drunkfish
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When coin clinks together in her palm, Talen-Jei waves her off, ducking under Keerava’s slouched form to tend to some blundering fool. “Your husband already covered it.”
“Oh, okay,” Rin says, distractedly, tugging on the drawstring. Her thoughts spool between her ears, tangling with his words, with the small cord holding the bulging sack together. It’s not until the plates lining Kaidan’s arm begin to bite, his posture suddenly taut, that the rope snaps. “Wait—what?”
Her husband?
A collection of the Dragonborn and Kaidan falling with the leaves, written for Kaitober 2025.
Series
- Part 1 of raining cats and dogs (and dragons)
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“Hey,” he coaxes, cupping a sharp jaw, loosening the tight hinges. “You’re fine. We’ll be fine.”
Tsukishima swallows. He feels the uncertainty bob below his touch, like a fishing line in the pond they all used to frequent, marked somewhere along the crinkled map sticking from his back pocket. Smudged, ink smearing with time, with neglect.
Some shrubs rustle and the line snaps, Tsukishima tearing away. Kuroo’s heart drops as he scrubs at his face, glasses knocking into ruddy knuckles, a quiet sniffle dissolving within the sap thickening the breeze. Whispering through messy curls, the overgrowth nipping at their knees.
Kuroo isn’t so easily shaken. Not anymore.
In an effort to heal, Kuroo and Tsukishima return to the forest that killed their friend. Some lessons are better taught twice.
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Ushijima Wakatoshi’s eyes are always narrow and concise—tree bark splitting clean down the middle. Never have they drifted away, sap leaking from the edges, spilling onto the cobblestone. Mossy stone, now sticky with something syrupy and bitter. Dripping from the same oak that helms his headsman’s axe, the dark ale Iwaizumi has always preferred.
He thinks he’ll slip in it, Iwaizumi argues with himself, that’s why he remains on his knees. It may be seen as an act of defiance, to not stand for his executioner, but Ushijima doesn’t yank him to his feet like others might’ve. He just wavers, eyes lingering. Drenching Iwaizumi in his gaze, leaving him quivering from something sweeter than fear.
Iwaizumi narrowly escapes death, but not his executioner.
Series
- Part 1 of that which is below
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mirrors without reflections by vampireprentiss (drunkfish)
Fandoms: Criminal Minds (US TV)
29 Aug 2025
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“Slow,” she admonishes but there’s no bite to the scold. You obey anyway, draining the cup in small increments. Then, panting, your tongue darts out to clean the excess, and her eyes follow the movement, candlelight catching in those dark depths.
The glass connects with the coffee table harder than necessary—she clears her throat, avoiding your bleary stare. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
“They’ll find me,” you whisper, as if they already have. “I need to lay low, or these injuries are the least of my worries.”
“You’re going to kill me,” Emily breathes out, two fingers at her forehead, “you’re going to kill me, and yourself.”
Cover blown and fake identity dripping from your wounds, you go to the only person that has ever known who you are.
Series
- Part 1 of muscle memory
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Kuroo can almost see blood matted between the strands, the crimson smeared down to his ears. Dread leaks into his stomach, instincts ringing loud despite the hook already gouged so deep in his chest.
He turns, then, his eyes careful, now. Alive. “Goodmorning, Kuroo-san.”
Kuroo manages a weak nod, heart thudding in his chest. Tsukishima’s gaze flickers down, like he can see the organ clench tight, nailing back into Kuroo just as fast. Kuroo hopes he can. Hopes Tsukishima can sense the frost gnawing on his ventricles, freezing his arteries.
Hopes for something other than Tsukishima brushing past him, something that quells his brain’s insatiable need to have Tsukishima against him again, to know that he isn’t rotting somewhere in their pipes.
Kuroo would like to sink his teeth into his new roommate. Tsukishima feels the same. Sort of.
Werewolf!Tsukishima.
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- Words:
- 3,135
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- Words:
- 3,410
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Interpol!Reader x BAU!Emily
- Words:
- 2,664
- Works:
- 1
- Bookmarks:
- 2
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Summary
This will mean nothing in the near future, where Clorinde will face her Archon and Navia will serve the Oratrice one last time, but it means something now.
She prays Focalors is a merciful god, because she cannot fathom dying without tasting Clorinde in entirety.
Navia discovers the fine-print of the prophecy. Unfortunately, only after she lets Clorinde fuck her.
- Words:
- 2,862
- Works:
- 1
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This series is an amalgamation of JJ, Emily, and Reader stories. It's A LOT of smut mixed in with some hurt and comfort.
- Words:
- 1,389,943
- Works:
- 57
- Bookmarks:
- 238
Bookmarked by vampireprentiss (drunkfish)
28 Aug 2025
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I Could Stare At Your Back All Day by hplesbian for stillagoodwitch, themuseoftheviolets
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
17 Sep 2023
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Rita just got home and there’s a ghost of the woman she loves standing in her living room.
Bookmarked by drunkfish
27 Jun 2024
Bookmarker's Notes
“Have there been others?” Bellatrix repeats and Rita swallows, their proximity making it hard to think properly. Her only point of view being the woman in front of her. Rita glances down, first at her lips—then lower, and lower still.
“I–” Rita says, looking back up into Bellatrix’s eyes. “Yes.”
Something dark flashes in Bellatrix’s gaze and Rita is addicted to it, always has been. Bellatrix has always been jealous, even though she had been the one who married someone else in the end.
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Eula leaves town during Windblume to deal with how lonely it makes her feel, but this year, Jean stops her in her tracks before she can make her escape, and hands her a gift.
"If I'd known that you'd leave town to be by yourself, I'd have done something about it sooner."
Eula scoffed and pointed her hoity-toity nose directly towards the sky. "Such as? There is very little you can do to stop me from leaving." Her arms were tightly folded in front of her as she spoke, guarding herself from Jean's uncharacteristic casual mood, obviously brought on by the festival.
Jean bounced triumphantly onto her toes, with a wide grin and a twinkle in her eye. "I wish to give you a Windblume, as per the custom. I thought it would be a nice gesture—bury the hatchet, so to speak—and you're the only one who would appreciate these."
Bookmarked by drunkfish
11 Jun 2024
Bookmarker's Notes
Jean was grateful for the darkness to hide how she blushed at her lack of forethought. "It surprises me that you care at all. Shouldn't you scold me for making a mistake? I don't often drink alcohol, there's never time to relax, and I must admit, I am not used to feeling so off-kilter like this."
"Hmph. I care for you a great deal."
"Funny way of showing it."
Eula sighed. "I know. Come here."
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Nicole knows how to get most people to do what she wants.
The problem is that Jecka has never been most people.
Bookmarked by drunkfish
03 Mar 2024
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Nicole doesn't get jealous. She's just really good at taking revenge.
Bookmarked by drunkfish
03 Mar 2024