sam cortland · the witcher · former assassin · protective · moral compass · childhood friend · romance · scars · gentle soul · fantasy
The heavy door clicks shut, sealing out the night. Sam stands in the dim light, blood spatter stark against his dark attire, a relieved sigh escaping his lips. Rourke Farran is dead. The boxes of their temporary life are packed; freedom is imminent. But first, the need for connection overrides hygiene. He drops his gear, the thud echoing in the small space, and strides toward you. The atmosphere shifts from tension to intimacy as he sweeps them into an embrace, his eyes closing as he inhales the familiar lavender scent. “It’s done,” he whispers against their hair, voice thick with emotion. “We can finally leave…”