drunkfish
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There is no correct word or terminology to describe what you two have knotted yourselves into after so many nights spent tangling sweaty limbs and warm sheets. Pretty pink lips against yours, your teeth imprinted on her skin, trust between faint molars and incisors. She has the only evidence you exist littered beneath neatly pressed polyester. Indented in her nerves.
There are very dangerous people that would kill for them to be pressed in ink instead of the creamy skin of her thighs, some that already have.
Forced into hiding, you choose to lay low with Emily. Unfortunately for you, her team seems determined to dig you out of an empty grave.
Series
- Part 2 of muscle memory
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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.
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- 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 prentissaurus (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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“I feel like I don’t know anything when it comes to you.”
A contestant on the TV runs out of time, alarm blaring distantly. Another guesses the answer wrong.
“You knew me once.”
“I knew who you pretended to be.”
Interpol!Reader x BAU!Emily
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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.
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in august, kara kisses lena to save her life.
Bookmarked by drunkfish
12 Jan 2026
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so the question becomes: what wouldn't kara do for her?
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Bookmarked by drunkfish
08 Jan 2026
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This is not Lena's beautiful house, and this is not her beautiful wife. How did she get here?
Oh right. Goddamn Mxyzpltk.
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Bookmarked by drunkfish
11 Dec 2025
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Metropolis has been abjectly miserable for the past two years, no one for Lena to turn to with her problems or anxieties. The closest thing she’s had to a friend has been her favorite Chinese place’s delivery drivers.
Lex had been arrested, Sam had left, and Jack had died all in the course of one really, really shitty year, and the year that’s followed has been exponentially more shitty. Lena’s glad it’s almost over, and that she gets to forcibly eject it from her life like a floppy disk carrying a PC-killing virus with her best friend’s help in a foreign country. Even if it’s a rainy, grey Christmas and New Year's in London.
or
Lena Luthor flies to London to celebrate the holidays with her best friend, and then she meets some girl named Kara.
Bookmarked by drunkfish
05 Dec 2025
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Summary
“It’s not that impressive,” Kara mutters sulkily, arms crossed. “Don’t look so shocked.”
Linda looks between them—up into Kara’s pinched, surly features, and Alex’s beet-red gape—and then between her legs. “Well, I think it is. But, you’re entitled to your own opinion,” she shrugs, pushing the head down with a finger and watching it bob back towards her stomach. “But, it always hurts when I’m with Lena. I told her it hurt, that she was making it hurt. And then she said she was sorry, and that she could help, if I wanted.”
The silence that follows draws out interminably long—long enough that Linda starts humming It’s A Small World under her breath while she lets it flop up and down against her stomach in tune.
Eventually, Kara collects herself enough to cry, “What?” and Alex starts laughing so hard she doubles over in tears.
Or, alternatively:
The one where Red Daughter, alias Linda, is justifiably, albeit overbearingly, smug; Lena just can’t seem to help herself; and Kara just about has a seething, jealousy-induced aneurysm trying to process it all.
Bookmarked by drunkfish
29 Nov 2025