I am basically just going to reblog all my favorite fanfics. Mostly ATJ's. I love Sergei Kravinoff, Tangerine, and Friedrich Harding. I will be also adding, Carmy Berzatto because I just watched the third season and it put me in a mood. I also really like cute animals doing cute things. Mostly cats.
Updated 7/8/25: I am starting to reblog a lot more Jeremy Allen White fanfics. But I still am into ATJ, so he will still pop up here and there on this blog.
Update 11/29/25: I just discovered Wednesday and just started reading some fics over on A03. Will add recommendations later.
Enid returns from lycanthropy camp carrying more doubts than answers, while Isaac spends his summer buried in werewolf studies in a quiet attempt to help her. But the start of the school year brings a far greater disruption when Wednesday Addams arrives at Nevermore, forcing Tyler Galpin to confront a part of his past he would have preferred stayed buried.
Thank you so much to everyone who continues to follow this story, especially my fellow Isclair Islanders! I honestly never thought I would make it all the way to Chapter 10, and I definitely couldn't have done it without your support and encouragement.
Lately, I've found myself more passionate and invested in this story than ever before. I've been pouring a lot of time, thought, and preparation into it, and somewhere along the way it stopped being just a fun crack ship idea and became a genuine passion project. These characters and this story have come to mean so much to me, and I truly want to see their journey through to the very end.
This story has somehow carved out a very special place in my heart, and I'm incredibly grateful to everyone who has chosen to come along for the ride.
So Wednesday has finally made it to Nevermore. I had thought maybe there was bad blood between Wednesday and Tyler because they were either in a romantic relationship that went wrong or Wednesday had out right rejected him.
Now that there is confirmation that they hadn't seen each other in 6 years. I am starting to think as a kid Wednesday just unlocked Tyler because she wanted to make him her pet and he was not down with it. It would explain his anger with her. But also his anger is wrapped up in attraction, too, which could be confusing.
Did anyone else mind go into a dirty direction when Isaac went to check on Enid's teeth? I think most people thought he found proof that she is going to be an alpha, but I kept thinking if this was another kind of story... if you know what I mean.
✮⋆˙ . bestfriend!reader getting high with best friend rafe.
warnings — 18+. MDNI. usage of marijuana. impaired judgement. bestfriend!reader x bsf!rafe. slight coercion.
cherie’s note — i have nothing 2 say. ily stay safe !!
you don't even smoke that often — rafe knows that. which is probably why he's watching you more than the movie he'd thrown on, watching the way your body slowly unwinds the further the high sets in. you're curled up beside him on his bed, blanket slipping off your smaller body, eyes a little too red and lips a little too pouty.
you don't notice how your thighs keep shifting against one another, too high to realize... but he does.
"hey," he murmurs, eyes flicking to your mouth as you chew absentmindedly on your lower lip. "you good?"
"mhm."
it comes out too quick, too tight. clipped. you're staring at the television like you're forcing yourself to pay attention, voice strained as you add, "it just... feels weird."
rafe's brow lifts. "weird how?"
your gaze drifts up to the ceiling like the words are floating up there. a tiny, frustrated whine escapes you as your knees press together again, restless and needy.
"i don't know," you breathe, sounding almost embarrassed by your own body. "everything feels... too warm."
rafe swallows. hard. he turns his head fully toward you now — no more pretending to watch the movie. he really looks at you.
he sees the heat blooming across your cheeks, the quick rise and fall of your chest, the way your eyes look glazed and heavy — not just high, but worked up, overwhelmed, and confused. like you don't even recognize your own body.
you know he knows.
"too warm... where?"
your face scrunches, embarrassed, but the weed makes you honest — helplessly, pathetically honest.
"...between my legs." the words are tiny and broken, the crack of shame in your voice making heat creep up your neck. "it won't stop."
he shouldn't. he knows he shouldn't.
you're high, and vulnerable, and always so damn sweet. innocent, too. the opposite version of him, even he wondered how he'd landed as your best friend all those years ago, and maintained the title. but maybe that's what makes him want it more.
and your fingers brush his thigh, nails scratching the skin softly, coaxingly slow and unsure, and you look up at him, eyes glossy and needy.
how can he resist?
"what do you need, baby?" the nickname slips out, rough and hungry.
your cheeks warm, impossibly so. "touch me, ray."
rafe freezes like you'd just aimed a gun at him. "you're high," he reminds you. reminds himself.
"so?" you whisper, climbing into his lap like your body decided all on it's own. your lips ghost against the skin of his jaw, pressing featherlight kisses with their trail. you kiss the corner of his mouth, "i still want you. i always want you."
his hands are on your hips before he even decides to touch you — big palms sliding up your sides like his body moved on instinct. you'd sat in his lap plenty of times, but this? this was different.
you swing a leg over him, straddling his thighs, knees planted on either side of his thighs. the warmth between your legs presses against him through the thin fabric of your sleep shorts, and he feels everything — every pulse of need, every shaky unsure grind, every bit of arousal soaking through the material.
you look all shy for a heartbeat, then your voice turns soft and sinful, practically purring:
"don't you wanna help me feel better, ray?"
his eyes roll back at the comment, a ragged chuckle mixture of a sigh tearing from his chest as his head drops against the headboard like he couldn't find it within his body to hold himself up anymore.
"you think i don't wanna?" he sighs out, like it physically hurts him to admit it. "i'm trying to be a good guy here."
"but i don't want a good guy," you breathe, lips brushing his jaw again — barely there, but enough to send a violent shiver straight through him. "i want you."
that's when he breaks. you'd won.
his mouth crashes onto yours, hot and hungry. his hands slide onto your ass, pulling you down against the thick bulge pressing hard into his sweatpants. you gasp, hands planting on his chest as your hips settle over his — cock hard against you. thick, hot, unmistakable.
"fuck, sweetheart..." he pants against your mouth, rocking you just right. "getting high just turns you into a little slut for me, doesn't it?"
you nod so fast you almost look dizzy, a little too eager for your own good. and that just makes rafe’s pulse quicken beneath the surface.
✮⋆˙ conversations about 'what-ifs' between bsf!rafe and you quicky intensify, leading to a heated moment you both had been anticipating.
warnings — angst — rafe being frustrated.
cherie's note — loosely inspired by already over by sabrina carpenter -`♡´-
the warm carolinian sun sinks low over figure eight, casting streaks of vibrant orange and pink across the sky. a tepid breeze rolls off the water, rustling the sea oats lining the dunes. you sat beside rafe cameron on the bow of his father's boat, legs dangling over the edge as the waves lap against the hull. the salty air clung to your tanned skin, mixing with the distant sounds of the shore. on night's like this, the kooks usually gathered in crowded parties. tonight, it was ust the two of you, drifting in the quiet.
rafe leaned back on his elbows, hands lazily fidgeting with something within his grasp. you had been best friends since you were kids — him, the golden boy of figure eight, and you, the only girl who ever seemed to see past the reputation, past the anger.
"you ever think about leaving?" you ask, pulling your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on them.
rafe glanced over at you, his blue eyes flickering with something unreadable. "what, outerbanks?"
he exhaled, tilting his head back, staring at the sky as if the answer was somewhere within the clouds. "i don't know... sometimes." his gaze falls on you again, a little longer this time. "but you'd be there, right?"
your breath caught. he said it so easily, like it was obvious. like the idea of leaving without you was even a possibility, and to him, it wasn't. you forced a smile, nudging his arm with your shoulder, "of course. you think i'd let you have all the fun?"
he chuckled, but there was something off about it, something almost... sad. you ignore the way it made your chest ache, heart racing within your ribcage.
silence stretched between you, the kind that had always been so easy — until this moment. the water rocked the boat in a slow rhythm, the moon rising higher now, its reflecting rippling on the surface of the ocean below your feet. you had spent years like this, side by side — best friends, always teetering on the edge of something more but never crossing the line.
but then, rafe shifted. he turned, sitting up straighter, his arm brushing against yours. the warmth of his skin sent a shiver down your spine, "can i tell you something?"
you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "yeah."
his jaw tenses, his fingers tapping restlessly against the wood beside him. he looked out at the water for a beat too long, like he was talking himself into it, and then—
"i don't think i can be just your friend anymore."
the words came out sharp, like they had been gritted between his teeth, like it physically pained him to say it. his fingers curled into fists against his thighs, frustration coursing through his bloodstream.
your stomach twists, but you stay silent.
"i can't keep doing this."
your brows knit together, "do what?"
"this," he said, gesturing between you. his jaw clenched, like the words tasted bitter against his tongue. "act like you're just my best friend when i fucking know you're not."
your pulse jumped, but you kept your expression unreadable. "rafe—"
his fingers twitched like he was holding himself back. "tell me i'm wrong," he demanded, his voice lower now, laced with something dangerous. "look me in the eye and say you don't want me too, and i swear i'll drop it."
you didn't move. couldn't. the boat rocked beneath you, the world narrowing to just him, just the raw desperation in his voice, the way his chest rose and fell unevenly like he was barely holding himself together.
but you didn't say anything.
rafe let out a breath that was almost a laugh, except there was nothing funny about it. it was sharp, bitter. "yeah," he muttered, voice thick. "that's what i thought."
and then he moved.
his hand shot up, gripping your jaw, tilting your face up to his. his lips crashed against yours, rough, desperate, years of restrain breaking all at once. he kissed you like it pissed him off, like he was mad at himself for waiting this long, like he was mad at you for making him wait. his fingers hugged the curve of your hip, tugging your body forward into him, like he was afraid you'd slip through his hands.
your hands fisted in his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you steady. the ocean rocked the boat, but none of it mattered — the way his breath mixed with yours, the way he kissed like he had something to prove.
when he finally pulled away, he didn't let go. his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing uneven, his grip still tight on your skin. "tell me i'm wrong," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but the challenge in it was unmistakable.
your chest rose and fell, your heart beating in time with his.
"you're not."
rafe let out a quiet curse, and before you could say another word, he was kissing you again, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you onto his lap like he needed you closer, like he still wasn't convinced this was real.
especially if you’re on the more innocent side. the trusting type. too-sweet-for-your-own-good, a little too obedient. wide-eyed and soft-spoken, always doing what you’re told.
and rafe? he’s using any fucking excuse to sexualize you.
falling asleep in his bed, wearing nothing but a thin tank top and the smallest pair of sleep shorts — he can’t help himself. his fingers always end up brushing your bare skin, like it’s second nature. tracing over your thighs, drifting up your side, watching the way your nipples perk up through the fabric the closer he gets. doesn’t even notice he’s doing it until you shift a little in your sleep and sigh, all soft and dreamy — then he’s pulling away, pretending to behave, dick twitching in his boxers.
and when he’s really worked up, he’s guiding your hand to his cock. gentle, sneaky. just settling it over the bulge in his boxers like it belongs there. he uses your palm to stroke himself, slow and lazy, your fingers limp while you sleep. like it’s the most normal thing in the world. and sometimes, when he’s desperate? he’s sliding your hand under the waistband, letting your warm, little hand wrap around his cock bare — and he swears he could cum right then and there. just from how small and perfect you feel.
he always has candy on him. always. in his jacket pockets, in his glove box, tucked into the side of the couch. and he’s constantly handing it to you, mid-conversation — just to see the way your voice stumbles around it, lips sticky and shiny, cheeks puffed full. he’ll pop a sucker in your mouth and stare at the way your tongue works around it, the little noises you make when you try to talk through it. he eats that shit up.
and once? yeah, he definitely slipped you one of those candies that make your mouth water like crazy — just to watch you salivate, literally dripping while you talk, wiping at your mouth and apologizing. he played innocent the whole time, too.
there’s always something a little off when he’s around you. something too playful, too touchy. but you never seem to notice how his pants get tighter when he’s “just messing around.”
✮⋆˙ . bsf!rafe keeps 'accidentally' slipping inside after promising to just rub against you.
warnings — 18+ MDNI. bestfriend!reader x bsf!rafe pairing. name is self explanatory. manipulative tone & fake apologies.
cherie’s note — loosely based on this p!link.
your knees are bent, thighs open for him, trembling slightly from how real this feels — arms curled near your chest, lip caught anxiously between your teeth, breathing too fast for someone who's supposedly not having sex.
things had always been… complicated with you and rafe. secrets whispered in the dark, your body tucked into his bed more often than your own. he’d even taught you how to kiss — unforgivable, in hindsight. because now, whatever this was… it felt like the point of no return.
rafe kneels between your legs, stroking himself in slow, lazy pulls. deliberately. "just relax," he murmurs, voice low like he's talking you through something innocent. like this was something every best friend did — and you could definitely be convinced of such when it was him doing the talking. "i'm not gonna put it in. i told you."
he presses the head against your slit, sliding it up your folds, gathering the wetness along the underside of his throbbing cock. the squelch that bounces off the walls is unmistakable, a clear indicator of just how much you wanted this, despite the way your pulse raced. you jump at the first pass and he smiles — quick, hidden, gone before you even get the chance to look at him.
"how're you this worked up already?" he teases under his breath, more to himself than to you. "barely even touching you."
you squirm underneath him, embarrassed. "you're... rubbing on me..."
"mhm." he drags the swollen head down again, circling your entrance with soft precision — though his mind is anything but soft. not with you, sprawled out beneath him, eyes wide like a prey caught in a trap. his trap.
you gasp, a soft sound that shoots up his spine — and that's when he lets the tip catch you. not fully. just enough to make your body pull him in that tiny, helpless way you can't control. the thick head of his cock breaches the tightness of your cunt, and your thighs tremble slightly from the pressure.
"sorry," he breaths, pretending to pull back. "didn't mean— you're so warm, and wet. hard to aim."
you believe him immediately, like you always do, nodding. your cheeks burn, "it's okay. just... just be careful."
"i am," he promises, thumb stroking the soft skin of your knee. "i got you."
except he keeps doing it. that same slow glide, catching on you again, the head pushing just barely inside before he rocks back like it's truly accidental. each time, you make this soft, strangled sound that goes straight to his cock.
"you okay?" he murmurs.
you nod quickly, swallowing away at the nerves. "it just feels... weird."
"good weird?"
you nod again — and the way you do it, wide-eyed and trusting, makes him exhale shakily.
he strokes himself harder, a little faster, hips following the rhythm. the spongy tip of his cock keeps bumping and sliding against your slit with every pass, the feeling so dizzying you swear you could see stars. your slick coats his hand, helping the slick grip glide effortlessly against himself — makes everything sloppy and hot and impossible for him to 'aim'.
rafe swears he can lose himself in the sight of you alone. swears he'd give anything to see this everyday — you, eyes glassy and blinking slow, completely fucked-out and trembling under his guidance. so vulnerable. so trusting. pliant, too — keeping your thighs perched open enough to allow him the space he demands, without having to be asked.
you force a tiny breath out, shaky and full of shame, and he rewards you by rolling the head down again. and this time, when it catches, it sinks just a little deeper than before. enough to make your eyes fly fully open. enough to make your hips lift before you can stop yourself, telling him everything he needs to know.
he freezes. not really. just enough to pretend he's surprised.
"shit," he mutters, voice going hoarse. "that—that was deeper than i meant. m'sorry, baby."
and despite his apology, he stays there a beat too long — buried millimeters inside of your warm heat, throbbing. he pulls out slowly, letting a slick string stretch between where he’d previously pushed inside of you.
your heart jumps into your throat, "it's okay, ray," you whisper quickly, like you don't want him to feel bad. "was just an accident, right?"
cherie’s note — i can't tell if this a mess or not please bear with me !! (.◜ᯅ◝) based on a request i got awhile ago ! <3
it was supposed to be a suggestion.
a dry one, at that. rafe had begged you for weeks to finally let him touch you — begged for just one kiss, begged to touch your chest just once, he'd even begged to let him eat you out a couple of times. and you'd said no more times than you could count — sex wasn't something you knew how to handle, it was something you avoided like the plague.
until tonight.
when the alcohol on your tongue burned a little too warm, and your mind blurred just enough to make poor, impulsive decisions — especially when it came to rafe's dry, desperate begging.
saying no had never come naturally to you, not when it came to him.
it was pathetic, really. the same man who swore he had an image to protect — who'd do anything to impress his friends, even if it meant being reckless and impulsive — cared what people thought of him. and if they ever found out he'd been begging for weeks just to let him eat your cunt? oh, his reputation would be shot.
nonetheless, you lay on your back, in the mess of soft blankets and silk sheets in your bed, pulse hammering against your skin furiously. he leans between your thighs, eyes dark and pupils blown — it's a sight you've never seen before, but will definitely come to find familiar.
he eases your panties down while your thighs shake, your chest rising and falling like you don't even know what's coming — like you hadn't agreed to it with a reluctant sigh, heart fluttering in the cavity of your chest. and he's being so fucking nice about it too, telling you how pretty you are, how good you're doing for him — like he's sweetening you up to let it happen again.
"didn't think you meant now when you agreed, but... fuck, you're..." his fingers graze your knee. "can i touch?"
you nod, stunned. his hand slides up, fingers brushing over your inner thigh, and then he's parting your slick folds with aching care.
you squirm a little under his stare. "rafe..."
"fuck, baby. she's so warm." his thumb strokes over you, featherlight. his eyes were practically devouring you now, and he sounded dazed. "so soft. puffy little thing, too. pretty cunt—like really pretty."
you let out a shaky breath, body warming under his words, nerves mixing with something deeper, hips shifting instinctively.
"didn't expect you to be this wet already," he murmurs, letting out a dry laugh — more to himself than to you. his thumb slides just barely lower, catching on your slick. "you're dripping, sweet girl."
the pad of his thumb nudges softly against the aching swell of your clit — like he just couldn't help himself — eliciting a soft whine from your parted lips. your body reacted to the touch on it's own — trying to close around his hand, but he reached out gently, resting the other on the inside of your knee. his touch was soft, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin beneath his grasp.
"hey," he says, a little softer now. "don't hide from me. i'll be gentle, alright?"
"but i—"
he leaned down, and the air left your lungs when his lips brushed the inside of your thigh. it was barely a kiss — soft, fleeting, more warmth than pressure — but it sent a ripple of heat coursing through you all the same.
"you're so flushed," he murmurs, his voice low and rough against your cunt. when you finally mustered up the courage to look down at where he was positioned just inches away from your bare heat, his blue eyes met yours — darker than usual, glinting with something hungry, something he'd spent countless sleepless nights imagining. his mouth curved faintly, a ghost of a smile. "it's okay," he whispered. "just let your best friend take care of you, yeah?"
and when he hooks his big hands under your thighs, dragging your body closer to his mouth, you know it's over — you lose. all those months of his pathetic pleading, and he was finally getting what he'd always wanted. the minute his tongue pokes out to lick at your slick cunt, your fingers find the messy strands of his hair, back arching off the bed eyes screwing shut tight, and he knows he's won.
the worst decision you ever made was letting your childhood best friend eat you out — crossing a line that had always been there, humming quietly between you.
or maybe, the real mistake was waiting so damn long to let him.
