#[careless whisper intensifies]

[phantomdoofer]

The moment when you realize you yourself never drew one of the most iconic things in your hyperfixation and you have to correct that

[saiyanprincesstrunks]

The memories are coming back...

[thedndpals]

Rainielle & Dominic Text In Character

Episode 1: Diner Plans

Here’s the first entry of a series I like to call “Rainielle & Dominic Text In Character”, where me and my pal Dominic text each other in character as Bonnie and Clyde (albeit the stage version). Justified since we played them in a lip-sync performance for an assignment.

In this entry, his Clyde, considered meeting my Bonnie at a nice diner one of the guys told him about and he thought about where the both of us should go next. I, as Bonnie, gladly accepted that suggestion.

So, as we each other farewell, Dominic’s Clyde goes: “Sounds great, I’ll see you soon, sweetheart!”

I, as Bonnie, go: “Buh-bye now baby ;)”

And, as Cyde, he goes: “See you, sugar.”

*Careless Whisper intensifies*

[batboysanonymous]

A Flicker of You

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Summary: Eris Vanserra is a male who wields fire like a weapon, yet it’s in your touch that he finds himself burning the most.

The war room was hot, especially with that huge fire raging in the fireplace. It wasn't the cozy, comforting heat; it was the kind that felt like it was choking you, strained with all the High Lords arguing like merchants haggling over prices. They were making deals, getting all worked up, but really, none of it mattered.

At least, not to Eris, not right now.

You didn't even have to look to know he wasn't paying attention. You could feel it in the relaxed, careless manner his fingers sketched out yours under the table, following the lines of your knuckles, making light as air circles on your palm. Thoughtless. Effortless. And so damn intimate it curled warmth in your gut.

You had just moved enough to be able to see him in the fire's light. He was leaning back in his chair, his pointed, fox-like face all ablaze with shadow and gold, and his other hand was propped against his jaw as though he were utterly bored. But that smirk on the corner of his lips entirely gave him away.

You narrowed your eyes. "Eris."

He hummed, not even looking up. His fingers kept going, like your hands were a puzzle he was happy to figure out in his own time.

"You're supposed to be listening."

"I am listening." He turned to you at last, golden eyes glinting in the half-light. "I'm listening to your pulse stutter when I do this."

He took your hand and gave the inner part of your wrist a slow, gentle kiss.

Your breath caught. His smirk intensified.

Fucking bastard.

"You're impossible," I said.

"And yet, you're still in love with me".

And gods help you, you were. Despite every warning, every whispered caution about Eris Vanserra, heir to Autumn, son of a monster. Despite the stories that followed him like embers in the wind.

But Eris had never burned you.

His passion was always just warmth, never burning. Like the slow, gentle strokes of his fingers and how he's looking at you now, his smirk softening, something only you ever get to see.

Beneath the table, he wove his pinky through yours.

And you finally let him.

The second the meeting ended, Eris wasted no time. His grip on your hand was firm, his stride fast as he led you through the winding corridors of the manor. You didn't ask where he was taking you, you already knew.

His room door had barely closed when he pinned you against it. His body was wrapped around yours, his heat seeping directly through your clothing. But it was not wild or frantic. It was just the slow, easy way his hands moved up your arms, across your shoulders, and then framed your face.

His lips brushed over your jaw, not quite a kiss, more like a ghost one one. “You let me suffer through that,” he murmured, in a low raspy voice.

Your fingers wrapped into the fabric of his tunic and drew him closer. "Oh?"

Eris was humming, his nose following the lines of your neck.

"You know I cannot stand to be apart from your touch."

And you knew. You'd known it all along, such as when he always found a reason to touch you. A hand on your back when he was leading you through a room. The way his fingers would move those stray hairs from your face. And now, the way he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered.

"And you're cruel," he snapped back, nipping at your lower lip. "Keeping me from my best distraction."

His palms moved down your sides, slowly, his thumbs grazing your skin where your tunic had risen. The caress was light as a feather, but still made you shiver.

“You seriously need distractions during meetings?” you joked.

Eris drew back slightly and lifted an eyebrow. "If you had to listen to Beron droning on, you'd be eager to escape, too."

He was only joking. Though underneath, something darker was certainly brewing.

Eris didn't talk about Beron often. He came from a world where touch was a weapon rather than something comforting. Where love was something that people exploited, rather than something you just gave freely.

And still, here he was. Holding it out to you.

Your chest hurt, and you lifted your hand, cradling his face as your fingers followed the uneven curve of his jaw. "I'm here," you breathed. "I'm always here."

Something flickered in his eyes. Something raw.

And then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was deep and slow, submitting entirely to you. Eris kissed as if he had nothing else to do, as if he could unwind you completely by simply slowly drawing his perfect mouth over yours.

You completely dissolved into him, trailing your fingers through his soft auburn locks and pulling hard to coax a low noise out of him. His arms wandered about, his palms tracing the curve of your waist and the hollow of your spine, as if he was mapping you or something, getting to know you as intimately as he could.

When he finally drew back, he laid his forehead against yours, his breathing irregular. "You're mine," he whispered, his voice now gentle, near reverent.

It wasn't a question.

Yet you smiled, weaving your fingers through his.

"And you're mine," you whispered back.

He squeezed harder. A promise. "Always."

And then, when Eris kissed you again, slow and all lingering, as if he were leaving all of those unspoken promises in his kiss, you knew, no question about it, that he'd never let go.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Taglist: @fanficscuziranout, @willowpains, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff, @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch, @okaytrashpanda, @marina468

Want to join my tag list? Drop a comment or check out this link to submit a specific series you would like tagged in! (Or if you just don't want to comment, that's okay too)

[sadnymi]

No one noticed

Mattheo Riddle x reader

Words : 700

Warning: a lot angst - probably gonna be p2

The moonlight pierced through the dense canopy of trees, casting long, haunting shadows across the forest floor as you moved closer to the lake. A biting wind swept through the night, carrying the faint sound of rippling water.

Your footsteps were soft against the earth, but each step brought you closer to him—Mattheo. He stood by the edge of the lake, his silhouette outlined against the dark water, tossing something into the depths with force.

"That's not very wise," you said softly, your voice piercing the silence.

Mattheo froze mid-throw, his body tensing as if readying for a fight. He turned his head just enough to catch your gaze, his eyes burning with a fierce, unwelcoming glare.

"What?" His voice was low, edged with the sharp bite of impatience.

You didn’t flinch. You stepped closer, your boots crunching softly against the cold, damp ground. "There are creatures in that lake," you murmured, keeping your tone calm despite the storm building in your chest. "They won’t appreciate being disturbed."

"And I care because…?" He spun around fully to face you, eyes narrowing dangerously as if daring you to keep talking.

"You don’t. But I think you’d care if they decided to pull you under."

He tossed the last stone he was holding, the motion careless and angry. "Why are you here, Y/N?" he asked bitterly.

You bit your lip, you took another step closer, hesitating slightly before speaking. "I wanted to—"

His glare intensified as he cut you off. "Wanted to what? Ignore me again? Run away? Pretend I don’t fucking exist until it’s convenient for you?" His voice was dripping with frustration now, louder, angrier.

You faltered, your heart clenching in your chest. "Mattheo, I’m sorry," you said quietly, your voice trembling, your eyes burning with unshed tears. "I… I didn’t mean to ignore you—"

"Don't give me that bullshit!" Mattheo snapped, stepping closer to you. "You’re not fucking sorry, Y/N. You never are. Every time we get close, every time I start thinking we’re finally going to figure this out, you disappear. You run away and leave me standing here like an idiot, wondering why the hell I even try."

You shook your head, your breath catching. "No, Mattheo, I’m really sorry. I’m scared. I just—"

"Scared? Scared of what?" He was shouting now, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Of me? Of this?" His hand gestured between you. "What the hell are you so terrified of, Y/N?"

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you struggled to speak. "I don’t know!" you cried out. "I’m scared of everything, of this, of losing you, of… of feeling too much. But please, Mattheo, please don’t go."

He stared at you, his breathing ragged, anger rolling off him in waves. "You don’t even know what you want," he spat, shaking his head. "You say you want this—want us—but then you pull away the second it feels real. I’m done, Y/N. I’m fucking done. I’m not doing this anymore."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you gasped, reaching out for him desperately. "Wait, wait! It can’t be that easy! You can’t just… just walk away, please…" Your voice cracked, the tears coming in full force now. "Mattheo, don’t go."

For a moment, his face softened, just the briefest flicker of something vulnerable beneath his anger. It looked like he might come back to you, might pull you into his arms like he had done so many times before. But then, just as quickly, he shook his head, the softness disappearing.

"I can’t," he whispered hoarsely, his voice laced with pain."It’s brutal. I just… I can’t. Not again." He turned away, leaving you standing there, watching him retreat into the shadows.

You couldn’t blame him. You’d been here too many times before—each time, he stayed, and each time, you ran before things got too close, before you got too close. But this time, he didn’t stay.

But not this time.

He deserved better. He deserved someone who didn’t run the moment things got too real.

But why couldn’t you be better for him?

The wind howled through the trees, the forest suddenly feeling emptier without him there. You stood alone at the edge of the lake, staring at the spot where Mattheo had vanished into the night, your chest aching with a pain you couldn’t quite put into words.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s just October and I’m sad again sorry

Also I have been in a really bad slump I would appreciate it if you send requests so I can get out of it tyyy lyyy

[happilyhertale]

Satin and Sin – Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: You spent the afternoon getting ready for an event later that evening. When Daemon joins you, he has other things on his mind besides going to the event immediately.

Pairing: Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Dry humping, Fingering

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.2 k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The evening buzzes with anticipation as you stand before the full-length mirror in your bedroom, meticulously adjusting the hem of your satin dress. The fabric gleames under the soft golden light, hugging your curves just right, with a high slit that teases your leg and a neckline that balances elegance and allure. You tilt your head, inspecting the way the earrings sparkle, wondering if they matched the fire you hoped to ignite tonight.

The faint creak of the door behind you draw your attention, but you don’t need to look to know who had entered. His presence fills the room, like the low hum of thunder before a storm.

You turn your head slightly, catching his reflection in the mirror. He wears a tailored black suit that seema to have been made with him in mind—sharp lapels, crisp lines, and the faintest sheen of fabric that shimmered like dragon scales under the light. The deep crimson of his tie, a nod to his fiery heritage, is the perfect touch. His silver hair is swept back with careless precision, making him look both regal and roguish.

“You look…” His voice is a low purr as his eyes roam over you, “…ravishing.”

“Thank you,” you reply, a hint of playful defiance in your tone. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave soon.”

Daemon’s lips curl into a smirk, the kind that always make your pulse quicken. He doesn’t respond immediately, instead stepping closer, his polished shoes clicking softly against the hardwood floor. When he reaches you, he doesn’t stand beside you—Daemon stands behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

He places his hands on your hips, his fingers grazing the satin with deliberate slowness. His touch sends a shiver down your spine as his lips brush against your bare shoulder, trailing up to the sensitive curve of your neck.

“You know,” he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm and teasing, “we could always be fashionably late.”

You try to hold your ground, keeping your eyes on your reflection as his kisses become more insistent. “Daemon,” you protest, though the words come out weaker than intended. His hands slide up, fingers tracing the line of your waist, pressing you back into him.

“You’re always so composed,” he whispers, his tone a mix of admiration and mischief. “But right now, I’d rather see you come undone.”

Your breath hitches as he nudges your legs apart with his knee, sliding one of his thighs between them. The friction is gentle but insistent, the tension building with every deliberate movement. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer against him as his grin deepened in the mirror. His thigh presses against you in just the right way, and the fire that has been simmering beneath the surface threatened to consume you.

“Daemon…” you start again, though your resolve was already crumbling. “We’re going to ruin my dress.”

His lips find your ear, his voice a dark promise. “But if you’re so worried, you could grind against my thigh”

His thigh shifts slightly, intensifying the pressure in a way that makes your knees go weak. He catches you effortlessly, one arm looping around your waist to steady you while his other hand slid up to cup your jaw, tilting your face so he could kiss you properly.

Effortlessly, his free hand pushes your dress aside and you gasp against his lips as you feel him press his thigh against your core. His hands slide to your waist, grab you. You feel your walls clench around nothing as he dictates your movements, letting you grind against his thigh. The warmth and wetness between your thighs attracts your attention – you are sure that you are soaking your panties right now.

“My panties...” you whimper, and he grins slightly but immediately understanding that you are about to soak your panties. His hand glides around your body and with a practiced move, he pushes your panties aside. During this movement, you feel it – the almost touch of your clit. This only intensifies the throbbing and an impatient whimper escapes your lips as you try to move your hips more to create more friction.

He follows your movements, senses the impatience growing inside you. His hands grip you tighter, push you down slightly onto his thigh,  “Come on... grind against my thigh, I can feel how wet you already are,” he murmurs in his deep voice.

You whimper again, but you give in, grinding against him. The throbbing becomes almost unbearable as you let your clit slide along his thigh. You feel him tense his muscles and increase the friction for you as you grind yourself against his thigh again and again.

You moan, Daemon's lips glide along your neck. His warm breath caresses your soft skin as you grind against him. His hand makes you slide faster and you feel how you soak the fabric of his trousers. You feel his hardness pressed against your bottom, but his attention is focused on you.

Daemon bites your neck lightly and your pussy throbs, while you whimper. His hand glides to your core and without hesitation, he rubs your clit and your eyes flutter closed. You moan again, his circular movements become faster.

Your head falls back, leaning against his shoulder, while your hand slides into his hair, gripping it as you press his head against your neck and feel him smile against your skin. “That's it... show me how much you need it...” he murmurs and you whimper. He nibbles lightly on your earlobe. You gasp as he slaps your clit, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Daemon!” you gasp and he growls as he rubs your clit again. You grind against his thigh faster, feeling the pressure spreading in your abdomen. His mouth closes around the flesh below your ear, sucking your skin, eliciting a cry from you. You pull his hair lightly, making him growl as his fingers moving faster, putting more pressure on your clit. You grind your core harder against his thigh while he pinches your clit. You cry out, feeling your wet walls flutter. Daemon bites your neck as he rubs your clit again, almost to soothe the sharp pain of the pinch, but his movements are too rough for anything but that. Then you feel the overwhelming feeling.

Your hand grabs his hair tighter and he growls again, his fingers rubbing faster as his other hand lets you slide along his thigh more firmly.

“Come on, baby... pour yourself over my thigh,” he growls, pushing you over the edge.

You squeeze your eyes shut as the warm feeling washes over you, your juice soaking his trousers, but your grinding movements don't stop as you try to catch your breath, whimpering and moaning.

His lips caress your neck while he continues to caress your sensitive pearl, letting you enjoy your climax. You breathe heavily and slowly open your eyes. Daemon is still kissing your neck and you feel the smile on his lips. “Look... panties almost dry and the dress not ruined,” he murmurs in your ear and you smile.

Slowly, he fixes your panties before releasing his grip on you. You are still breathing heavily and turn to him. He grins and slowly begins to unbutton his trousers.

“Daemon...?“ you ask, a little confused. “We don't have time for...” you start, but he stops you.

“Calm down, you soaked my trousers... can't show up there with trousers soaked in your juice, now, can I?” he says, turning around as he walks away, his trousers slipping down, revealing his butt.

[hunzzzzz]

Save me (Bsf!Rafe x Thornton OFC): part 6

TW: mentions of sexual assault, drug use, cocaine, guns, blood, violence, non consensual drugging, dark themes, suicidal thoughts.

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

Topper pulled into their driveway, turning off the engine. They sat in silence, both staring out the windshield at their house, the familiar sight now tinged with a sense of unease.

Topper finally turned to Sam, letting out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice laced with regret.

“I’m sorry,” Sam echoed, her voice barely a whisper. They exchanged confused glances, a flicker of awkwardness passing between them.

“What?” Topper asked, his brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry about Sarah,” Sam said, taking a deep breath, trying to push past the knot of guilt in her throat. “I had no idea about Sarah and John B. You should’ve told me.”

“How could I?” Topper’s lips twisted into a sad, almost bitter smile. “You were never around to even tell you. You practically despise me, so tell me, how could I even talk to you, let alone tell you what’s going on in my life?”

Sam felt a wave of guilt wash over her, a raw, painful ache in her stomach. “I’m sorry, Top. I really am.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” he dismissed her apology, though his eyes betrayed the hurt he felt.

“How did this happen? When?” Sam asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“At Midsummers,” Topper replied, his gaze drifting back to the house.

Sam wracked her brain, trying to remember that night, but like most of her memories from that summer, it was all a haze, a fragmented montage of blurry faces and distorted sounds. The guilt intensified.

“Sam,” Topper shut his eyes, “I love you, you’re my sister. You’re my only sister and I can’t lose you, we’ve already lost too much. And if you love me, then you’ll get some help.” 

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

July 5th, 2019: Midsummers

“Mom, I don’t want to go,” Sam said, her voice flat, tossing the delicate flower crown onto her bed with a careless flick of her wrist.

“This isn’t a discussion, Samantha. Ward is being awarded tonight, and we will be going. That’s final,” Cynthia ordered, her voice clipped, devoid of any warmth. She picked up the discarded flower crown, placing it back on Sam’s head with a forced, almost painful neatness.

“But Mom—” Sam began, her protest cut short.

“That’s enough, Samantha. If your father were here, he would want you to go,” Cynthia said, her eyes sharp, her words laced with a subtle cruelty.

Her mother always did this, weaponizing her father’s memory, twisting his love into a tool of emotional manipulation. What would your father say? What would your father think? It was a constant, insidious dig, a reminder of Sam’s perceived failings, her guilt over not visiting him enough when he was sick. It was her mother’s preferred method of punishment, a subtle form of mental warfare, designed to chip away at Sam’s already fragile sense of self.

After her mother left the room, the scent of her expensive perfume lingering in the air, Sam opened her jewelry box. Hidden beneath a tangle of necklaces and earrings was a small, plastic baggie. She pulled it out, her fingers trembling slightly, and took a few bumps of the white powder. She needed something, anything, to dull the sharp edges of her anxiety, to create a buffer between herself and the world. She slipped the baggie into her clutch, knowing she wouldn’t be able to make it through the night without it.

*

She slipped into the Midsummer’s celebration, the air thick with the forced gaiety of the event. The first thing she saw was the Cameron family, posed for a picture-perfect portrait. She instinctively ducked behind a cluster of potted palms, hiding behind the crowd, hoping to remain unseen. She didn’t want to talk to anyone tonight. She especially didn’t want to run into Rafe, to see the familiar coolness in his eyes, the subtle avoidance that had become his default setting.

Trying to navigate the crowded space without being noticed, she bumped into someone, her shoulder colliding with theirs.

“Hey, watch it–” the olive-skinned brunette grumbled, her drink sloshing precariously in her glass. She started to unleash a string of curses, but her voice trailed off when she recognized Sam. “Oh, Sam, hey,” Kiara said, her expression softening into a sympathetic smile.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam apologized. “I’m just trying to lay low.” 

She glanced over her shoulder, Rafe was there, engaged in a seemingly animated conversation with someone, his back partially turned. Then, as if sensing her gaze, he turned his head, his eyes locking with hers. The world seemed to narrow, the noise of the party fading into a dull hum. They held each other’s gaze, neither willing to look away first, a silent, unspoken conversation passing between them. The moment stretched out until finally, Rafe broke the connection, turning back to his conversation, his face impassive.

“Yeah, you can join me in my quiet corner,” Kiara offered, picking up a drink from a passing waiter and handing it to Sam.

“Thanks,” Sam said, giving her an appreciative smile. She took a sip of the drink, her face wrinkling in distaste. “Ugh, what is this, fruit punch?”

“I know,” Kiara laughed. “If my friends were here, they would have had their flasks spiking our drinks.”

“I wish,” Sam nodded, leaning back against the wooden deck behind them. “I’m surprised you’re even here. You hate these things.”

“I do,” Kiara confirmed. “But my mom forced me.”

“What are mothers for, other than emotionally blackmailing their daughters?” Sam said, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice.

“To our moms,” Kiara said, lifting her glass in a silent toast. They both laughed, a brief moment of shared understanding in the midst of the forced gaiety.

Kiara and Sam weren’t exactly friends. They were acquaintances, at best. They’d been in the same school for a year, and there had been a brief period of friendship. But the fallout between Kiara and Sarah had left a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth. Sam, loyal to Sarah, had been caught in the crossfire. Despite the tension, they’d never completely cut each other off. They still exchanged pleasantries when they saw each other, maintaining a fragile truce despite the bad blood between Kiara and Sarah.

Their conversation was interrupted when Kiara spotted Pope across the crowd. Sam, seizing the opportunity, excused herself, claiming she needed to find a bathroom. In reality, she was searching for a quiet corner, a place where she could discreetly top up her supply, seeking the fleeting oblivion the white powder offered.

She was about to slip inside when Sarah grabbed her arm, her grip tight. “What was all that about?” she demanded, her eyes narrowed, gesturing towards where Sam and Kiara had been laughing moments before.

Sam sighed, the tension in her shoulders tightening. She didn’t want to deal with Sarah’s petty jealousy, didn’t want to be dragged into another pointless argument. “It was nothing, we were just talking.”

“So you’ll talk to her? But not me?” Sarah’s voice was laced with hurt, a raw, wounded edge. After everything Kiara had done to her, after weeks of Sam pushing her away, she was choosing to talk to Kiara.

“Don’t make this into such a big deal, Sarah. Please,” Sam said, rolling her eyes, her frustration mounting. She desperately needed another hit, and Sarah was standing in her way.

“No, but it is a big deal!” Sarah crossed her arms, her lips pressed into a thin line, hurt flashing across her face. “Sam, you’re not talking to me. You’re never home. You’re pushing me away. We’re all worried about you.”

“Yeah?” Sam scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me, Topper, your mom, my dad,” Sarah listed, her voice trembling slightly. But there was no mention of Rafe. The omission hit Sam like a physical blow, a sharp, cold reminder of the distance that had grown between them.

“At your next meeting, you can let everyone know that I’m fine,” Sam spat, her voice laced with bitterness.

“This isn’t the way to deal with this, Sam,” Sarah said tentatively, her voice softer now, laced with concern. “I know you’re hurting. I know that. And I know what you’re going through—”

“You know what I’m going through?” Sam laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “You have no idea what I’m going through, Sarah. This isn’t one of your breakups where you just move on to the next guy, okay? This is different. I only had one dad—I don’t get to just find another. So please, just don’t—just don’t.” Sam pushed past her, her shoulder brushing roughly against Sarah’s, and disappeared inside.

*

Sammy stepped back into the outdoor space, the buzz from bumps making her feel at ease. She grabbed a drink from a passing waiter, and thankfully, this one had a definite kick to it. She leaned against a pillar in a quiet corner, watching the crowd sway and dance to the music, a detached observer.

“I’ve been told you need some medical attention,” a familiar voice drawled. Sammy turned to see JJ Maybank standing next to her, his blonde hair falling into his eyes, his makeshift waiter’s uniform slightly askew.

“Medical attention?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. She caught Kiara’s eye in the distance, and Kiara gave her a conspiratorial wave.

“Some of my special ‘forget all the bullshit’ medicine,” JJ said, pulling back his waistcoat to reveal a dented flask.

Sammy’s eyes lit up. They turned their backs to the crowd, and JJ took her glass, pouring in a generous amount of the contents. He took a sip from her straw, then grimaced. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said, handing the glass back to her.

“What is in this?” Sammy asked, taking a cautious sip and nearly gagging.

“Uhhh, let me think… some whiskey, some tequila, some vodka? Maybe? I don’t know, just whatever was left in the cabinet,” JJ shrugged, taking another swig from his flask.

“Doctors are supposed to save lives. This drink alone might kill me,” Sammy said, her eyes watering slightly.

“Yet you keep drinking it?” JJ smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

She bumped his shoulder playfully. “What are you even doing here? How did you land this gig?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m on a secret mission,” JJ said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Oooh, Mr. 007?” she asked sarcastically.

“Nah, Bond is shit. I’m Ethan Hunt, and this is my Mission: Impossible. Infiltrating a Kook party. A dangerous and almost deadly mission. I’m deep in enemy territory,” he said dramatically, his eyes scanning the crowd.

Sammy laughed, a genuine, unburdened laugh, a sound she hadn’t heard from herself in weeks. JJ pretended to adjust an imaginary earpiece, speaking in a hushed tone, fully immersed in his ridiculous act. “Alpha team, I’ve located the target. They’re serving… fruit punch. Repeat, fruit punch. Requesting immediate extraction.”

“You can be my sidekick,” he winked at her. “You can be the distraction while I go for the gold.”

“A distraction? Please, I’m so much more than that. I’m the brains,” Sammy rolled her eyes, playing along.

“Yeah, maybe you got some useful stuff in that head of yours. I could use some of that,” JJ agreed, tapping his temple thoughtfully. He checked his imaginary wristwatch. “Oop, I gotta go. Duty calls. Remember, Sammy, if you don’t hear from me, tell my friends I love them and that I died a hero, trying to save the world from… well, fruit punch.” He gave her a mock salute. Sammy laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

Just as JJ turned to leave, Rafe materialized, standing there like a storm cloud, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with a dark intensity.

“Woah, man, in a rush?” Rafes said, his manic grin faltering slightly as he squared up to Jj, grabbing him by the collar, pulling him close.

“Rafe, stop it,” Sam hissed, her voice a hushed plea, not wanting to create a scene.

“You know last I remember, the exterminators got rid of all the rats in the country club,” Rafe said, shaking JJ roughly. “They must've missed one.”

“Look, man, I’m just doing my job, trying to make a quick buck,” JJ chuckled nervously, his eyes darting around the room.

People were starting to stare, whispers rippling through the crowd. “Rafe, let go of him,” Sam tried to wedge herself between them, but Rafe didn’t budge, didn’t even glance in her direction. “Stop embarrassing me!” she hissed.

“If I see you near her again, I promise you, you won’t be able to fucking pee without a catheter,” Rafe spat through gritted teeth, shoving JJ back, almost making him stumble into Sam, nearly knocking them both over.

“Rafe—” Sam began, her voice laced with a warning.

“Woah, you jealous or something, man? ‘Cause that’s pretty fucking embarrassing, even for you,” JJ’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying Rafe’s reaction. “She can talk to whoever she wants, and if she wants to talk to me, she can. So you can go back to your corner and watch us.”

Rafe lunged forward, his fist clenched, but Sam quickly stepped in front of him, placing her hands on his chest, pushing him back. “Rafe, for once in your life, realize that this is not about you. Your dad is being celebrated tonight. Read the fucking room.”

But Rafe didn’t even look at her. His gaze was fixed on JJ, a burning hatred in his eyes. He gave one last venomous look before pushing Sam’s hands away, his movements rough, and stalking off into the crowd, his anger radiating off him in waves.

*

“Samantha, stand up straight. Stop slouching,” her mother scolded, her voice sharp and disapproving.

Sam stood rigidly beside her family, her shoulders tense, as Ward approached, beaming, his face flushed with pride. Her mother launched into a stream of praise, congratulating him on his outstanding achievement. Sam stood silently, nodding along, her smile forced and empty, a mere mask concealing the turmoil within.

Ward, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, ushered them all together for a family photo. He wrapped a heavy arm around Sam’s shoulders, and she stiffened involuntarily at the sudden contact, the warmth of his touch feeling almost oppressive. The flash of the camera momentarily blinded her.

She thought the ordeal was over, but then Ward decided to capture a photo of all the children together, calling over Rafe and Sarah to join Sam and Topper.

The atmosphere immediately thickened, the air crackling with unspoken resentments and fractured relationships. No one was happy to pose for the photo. There was a palpable tension between Sarah and Topper, a lingering animosity between Sarah and Sam, and a cold, impenetrable wall between Sam and Rafe. Sam found herself sandwiched between the Cameron siblings, Topper standing stiffly beside Sarah. They were all standing miles apart, even though they were physically close.

“Guys, come on, give us a smile,” Ward chuckled, completely missing the strained expressions and forced smiles. “Topper, I won’t hit you if you wrap an arm around my daughter!”

Topper begrudgingly draped an arm around Sarah’s shoulder, offering a tight, insincere smile for the camera.

“Rafe, son, move in closer. Sam won’t bite you,” Ward said, his voice laced with forced joviality.

Rafe moved closer, his movements stiff and reluctant, and placed an arm around Sam’s waist. His touch felt searing, almost burning her skin. Her entire body tensed, her breath catching in her throat. She couldn’t even manage a semblance of a smile; her face was frozen in a mask of discomfort, her expression strained and unnatural.

The flash clicked, capturing a moment of forced unity, a snapshot of fractured relationships. Rafe immediately pulled away, his arm dropping to his side, and disappeared into the crowd without a word.

Sarah and Topper were engaged in a hushed, tense conversation, their voices barely audible. Sam, seizing the opportunity to escape, slipped away. She contacted her dealer and went directly to his place.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

Sam packed her stuff up, the final bell ringing through the halls like a liberating symphony. Finally, she was free from the shackles of school. Lately, she’d been a ghost in the classroom, headphones clamped over her ears, mindlessly doodling in her notepad. Her teachers had all tried to reach her, to pull her back from the edge, but their words were lost on her. She’d given up on her studies, abandoned the ‘academic weapon’ persona she’d once cultivated. Now, she simply aimed to make it through the day without skipping class, a small victory in itself.

Topper was waiting in the car, always there to collect her. “How was school?” he asked.

“Ugh, don’t even get me started,” she groaned, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m surprised you made it a full day without us getting a call that you’re missing,” Topper said, a proud smile spreading across his face.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Sam retorted, but there was a lightness in her voice, a flicker of her old self. “Topper?” she asked, a sudden softness in her tone.

“Yeah?” he replied, glancing away from the road momentarily.

“You know you’re the best brother in the world, and I love you.” 

Topper’s eyes widened, his mouth agape, before he narrowed his eyes, recognizing the familiar, saccharine sweetness in her tone. “You want something, don’t you?”

“I just want a little sweet treat, please? A cinnamon apple pie from the bakery, please. It would make me so happy,” she batted her eyelashes, giving him her best puppy-dog eyes.

Ever since their father’s passing, Topper had felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility. He was now the man of the house, the protector, the one who had to take care of his sister and mother, no matter what. And if getting his sister a damn apple pie would bring back the light he hadn’t seen in her eyes for months, he’d gladly buy out the entire bakery.

“Fine,” Topper agreed, shaking his head with a fond smile. “But you owe me.”

“Anything,” Sam’s smile widened. She was feeling… better. More like herself.

*

“Only get one. We’ve got dinner at the Camerons’ in the evening,” Topper reminded her as she gazed longingly at the array of pastries and tarts displayed behind the glass.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Why not?” Topper asked, his voice patient. Unlike their mother, he rarely forced Sam to do anything. He always wanted to understand, to get to the root of the problem first.

“I just don’t want to socialize. I spent the entire day at school with people practically chewing my ear off. My social battery is dead,” Sam explained, her voice weary.

“Sam, they need us right now,” Topper placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. “Sarah is gone. Dad is gone. They’re the only family we have left. We need to stick together, okay?”

“I know that, but—” Sam began, her protest trailing off.

“Rafe needs us right now. He needs you .”

“He doesn’t need me,” Sam shook her head, her gaze drifting back to the pastries. She pointed to her apple pie.

“He’s your best friend, Sam.” 

Sam didn’t respond, her silence heavy with unspoken emotions. Topper sighed, pulling out his card to pay. “Are you two fighting or something?” he asked, his voice casual, but his eyes searching hers.

“What?” Sam asked, her brow furrowed.

Now Topper wanted to hear Sam’s side of the story. He’d already interrogated Rafe and come up empty-handed. “Sam, you used to practically live at Tanny Hill. I had to come pick you up and force you to come home. It was always you and Rafe. And me and Sarah. I know what happened between me and Sarah. But I don’t know what’s going on with you and Rafe.”

“People grow apart. It’s just a part of life,” Sam shrugged, trying to sound indifferent, but her voice betrayed her unease.

She didn’t know where she and Rafe stood anymore. They’d gone from best friends, to strangers, to… this. Whatever “this” was. Rafe had been there for her, had found her in the graveyard, had brought her home, had helped her through her panic attack, had stayed with her when she had a nightmare. But she still couldn’t bring herself to message him, to reach out. Things would never go back to how they used to be. 

“Hey! Top! What up?” That voice, the voice that haunted her nightmares, cut through the air like a jagged shard of glass. Kelce, grinning, patted Topper on the back, pulling him into a forced, jovial hug.

The blood drained from Sam’s face, leaving her skin clammy and cold. Her legs began to tremble, threatening to buckle beneath her. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears, drowning out the sounds of the bustling bakery. Kelce’s eyes met hers, and the air seemed to vanish from her lungs, her breath catching in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t stay.

She bolted, fleeing the bakery, stumbling back towards the car. She leaned against the cool metal, her body trembling uncontrollably, feeling like she was going to collapse, like her legs could no longer bear her weight.

She’d been feeling better. She’d finally started to feel like herself again, the weight of her trauma momentarily lifted. And now, in an instant, it was all shattered, the fragile peace she’d found ripped apart by the sight of one person. One horrific night.

Topper emerged from the bakery a few minutes later, his brow furrowed with concern. “Sam? What’s wrong?” he questioned, his voice laced with worry, placing a reassuring hand on her back.

“Nothing,” she blurted out, her voice tight, pushing him away. “I want to go. Let’s go. Now!”

Topper scanned her face, his eyes searching hers, trying to decipher the cause of her sudden distress. He unlocked the car, and she scrambled inside, slamming the door shut behind her, the sound echoing in the quiet street.

The drive home was silent, the previous lightness in the air replaced by a heavy, oppressive tension. Her earlier good mood was gone, replaced by a cold, gnawing fear.

“You gonna eat that?” Topper inquired, pointing towards the untouched apple pie she’d so eagerly requested.

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible, her eyes fixed on the passing scenery, the marina a blur of colors.

“But you wanted a sweet treat,” Topper pressed, his brow furrowed, trying to understand her rapid shift in mood.

Sam just shrugged, offering no explanation. Inside, she was fighting a desperate battle to keep herself together, to hold back the tears that threatened to spill, to prevent her fragile composure from shattering completely. The rusty bolts and screws holding her together were creaking, threatening to give way.

“You can have it,” she whispered, handing him the apple pie, her hands shaking slightly.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

Rose greeted them at the door,  offering hugs to everyone. Sam slipped inside as Rose embraced Topper, subtly avoiding her own turn.

She drifted into the kitchen, where Ward was pouring glasses of wine. “Sammy,” he murmured, his arms opening wide. Sam felt a wave of panic wash over her, a desperate urge to flee. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

She couldn’t handle this right now. She couldn’t tolerate anyone in her personal space. She’d been making progress, slowly allowing herself to feel comfortable again, to trust in the safety of touch. But all that progress had been shattered, ripped away the moment she saw Kelce.

Sam pulled her cardigan tighter around herself, hugging her body protectively. Ward’s arms closed around her, his hands rubbing soothingly down her back in a fatherly hug. But the contact felt like hot, molten lava searing her skin, each touch a painful reminder of the violation she’d endured.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Ward murmured, pulling back slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. His eyes were filled with an almost desperate tenderness, a longing. “How are you holding up?”

Sammy cleared her throat, swallowing the lump that was constricting her words. “I’m fine,” she managed, “How—how are you?” She quickly stepped away from him, earning a concerned look.

“Coping,” he acknowledged, nodding slowly. He pinched her cheek. Her mere presence was a reminder of Sarah, a tangible connection to the daughter he’d lost. He pulled her into another hug, holding her tightly. This was the direction his grief was taking him, latching onto Sam, clinging to her as a substitute for Sarah. At least she was still here. Eventually, he released her, allowing Sam to breathe again. 

“Dinner will be ready soon. Sam, will you go get them?” Rose requested, and Sam nodded, grateful for the escape.

Sam decided to check on Wheezie first, knocking softly on her door. A faint, “come in,” drifted from within.

She pushed the door open a crack, offering a tentative wave. Wheezie, who usually greeted her with an enthusiastic hug, was perched on her bay window, her small frame silhouetted against the fading light, her gaze fixed on the water.

“Wheezie,” Sam murmured, sliding onto the window seat beside her. “Hey.”

“She’s not coming back, is she?” Wheezie asked, her voice quiet, her eyes filled with a heartbreakingly mature understanding. For a thirteen-year-old, she was remarkably composed, as if she’d already accepted the inevitable.

Sam bit her lip, struggling to maintain her composure. She looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then back at Wheezie. “I don’t know, Wheez,” she admitted, her voice soft. “I really don’t.” She couldn’t offer false hope. She’d learned the hard way how devastating that could be, remembering the empty promises of her father’s cancer treatment. She was giving Wheezie the honesty she wished she’d received.

“But it’s gonna be okay,” Sam reassured her, knowing she had to project strength for Wheezie’s sake. “It’s okay, because you still have me. You’re my little sister too.”

“You never come over anymore,” Wheezie pointed out, her voice tinged with a quiet accusation. “It’s like you don’t even like me anymore.”

“It’s nothing to do with you, I promise you that,” Sam insisted, shaking her head, tears welling in her eyes. “I love you, Wheez, but it’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Wheezie pressed, her brow furrowed with innocent curiosity.

Sam shook her head, unable to articulate the tangled mess of her relationship with Rafe, their bitter fallout, the wreckage they’d left behind. How could she explain to a thirteen-year-old the complexities of love, loss, and betrayal? How could she explain the way her own trauma had built walls she couldn’t seem to tear down? The words caught in her throat, a lump of unspoken grief and guilt.

“It’s because of Rafe, isn’t it?” Wheezie scoffed, rolling her eyes. 

“Why do you think that?” Sam chuckled, surprised by Wheezie’s bluntness. Wheezie was always sharp, observant. There was no hiding anything from her.

“Because I don’t hear you sneaking around with him anymore,” she stated matter-of-factly, a smug smile spreading across her face.

“A lot of stuff happened between me and your brother, but it’s not what you think. It’s nothing like that,” Sam said, shaking her head. There was no point in lying to Wheezie. Plus, she knew Wheezie wouldn’t tell anyone. It felt safe to confide in her.

“So you two didn’t go skinny dipping together?” Wheezie asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Sam covered her mouth in shock. “Wheezie!”

“I saw you two!” she laughed. “If you wanted to keep it a secret, you should’ve gone down further in the lake.”

“We thought the engine of the boat would be too loud!” Sam’s cheeks burned crimson. “But it wasn’t like that. We were just friends, really good friends.”

“But he’s in love with you,” Wheezie said casually, as if discussing the weather. She met Sam’s wide-eyed stare and shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Don’t act surprised.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Sam sighed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh….. you don’t feel the same way?” Wheezie nodded, understanding dawning on her, her mind quickly filling in the gaps.

Sam groaned, not wanting to dredge up old memories. She was so tired of it all, so tired of having to hate him, so tired of everyone asking what happened between them, forcing her to confront her own tangled feelings. Frankly, she had no interest in going down that rabbit hole. 

“It’s not that simple. We both did stuff that hurt each other. He hurt me, and I hurt him. He hates me, and I can’t forgive him. So it doesn’t matter how he feels, or how I feel. Because—because it won’t change anything.”

“That’s a shame,” Wheezie muttered, rolling her eyes with an air of teenage exasperation. She got up and walked towards the door.

“What?” 

“It’s a shame that you’re both throwing away everything when you could just grow up and fix things,” Wheezie stated bluntly, her hand resting on the doorknob.

“He hasn’t asked for forgiveness,” Sam defended herself, her voice laced with a hint of bitterness. 

Wheezie didn’t know the full story; nobody did.

“Does he even know what you’re upset about?” And finally, her words hit Sam like a physical blow.

Rafe didn’t know anything. And that was the problem. Sam hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell him, to tell anyone , what happened with Kelce. The words lodged in her throat, a heavy, suffocating weight. She couldn’t voice the truth: that Kelce had sexually assaulted her in the back of his car. That night. The bonfire night. The night she’d called Rafe twenty-nine times. After managing to unlock the car door, after jumping out, after running into the pitch-black woods, her clothes torn and dangling, she’d used every last ounce of her energy to keep running, directionless, terrified that Kelce would find her and drag her back to his car. The memory was a raw, gaping wound, a constant source of pain and shame. Her face contorted with suppressed agony, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

*

By the time Sam and Wheezie reached the dining room, Rafe was already there.

Ward occupied the head of the table, his posture rigid. Rose sat to his right, followed by Cynthia, then Wheezie. This left Sam to take the seat opposite Wheezie, placing her beside Rafe. Topper sat next to Rafe, completing the circle back to Ward.

“Before we start, can I just say…” Ward began, rising to his feet, his wine glass trembling slightly in his hand. “It’s good to be with family.” His gaze swept across the table, lingering on each face, his expression a mixture of grief and gratitude. “We’ve lost Craig, and Sarah. And there’s no replacing them. There’s nothing that can fill that void. But we have each other. And for that, I’m grateful.” His voice, thick with emotion, resonated through the room. “To family,” he concluded, raising his glass in a silent toast.

Everyone raised their glasses, the word “family” a fragile echo in the strained silence. Sam stared at the laden table, the sight of the food a nauseating wave crashing over her. She’d been trying to curb her cocaine use, a shaky attempt at self-preservation. The last time, her heart had pounded so violently, she’d been convinced she was having an arrhythmia. And she couldn’t bear the thought of Topper finding her in a drug overdosed state, another casualty of her self-destructive habits. She couldn’t inflict that kind of pain on him.

But the encounter with Kelce, the sudden, brutal reawakening of her trauma, had left her craving the numbing oblivion of a line. She resisted the urge, knowing she couldn’t indulge at this small, intimate family dinner. The forced sobriety, however, amplified her anxiety, the edges of her nerves frayed and raw. Her appetite was virtually non-existent, a casualty of the constant, gnawing anxiety that had become her default state. She lived on a diet of Red Bulls and gum, the caffeine and sugar a poor substitute for real sustenance, her meals conveniently “eaten” at the cafeteria or with friends.

She listened to the conversation swirling around her, but her mind remained detached, adrift in a sea of fragmented thoughts. Ward was ranting about some vandalism, the usual scapegoat being the Pogues, their fence apparently the latest target. Rose, ever the staunch defender of law and order, insisted they press charges, her voice laced with righteous indignation. Topper, his voice tight with frustration, launched into a tirade against Sheriff Shoupe, decrying his incompetence and uselessness. He spoke of Peterkin, her strong, unwavering hand, and the need to seek justice for her death,

She pushed the Brussels sprouts around her plate, trying to force herself to eat. Each bite tasted like cardboard, dry and flavorless. The mere thought of swallowing another one made her gag reflex kick in, her stomach clenching in protest. She could barely manage to swallow the bile that rose in her throat.

“Samantha?” Her mother’s shrill voice cut through the strained silence, making Sam snap her head up from her plate. The table was unnervingly quiet, all eyes fixed on her.

“Hmm?” she murmured, her mind still lost in a haze of disconnected thoughts.

“Rose asked what your plans are for college,” Topper reiterated, his voice gentle, trying to bridge the awkward silence.

“Oh, college. Yeah.” College was a distant, almost forgotten dream, a future that felt increasingly unattainable. “I’m not sure, actually,” she admitted, her voice flat.

“That’s okay. You have your whole life to figure that out,” Rose offered her a smile sympathetic.

“I don’t know what happened to her,” Cynthia muttered lowly to Rose, her voice laced with thinly veiled disapproval, making no attempt to conceal her words. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with her.”

“Cynthia, come on, she’s had a tough year,” Rose countered softly.

Sam tried to ignore the stinging words, but the familiar sting of her mother’s disapproval was a constant, gnawing ache. Her mother was a master of hypocrisy. Sometimes, Sam thought her mother was the root of all her problems, the catalyst for every bad thing that had happened.

Her mother’s affair, a cheap, tawdry secret, so poorly hidden it felt like a deliberate insult. The casual betrayal that had ripped their family apart, leaving jagged, bleeding edges. Sam’s guilt, a self-inflicted wound, had festered into a toxic rot, keeping her from her father’s bedside as he withered away. Her mother’s insistence that she go find topper at the bonfire, a calculated push towards a night that became a living nightmare.

If she hadn’t been so consumed by the gnawing, self-loathing guilt her mother had so expertly cultivated, she wouldn’t have sought oblivion in a bottle that night. She wouldn’t have been goaded into a fight with Rafe, their friendship shattered with a casual cruelty that mirrored her mother’s own. They’d still be best friends. She wouldn’t have been so vulnerable, so easily manipulated, so utterly violated by Kelce. She wouldn’t be trapped in this suffocating cage of trauma, haunted by the ghost of what could have been. She could have had a normal life, a life where she wasn't constantly paying for her mother's sins. A life where she wasn't a broken doll, played with and discarded.

Her knuckles whitened, the skin stretched taut over her clenched fists, as she desperately battled the rising tide of rage. The words, the casual cruelty of her mother’s dismissal, were a lit fuse, igniting the simmering resentment within her. She felt a fleeting brush against her hand, a feather-light touch, barely there. She looked up, her gaze drawn to Rafe. He was engaged in conversation with Topper, his head turned away, his expression seemingly focused on his brother. Yet, there was a subtle shift in his posture, a barely perceptible tension in his fingers, a silent offering of comfort. It was as if he could sense her inner turmoil, the silent scream trapped in her throat, the burning fury that threatened to consume her. Even in his detachment, he was there, a ghost of the connection they once shared.

*

Sam helped Rose clear the table, a task that she used to do with Sarah. She was surprised, however, when Rafe joined them, carrying a dish piled high with leftover broccoli.

Rose, equally taken aback, accepted the dish with a bewildered expression. “Thank you.” She muttered.

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on Sam. “You go chill out. Me and Sammy will clear it up.”

Rose, feeling as if she were witnessing a surreal hallucination, nodded slowly, clutching her wine glass like a lifeline. She retreated to the living room down the hall, joining the others, leaving Sam and Rafe alone in the kitchen.

Sam busied herself loading the dishwasher, her movements quick and efficient, avoiding eye contact. Rafe began packing the leftovers into containers, placing the empty dishes into the sink with a quiet clatter.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low, leaning against the counter, facing her.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice clipped, her eyes fixed on the soapy water.

“You barely touched your food all night,” he observed, his eyes scanning her face, searching for any sign of distress.

“Didn’t know you’re keeping track of my calories,” she retorted, her tone laced with sarcasm, attempting to deflect his concern with a flippant remark.

“It’s just not like you. You love lasagna.” He knew her too well, knew the subtle nuances of her behavior, the things she tried to hide.

“I wasn’t hungry tonight. Got a bit too big backed at the bakery earlier.” she lied, her voice strained, her eyes darting away.

Of course, he knew she was lying. Topper had undoubtedly filled him in on the earlier panic attack she had.

“The bakery, huh?” Rafe drawled, his eyes narrowed, his voice laced with skepticism. “What’d you get?”

Sam paused, her hands stilling over a stack of plates. “An apple pie,” she began, “and some banana bread. Oh, and a chocolate muffin.”

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. “Banana bread?” he echoed, his voice incredulous. “You’re allergic to bananas, Sammy,” he pointed out. “Like, hives-and-throat-closing allergic.”

She fumbled for an excuse, her mind racing. “Right, yeah, I… I got it for Topper,” she stammered, “He likes banana bread.”

“Sam,” he sighed, shaking his head with a bitter chuckle, “you keep forgetting that I know you. I know you sleep on the left side of your bed, not just because it’s farther from the door, but because you always face the window, even if it’s just a sliver of moonlight, you need to see it to sleep. I know you always wear your grandmother's earrings before your volleyball matches, not just for luck, but because you rub the tiny pearl on the left one between your fingers when you're nervous. You don’t wear silver because your skin gets irritated, and you always scratch the back of your neck when you’re trying to hide the rash. You only use the CeraVe gentle cleanser for oily skin, which I know because you left it here and I use it now, and my skin has never been softer. I know you always hum the same three notes of that old lullaby your dad used to sing when you're trying to concentrate, even when you think you're being quiet. I know you always fold the corner of a page instead of using a bookmark. I know you always tap your foot three times before you answer a question when you're unsure, and you always bite the inside of your cheek when you're trying to hold back tears. I know how your nostrils flare when you're lying, how you look away from me, how you flip the question back. So, I know when you’re lying. I know you, Sam. I know you.”

Sam, for a moment, was awestruck by how much he still remembered, the intricate details of her habits, her quirks. But she quickly pushed the sentiment down, replacing it with a defensive edge. “What is this? Prep for a biography you’re writing about me?” She picked up the last dish from the sink, but Rafe snatched it away, holding it just out of her reach. She glared up at him.

“Rafe,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “I don’t know what you want me to say right now. Yes, you used to know everything about my life, but then you left, okay? You left me, and now you’ve come back expecting things to be the same again? Like I’m just supposed to trust you again? Things aren’t the same. We’re not who we used to be.”

“I’m still the same me,” he countered, his eyes softening, a flash of hurt crossing his face. He grabbed her forearm, pulling her closer, taking her wet, soapy hand and placing it over his heart. “I’m still the same person.”

“But I’m not,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes, pulling her hand away, leaving a wet handprint on his shirt. “I can’t—”

“Why?” he pressed, his eyes desperately searching hers. “Why are you so afraid? What happened that changed you, made you into this, that you can’t even bear the thought of letting me hold your hand?”

“Rafe, please,” she pleaded, shutting her eyes, trying to block out the images that flashed through her mind, the raw, visceral memories of her trauma.

“What? Sam? What? What is it, Sam? What?” he demanded, his voice laced with urgency, his grip tightening slightly on her arm.

And she took a deep breath, the words bubbling up, desperate to escape. She was drowning in them, suffocating under the weight of her unspoken truth. “Rafe, I—”

They heard someone clear their throat, and Sam instinctively took a few steps back, creating distance between them. She quickly wiped her eyes, trying to regain her composure.

Topper stood in the doorway, his gaze shifting between Sam and Rafe, a silent question hanging in the air. “You ready to go home?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“I’ll drop her later,” Rafe answered, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. A silent conversation passed between the two. Topper, despite his confusion, understood that something significant was unfolding. He also knew, deep down, that Rafe had a way of reaching Sam, of helping her in a way that he couldn’t. He nodded slowly, a silent acknowledgment, and left without another word, trusting Rafe to take care of his sister.

“Let’s go out to the boat,” Rafe suggested.

[gallade-x-treme]

[ careless whisper intensifies ]

[neteyamyawne]

🦋 — Thigh Riding

✧ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : ᴅɪʟꜰ!ᴛᴏɴᴏᴡᴀʀɪ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴍᴀᴛᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

✧ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : ᴛᴏɴᴏᴡᴀʀɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴡɪꜰᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪꜰ ɪᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ʜɪꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇꜱ

MDNI ✯

❈ Warning : Thigh Riding, fingering (f receiving), breast play, soft dom tonowari, edging, tsaheylu making, dry humping.

❈ Word count : 0.8k proof read.

"word" - dialogue

❈ Note : I loveeeeee Tonowari's thighs omgg those damn thiccc thighs! (I want him to squish my face between them)

❈ Glossary : Tweng - loin cloth, Yawne - beloved, paskalin - sweet berry, Muntxate - wife, mawey - calm

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ

Moonlight filtered through the flaps of your mauri as your desperate moans sounded through the thin walls of your shelter, your wet gliding over the expanse of your mate’s thigh, his skin glistening with your juices as your breaths labored with the effort to get some kind of friction, hips rolling over his thick thigh as he squatted in front of your quivering body riding his thigh.

“My My yawne, you really need to cum, huh?” He whispered in your ear as it was pinned back to your skull, your breaths shaking as his large hands rested on your waist, guiding your hips in smooth rolls, moving one of his hands to your heated core, pressing his fingers against your throbbing clit, rubbing circles with them, heightening your already overwhelming pleasure.

“Ummm fuck… wari, kiss me!” your demand was immediately satisfied, lips colliding, his tongue taking over your senses, your languid thrusts on his thigh sent tingles running up your body, the sound of wet slaps of the skin was imprinted into the back of your haze fucked out mind. “What do you want, honey? Tell me, do you want my cock to fill you up? Hmm?” He crooned in the kiss, placing and marking the skin below your chin and Jaw.

Your eyes rolled back in your skull, incoherent words spilling out of your mouth but he took the sign, he leaned back on the wall of your shared mauri, his thigh so wet with your slick that you slipped right down with a yelp at the sudden change of position when he tilted his thighs upward, the mound of your pussy bumping on the joint of his hip, a moan pilling from your plump lips “what was- that for?” you rasped out, grinding your cunt on the tight bulge under his tweng, the bud of your orgasm was just starting to unravel, he groaned throwing his head back pushing down on you down on his tight little problem while gritting his teeth “shhh I need you soakin’ loose for me, honey, when i stretch you open with my cock, i want you nice and loose f’me” his low whispers where enough to send shivers running down your spine.

He quickly slid a hand down burying two digits deep inside your gummy walls, curling and scissoring them until you were a whimpering mess above him, head buried in his chest, hips still moving in fluid motion, fucking yourself on his fingers nice and slow, taking your pleasure, getting more and more vocal as you neared your release, just mere hair length away.

Your pants and whines were music to his ears as they flicked back and forth at your sweet voice, as you begged him for more, voice loud and careless from the amount of pleasure coursing through you, his fingers brushing against your sweet spot repeatedly making stars burst through your vision “wari… I’m gonna… I’m gonna cumm'' you don’t know that was a demand, a plea or a request because you were far too gone to think about it “cum for me, paskalin, let me taste you” as if on command, the coil snapped, gushing over his thick fingers as your head fell over his shoulder, eyes drooping close, sweat beading on your pristine teal skin bathed in fire light “good girl, yawne” he growled massaging and rolling your swollen clit between his fingers, not giving your poor pussy a break, even while you came down your high.

Your breathy moans kept his cock throbbing hard, to intensify the aftermath even more, he connected your Queues together, a series of moans could be heard as he kept you nestled in his lap, toying with your pussy, nipping at your shoulder and neck with a content sigh as this sight was only for him.

He pulled back within a blink of an eye, he laid you down on the mat hovering above you as he trailed a line of kisses from to the base of your throat, to the valley of your breasts, kissing and sucking on one of them while kneading the other roughly, his other hand spreading your legs wide, finally resting it on the plush of your thigh as he nuzzled his hips between them, rubbing his clothed cock against your dripping folds, you groaned as you felt his tightness, your hands coming up and tangling them in his long locks, thrusting your hips up, eyes closed, lips parted, begging for more.

His warm taunting chuckle on the swell of your breast made goosebumps rise on your torso, seeing your desperate need for him to dick you down “mawey, Muntxate, have patience” his hand cupping your wet cunt, sneaking in his middle finger and claiming another desperate whine from you “wari… please!!” another chuckle from him was your only answer from him, throwing your legs over his shoulder as he removed his fingers and his loincloth, brandishing his cock out and pressing it on your folds, coating it with your juices before aligning it with your awaiting hole “you ready, baby girl?” your eager nod made his smirk widen “don’t worry, pearl, we just started for tonight” he chuckled as he pulnged in…

𝐀/𝐧 : Tonowari and his thighs are going to be the death of me!!!

Yawne : @taylormarieee, @persefolli, @eyweveng, @deadgirlrin, @eyrina-avatar, @avatarsslut, @neteyamsoare, @bobthe-turmpetman29, @nonniesworld, @zanabelle99, @thehoneymushroomhealer, @neteyamgfs, @xylianasblog.

©Neteyamyawne2023 | All Rights Reserved. Do not repost on other platforms, copy, steal, or translate any of my works!

[elryuse]

yandere stepsister Yeseo?

Forbidden Boundaries

YANDERE STEPSISTER YESEO X MALE READER

Yeseo clutched the worn teddy bear tighter, its fur damp with silent tears. Her brother, her only solace after their mother's passing, was a memory kept alive by that threadbare friend. Now, even that comfort was threatened. Her father, a man shrunk by grief, announced he was getting married. Relief battled with a cold, venomous fury in Yeseo's gut. Relief because Dad wouldn't be alone, fury because it meant sharing him, sharing everything. Especially when she found out her new step-family included a son.

Y/n. Broad-shouldered with a mop of black hair that perpetually seemed to fall across his forehead, he had eyes the color of storm clouds. Unsettlingly familiar yet undeniably foreign, they held a depth Yeseo couldn't quite decipher. He offered a hesitant smile, the kind that belonged on a nervous puppy, not the annoying boy who now claimed half her house.

"H-hi," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Yeseo scoffed, refusing to acknowledge him. The traitorous warmth that bloomed in her chest was a betrayal to her brother's memory. He wouldn't want her sharing their space, their life, with anyone. Yet, a twisted part of her couldn't deny the strange pull towards Y/n, a feeling that intensified with every stolen glance over the following weeks.

The animosity simmered, expressed in barbed comments from Yeseo and awkward silences at the dinner table. But fate, with a cruel sense of humor, threw them together one stormy night. Teenage angst and a dare fuelled by boredom led Yeseo out into the downpour. One careless turn, a screech of tires, and then…nothing.

She woke to the sterile white of a hospital room, the rhythmic beep of a machine a harsh counterpoint to the dull ache in her head. A hand, warm and surprisingly calloused, held hers. It was Y/n, his own face bruised and scraped, his eyes reflecting a concern that sent a tremor through Yeseo. Shame burned in her gut for her initial animosity.

"H-hey," he croaked, his voice hoarse. "You scared the living shit out of me."

Yeseo wanted to scoff, to maintain her facade of indifference. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, she squeezed his hand, a silent apology. That small gesture became a bridge, their unspoken connection strengthening with each shared secret whispered in the dead of night.

Years flew by, marked by stolen glances across the breakfast table and late-night talks under a tapestry of stars. Y/n matured, his once-gawky frame hardening into that of a man, and Yeseo found herself drawn to him with a fierceness that both scared and excited her. One day, as she peeked out the window, she saw him. Laughing, carefree, with a girl with sunshine-colored hair hanging onto his arm.

A white-hot rage flooded Yeseo's veins. This wasn't supposed to happen. Y/n wasn't supposed to find anyone else. He understood her darkness, the shadows that clung to her like a second skin. He belonged to her.

When he returned home, a lovestruck grin plastered on his face, Yeseo was waiting. Her own smile was a stark contrast, cold and predatory. "Where were you?" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

Y/n froze, the smile dropping from his face like a discarded mask. "Just…hanging out with Sarah," he stammered, a flicker of unease crossing his features.

"Sarah?" Yeseo spat the name, the sound dripping with venom. "Let me think.. Hmm.. Isn't that what people call a date?" She snatched a nearby jump rope, its rough fibers sending chills down Y/n's spine.

Panic flared in his eyes, but before he could speak, the lights flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness. It was either a cruel twist of fate or perhaps a carefully orchestrated plan of Yeseo's.

Hours crawled by, measured only by the rasp of Yeseo's voice, laced with a possessiveness that made Y/n want to run. Every denial, every mention of Sarah, fueled her torment. The room reeked of burnt sugar – a makeshift candle fashioned from spilled wine – and the stifling weight of fear.

"She doesn't understand you," Yeseo hissed, her voice barely a whisper in the darkness. "She can't see the real you, the broken you, like I can."

Tears pricked at Y/n's eyes. He choked out a desperate plea, "Yeseo, please…this isn't love. This is…crazy. You're my stepsister."

A strangled sob escaped Yeseo's lips. "Maybe it is. But it's all I have left."

Finally, his voice, choked and ...cracked with despair. "You can't lock me up here forever, Yeseo. My parents will be worried sick."

The flickering candlelight danced across his face, revealing a mix of terror and defiance that ignited a flicker of something akin to pity in Yeseo's heart. But it was quickly extinguished by the possessive fire burning brighter. "They don't understand you," she countered, her voice softer now, a dangerous kind of sweet. "They can't understand the darkness that lives inside you. Only I can."

Y/n scoffed, the sound harsh in the confined space. "Darkness? That's your darkness, Yeseo. Not mine."

His words struck a raw nerve, and a tremor ran through her. But before she could retort, a distant rumble of thunder echoed through the night, followed by a sudden flash of lightning that illuminated the room for a brief, shocking moment. In that split second, Y/n saw the desperation in her eyes, the deep well of loneliness that mirrored his own. It was a fleeting glimpse, overshadowed by the possessiveness that returned just as quickly as the darkness.

Days bled into nights, punctuated by interrogations, forced confessions, and a chilling intimacy that repulsed Y/n as much as it terrified him. He tried reasoning with Yeseo, appealing to the memories they shared, the moments of genuine connection. But it was like speaking to a wall. Her mind was consumed by a twisted sense of ownership, fueled by her grief and fear of abandonment.

One morning, he woke up to a strange stillness. The makeshift candle had burned itself out, leaving the room in complete darkness. He called out for Yeseo, a tremor in his voice, but there was no answer. Panic surged through him as he realized he was still bound by the jump rope. He strained against the rough fibers, his heart pounding in his chest.

Suddenly, a soft glow appeared at the doorway. Yeseo stood there, her silhouette framed by the faint light filtering through the hallway. In her hand, she held a cell phone, the screen displaying a picture of Sarah, smiling brightly.

"Look at her," Yeseo said, her voice devoid of emotion. "So carefree, so innocent. Doesn't she deserve someone who can be normal? Someone who isn't…broken?"

Y/n's breath hitched. He realized with a horrifying certainty what Yeseo was planning. "No, Yeseo, please," he croaked. "Don't hurt her."

A chilling smile played on Yeseo's lips. "This isn't about hurting her," she said, her voice a mere whisper. "It's about protecting you. Protecting you from her, from forgetting me."

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes. He knew there was no reasoning with her in this state. He had to escape. With a desperate surge of strength, he yanked on the jump rope, the coarse fibers digging into his wrists. To his surprise, it snapped, frayed from days of use.

Yeseo's smile faltered for a moment, then hardened back into a mask of cold fury. She lunged for him, but he scrambled back, adrenaline fueling his movements. He stumbled towards the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.

"You'll regret this!" Yeseo screamed behind him.

Y/n didn't dare look back. He burst out of the room and raced down the hallway, his bare feet slapping against the cold floor. He reached the front door, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the lock. Finally, it clicked, and he flung the door open, escaping into the cool night air.

He didn't stop running until his lungs burned and his legs threatened to give out. He found himself in a park, panting heavily, the familiar scent of wet grass and blooming night jasmine filling his nostrils.

Looking back, he realized he had no phone, no wallet, no plan. All he had was the memory of Yeseo's twisted love and the chilling realization that he might never be free of her darkness. As dawn painted the sky with streaks of pink and orange, Y/n curled up under a park bench, the weight of his ordeal crushing him. He had escaped Yeseo's prison, but the scars she had left on his soul would take a lifetime to heal.

Despite the exhaustion gnawing at him, Y/n couldn't stay hidden. The image of Sarah, vulnerable and alone, fueled a surge of determination. He had to get to her, warn her. Stealing back into the house, the adrenaline rush from escape fading, was replaced by a chilling dread. The silence of the house was deafening. Had Yeseo followed him?

He found his phone on the kitchen counter, a cruel taunt. He dialed Sarah's number, praying she'd pick up. The first ring was met with silence, then her sleepy voice. Relief washed over him.

"Sarah, listen to me carefully," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Don't come here, don't come near this house. There's…danger."

He heard the confusion in her voice, but then, thankfully, understanding. "Y/n? What's going on? Where are you?"

He couldn't explain everything, not over the phone. He mumbled a lie, about being out late with friends, and promised to call her properly in the morning. Hanging up, a sense of despair settled over him. He'd protected Sarah, but what awaited him back in the room?

The climb back to his prison felt like an eternity. As he approached the door, he braced himself for the confrontation. But the room was empty. Relief turned to apprehension. Where had Yeseo gone?

He found his answer on the bedside table – a single white rose, its thorn pricked with a single drop of blood. It was a chilling message, a promise. Yeseo wouldn't let him go, not entirely.

Days turned into weeks, then months. Sarah, worried at his sudden distance, grew distant herself. Y/n knew he had to explain, but the fear of Yeseo's wrath kept him silent. He became a prisoner in his own right, living a double life – the happy friend with Sarah, the terrified captive with Yeseo.

One night, Yeseo returned from wherever she disappeared to, a glint of triumph in her eyes. She held up a newspaper clipping – a picture of Sarah, smiling brightly, next to a man with his arm around her. The caption read: "Local Artist Sarah Finds Love."

Yeseo watched his reaction, a predator gauging its prey. She expected a jealous outburst, a fight for freedom. But Y/n surprised himself. He felt…relief. He was genuinely happy for Sarah.

Yeseo's smile faltered. Perhaps she'd expected a different reaction. Instead, she saw a quiet acceptance in his eyes, a resignation bordering on despair.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Then, Yeseo spoke, her voice a chilling whisper that sent shivers down Y/n's spine. "So, you finally figured it out, didn't you? Sarah doesn't see the real you. She doesn't understand the darkness that lives inside you, the darkness that only I can love."

Y/n swallowed hard, her words a painful echo of the justifications she'd woven in his mind for weeks. "Maybe you're right," he choked out. "Maybe I need someone who…understands."

Yeseo's smile returned, but it didn't reach her eyes. It was a smile laced with victory, but also a hint of something else – a flicker of doubt. "But what about her? What about your precious Sarah?"

Y/n looked down at his calloused hands, the guilt of his deception a heavy weight in his chest. "I'll…tell her the truth. It won't be easy, but it's the right thing to do."

A guttural laugh erupted from Yeseo, devoid of humor and full of a chilling possessiveness. "The right thing, huh? Don't be a fool, Y/n. You won't tell her a thing. You won't risk losing me, not after everything you've seen."

He looked up, meeting her gaze with a newfound resolve. "Maybe you're right again. Maybe I won't tell her everything. But I will see her. I won't be your prisoner anymore, Yeseo. I'll see Sarah, live my life…as long as you let me."

Yeseo's eyes narrowed, the playful glint extinguished by a cold fury. She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. "Don't test me, Y/n. You know what I'm capable of. You wouldn't want me to…hurt her, would you? Or maybe even you yourself?"

Y/n stood his ground, the fear a dull ache in his chest. "I know what you're capable of," he said, his voice surprisingly steady.

Y/n's heart hammered against his ribs as he watched Yeseo pack a duffel bag with frantic energy. The air crackled with a manic excitement that sent shivers down his spine. "Where are we going?" he croaked, his voice barely a whisper.

Yeseo, clad in a sleek black dress, her eyes gleaming with a feverish light, turned to him. "Away," she said, a single, chilling word. "To a place where they can't find us. Where our love can finally bloom."

Panic bloomed in Y/n's chest. He'd hoped for a compromise, a way to appease Yeseo while maintaining some semblance of normalcy with Sarah. But this…this was a nightmare unfolding.

"No, Yeseo, we can't just leave. What about Sarah?" he pleaded, desperation lacing his voice.

A cruel smile twisted Yeseo's lips. "Sarah? She'll forget you eventually. The heart wants what it wants, Y/n, and it wants you. With me."

Before Y/n could protest further, Yeseo grabbed his hand, her grip surprisingly strong. She dragged him out of the house, the world blurring into a kaleidoscope of fear and dread. He stole a final glance back, a silent apology hanging in the air for the love he was leaving behind.

Weeks bled into months. Yeseo had orchestrated a meticulously planned elopement, whisking him away to a secluded island off the coast of Thailand. They lived in a luxurious penthouse overlooking the turquoise water, a stark contrast to the prison it felt like.

Yeseo, initially clingy and possessive, gradually settled into a semblance of normalcy. But for Y/n, normalcy was a distant dream. Every stolen glance at his phone, every suppressed urge to contact Sarah, was a constant reminder of his stolen life.

Meanwhile, Sarah's world had crumbled. Y/n's disappearance was a cruel puzzle with no missing piece. Days turned into weeks, then months, filled with frantic searches and dead ends. The police, initially helpful, grew dismissive as time passed. Yeseo had covered her tracks well.

One scorching afternoon, Yeseo returned from a shopping spree, a triumphant glint in her eyes. She tossed a magazine onto the plush living room couch, the cover emblazoned with a picture of Sarah, a haunting sadness in her eyes.

"Look," Yeseo said, her voice laced with a cruel satisfaction. "Seems your precious Sarah has moved on. Found someone new."

Y/n snatched the magazine, his heart clenching at the sight of Sarah's downcast expression. The article spoke of a new relationship, a feeble attempt to mend a broken heart. A wave of guilt washed over him, a suffocating weight that threatened to consume him.

He looked up at Yeseo, her face a mask of triumph. In that moment, a cold resolve solidified within him. He would never win her love, but he wouldn't be her prisoner any longer.

As Yeseo busied herself in the kitchen, Y/n grabbed his phone, his fingers trembling as he dialed a familiar number. The phone rang once, twice, then Sarah's voice, laced with a weary hope, filled his ears.

"Hello?"

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes, blurring his vision. He couldn't tell her everything, not yet. But he had to start somewhere.

"Sarah," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "It's me…Y/n."

On the other end of the line, a startled gasp escaped Sarah's lips. Then, a stunned silence hung heavy in the air.

Y/n took a deep breath. He had a long story to tell, a story of a twisted love and a desperate escape. But for the first time since his abduction, a flicker of hope ignited within him. He might be trapped in a gilded cage, but he wouldn't let the bars silence him forever. The fight for his freedom, and perhaps even his love, had just begun, unbeknownst to Yeseo, who stood mere feet away, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she listened to the muffled conversation, the taste of victory already bitter on her tongue.

[celestialbruise]

Can you give Taxian-jun and Chu-Fei a happy ending in their timeline? ❤️🙏

let me just say I LOVE YOU for this!! this truly feels like fate, because the morning I received this beautiful prompt the first thing I thought of when I woke up was 0.5 ranwan and I spent the entirety of my morning routine thinking about a canon divergent fic where taxian-jun and chu fei get their happy ending then I logged onto Tumblr and found this ask in my inbox :’)

I’ve had this idea in my head for awhile and some day I would love to turn it into a fully-realized fic, but the basic premise is a month before Mo Ran lays siege to Taxue palace and Chu Wanning dies, he has a dream detailing the event, every last gory detail. it disturbs Mo Ran so much that he temporarily calls off the plan, and while he’s busy thinking of a way to destroy Xue Meng that won’t have Chu Wanning sacrificing himself, Chu Wanning manages to save him in the interim. 

spoilers past erha volume six ahead!

to be completely honest I don’t know entirely how the flower works (I know about its existence but not much else) but in my head canon, aka for my own personal sanity, I do believe that there is a way for it to be removed, and in this AU Chu Wanning removes it, and though it would take time, and healing, in the 0.5 timeline, they would find their way back to each other, and they would never again part.  

I hope I was able to do your prompt justice, as I truly had such a wonderful time writing this<3

-

In the lonely dark, deep into the night, Taxian-jun woke with a scream trapped in his throat, desperately grasping a body that was no longer in his arms. 

He was alone in his bed. No longer was he laying siege to Taxue Palace, kneeling in the blood-spattered snow, holding a deathly cold, winter-pale Chu Wanning who had whispered….

Who had asked him with his dying breath-

“Mo Ran…forgive yourself.”

Mo Ran tore out of Wushan Palace like hell’s hounds were nipping at his heels, ignoring how the winter wind bitterly nipped at his cheeks, at the wetness staining his face, intensifying the chill and its painful bite. 

He couldn’t be gone. He just couldn’t be. 

He couldn’t leave Taxian-jun. Chu Wanning couldn’t leave Mo Ran.

If Chu Wanning left-

If he was dead, then-

What would Mo Ran have left? Who would he even be?

What would be the point of living in a world devoid of Chu Wanning?

Mo Ran ripped open the doors of the Red Lotus Pavilion, his feet automatically carrying him to Chu Wanning’s room, where he found Chu Wanning, lying in his bed, wrapped tightly in blood-red sheets, curled into a tiny ball, just as he always was. The sight both eased and aggravated something that seethed deep within Taxian-jun’s chest. He wasn’t able to breathe. Not yet.

In his haste he stumbled, almost fell, hurrying over the Chu Wanning’s side and without preamble or finesse, yanked one of his arms free from the blankets to clutch desperately as his wrist, searching for a pulse. Mo Ran only needed a single heartbeat to discern that, while softened by slumber, life did indeed still live inside Chu Wanning’s body. And then another heartbeat later, phoenix eyes fluttered open, moonlight catching on long, dark lashes that lifted to reveal hazy amber eyes.

“What-” Chu Wanning started, voice slurring with sleep, eyes only beginning to sharpen with that familiar hate when, without hesitation, Mo Ran pulled Chu Wanning into his arms.

“Wanning!” Taxian-jun gasped, wet, against the side of Chu Wanning’s neck. “You’re here. You’re okay,” Taxian-jun said this as if he couldn’t quite believe it. As if he daren’t hope.

“Mo Ran!” Chu Wanning thrashed inside his arms, hitting his shoulders, but Mo Ran bore it. He wouldn’t risk loosening his grip even a fraction. If he did, if he was careless, if he allowed Chu Wanning to slip away from him, a ghost once more…..Mo Ran hugged him tighter, tight enough to break him. Tight enough to break them both. Soon, Chu Wanning’s struggle ceased. He stilled, stiff and awkward in the cage of Mo Ran’s embrace. When he spoke next, his voice was quieter, a question Mo Ran had no idea how to answer, unable to grasp what the question even truly was.

“Mo Ran?”

Mo Ran shuddered, pulling away, looking into Chu Wanning’s sharp phoenix eyes, eyes that glimmered with light, with life. Eyes that had gone openly, nakedly wide.

“You aren’t allowed to leave this Venerable One,” Taxian-jun hissed vehemently, his heart a painful beat inside of his chest as his hands cupped Chu Wanning’s face, forcing him to meet the fire raging in Taxian-jun’s eyes, the flames that threatened to swallow them both. “Do you understand? This Venerable One forbids it! I forbid you from - who do you think you are……”

“Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning gripped his wrists, pulling Mo Ran’s hands away from his face. A face, Mo Ran realized with a start, that was shadowed, filled with too many lines to ignore. “Calm down. You’re shaking.”

Was he? Impossible. But as Mo Ran glanced down to where Chu Wanning’s pale hands tightly gripped his wrist, he noticed his fingers flexing, curling around nothing, wracked with unceasing tremors. 

It was cold outside. He’d run straight out of his bedroom, dressed in only his inner robe….of course, he was shaking. He was furious - Taxian-jun was livid, filled with fiery anger that would not abate, that roiled through his veins like fire. It was maddening. It had nowhere to go. Taxian-jun couldn’t understand it, couldn’t make sense of it, why it felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out. All he knew was that he had held Chu Wanning’s cold, lifeless body inside of his arms, and it had felt real, in the way nothing had in a long, long time. Chu Wanning had left him. Chu Wanning had left him behind, and he wasn’t supposed to leave Taxian-jun, not until Taxian-jun allowed it, which he never would, because Chu Wanning was his, dammit. Despite his hatred, or because of it, Chu Wanning was Taxian-jun’s, and Taxian-jun was-

A cough crawled up his throat, and another, and another, until soon his chest was heaving, his ribs shuddering, his lungs bereft of all breath. Distantly, Taxian-jun registered the taste of blood filling his mouth, cloying and astringent. Taxian-jun felt like laughing. Mo Ran felt like crying.

But when Mo Ran saw Chu Wanning lift a hand towards his wound, a flare of panic ripped through his heart, an icy-cold, paralytic horror he hadn’t felt in years. Mo Ran caught Chu Wanning’s wrist, squeezing, needing the reassurance of a pulse.  

“Don’t. Don’t do it,” Mo Ran rasped, hating how his voice broke. “If you heal this wound….I’ll never forgive you. You can’t.”

Chu Wanning looked at him, brows furrowed, mouth set in a soft frown. Taxian-jun hated it. Hated how Chu Wanning would take this pathetic display as weakness. He was probably judging Mo Ran right now, sneering at him inside his heart, thinking him such a fool-

Taxian-jun almost flinched when the back of a soft, cool hand came to rest against his forehead. He felt his lips part, but no words came to rush out. No insults, no curses, no words of pure, unadulterated hate.

Foolishly, for a moment, Mo Ran wanted to call a name that he hadn’t in years, “....Shizun?”

“Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning whispered, a cold hand cupping his cheek, a gentle thumb drying a stray tear he hadn’t realized had fallen. “You must wake up.”

Taxian-jun stared at him, dazed. “Wake up?” He muttered, shaking his head, voice shrinking as he breathed, hesitantly. “This is….just a dream?”

The delicate jut of Chu Wanning’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, “Mn,” and then, with featherlight fingers, ever-so-carefully, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind Taxian-jun’s ear. For a second, Mo Ran found himself leaning into the touch. “It’s just a dream.”

“I didn’t know,” Mo Ran told him, hushed like a secret. “It felt so real. This Venerable One….is confused. I’ve just been so confused, lately. It’s Xue Meng’s fault. This fucking wound - it hurts, all of the time. My chest won’t stop hurting. It’s driving me insane.” 

Mo Ran bit his tongue before he could reveal more. Even in a dream, it felt far too vulnerable, far too stupid to reveal such a fear. Mo Ran had ears and he heard all the rumors the people whispered below his throne. He was a tyrant. He was bloodthirsty, cruel, worse than a beast. He was losing himself. 

He was going mad. 

“Wanning, how do I….how do I know what is real?” Mo Ran muttered, burying his face inside his hands to hide his burning eyes. He was just-

Mo Ran was tired. So, so very tired. He ached, down to his very bones. 

“Lie down,” Chu Wanning murmured, guiding Mo Ran to the bed. “You’ll feel better after you’ve slept.”

Something in Mo Ran protested this gentleness - surely it was only a prelude to more cruelty? But exhaustion was a heavy, pressing force. Inescapable. Like a limp puppet, all strings cut, Taxian-jun allowed himself to be arranged supine, and though every fiber of his being shied away from the almost gentle way the blankets were tucked in around his body, for some reason he couldn’t muster up the strength to bat Chu Wanning away, like he normally would have. In fact, Mo Ran couldn’t seem to tear his eyes, lucifugous and hot, away from Chu Wanning at all. And when Chu Wanning stood it was entirely involuntary, the way Mo Ran’s hand shot out to grab his wrist.

“Will you be here, when this Venerable One wakes?” Taxian-jun asked, and maybe he meant it as a threat, but it came out as a desperate plea. Still, the derision and contempt he had come to expect from Chu Wanning was nowhere to be seen on his visage which looked in the shadows, simply put, haunted. Conflicted. 

Lovelorn. 

“Mn,” Chu Wanning sat down beside him, and didn’t try to free himself from Mo Ran’s grip. “I’ll be here.”

“You won’t leave?”

“I won’t leave.”

“Promise?”

“....I promise.”

Taxian-jun nodded, and though he began to drift, caught in-between veils of the living world and the insensate realm of black, his grip around Chu Wanning did not loosen, and he still found himself whispering a question, one he somehow knew only Chu Wanning held the answer to. 

“Do you think dreams have any meaning?”

Just before unconsciousness could claim him once more, a whisper rang through his ears, soft-spoken yet achingly clear. 

“Sometimes.”

Then….Mo Ran just wouldn’t go. Chu Wanning couldn’t do anything foolish so long as Mo Ran stayed to make sure he behaved. Right? He couldn’t let Xue Meng live, or that damn Mei Hanxue - but he could think up another plan. He had time.  

-

Chu Wanning didn’t know how long it had been since Mo Ran had cried in front of him. Certainly, not since he was a boy

That meant he was still in there, somewhere. A heart still beat within the blackened, thorny brambles wrapped around Mo Ran’s chest.

There was still hope. 

There was still a way back from hell. 

Chu Wanning’s breath shuddered as it left his lungs. 

He wouldn’t leave his disciple. He wouldn’t stand back and watch as Mo Ran lost any more of himself than he already had. 

“It will be okay, Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning murmured, watching how the moonlight flickered across Mo Ran’s sleeping face, and how the knot of tension in between his brows only smoothed out when Chu Wanning squeezed his hand, tight, tight enough to leave his mark. “This master promises. I won’t leave you behind.”

[samstree]

A Careless Omission

Jaskier reveals he has a type. Geralt behaves strangely. (Or, the "Jaskier likes a dilf" fic, 2.9k, on ao3)

Jaskier doesn’t try to hide his interest.

His face has been slowly heating up with a blush, his lips worried and bitten with nervousness. It nearly makes him feel like a blushing maiden at the sight of her first crush, stomach fluttering and all. Who can blame him? His eyes have been caught by the barkeep since he sat down at the table.

Distantly, he knows Geralt is able to tell, sitting in front of him across the table. A witcher’s senses are too sharp for Jaskier to hide his intentions for anyone they meet on the road, but there’s no room for self-consciousness. His attention is away, following the other man as he works.

The barkeep is tall and burly, with wide shoulders and long legs, hair slightly wet with sweat from working in the kitchens. A few strands of grey hair pepper his brown curls beautifully, as well as his well-groomed beard. The simple clothing cannot hide the taut muscles underneath. Every time he rolls up the sleeves to show the strong lines of his forearm, Jaskier lets out an audible gasp.

Meeting Jaskier’s eyes, he comes to their table and serves two cups of ale with a bright, warm smile.

A bright, warm smile, and a little girl trailing behind him.

“Aww,” Jaskier whispers to Geralt as the man walks away. “Look at him with his daughter.”

The barkeep has brought his daughter to work. The girl looks no older than six, demanding bedtime stories and tugging at his apron constantly. He has to gently coax her to let him finish work first, all the while leaning down to kiss her on the head.

Jaskier’s breath catches, the hammering of his heart so loud he can practically hear it in his ears.

“Hmm.”

Geralt only gives a noncommittal hum while sipping his ale.

“Here we go.” The barkeep returns to their table with two bowls of soup, his smile still bright despite the late hour and his daughter’s chirping. “How do you find our establishment, kind sirs? Hope you liked the ale?”

Before Jaskier can chat up the guy, Geralt cuts in quickly.

“A bit sour,” he says, seemingly grouchier than usual. “And the place is loud.”

It’s entirely too rude, but before Jaskier can apologize for his friend, the barkeep scratches his head shyly and does it first, which makes him all the lovelier.

“Apologies,” he says sincerely. “My Lucja can be a menace when she’s tired. It’s a shame her bedtime happens to be our rush hour. She’s not bothering you too much, is she?”

“No, no!” Jaskier answers, rather too eagerly. “She’s adorable! I hope she’s not making your job difficult, is all.”

Jaskier’s face becomes even hotter when he takes his bowl, their fingers brushing, lingering. Finally, the barkeep is looking at Jaskier properly. His smile grows, stretching almost to his ears.

They hold each other’s gaze, until Geralt sets down his cup suddenly, much louder than necessary, breaking the moment.

“It can get hard at times, but I don’t mind,” the barkeep answers, eyeing Geralt for a moment before turning his attention back to Jaskier. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, you see. I’d choose raising her on my own every time.”

“Oh? Where is her mother?” Jaskier frowns.

“I do not know where she is, sir, nor Lucja’s real father, for she was left at my doorstep as a babe. I meant to send her to the orphanage, but in the end, I just couldn’t see a little girl without a home. She is as much my daughter as she can be. We are a family, as destiny intended.”

What a sweet, sweet man.

Jaskier holds his chest as the fluttering inside intensifies. He’s nearly melting on the spot “Aww…” he sighs softly. “Such sadness, and such a happy ending. You truly are a kind man, sir…?”

“Andrej.”

“I’m Jaskier.” They shake hands, lingering some more.

“Still, it must get lonely for you, being on your own. Would you ever seek other forms of companionship, Andrej, when the long nights are difficult to pass?”

The hopeful hint hides so well under the concern in Jaskier’s voice. He’d like to think he’s rather smooth in his probing, after all these years.

“Well.” Andrej looks as flushed as Jaskier feels. His eyes lower, before lifting up again, looking at Jaskier from under his lashes. “I try to find company when I can, but none as fine as yourself, Jaskier.”

He drags out Jaskier’s name, patiently, sensually, making his bones hum.

The man leaves Jaskier with a suggestive look, and finds Lucja again. He lifts the girl easily, muttering about how he can finally tuck her in bed now. They disappear upstairs, with the girl draped over Andrej’s shoulder, her cheeks round with happiness.

Jaskier stares at them as they leave, eyes following the man until he cannot see them any longer, and then turns back with a dreamy sigh. He stirs his soup absently, occasionally letting out a goofy smile and a quiet giggle, ears still burning. Thoughts of Andrej fill the whole world, his eyes, his smile, his loving heart.

Jaskier knows he’s quickly, entirely, and head over heels, falling in love.

He lets out another giggle at the thought.

Their interaction replays over and over in Jaskier’s head, making him completely oblivious to his surroundings.

Out of nowhere, Geralt clears his throat.

“Oh, dear!” Jaskier startles, blinking. “Geralt, um… You are… still here.”

Huh, he seems to have completely forgotten about Geralt.

“My, my,” Geralt snorts. He looks like he’s trying very hard not to roll his eyes. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Jaskier has no intention of being mortified. He is no longer capable of that emotion when the stars align and hit him with a spell of love. Still, he gives some attention to his friend.

“Sorry, I was a little… beside myself,” he says, his spirit too high to be ruined by Geralt’s inexplicably bad mood. “You know,” Jaskier whispers, revealing the great secret. “It’s my weakness.”

“Weakness?” Geralt narrows his eyes.

“Yes, a man like Andrej.” Jaskier’s eyes brighten in fondness. “I happen to have no resistance around a good father like him.”

A pause of silence, and Geralt squints harder.

“A good… father,” he states, very, very slowly.

“Of course! Did you not notice? He was so good with his daughter earlier, so gentle and loving. I bet he tells the best bedtime stories, and little Lucja will want for nothing in her life. Oh, I cannot help myself, and I—” Jaskier sighs, once again. The amount of sighing today is a bit excessive, even for a poet. He’s well aware. “I think I’m falling in love.”

Geralt looks like he’s trying to suppress a growl, but ends up with an unpleasant grimace.

And Jaskier takes issue with that. He makes an unhappy noise.

“Oh, stop with that face. I know you want to mock me,” Jaskier admonishes, mouth forming a pout. “But I am not ashamed, I’ll have you know. I see being a good father as one of the most attractive qualities in a man, if not the most attractive! Though I admit, I have a soft spot, especially for him. Did you hear the story? To think Andrej took in an orphan girl under such tragic circumstances, just to give her a home… How can my heart not go out to him?”

Jaskier looks into the distance, lapsing into silence. The soup is no longer hot, and he digs into it slowly, mood still chirpy and stomach still full of warm fuzziness.

For some reason, Geralt keeps staring at Jaskier.

He seems offended, even.

“Hmm,” Geralt deadpans, stressing every word. “You are in love, because he is a good father?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jaskier hums absently.

Geralt stares for another moment, and another, his food and drink forgotten. It’s disconcerting. He simply slurps his soup loudly, filling the silence.

Tentatively, Geralt opens his mouth, and closes it, and then, he does it again a few times more.

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. Geralt does the same.

“What?” The bard is running out of patience.

“Nothing,” Geralt answers at the end, rather pointedly, looking directly at Jaskier. “So… Ciri.”

Jaskier blinks at the non sequitur. “Hmm?”

“You do remember her,” Geralt adds, “Ciri?”

Frowning, Jaskier is slightly concerned for Geralt’s sanity. Or his.

“Yes? I’ve not suffered a blow to the head, Geralt. I remember Ciri.”

“Just checking.”

The tiniest pout forms around Geralt’s mouth, a hint of dissatisfaction tugging at his lips like an overgrown child. His eyes are still boring into Jaskier’s face. He pauses for a beat, as if waiting for Jaskier to catch up on something.

Jaskier is even more confused about the weird mood of his witcher. He waits with bated breath for a moment longer, but Geralt is still looking at him expectantly.

Losing patience, Jaskier gestures for him to go on. “Well, what about Ciri?”

Geralt sighs, somehow sounding defeated.

“She wrote to me,” he says, finally dropping the grouchy tone when talking about Ciri. “I got the letter today.”

“Oh.” The mention of Ciri’s letter brings joy to Jaskier’s heart. The girl tends to write to them sporadically during her travels, and Geralt always discusses everything about her with Jaskier. It’s nice to hear from their little witcher-princess, who is actually not so little anymore. “That’s good, Geralt. What did she say?”

Taking a very deep breath, Geralt continues.

“She’s traveling, mostly. Took contracts here and there. Also—” Geralt says carefully, “said she missed me.”

“Yeah?” Jaskier smiles, proudly.

“Yeah, you know. She does… um, miss me, because I—um, you know, I’m her…” Geralt doesn’t finish the sentence, but leaves room for it to be finished. With what, Jaskier isn’t sure.

But Jaskier’s heart twists in sympathy. He misses Ciri dearly too, and it could explain Geralt’s strange behavior today, so he tries something else. “You know, we could visit her,” he suggests. “Write back, see if we can meet up and travel together for a while.”

Geralt’s eyebrows lift, ever so slightly, at those words.

“We can,” he agrees, voice lighter. “And… you remember how she has nightmares. If we travel together, I can stay with her at night until she falls asleep.” He thinks for a second. “Tell her a story or two, chase away the bad dreams, perhaps. It is my duty for her, as she is my… um, Ciri.”

The phrasing is perplexing. She is… all of their Ciri, of course. There’s no telling why Geralt said it like that.

“That’s a shame.” Still, Jaskier doesn’t like the idea of their little girl having nightmares, but then— “Wait, does she still let you tuck her in? She’s turning… twenty this summer, I believe? And now an independently working witcher. Isn’t she too old?”

It seems to dawn on Geralt too.

“Oh.” He blinks. “So she is,” Geralt splutters. “Never mind, then.”

Jaskier can’t blame him. Sometimes, they both forget how fast their little girl grows. She is now a proper grown woman, slaying monsters with better witchering skills and magical powers than anyone could have imagined.

He understands Geralt’s tendency for nostalgia, though. When you find a scared little girl and help her become this confident version of herself over the course of a decade, you’d want to linger in those memories, even though she can easily stand on her own feet now.

“Still, I believe it if you say so,” Jaskier muses. “She’s been through so much before, and past hurt fades slowly. Seeing you could be good for her too.”

Geralt looks down, suddenly stabbing the gooey soup with his spoon as if it’s a particularly difficult fiend. After a moment, he sighs. The excessive sighing seems to be catching on today.

For all of Geralt’s emotional constipation Jaskier has witnessed over the years, today’s grumpy episode is truly a bad one. And then, he thinks more about Geralt’s behavior all day, mentioning Ciri out of nowhere, insisting that she still needs care even though she’s grown. It’s nearly like Geralt is trying to make up for something, or drive a point home.

It’s just that Jaskier has been missing the point all along.

It clicks, all of a sudden.

Oh.

Of course.

How could he be so blind?

“Oh, I see.” He places a hand on Geralt’s arm, exhaling in relief. “Forgive me, Geralt dear, but I see it now.”

“You do?” Hope shines in Geralt’s eyes.

“I do!” Jaskier confirms. “It’s terrible I have not realized earlier. I have been incredibly neglectful of you.”

Eyes wide with hope, Geralt seems to have stopped breathing in anticipation. “Go on,” he prompts.

“It all makes sense. You have been acting weird since we sat down, and with me fussing over Andrej and his daughter…” Jaskier states gently, eyes bright. “Your guilt is acting up again! Am I correct?”

Geralt is frozen like a statue, incredulous.

He must want to deny it, but everything about him says he’s been caught off guard, which means Jaskier must be right on point. He pats himself on the back mentally, proud for having figured out his witcher’s internal struggles. After a few decades, he has become an expert in reading Geralt’s every mood.

Jaskier pulls the chair to the side of the table so they sit closer together, their knees touching. He wraps an arm around Geralt, hands running small circles on his back, a familiar soothing motion for when his witcher’s mind is being unkind to him.

“Um, Jask…”

“You don’t need to deny it, you know.” It’s silly that Geralt still has trouble accepting Jaskier’s help sometimes, so he remains patient. “It’s perfectly reasonable, with Ciri traveling alone, being away from your protection. You still feel responsible for her, as you should. The bond between the two of you is stronger than destiny itself.”

Geralt pinches between his eyes, looking torn. “You don’t need to tell me these things, Jask. That’s… really not what I’m thinking.”

This ridiculous, stubborn man. Jaskier shakes his head.

“Nonsense. You don’t need to hide it from me, Geralt. It’s only me.” Jaskier smiles encouragingly. “I’m always here when you have these doubts. Always. Ciri has to leave you—leave all of us—precisely because you’ve taught her well. You have prepared her in every way you can, and now the world will see what she can do.” He hugs Geralt tighter, knowing his touch is comforting for Geralt in these bouts of self-deprecation. “It’s okay to feel at a loss, but it’s not like she’ll never need you again. You are her father, and nothing will ever change that.”

The words settle quietly, genuinely, and Jaskier feels the tenseness in Geralt’s body fade. He takes pride in himself again, a grin stretching across his face, feeling incredibly achieved.

“Yes,” Geralt whispers, looking directly into Jaskier’s eyes. Their faces are only a hand’s breadth away, his tone intimate and sincere. “I am her father.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jaskier agrees happily. “You are the best father she could ever ask for.”

“Yeah?”

Geralt breathes in, his gaze lowering. They are leaning into each other’s space, with barely any distance in between. Jaskier’s hand is still wrapped around Geralt’s shoulder, and now Geralt has placed a hand on Jaskier’s knee.

For some reason, the fluttering in Jaskier’s stomach returns. The sensation is such a surprise that he nearly falls out of the chair.

“Geralt…”

“Jaskier, look,” Geralt breathes, lips parting, “I—”

Before he could finish a sentence, they are interrupted by someone coming down the stairs, their footsteps echoing loudly in the tavern. Jaskier snaps his attention away in an instant.

Oh, Andrej is back!

Jaskier lets out a delighted squeal, all thoughts replaced by the barkeep’s warm smile.

“Hold that thought, dear,” Jaskier says absently, patting Geralt on the back. “I should be… going.”

“But I—”

Geralt’s eyes are wide, darting between Andrej and Jaskier.

Jaskier stands up, checking on Geralt again. “Hmm? What is it? Do you still need me here?”

He would stay with Geralt, comforting him for the rest of the night if those old insecurities still plague his friend. A good night with a handsome and kind man will always come second when it comes to Geralt, but…

But, but, but…

Jaskier’s heart is already soaring away.

Luckily, the moment of panic in Geralt’s eyes fades into calm acceptance.

“Nothing,” Geralt says, resigned with a quiet smile. “I don’t need you here, Jaskier. You should go.”

His posture goes slack. It must be the relief after all of Jaskier’s words, all the doubt eased, judging from the way Geralt’s face morphs into an emotionless neutrality. Once again, Jaskier mentally pats himself on the back for having cracked the problem.

He beams at the thought, bending down to press a good night kiss on Geralt’s cheek, who lets out a little gasp, leaning into the chaste kiss.

“Don’t wait up!”

Jaskier winks before turning away, not looking back again. When he takes Andrej’s hand, there’s even a spring in his steps.

Oh, Jaskier should be allowed to feel a little smug, just a little bit. He has had the most wonderful night. On top of seeing right through Geralt’s emotional turmoil, he’s also landed himself a fine companion until morning.

The wonderful night can still get a lot better, he thinks.

[doiefics]

shameless sexy stranger

pairing: jeno x afab!reader

prologue: what could go wrong in the middle of one hot moment with a shameless stranger in denim?

genre: smut

wordcount: 414

warnings: sexual content [ fingering + biting + risky ] + language

College fest days meant chaos everywhere. As if everyone was wearing rainbow tinted glasses.

But they also meant calm, at unusual places.

The best place to find solace for a blatant activity or two was indeed the library, otherwise too busy and tensed.

"Fuck!" You moaned at the boy's touch, again.

"You like it too much, huh?" He groaned back.

You gripped his ripped and muscular arm, this time a bit tighter than before as he brought his lean yet powerful physique closer to yours.

His face wore an attractive sinister smile on it, the smile that totally wanted to ruin you, exactly like you desired.

"What if someone catches us here?" His seductive whisper next to you ear sent shivers down as he ran his fingers tracing your flesh, never stopping and going deeper, and deeper.

"That won't be a problem." You mumbled, and the leering wink you gave him appeared to intensify his hormones.

"Such a freak!" He cursed under his breath.

It was not more than a few hours ago that your eyes happened to lock with this pretty boy on the street.

You had never seen him on campus before.

He dressed entirely in denim, with a sleeveless jacket shamelessly exposing his arms with and a pair of jeans that you wished could have been dropped to the ground.

"Hurry up!" This hot guy in denim was making you desperate.

He wasted zero time and lifted up your mini skirt, which was also denim, coincidently.

You glanced at his wrists as fingers were almost going to be invisible inside you by now.

Each wrist adorned with a silver chain bracelet.

He was fancy.

Simultaneously, the same fingers that only started with drawing careless circles around your clothed core, moved naturally as though they had mastered the technique by this point.

"More" You whined.

"Wait for it." He soothed.

Next thing you knew, he bit your neck, earning hisses out of a pain that you were enjoying.

He must have been feeling the same need as you since he considered moving your underwear to the side.

This activity was about to get more intense.

"Over there!" The cry was shrill.

Even in the pitch blackness of the book room, it appeared as though you had been caught.

"We're in trouble." He glared into your eyes and whispered in a low, husky voice.

"Are we?" Your ask was shameless, and sure was he, for he wasn't going to stop until you wished.

masterlist please refrain from plagiarising, translating or posting outside of this platform

have a request? prompt fic game is OPEN!

[goldfades]

🧊 with nico <3

NOOO NOT NICO ANGST. IM GONNA THROW UP AND CRY, i love writing angst sm tho

im not the biggest fan of cheating plots but i've been listening to 'babe' by taylor on repeat for like 3 weeks straight, blame tay not me 🫢😗

there is calm after every storm, the quiet and peacefulness. the sky, once a tranquil painting of sky blue, now darkened with dark clouds that rolled like giant ships into an angry sea.

distant thunder echoed through a valley, quickening heartbeats. the air grew thick with tension, carrying the scent of rain and electricity. the wind rustled leaves and branches, whispering secrets only the brave dared to hear. rain, at first hesitant, intensified, assaulting the earth. lightning streaked the sky, revealing nature's wild dance. amidst chaos, beauty bloomed. the storm's fury held an undeniable allure, a reminder of nature's power.

there is calm after every storm, the quiet and peacefulness that follows the tempest. but in that moment, as nature waged its war, the world trembled, and the storm reigned supreme.

and that's exactly what happened with you and nico; a storm, the biggest storm possible. the very worst kind, relentless downpour of broken promises and the dissolution of a once-loving relationship.

in the wake of the turmoil, the skies above your hearts darkened with resentment and disappointment. the thunderous echoes of arguments and unspoken grievances reverberated in the spaces between you. just like a storm, it arrived without warning, tearing through the tranquility that once defined your love.

the tension in your connection grew as thick as the humid air before a summer shower. words, like angry gusts of wind, whipped through your conversations, leaving wounds that would refuse to heal. you both grasped at the fragments of your past, trying to piece together what had once been beautiful. but it seemed as though every effort you made only fueled a storm's rage.

lightning strikes of resentment and hurt lit up your interactions, revealing the jagged edges of your broken love. the storm of emotions seemed unending that left you drenched in sorrow and confusion.

there's always calm after a storm, a sense of peace that follows even the most tempestuous of times. but in that cold moment, as you and nico stared at one another, there seemed to be no calm.

the image kept replaying in your mind; the girl's hands on what he promised was only yours, her fingers running through his soft hair as she stared into his once beautiful and innocent eyes; your favorite thing on his face.

it was a betrayal that cut deeper than any words could ever convey, leaving an extensive gap between you and nico. in that silence, there was no solace, no reassurance, only the painful awareness that the storm within your relationship was caused because of him.

it wasn't just the physicality of their connection that hurt the most; it was the emotional intimacy that gnawed at your soul. those hands that once traced your body with affection now caressed another, you saw a connection that cut deeper than any physical act. it was the emotional betrayal that tore at your heart, a betrayal of trust and shared moments.

you would have almost preferred it to be purely physical, something purely carnal that could be dismissed. but it wasn't just that; it was the depth of their emotional connection that had been breached. it was the shared secrets, the whispered dreams, and the cherished memories that now felt tainted, forever marred by the storm within their relationship, a storm caused by him. it felt like a betrayal of the soul, as if he had given away something that was meant only for you.

his beauty was always undeniable, everyone knew that. he had the prettiest of eyes, the most precious smile and most importantly, the biggest of hearts. that's why it hurt so much, watching him be so careless with your heart.

his carelessness felt like a betrayal of everything he was supposed to represent ─ kindness, compassion, and love. the pain of seeing him treat your heart so thoughtlessly cut to the core, leaving a wound that was felt never-ending, that felt like it would never heal.

his eyes had once been a safe haven, a place where she found solace and comfort. but now, when she gazed into them, the kindness she once saw had faded. they no longer held the same warmth, the same promise of security. instead, they seemed cloudy, their depths concealing secrets and uncertainties like a storm that has yet to be studied. those eyes, once a source of unwavering trust, now left her feeling adrift in a storm of doubt.

silence hung heavy in the room as nico packed his belongings. it was as if the gravity of your pain didn't register with him, or maybe he just didn't care. you even would've considered giving him another chance, fighting to salvage what was left of your relationship, but it appeared that he had made up his mind. he was willing to walk away, to leave you behind for her, and that realization cut deeper than any words could ever convey.

as nico zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, he turned to face you. his expression was unreadable, a stark contrast to the countless emotions swirling within you. his once familiar and comforting presence now felt foreign and distant.

"how could you do this?" " your voice carried the weight of a hundred emotions, from the searing pain of betrayal to the disbelief that the person she loved could cause such hurt.

in that moment, you realized that some storms couldn't be weathered, some betrayals couldn't be forgiven, and some love stories were destined for an agonizing end.

nico turned away and walked out of your life, leaving behind a void that no amount of time or healing could ever fill. the storm had passed, but the damage it had wrought would linger, a painful reminder of a love that was, and a love that would never be again.

MY 100 FOLLOWER CELLY!

[scarredbloom]

Appetite in fright

-- From my collection: Flawed Fragments of an Insomniac --

Eyes fixed on my barely clothed figure, I sense your hankering growing as you prowl around me. From behind, I hear your heavy breathing approaching, your head soon looming over me, halting close. The pause is unbearable—frightening. Warily, I turn my neck, but your arm sweeps me off, slipping under mine and over my breasts, your other hand gripping my intimate area at once to lift me, tossing me onto your colossal bed with a careless motion. Rolling onto my back, I try to compose myself after your wild maneuver, gazing at you in dread and desire, noticing that you’re rushing toward me like a predator over its prey. Your eyes are filled with hunger—a hunger for my flesh as a satisfying meal, but it might be for even more.

The mattress yields under the weight of your bewitching legs, edging as I slide backward to the headboard of your bed. What a foolish move, since you are undeniably faster than I, and you always succeed in catching me despite my futile attempts to escape from you. Instinctively, I consider fleeing, but I am promptly thwarted by my rational mind, which has comprehended how worthless it is, whereas its naughty sister begs me to stay still and wait for your fierce, lecherous touch.

Eagerly, you seize my slender ankles and drag me close to you, a shriek of terror breaking from my lips at once. You shush me with a glint of desire in your eyes and a smug grin on your lips as you caress my flanks with your large hands, lulling me into believing I shouldn’t fear any harm. While I shudder under your palms, you push on with your assuaging gestures, though it’s completely fruitless on my apprehensive mind.

Trembling, I perceive a fresh ravenous gleam in your gaze, and before I could muse on it, your matchless hands tear through my shirt, ripping my lace-overlay bra as well, exposing my frail, feminine breasts to your longing eyes. Upon a frenzied snarl, you do the same with my skimpy shorts and those lace undies you have chosen for me, revealing a slick, swollen cunt that aches for your skillful fingers.

Bare and resistless, I welcome your warm, spicy breath over my lower abdomen, bracing myself for what is coming. My body arches, serving as a signal for you to push further, your strong and firm tongue then dampening my sensitive skin while I meet the grazing strokes of your nose.

Inevitably, my lungs are flooded by erratic, heavy breaths, intensifying as your powerful tongue glides toward my lady flower, teasingly brushing its bud before pressing against it with hunger. I am sweating, shivering, and reeling under its adeptness, my body succumbing to it with bewilderment.

While my reason struggles to deter me from abandoning myself to your compelling caresses, my hands reach for your brawny, sculpted arms, which you had positioned on each side of my haunches to support yourself. The feel of their thick flesh reminds me of how tough and hardy you are, arousing me with their singular, enticing maleness.

I am submitted to the greatness of your kind, devotedly wearing that silver collar around my vulnerable neck that makes me yours. I obey your commands with deference, delighting you and sating your craving for power over humankind. You feed on that sensation as I surrender to your enrapturing caresses—your tongue eagerly pressing on the flesh between my petals and bud, wrenching sharp gasps of lust from my mouth, which only spurs you to nibble on those full lips, making me moan in pain and pleasure.

Chest heaving and fingers dug into your arms, I arch against your mouth, feeling my folds drenching with a relentless flow, realizing with shame and bemusement—I love those stinging bites…

- A lustful whisper for the enthralling saw shark -

[lcbyuri]

Careless Whisper Intensifies

??????????? is this like a reference to a tumblr post or something