellion" is interesting for two reasons.

1) It leads to a moment in You Didn't Know and Mastermind, where Emily/Charlie (directly) and Stolas/Blitz (indirectly) challenge Heaven and Hell.

Charlie and Emily: If Hell is forever, then Heaven must be a lie  If angels can do whatever, and remain in the sky The rules are shades of gray when you don't do as you say When you make the wretched suffer just to kill them again

Here Emily and Charlie have the higher moral ground over Sera, as they sing a reprise of Hell is Forever. They are calling out the High Seraphim of Heaven on her hypocrisy and daring to say Heaven itself is turning into Hell.

Stolas: You're my light Blitzo: You're my heart Blitzo and Stolas: Only death can rend our love apart!

Here Stolas and Blitz are having a metaphorical wedding. They affirm their love with a formula similar to "until death do us apart". Moreover, this exchange happens in front of the embodiment of law (Satan). Stolas and Blitz's relationship is symbolically disrupting the balance between the higher class and the lower demons. They are challenging Hell's bigoted views.

2) It forces Sera and Satan to deal with Emily and Stolas's resistance.

On the one hand Sera insists Emily should ignore what just happened and keep going with the duty Heaven assigned her. She tries to enforce "ignorance" on Emily:

Sera: It is my position as the head Seraphim to protect our people at all costs. And it's your position to keep them happy and joyful. Emily: How can I bring joy when I now know we are bringing misery to thousands of innocent people?

On the other hand Satan makes an example out of Stolas, so that none of the other Goetia will dare to challenge the status quo. He "frightens" the rest of Hell with Stolas's punishment:

Satan: No. Ooh, ooh. No, no. You still definitely fucked up, we just need to figure out a fitting punishment for you.

What's interesting is that both Sera (directly) and Satan (indirectly) compare Emily and Stolas to Lucifer:

Sera: Please.... if you start to question... you could end up like Lucifer: Fallen. I couldn't bear to see you suffer that fate, so please, let me worry about this, ok?

Sera does not want Emily to end up fallen, like Lucifer.

Satan: STOLAS! I hereby strip you of your status, your power, and your title for the next hundred years. You will have to live amongst the citizens of Hell and revel in your failings!

Satan banishes Stolas, just like Heaven banished Lucifer.

Why is the fallen angel so important?

LUCIFER'S FAILURE

Sera: Well, you failed to control the demons' unrest, and now Lucifer is involved, setting up an audience for his misguided daughter. 

Satan: I've ruled the endless dark Since long before the golden angel's fall

Sera and Satan know Lucifer personally and used to share their political role with him:

Sera and Lucifer were both Seraphims, at the top of Heaven's hierarchy

Satan and Lucifer are both Deadly Sins and Lucifer used to be the leader in Satan's place

However, Lucifer ended up disappearing from both of their lives. First, he fell and left Heaven forever. Then, he got more and more depressed and became uninvolved in Hell's ruling.

It is unknown what Sera and Satan's personal relationship with Lucifer was, but right now they both seem to resent him and are trying to erase his memory.

Sera is annoyed by just mentioning Lucifer's name and she clearly projects her unsolved feelings for him on Charlie. She sees the Princess of Hell as just an extension of Lucifer (daughter of the Morningstar) and is biased against her project because she sees it as an echo of Lucifer's past dream.

Satan is angry at Lucifer and is using his absence to take over his Kingdom. He even changes their shared past by presenting himself as the first rightful rule of Hell. He also imposes a policy, which ironically punishes people for sins similar to Lucifer's original one.

In short, Sera and Satan represent Lucifer double failure:

Sera is a Seraphim, who upholds Heaven's "order" and thinks changing Heaven in any capacity is impossible and dangerous. All because Lucifer's attempt ended up in a disaster, which broke the world. She embodies Lucifer's failure to reform Heaven.

Satan is a Sin, who imposes in Hell a law very similar to Heaven's. He upholds a hierarchy, whcih is just a mirror of Heaven's one. He is Sera's parody, in a sense. He represents Lucifer's failure to rule Hell and to make it an alternative to Heaven.

So, Lucifer failed twice. He failed to create a better universe and he failed to live as happily as possible in Hell. Moreover, as King of Hell he failed both at foreign policy (the exterminations) and at domestic policy (Hell's classism).

CHARLIE AND BLITZ: PICKING UP THE PIECES

Charlie and Blitz are meant to pick up Lucifer's pieces and to help both the universe (Charlie) and society (Blitz) to change.

Charlie will deal directly with Lucifer (and Lilith)'s original sin and fix the universe they broke. When it comes to Hell's politics, she is going to grow into a political leader, a true princess in a sense:

Charlie: 'Cause right now, we need a leader And it seems to me that Destiny has picked me to be that If you'll permit me So who's with me?

In particular, she is gonna gain more power and influence in the Pride Ring and is gonna take charge of foreign policy (the relationship between Heaven and Hell).

Blitz will disrupt Hell's hierarchy thanks to his business and relationship with Stolas. He will break free from the system:

Blitzo: All I was trying to do was rise above this stupid fucking place YOU ALL FORCED US INTO!

In particular, he is gonna show new paths for imps to advance their statuses and is gonna impact domestic policy (Hell's classism).

Charlie and Blitz's respective "court episodes" are key steps in their parallel journeys, both on a personal level and on a political level.

On a personal level, they both have a revelation about their love interest:

Charlie discovers Vaggie is an angel and sees her darkest side. She needs to go through this because she must realize the world is gray and more complicated than what she thinks.

Blitz realizes Stolas's feelings for him and admits his own for Stolas. He sees Stolas's light, in a sense. He needs to go through this because he must understand the world can be warmer and more beautiful than he thinks.

On a political level, both Blitz and Charlie manage to mess Sera and Satan's "order".

Charlie highlights Sera's hypocrisy and for a moment she gets through to the other angels. Even if she loses, she is eventually proven right by Sir Pentious's rebirth as an angel:

Blitz survives Satan's judgement and shows other imps things can change for the better. He gives hope to the lower demons and inspires them not to let Hell define who they are:

On a final note, it is interesting that everything Sera and Satan do to keep things as they are actually backfires.

Sera approves of the exterminations to make sure demons won't upraise. However, this leads Charlie to lead Hell's resistance. Sera dismisses Charlie's Hazbin Hotel project. And yet, precisely because of Sera's refusal to look for a peaceful solution, Sir Pentious dies in the battle and becomes an angel.

Satan spends the trial trying to come up with a punishment, which will strike fear in the hearts of the citizens of Hell. He first decides to kill all I.M.P., but then changes his mind when Stolas tells him this would just turn Blitz into a martyr. The end result is that Satan broadcasts Blitz's struggle and victory throughout all of Hell and makes him a hero.

These are my main thoughts on Sera and Satan's foiling! Of course things may change as the two stories unfold.

In any case, thanks you for the ask and a happy new year!

[whateverisbeautiful]

What is something that you feel like the show didn't talk about or explain more on in TOWL and or TWD about Richonnes relationship or friendship?? I thought in TOWL Michonne would have asked what happened to Rick that left him injured on the bridge. Can u rank the TOWL episodes in your opinion about which one is the best and not as good? Can u also rank each episode 1-10 and give a reason why u gave it that number? Merry Christmas and I u have a wonderful new year 🥰🤩

Thank you! I hope it’s been a great holiday season for you as well. I think I’ll always remember 2024 as the Year of Richonne because we got to witness their beautiful return in TOWL and I got to revel in them all year with you all which I’ve really appreciated.

For the 1st question - I think in TWD it would’ve been impactful to have seen Richonne’s first discussion about Andre. They did subtly reference Andre once in season 8, but I think showing how that initial discussion about him went would just add even more insight into how Michonne and Rick connect, understand, and confide in each other. For TOWL, that would be interesting to have seen them share their side of what happened on the day Rick disappeared.

A TOWL episode ranking feels like the perfect thing to share on the last day of 2024. 😊 I wrote out my list from lowest to highest below. Happy New Year to everyone & thanks for reveling with me over here! 🥂💗:

TOWL Episode Ranking

#6: Episode 5 (7/10)

This one is in 6th place mainly because I felt the cuts to Jadis and Father Gabriel weren’t the most engaging and took up more time than it needed and I wasn’t really feeling the one-dimensional sibling trio. However, when it comes to the Richonne content in this episode, I absolutely loved their scenes together. 🤩 That souvenir shop scene and the lovely proposal were some of my favorite moments from the series.

#5: Episode 6 (7/10)

The Grimes family reunion was gold and so was the episode's opener. Plus, I liked the scene where Rick tells Michonne how much he missed her and when he shares he's mad about the time he missed seeing their kids growing up. There was just a few dialogue moments that I found forced or unnatural scattered throughout the ep. I didn’t mind how they handled the CRM stuff and wrapped up their plan tho. Some parts were a bit of a stretch, such as Pearl surviving that explosion, but overall I was fine with it. And seeing Rick and Michonne get their happy ending with their kids was everything. 🥹

#4: Episode 3 (8/10)

Episode 3 was a really good midpoint episode with a great memorable ending. For an episode where Rick and Michonne barely converse with each other, they did a great job of still having so much tension and impactful exchanges. This episode proved that all those two have to do is look at each other and it can communicate oh so much. Rick and Michonne having conflict and different approaches on how to save each other was interesting to see. Highlights from the episode were the scene when Michonne speaks to the portratist, Rick and Michonne's hot and heavy moment behind that boneless tree, and of course, Michonne yanking Rick out of a helicopter at the end. 🤭

#3: Episode 1 (8.5/10)

This was such a compelling premiere to me. Andy’s return as Rick Grimes in this episode was excellent as always and Okafor had such an impactful presence in just one short episode. I thought ep 1 did a great job of showing us the toll these years have taken on Rick and how the most resilient man could break and shut down the way he did. Rick finally deciding to stop fighting to get home strictly because he was willing to sacrifice himself to keep his family safe - the heartbreak and dejectedness Rick felt was palpable, especially in his final letter to Michonne. And I adore the dreams he had of Michonne in this episode. I’ll never forget how overjoyed I was hearing Rick say “5 pizzas and a wedding ring” the first time and realizing Richonne was going to reunite by the end of the episode. Iconic. 🙌🏽

#2: Episode 2 (9/10)

Man did they deliver with that Richonne reunion. 🔥 For that moment to be as highly anticipated as it was, it was going to be a tall order to successfully orchestrate Rick and Michonne’s first time seeing each other in years and they truly rose to the occasion and delivered something special. I loved seeing Danai reprise the role of Michonne and pick up where she left off from TWD, meeting one of my favorite additions to the TWD cast - Nat. Like Okafor, Nat made such a lasting impact in just one episode. It also makes a lot of sense why Danai got recognized for her performance in this episode because she knocked it out of the park with the emotion she infused into each scene. And then, Andy joined right with her once Richonne reunited. Another thing I love about ep 2 is that the Richonne reunion was already so well done but then they went and gave this episode an equally great Richonne scene between the CRM vehicles too. We were spoiled and I love that for us. 😇

#1: Episode 4 (10/10)

'What We' easily tops the list. Episode 4 is such a meaningful masterpiece to me and to so many. I’d list highlight moments from the ep but every scene is a highlight. Genuinely. 👏🏽 Just the other day I was thinking about the dialogue in this episode and started tearing up just thinking about it. What Danai crafted with this episode is so powerful and unforgettable. And Andy and Danai's performances were incredible. I love that this episode focused on just Rick and Michonne in one location, letting these actors and these characters shine.

There are so few things I’d give a 10 out of 10 to but this deserves it. I couldn’t ask for more. To watch two characters who love each other more than anyone has loved someone start the episode with more conflict than we’ve ever seen them have only to believably and powerfully reconcile by the end of the episode and bring each other back to life. Just wow. 😭❤️‍🔥

I’ve already said so much about Episode 4 but I can feel myself ready to type yet another novel about how exceptional this piece of television was. Before this gets even longer, I’ll just say that TOWL overall was already a big achievement for the franchise but Episode 4 is TOWL’s crowning jewel, and I’ll forever be in awe of how great and special that episode was in depicting the beauty of Richonne. 👑😌

[luvvictoria]

The price of power

It always started with his smile. That effortless curve of Suguru Geto's lips — the kind of smile that promised warmth but delivered something colder, sharper. It was the kind of smile that pulled [Name] into his orbit and convinced her she was safe, even as shadows crept at the edges of her vision.

In their relationship, Suguru held all the power, though he never admitted it. His affection was like a currency he distributed sparingly, ensuring it was just enough to keep her coming back. Tonight, as they sat across from each other in the dimly lit café they often visited, [Name] could feel that familiar tug-of-war in her chest. She wanted to ask him why he seemed distracted lately — why his phone buzzed more often and why he always turned it over before she could glance at the screen. But she didn’t.

Because Suguru had a way of making her feel as though her concerns were petty.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice careful, soft, as if the wrong tone might set something fragile teetering.

Suguru looked up, his dark eyes scanning her face. For a moment, he didn’t respond, as if weighing the value of answering her question. Then he smiled again, that perfect, practiced smile.

“Of course, everything’s okay,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

His deflection was so subtle, so artful, that [Name] almost felt guilty for asking. She bit her lip, glancing down at her hands clasped on the table. “I just… you’ve been busy lately, that’s all.”

“Busy?” Suguru’s tone shifted ever so slightly, and [Name] braced herself. “You mean working hard to make sure we have a future? Is that what you mean?”

She shook her head quickly. “No, that’s not what I—”

“Then what is it?” he interrupted, his voice calm but heavy with unspoken accusations. “Are you saying I don’t spend enough time with you?”

The air between them thickened. Suguru’s gaze pinned her in place, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. This was his power — his ability to twist concern into an insult, to make her question her intentions instead of his actions.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she murmured finally, shrinking into her seat.

Suguru reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. The gesture was supposed to feel reassuring, but it only made her stomach twist. “You don’t need to worry about me, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I’m here, aren’t I? You’re the only one who matters to me.”

His words should have soothed her, but they didn’t. They felt rehearsed, like a line he’d perfected for moments like this. Yet, even as her instincts screamed at her to dig deeper, to question him, she stayed silent.

Because she didn’t want to ruin the moment.

Because she was afraid of the answer.

Later that night, as they walked home under the muted glow of streetlights, Suguru’s phone buzzed again. The faint vibration was almost imperceptible, but [Name] caught it. She glanced at his face— calm, unreadable — before he slid the phone into his pocket with a practiced motion. The gesture was smooth, deliberate, like a magician tucking away a card in plain sight.

The sinking feeling in her chest deepened, but she told herself to let it go.

She focused on the warmth of his hand around hers, the way his thumb brushed against her knuckles. It felt intimate, grounding. But wasn’t that how it always was? Little gestures of affection meant to tether her to him, pulling her attention away from the things she couldn’t explain.

“You’re quiet,” he remarked, his tone light but probing. His words carried no accusation, but she knew better.

“I’m just tired,” she replied quickly, her voice too soft, too quick.

Suguru chuckled — a low, almost indulgent sound that sent her nerves into a frenzy. “You overthink too much, you know that? Always worrying about things that don’t matter.”

The words stung. Not because they were cruel, but because they felt so dismissive, so absolute. Yet she forced herself to smile, painting over the ache in her chest with the mask of agreement. “You’re probably right.”

Suguru gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, as though rewarding her for falling in line. And just like that, the tension dissolved — or maybe it just shifted, like smoke settling in the cracks of her mind.

By the time they reached her apartment, he’d turned the night around entirely. His voice was animated, his hands painting vivid pictures in the air as he shared a story about Satoru’s latest antics. It was almost enough to make her forget the cold edge she’d felt earlier. Almost.

He kissed her goodnight at the door, his lips lingering against hers, soft and sweet. It was the kind of kiss that promised stability, even as the ground beneath her felt like it was crumbling.

“Sleep well I love you,” he murmured, his voice warm and smooth. Then he turned and walked away, his figure vanishing into the shadows of the street.

[Name] stood in the doorway, the cold air biting at her skin, and watched him go. Her heart twisted in her chest, a tangled mess of emotions she couldn’t untangle. She told herself she was lucky to have him.

He was right — she did overthink things.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the warmth of his touch faded like smoke, leaving only the gnawing emptiness behind. It wrapped around her, familiar and suffocating, as she leaned against the door and stared into the darkened room.

Her voice was barely a whisper, the words cracking as they escaped her lips.

“What’s wrong with me?”

On the other side of town, Suguru sat across from Shoko in a dimly lit bar, the kind of place that exuded sophistication with its dark leather booths and low, ambient lighting. The faint hum of jazz music filled the air, blending with the murmur of conversations around them.

Suguru looked as composed as ever, his posture relaxed and his smile effortlessly charming. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass before taking a sip, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. Across from him, Shoko Ieri leaned back in her seat, her legs crossed and a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?” Shoko’s voice was casual, but there was an edge to it, her words slicing through the pretense like a razor. She raised her glass to her lips, taking a slow sip of her drink as she watched him.

Suguru’s eyes flicked to her, dark and calculating. “Tell her what?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence, as if he didn’t already know exactly what she meant.

Shoko snorted, setting her glass down with a soft clink. “That you’re a liar,” she said bluntly, her eyebrow arching as she held his gaze.

Suguru chuckled, a low, velvety sound that sent shivers down spines for all the wrong reasons. He leaned back in his chair, his smile never wavering, as though her words had been nothing more than a light jest.

“I don’t need to tell her anything,” he said smoothly, placing his glass on the table and tracing the rim with his finger. His tone was light, conversational, but there was an unmistakable chill beneath the surface. “She’s too busy convincing herself I’m perfect.”

Shoko’s smirk widened, though her eyes were sharp with judgment. “You really think that act of yours will hold up forever? Women aren’t as stupid as you think they are, Suguru.”

Suguru tilted his head, feigning surprise. “Oh, I don’t think she’s stupid,” he replied. “Far from it. She’s intelligent, kind, trusting... but that’s the problem, isn’t it? She’s too trusting. She wants to believe in the version of me she’s created in her head.”

“And you’re happy to let her?” Shoko asked, her tone laced with disdain.

Suguru’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, his expression hardening. “Why not?” he said quietly, his voice carrying an edge of bitterness now. “People believe what they want to believe, Shoko. I just give them what they’re already looking for.”

Shoko leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she studied him. “You’re playing with fire, you know. Sooner or later, she’s going to figure it out.”

Suguru shrugged, lifting his glass again. “Maybe. But by then, she’ll be too tangled up to walk away. She needs me more than she realizes.” He smirked over the rim of his glass, his tone almost mocking. “People don’t leave what they think they can’t live without.”

Shoko’s expression darkened, her amusement fading. “You’re going to ruin her,” she said, her voice softer now, but no less cutting.

Suguru’s eyes flickered, something cold and unrelenting flashing across his face before his mask of charm slipped back into place. He leaned forward, his smile sharper now, more predatory. “What’s your point, Shoko? That I’m the bad guy?” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “You’re here, aren’t you? Drinking with me, playing along. That doesn’t exactly make you innocent.”

Shoko’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond. She hated that he was right — that she was complicit in this mess, even if only by association. She reached for her drink again, taking a longer sip this time.

“I hope you know,” she said finally, her voice low and steady, “when it all falls apart, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

Suguru’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He raised his glass in a mock toast. “When that day comes, I’ll let you say, ‘I told you so.’ Until then...” He downed the rest of his drink, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “...let’s enjoy the show.”

Shoko watched him, her chest tightening with unease as he leaned back in his seat, utterly unbothered. She wondered, not for the first time, how someone so outwardly composed could be so utterly devoid of remorse.

As the night stretched on, Suguru ordered another drink, his charm undiminished, his mask firmly in place. But Shoko could see it now—the cracks in the facade, the darkness that lingered just beneath the surface. And for a brief moment, she pitied the girl who thought she loved him.

[mi---amor]

Where The Heart Is

A//N: Chef Saltbaker x Self Insert OC

°•°•°•°•°

The funny thing about going off to explore the world was, at the end of the day, there was no place like home. 

Chalice had roamed the isles of Inkwell for several centuries; infinite freedom to witness the passage of time and march of progress at the cost of not being able to experience any of it. However, her postmortem predicament had recently relented and she was now free to venture on two solid feet wherever she desired. 

The change was nice. It was new. It was exciting! 

And most thrilling of all, it was tiring.

All credit went to accompanying the two knucklehead cup brothers on whatever adventure they embarked. Dueling grown adults, monsters, and Satan himself was no longer a pastime, thankfully. They could finally just enjoy being kids. 

As much as Chalice loved those two to death (quite literally) and would gladly take on a million brawls for them, a girl her age needed time to herself. Two whole weeks of romping around Isle One left her sore from straw to toe, not to mention incredibly homesick. 

After a prompt but sound boat ride, Chalice twirled and skipped towards the humble town square of Isle Four. The day was drifting into late afternoon, meaning the bakery would be closed, but her pops would be on the lookout for her.

He always waited down by the old well, and once they caught sight of each other, he'd open his arms and smile big. Chalice would smile even bigger and rush up into his awaiting softness. It was probably the best feeling since returning to life, she'd say. 

That and gobbling down a plate of her favorite fig and almond tarts he'd make as a welcome home present, just for her. They'd go inside and Chalice would chatter on about her two weeks of non-reckless-but-maybe-rowdy fun while her father listened with interest, happy she had returned safely, happy she was happy.

And Chalice would be happy- as soon as they were reunited. 

The cup girl crossed the cobbletones before a bare spot at the well’s side. She craned her neck and hopped around like a twitchy bird. Her father wasn't where he usually sat right at the front. He had to be somewhere, though- hopefully not at the bottom of it. But no, he wouldn’t let falling down an old well stop him from missing her first day back.

Chalice's excited heel taps slowed as she checked the entire circumference of the area. She even called down the dusty stone reservoir, just in case. Nothing but her confused little voice came back up to greet her.

She pouted, but shrugged off the slight disappointment. Her pops was a busy guy. The best baker in the land. He often made time for her, but Chalice knew he wouldn't always be able to. She’d been an adult before, hadn't she? There had been many occasions where she may or may not have wished to get the hassle of living and dealing with so many responsibilities out of the way. She understood the struggle perfectly. 

Anyways, despite being returned to the mortal realm as a child, she was ‘a smart little cookie crumble’, as her pops liked to put it. She could figure things out for herself. 

Chalice shouldered her backpack and scurried toward the bakery, which doubled as their house with an upstairs floor. The sun dripped down the windows like melting golden butter. A chalkboard sign at the door read: Closed. Chalice checked the knob. Locked. Not a problem. Fishing a key from a necklace hidden under her collar, she unlocked the door and stepped right in.

The warm, cozy smell of home embraced Chalice, and if she could have given it one in return, she would have. She'd missed the place terribly. Something about Saltbaker’s bakery had tugged at her soul when she first explored it as a specter. She knew now it was because it had been built over a mausoleum, with enough astral energy to draw in powerful beings of the past like herself. Nowadays, it was just magical in its everyday simplicity and, most important of all, safety. 

Maybe it was where she was meant to be all along… although luckily not in a tart tin.

The storefront had been left neat and tidy, same as before she’d left. Given how much he prided in presentation, Chalice could believe her father had missed the time while cleaning or finishing some other end-of-the-day matter. 

She wouldn't hold it against him. In fact, she pitied the poor guy. He often got swamped with work and cheerfully waved away any concern he could clearly use.

Because of this, Chalice had suggested he at least entertain the idea of hiring more staff. Like any good daughter, she helped when she could with chores. But after the whole… Wondertart fiasco… the chef didn't seem entirely comfortable having a child carry out hours of unpaid manual labor in his workplace. 

Chalice appreciated the consideration immensely; he'd learned his lesson and was being the best dad he could be. But still, he was through with community service. He didn't have to toil alone as a consequence anymore. Hopefully he’d heed her advice and quit being such a big stubborn dummy. 

Heading toward the stairs of their living quarters, Chalice overheard an unmistakable belly laugh coming from the kitchen. She paused and listened closer. The radio was on too, playing a merry melody. 

Her pops loved listening to music while he cleaned. 

Grinning, the cup girl rushed behind the counter and through the swinging door, ready to tackle him for his forgetfulness, which she would easily forgive over a plate of fig tarts. 

And there he was, leaning back against a counter, stirring a full wine glass. Chef Saltbaker was chuckling in a noticeably giddier pitch with a rosy hue dusting over his glass features. Across from him stood a stranger Chalice couldn't see since they were turned away, but it seemed to be a woman.

“Pop?” she asked, not hiding her slightly bewildered tone. 

The chef caught sight of his daughter through a distorted view in the wine glass raised to his lips. He choked into it, and after a brief coughing fit, he seemed to suddenly speak fluent gibberish. 

“Chalice! Ah-! I- um- you- drat! Today!”

“Don't get your cap in a twist,” Chalice muttered, stepping slightly closer to the guest who had an apparent VIP pass to loiter in their kitchen. She didn’t mean to crinkle her nose at them, but she felt like she had a good reason to. “Who’re you?”

The woman was short and stocky, a little on the chubbier side, and had a semblance to one of the pastries in the bakery's many display cases. She was kinda pretty, which wasn't a good thing as Chalice tried filling in the blanks of whatever this oddly intimate situation was while awaiting a proper explanation. 

The woman cleared her throat, looking toward the chef as he hurriedly set down his cup and switched off the radio. 

“She doesn't speak English, I’m afraid,” Saltbaker said. He went and knelt beside Chalice, seeming a bit sheepish. “I had hoped you might’ve overheard the news since word travels at the speed of light around here, but I digress.” He then held out a palm toward the mystery woman. “This is Amor, my new baking assistant! Amor, esta es mi hija, Cáliz.”

“Oh! Mucho gusto.” Although stiffer than the peppy chef, the woman offered a hand and smile to the girl as Saltbaker translated.

“She says it's nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Chalice said. Without returning the gesture, she stared at the woman, the wine glasses, and then her father. She waited, letting the awkwardness sink in perhaps a bit too cruelly, before asking, “So… she’s just an assistant?” 

“Of- of course.” Chef Saltbaker’s not-very-convincing stutter was out of pure confusion. He had no idea what on Earth his daughter was trying to insinuate, but a child's imagination was terrifying and he wasn't about to start guessing.

The Amor lady mumbled something Chalice didn't quite catch. She was familiar with Spanish as well as a variety of other languages, and although she didn't exactly remember how, she knew her past life had something to do with it. 

There was an oddity to how Amor spoke. Her Spanish had a twang, like a Southern accent. Chalice had never heard it before, nor had she even seen the woman on any of the isles in her two entire lives. It was strange, and unfortunately just made her plain weird. Worst of all, now she had her father acting all strange and weird and secretive too. 

Sensing a souring atmosphere, Chef Saltbaker calmly replied to Amor while ushering Chalice out of the kitchen. As soon as they were alone, like they were supposed to be, he knelt and cupped his daughter’s shoulders. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I completely forgot about walking you home! I'm real sorry, really I am. I've been busy showing Amor the ropes, see. She's not just new to the job, she's from another archipelago entirely.”

“Huh,” Chalice said. “That explains it.” 

“Explains what?”

“She's… well. Different.” Chalice made sure to pick her words to sound judgment-free. She didn't really know why she had the urge to do the exact opposite… but she had a good guess. Ever since the Wondertart incident a year or so ago, she had a rightful amount of wariness for anyone who seemed too friendly on the outside. 

And that was pretty much everyone. 

Chef Saltbaker was a firsthand witness, if not the guilty culprit. She wasn't going to get over the instinct anytime soon, but at the same time he really didn’t wish for her to feel that way constantly. 

“Yes, she is different,” he said. “But different doesn't mean bad.”

Chalice rolled her eyes. “I knowww. C'mon, I ain’t five.”

“Then why the suspicion?” 

Her father seemed to genuinely want to know, and Chalice hadn't even noticed that was the exact emotion she felt. Having it pointed out aloud made her sound… pretty harsh.  

“I don't know,” she admitted. “Maybe because she randomly showed up? And last I checked, you don't need a bottle of wine and mood music to chit-chat.”

Chef Saltbaker hadn't the foggiest clue as to where his daughter had pulled such an assumption from. It bordered on impudent, but he didn't think admonishing her would solve the issue. He believed there could have been a better way to present the situation. And darn it, presentation was his thing, he knew better. 

“Sweetheart, part of getting to know someone is to make conversation and be polite,” he reasoned. “Where we come from, pouring a drink is a gesture of hospitality as well. Amor is bright and has a great attitude, a marvelous culinary background, and she's leaped at the chance to work here… even with knowing about my- ah. Record.” 

Chef Saltbaker dodged the sore subject and waggled Chalice's shoulders with great enthusiasm. “She's proven to be a great help in only a few days! I'm ahead on my orders and she could take over a few tasks to free up my schedule! Isn't that what you were telling me I needed?”

When he put it like that… not to mention looked so happy while telling her about it… maybe Chalice had been too hasty. She'd said it herself; she knew nothing about Amor. While there was still a persistent fear that she had other intentions, there was also a chance she could have been an angel who'd dropped down to their doorstep. 

Meanwhile, the chef had paid his daughter's wishes mind. Didn't that also mean he was thinking of her? To make more time? Because he cared? 

The little cup girl twisted her foot behind a calf, downcast. 

“Oh,” was all she could manage to say. 

“Oh?” Chef Saltbaker gently teased. He chucked Chalice under the chin, meeting her guilt-ridden gaze with an endlessly loving one. “I wouldn't hire any random person off the street, y'know. Part of the ongoing interview process is assessing if she'd work well with another helper around, should I need you. You're a much bigger priority to me than anything else, dear, even my old bakery, and if things don't work out for whatever reason, I'll see to it. Alright?”

A warmth lit in the depths of Chalice's soul at his assurance, lifting her eyes and mouth high. Playfully, she flicked her father's nose. It made a funny spring door stopper noise. 

“Since when did they start calling you Chef Sappybaker?” she asked. 

Her father retaliated by pinching both her cheeks and squishing them around. “Oh, since I had the pleasure of looking after you, cookie crumble. You won't hear the end of it, I promise. Ah! Before I keep being a forgetful fool…”

Chalice gasped in delight as her father flourished a hand and summoned a sparkling plate of fig tarts from thin air. Steam swirled above them, and the dollops of cream glistened like freshly fallen snow. 

“Amor helped make these when I told her you were coming home today,” Chef Saltbaker said. He meaningfully tilted his head toward the kitchen. “She's shy at first but opens up to kindness. She's looking forward to meeting you. Now, I won't force you to make conversation, but I do request you be polite. Do you think you could introduce yourself a bit better?” 

Chalice stood straight and nodded like a steadfast soldier. Her father couldn't resist giving her cheek another doting pinch. 

“That's my girl.”

Amor waited in the kitchen, every second tightening like a vice around her heart. Had she said something wrong? Looked the wrong way, worn the wrong clothes?

She hated social cue guessing games like that, but sadly that was the only way she could afford to try and fit in at the moment.

Maybe it was the clothes. It was always the clothes. She could wear what she wanted back home, back where no one batted an eye at a woman with short hair wearing pants. But here, everyone noticed. If your hair was long and your pants were short, they noticed. If your hair was cut and your dress flowed to your ankles, they noticed.

You could work harder than anyone, get more cuts and tears and dirt stains all over those blouses and jeans, and still, all they saw was how badly you stood out like a sore thumb.

Amor leaned anxiously from foot to foot. She could only hope that the little cup girl saw her like her father had. See she was trying to make a good first impression and not seem weird or mean on purpose. First impressions meant everything these days when so many others were next in line to snatch a job.

The kitchen door swished open and Amor turned, hands fidgeting in place of being nibbled on. That had been fast. Had they talked about her? Was her financial fate really going to be set in the hands of a child? 

Holding onto her plate of goodies, Chef Saltbaker gave his daughter a push and wink in Amor’s direction. Chalice smiled at the visibly apprehensive woman and held out a hand. 

“¡Hola! Soy Cáliz. Es un placer conocerte, Señora Amor, y agradezco que estás ayudando a mi papá con nuestra panadería.”

The little girl's tooth gap adorably complimented her earnest expression and perfect Spanish. Any suspicion Amor had initially sensed was long gone, having been swept aside to reveal something much sweeter and approachable like she'd seen in the head chef himself. 

It was excellent customer service in the making if Amor had ever seen any. To top it off, the sound of her native language alone made her feel right at home.

“Gracias, señorita. Me siento muy bienvenido aquí.”