#the arcane cat can write

[thearcanecat]

Limericks inspired by Grimm fairytales!

If you reblog/reply to this post with a number 1-208 I’ll put a limericks in your ask box. I used this site for all the stories. It’s going to take me a bit to get to them initially, but there is no time limit on this. Reblog it in 5 years and I’ll probably still have the list.

[thearcanecat]

For being a half-rotted goat, Tinky acted a lot like a cat. "Here, Missy!" He cheered, much too early in the morning. "Another present!" He held out his hands, which contained a dead rat, several fistfuls of wilted flowers, and a sharp piece of metal, which he happily explained had been part of the World Trade Center. "Thank you," she said with barely veiled disgust. Holloway found a vase and some water for the dying plants. Knowing Tinky, they would grow in reverse, their vibrancy growing over the next few days and lingering before they shrunk back to seeds. The metal she was less sure about, but decided to place a few protection wards on it, just to be safe, before letting it join the cabinet of '80s memorabilia. A few decades off, but there wasn't a better place to store it. The rat, she took gingerly by the tail, depositing it in the trash. Tinky's face fell. "You don't like it?" He asked, oddly pathetic for a monster that could torment her soul for all eternity. "I've told you this before," she scolded. "No dead animals in the restaurant." "Not even meeeeee?" He joked, as flesh and fur melted off his body, revealing the grinning skull underneath. A wretched stench filled the room as Holloway gagged. "You are banned," she said with a sigh. "You just don't care." "What???" He cried with mock innocence. "I am?" Holloway glared at him as he posed in front of the "We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone sign," which also had a printed sheet of paper taped under it specifying "especially any evil eldritch gods or servants of said gods." And a second paper with "This means you, Tinky," in big, bold letters. "Anyways, since you didn't like the rat, I have another present!" He announced with glee. "Joy," Holloway deadpanned. "Tada!" With a blinding flash of golden light, a cube appeared in his hands. The very thing seemed to bend reality around it so that all six sides seemed visible from every angle. The lines carved into it glitched and moved like the twitching of a dying bug. Tinky reached, with dexterity unexpected of his hooves, and slowly drew out a soul. It was tattered beyond belief, probably trapped for decades, any remnants of its humanity shred away by its time in the Bastard's clutches. The wisp struggled to escape, shrieking the whole time as if it was all it knew how to do. Miss Holloway took it with much more compassion than she had afforded the rat. She wound the soul around her finger as small white threads began to entangle it, muffling its screams as the cocoon took shape. A jar pulled itself off the shelf, zooming to her other hand like a magnet meeting its partner. The soul was gently coaxed into its new home, much safer than its last, though that was a very low bar. "Thank you," she said, begrudgingly. If a Lord in Black was going to be infatuated with her, at least she could save a few souls on the way. She set it next to the vase of flowers, as if the two were anything alike. "You're welcome," he said, puffing out his chest with pride, his little tail wagging.

Tinky trying to be romantic with Miss Holloway. Him taking her back in time to watch the disasters he considers the funniest. Him bringing her the prettiest wilted flowers he can find. Him giving her a soul out of the bastard's box. If you even cared.

[drdrizzey]

Here's my MTA!!!⭐⭐

[hiiisorryimlate]

Jayce: Mel, listen, he adopted another kid. Where are they all coming from??

Mel: Maybe you should tal-

Jayce: And look this one is A TODDLER

Isha *held by the collar hanging limp like a kitten*

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <33

[spxllcxstxr]

While You Were Sleeping • J&V

(Gif not mine)

Request: recently discovering your arcane works has seriously made my week, your writing is amazing! if you're still taking reqs, can I pls request a jayvik x they/them reader fic? while viktor and jayce are sleeping soundly at night for once, reader surprises them by coming home unexpectedly. they're also a scientist but travels a lot for work, which leads them to be deeply missed by the two. reader gently nuzzles and kisses them until they realize that they're back! just a very sleepy and loving reunion with these three. I need some healing after the jayvik finale in S2 ;_; thank youu :) — anon

Summary: Coming back late at night from your trip, you didn’t expect to find Jayce and Viktor asleep in your shared bed

Warnings: gn!reader, implied scientist reader, it's just fluff guys lol, no dialogue until the last like third lmao

Word Count: 1.5k

A.N: title is a laufey song 🥴, I hope you enjoy!!!

•

You sigh, heaving your heavy travel bags behind you as you climb up the stairs in front of you. Muttering to yourself, you curse at the amount of things you packed for your trip outside of Piltover. You hadn't gone too far for your research this time, and yet past you decided to pack your entire wardrobe and then some.

The keys to the apartment you shared with your lovers dangle precariously from your pants pocket. At first you thought about heading straight to the lab, considering that was where you would no doubt find Jayce and Viktor, but after days of travel, all you wanted was to be home. The two of them would eventually get home anyway, whether it be just passed midnight or just after dawn, so you determined that there was no harm in settling back in your apartment first.

The lights are off when you enter your apartment, the tick-tocking of the old grandfather clock the only sound echoing in the room as the pendulum swings back and forth. Papers filled with equations and scientific illustrations are strewn across every surface. You huff, rolling your eyes. Your apartment looked exactly as you left it weeks ago. Eyes finally adjusting to the familiar darkness, you also spot a few empty coffee mugs scattered all over and jackets draped across every chair. This was certainly home.

With your bags still in your hands, you continue through your decently sized apartment. You had this place memorized at this point, so walking through it in the dark was simple. You knew exactly where the couch Jayce picked out before even moving in was and where Viktor's oddly shaped bookcase was. The comforting familiarity of your home makes warmth spread through your chest; this was something you, Jayce, and Viktor created together from scratch--it meant more to you than any other place in Runeterra, even the ones vital to your research.

You head straight to your bedroom, the desire to fall into your own bed and drift off to sleep overwhelming at this point.

The room is dark when you enter except for the few white rays of moonlight filtering in through the window. Viktor's cane rests against the nightstand on his side of the bed, metal gleaming in the light.

You furrow your brows in confusion, Viktor being home shocking to you. The lab was practically a second home to Jayce and Viktor. Before dating them, they would spend almost every hour of every day there, tinkering with their inventions. Since starting the relationship, Jayce and Viktor tried really hard to break their habit of spending so much time in their lab, which they were largely successful at. With you away for weeks, however, you knew that they tended to take advantage of it and revert back into their previous mindset.

With the cat away, the mice will play, after all, as they say.

Still at the threshold with you bags at your sides, your eyes land on your two lovers laying in bed.

Viktor is curled up beside Jayce, who softly snores against your partner's hairline. You stop at the end of the bed, the tension in your shoulders easing up at the scene before you. Though two blankets cover them, the tips of Viktor's long fingers peek out from the top, showing that his hand is splayed lightly against Jayce's chest, right over his heart.

In the pale moonlight, your lovers look ethereal. The light drapes them in a silvery hue, the luminosity a stark contrast from the rest of the dark room. Jayce and Viktor, with their skin bathed in radiance, are oblivious to your tender gaze.

Smiling softly you feel your heart melt in your chest. This was what you especially missed on your travels. The beds you always wound up in were empty and cold. No amount of blankets piled atop your figure could mimic the warmth Jayce radiated, nor could any pillow replace the comfort of his chest against your cheek. Viktor wasn’t there to hold your hand in his sleep either. There were no golden or amber eyes brightened by the early sunlight gazing at you when you woke up either. You had grown accustomed to the comforting presence of your lovers over the years that you always forget how lonesome travelling could be.

It was a privilege to be able to travel across Runeterra for your research, you knew that; but the absence of your lovers late at night always made you dreadfully homesick.

Quietly, you move around the room in order to change into something better suited for bed. As you change, bags still abandoned near the door, waiting to be unpacked, your partners continue to sleep.

Changed into more comfortable clothes, you ease into bed, slipping underneath the blankets. Viktor continues to mumble incoherently while Jayce shifts, his snoring easing up like he senses your presence. You drape an arm across his chest, fingertips brushing against Viktor's. With your body pressed close to Jayce's, you place kisses along his jawline, the smell of his aftershave lingering on his skin.

Again, he shifts against you, head turning slowly to face you.

"Wha's goin' on?" Jayce sleepily mumbles, eyes slowly opening. The moonlight must be harsh on his bleary eyes because it takes a moment or two for him to fully grasp his surroundings.

His gaze locks onto your own, eyes widening as a grin slowly appears across his face. That small but noticeable gap between his two front teeth has you mirroring his smile tenfold. His brown hair is messy from moving around in his sleep, loose strands dangle in front of his face as he raises his head from the pillow.

"You're home early!" You can tell that he's just barely containing his excitement--he's hardly whispering and already shifting under Viktor's grasp in order to get closer to you.

Before you’re able to respond, Jayce’s lips are on yours, kissing you like his life depends on it. An arm wraps around your midsection, hand resting against the small of your back, and pushes you impossibly closer to himself. You can feel his heart beat beneath his white shirt.

“Gods, I missed you…” He says after pulling away. His eyes shine as he scans over your face as if he’s forgotten what you looked like in only a few weeks.

“I missed you too, Jay…” A hand rises to gently stroke his cheek, something he leans into.

A disgruntled noise erupts from behind your partner and you both turn to check up on Viktor.

Disrupted from his sleep, Viktor playfully glares at the two of you. To anyone else it would appear as though Viktor was absolutely livid with the rude awakening, but you and Jayce knew him better than anyone else; he was happy you were home safe, happy that he could feel complete once again.

"You two truly are incapable of whispering, hm?" His voice is deeper, accent thick with each syllable.

Viktor just looks tired, his pale skin is accompanied by dark bruises under each eye. It certainly looks as if he's spent every hour at the lab recently.

"Hello to you too, Vik. I missed you very much." You tease, leaning over Jayce to capture Viktor's lips.

"I missed you very much, sweetling..." He huffs, moving closer to Jayce in order to meet your lips half way.

Jayce settles on the bed between you, back pressed against the mattress and opens both of his arms for you and Viktor to cuddle into.

"You'll have to tell us all about your adventures---" Jayce starts, fingertips dancing lazily against your back.

"It wasn't like it was a vacation, Jay, I still had work to do." You cuddle closer to Jayce, the warmth radiating from his body making you yawn tiredly. Viktor, though dressed in a comfortable long sleeved shirt with two blankets on top of him, does the same, hoping to take all his partner's body heat for himself.

"Sure, but you were not stuck in the Academy's dungeon staring at the hex gem for hours upon hours upon hours..." Viktor sleepily trails off, his face already buried in the crook of Jayce's neck.

You pull the blankets up to your neck and place a hand on top of Viktor's, which rests on Jayce's chest. His fingertips are cold as ice, as they usually were. You feel your eyelids start to droop, each blink getting longer.

"Why don't we go to sleep, darling? You can tell us all about it in the morning. Maybe me and Vik could spend the day outside of the lab and get some fresh air." Jayce whispers, sensing your exhaustion.

You hum as he kisses the top of your head. He murmurs something along the lines of "goodnight" and "I love you," but it all becomes a blur as you drift off to sleep; finally in your own bed in your own home surrounded by your partners.

•

[e1e4n0r5]

Their Little Plaything: Epilogue

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Bullies Cait & Vi x Loner Nerd Reader

Words: 3449

Synopsis: 6 years later, our happy threesome lives their best lives

Warnings: i will not be held responsible for what i write when i'm ovulating. Breeding kink, HexStraps that get you pergnart, strap-on, strap-on referred to as cock, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, wand vibrator, talk of safe words, spit play, drink-mouth-swap thing 🫣, breath play/air restriction, mention of collar blink and you'll miss it, talk of getting pregnant/pregnant body

Notes: "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened," FUCK YOU I'M CRYING 😭 I had no idea so many people would read this story, it's genuinely meant so much that you've loved it 😭 But we still have the bonus chapters. It's not goodbye for TLP Cait x Reader x Vi. We've all earned this ending, so enjoy!

6 Years Later

You arrived back home, bags from your shopping trip weighing down your arms. Cait had organised a day out with your mother as a surprise, giving you the family card with strict instructions to ‘buy everything you think we’ll like’. Still, you’d limited yourself to a few new dresses, a pair of shoes, and a little bracelet they can seal around your wrist.

You headed into the house and detoured to the study when you heard voices. Smiling when you heard your wives, you paused outside, not wanting to interrupt if it was important.

“We’re very happy with the design.” Jayce, a family friend, co-found of HexTech.

Viktor, the other co-founder, was also present. “This inner device will collect- Oh wait…Are you both comfortable with the inner devices?”

“What makes you think we wouldn’t be comfortable?” Vi challenged. You couldn’t see her but you could imagine her crossing her arms with a raised eyebrow.

“Well…Um…”

“We’re both perfectly comfortable with that, Viktor,” Cait reassured him. You knew she was giving a little pleased smirk.

“Yes…So, as I was saying: the inner devices will collect-”

“Don't care,” Vi interrupted. “Yes or no: will these let us put a baby in Y/N?”

“What the fuck?!”

You burst into the room, eyeing the four of them standing around the large desk in the centre of the ornate room. Jayce and Viktor blushed bright red, obviously very uncomfortable as you entered; Vi was smirking, almost proud that you had heard her; and Cait was calm and collected.  

Laid on the desk were two harnesses with inner shafts in the crotch emitting a faint blue glow. They had no toys attached to the front, but there was a closed metal briefcase next to them.

Cait just smiled at you. “Hello, darling. How was your shopping trip? Is your mother well?”

You glared at her, putting your bags down. “She sends her love, as always. And our shopping trip – which I see now was a distraction shopping trip, not a loving surprise you organised! – was nice, thank you. But now I'm wishing I'd been more punishing on your card.”

She just kept smiling. “Our card, darling. And do you want to go back out and be more punishing?” she dared, knowing you wouldn't. Despite her and her family's practically limitless funds, you still had trouble spending their money. Despite Cait and Vi constantly telling you it was your money too.

“I want to know what's going on,” you said sarcastically, looking between her, Vi, Jayce, and Viktor. “What are these things?” you asked, looking at the harnesses.

“Well, we don't have an official name yet-”

“I still say you should go with ‘HexStrap’,” Vi teased.

Viktor blushed. “But essentially they will convert female sexual fluids-”

“It's going to let us knock you up,” Vi explained, looking like the cat who got the cream.

Your mind was blown. “That's possible?”

Jayce nodded. “Female-female fertilisation is possible with certain technology-”

 “Yes, darling, it's possible,” Cait smiled at you.

“And the babies would be healthy?”

Cait and Vi smiled at each other at your maternal concern.

Viktor nodded. “All the research indicates any foetuses conceived can be carried to term and live perfectly healthy lives.”

Not wanting to give in too easily, you raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms brattily. “Well, what if I want to get you pregnant?” you challenged both of them.

They just looked back at you; Vi with a sceptical smirk, Cait with an amused tilt of her head.

“Alright, you don't have to be so loud,” you snapped back.

“Sweetheart,” Vi said softly, coaxingly, sweetly, “why don't you take your new things upstairs; we’ll be up in a bit, you can show us what you bought.”

“And then you show me your new things?” you asked sarcastically.

Vi just smiled at you. “Five.”

Your eyes widened, looking at Cait for backup. It didn't come.

“Ten,” she replied.

“No, I'm going!” you rushed back over to the bags you'd put down, picking them all up.

“Fifteen!” Vi called after you. In the distance, an anguished ‘no!’ could be heard running up the stairs.

“Do we go for twenty?” Cait asked Vi thoughtfully.

“Let's see how well these things work first,” she nodded her head to the straps.

“Should we ask?” Jayce whispered to Viktor.

He shook his head. “I think it's best not to.”

You paced around the bedroom as you waited for Vi and Cait to come upstairs with their new toys. They were seriously going to impregnate you with those things without asking you?!

You heard the front door close downstairs, then footsteps slowly started to make their way upstairs. You wanted to run out and meet them there, but they’d told you to wait in the bedroom. Plus, they had already counted to fifteen; you didn’t need your night to get any worse.

The door opened and they stepped inside. Vi carried a large metal briefcase, Cait the smaller one.

“What’s going on?!”

“Just a favour we asked of some friends,” Vi smirked, walking over to Cait’s desk and placing the briefcase on it.

“Some techno strap-ons that’ll get me pregnant?” you demanded, crossing your arms indignantly.

Cait raised an eyebrow. “We’ve discussed having children, Y/N, you said you wanted us to start a family. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“No, I haven’t, not at all! But I didn’t know that meant you’d asked Jayce and Viktor for HexTech straps!”

“HexStraps,” Vi corrected with a grin.

“When were you planning on telling me you’d done this?” you snapped.

“Sweetheart,” Cait soothed, walking over to you and cupping your cheeks. “Take a breath and let us explain.”

You sullenly took a deep breath, letting them speak.

“When we first discussed children last year, we asked Jayce and Viktor if there was anything they could do. If there was any way we could have children ourselves. They’ve been working on it since then. They told us last week that they needed to talk to us, so I arranged for you to be out of the house today, in case they gave us bad news.”

Vi stroked your back. “We didn’t tell you because we didn’t want to promise you something and then disappoint you if they couldn’t make something work. But it looks like they have,” she smiled, looking at the briefcases.

“Do you want to take a look?” Cait asked gently.

You were suddenly nervous, but nodded. Their hands in the small of your back, they led you over to the desk. They each opened a briefcase, letting you see inside. Looking more closely at the harnesses, you could see how beautiful and intricate they were. The harnesses had fine gold woven into the fabric of the straps; the inner phallic shafts a soft metal with HexTech glowing blue inside.

“Will they be comfortable for you both?” you asked in concern.

Cait smiled. “We tried on several models; they're very enjoyable to wear.”

You nodded, relieved that your wives’ efforts to give you a baby wouldn't be painful for them, even though you knew they would endure whatever was needed if it meant giving you something you wanted.

You looked into the other briefcase, intrigued. “Why are there different sizes? And surely we only need two?”

“Why limit ourselves to only two cocks to fuck you with?” Cait teased.

You blushed. “So...When can we try them out?”

“You ready for us to put a baby in you, sweetheart?” Vi asked, bending your legs back to your shoulders, making you groan as her cock filled you more deeply. “You want us to make you a mommy?”

“Fuck, yes,” you wept, grabbing at her hips, pulling her in closer.

Vi pinned you to the bed, her HexStrap pressing deep inside you. Your eyes rolled back as she brushed your cervix, your back arching. “You like my cock inside you, baby?”

You nodded desperately, cupping her cheek, kissing her deeply as she fucked you. You moved together, panting as writhed and pressed against each other.

You cried out as you orgasmed, your cunt clamping down almost painfully on Vi’s cock as she came inside you for the first time, your hips trying desperately to meet hers as you felt her cum spill inside you.

They both kissed your neck and cheeks as you came down, letting your catch your breath.

“Now, that was one, sweetheart,” Vi said as she pulled out of you, moving to the side so Cait could take her place.

“What number did we say earlier?” Cait taunted, moving your hands above your head and pinning them down with one hand.

Your eyes widened. “No…No, please! I-I can’t do that many!”

“You can, and you will, darling,” she threatened, rubbing the tip of her cock against your leaking hole. “Because we’re not stopping until you’re dripping with our cum and have a baby in your belly.” She pressed inside, sliding her strap into your already aching hole.

An hour later, you were sobbing into the sheets as Cait pressed you into the mattress, knees wide apart, chest to the bed, pussy literally dripping onto the bed.

“Ei…Eight,” you wept.

“Good girl,” she panted in your ear, sweat coating her brow, pulling her cock out of you, breathing deeply.

“How about we take a break?” you heard Vi ask. You moaned appreciatively, your face buried in the sheets. Vi laughed. “No, not you, sweetheart.” Hands rolled you over onto your back, holding your legs apart. You blinked your eyes at Vi, your vision slightly blurry.

She smirked at you, holding up a wand like a weapon.

“N…Noooo,” you moaned weakly, your bottom lip trembling.

She hovered over you, her nose a few inches from yours. “Colour, baby?”

You hiccupped sadly. “Green.”

With a dangerous smirk, she turned the wand on. Holding herself above you, keeping her eyes locked with yours, she slowly traced it down your stomach, threatening you with what was to come. You shook as the vibrations got closer to your pussy, gasping and shuddering when they finally started assaulting your clit.

You cried and whined as the powerful sensations rocked through you, your pussy already promising another orgasm. You held Vi’s shoulders with trembling hands as you rode the wand, your hips moving out of your control.

“Good girl,” she teased, licking into your mouth, swallowing your moans.

It sent you over the edge when she sucked your tongue, crying out into her mouth as your hips rocked and pulsed.

“How many, baby?” Cait asked, crouching next to the bed with a cold bottle of electrolyte drink, pressing it to your neck.

You whimpered. “Nine.”

“Do one more and then you can have a drink, darling,” she gently shook the bottle as if it were a prize to be won. But your body obeyed, not that the wand gave you much choice. Only two minutes later, your body shook with another climax, twitching under Vi.

When you moaned out, “Ten,” Vi moved off you, turning off the wand and setting it down.

“Come on, baby, let’s sit you up a little.” She supported you in her lap, holding you back against her chest.

“Are you ready for a drink, sweetheart?” Cait asked, opening the bottle.

You nodded, opening your mouth.

She smiled at you, taking a sip, squeezing your cheeks together, and trickling the drink into your mouth. You moaned as you swallowed, opening your mouth again. Cait chuckled and repeated the process; take a sip, squeeze your cheeks, pour the drink from her mouth to yours.

“Anymore?” she asked after she take a drink for herself.

You nodded, whining pitifully.

Vi smirked, standing you up and forcing you to your knees. Picking up the wand, she turned it on and handed it to you. Obediently, you held it to your clit, rocking on it as they both stood in front of you.

When you opened your mouth again, Vi held your jaw firmly and turned your head to her. “Greedy slut,” she growled, bending down and spitting onto your outstretched tongue.

You moaned loudly, your pussy throbbing. You kept your tongue out as Cait took another sip, leaning down and dribbling it into your mouth.

“Swallow, slut,” she instructed, handing the bottle to Vi.

The pink-haired butch took a drink of her own, then watched in amusement as Cait took her turn spitting onto your tongue. Vi held your eye as she made you wait, drinking from the bottle as you knelt in front of her, Cait’s spit waiting on your tongue, your eyes begging her for more drink. Not to wash away Cait’s spit – never – but to get the refreshing liquid directly from Vi’s mouth.

She finally took pity on you. “Are you almost at eleven?” You nodded, starting to moan as your cunt started to pulse again, empty without a cock in it. “Okay. Get to eleven, then you can have some more.”

“But don’t swallow before then,” Cait instructed, enjoying the sight of her spit still decorating your outstretched tongue.

You nodded obediently, embracing the orgasm that was building inside you. Keeping your tongue out the whole time, you moaned and whined as number eleven rolled through you, your breasts bouncing as you rocked on the wand.

When you started to settle down, Vi’s foot pressed the wand harder into your pussy. “Good girl,” she praised. “Let’s see how quickly we can get you to twelve.” She took the final drink from the bottle, squeezed your cheeks together, and slowly, agonisingly slowly, let the drink drip from her lips. Little by little she fed you the drink whilst your next orgasm built inside you. When she was finished, she put her hand over your mouth.

“Do not swallow, do you hear me? Finish this one, then you can swallow,” she instructed darkly, her eyes intense on yours.

You nodded, your eyes already starting to cross as your pussy started clenching again. You kept your eyes on hers, your foreheads pressed together, her hand over your mouth, as a powerful orgasm ripped through you. Vi cupped the back of your head, using both hands to hold you upright as you groaned and spasmed with your twelfth climax.

“Good girl,” she praised in your ear. “Now swallow, sweetheart. Swallow like a good girl.”

You swallowed the mixture of Cait’s spit and the drink, moaning as it went down your throat.

“You feeling okay, baby? Still green?” Vi asked, checking in on you, her hand still on your mouth.

You nodded as best you could, making a happy sound in your throat.

“One more here,” Cait commanded, putting her hair into a low bun, “Then we’re both going to fuck you one last time. Can you manage that, sweetheart?”

You nodded pathetically, your overstimulated clit starting to protest at the wand. Vi kept her hands on your mouth and head, watching you intensely as you started to climb again.

“You wanna do the thing, baby?” she asked.

You moaned behind her hand, nodding.

“Okay. Deep breath in,” she instructed. You obeyed, inhaling deeply through your nose. “And hold on.” She clamped her fingers over your nostrils, cutting off your air. You held your breath under her hand, the heady sensation increasing the pressure in your pussy.

“Well done,” Cait praised from behind you, her finger stroking over the thin leather around your neck.

When she’d counted to ten in her head, Vi moved her hand off your mouth. You inhaled deeply, gasping for breath. You whimpered as your pussy throbbed.

“Ready to go again?”

You took a few more breaths, nodding.

“Okay, breathe in…And hold.”

Pressing her hand over your mouth and nose again, Vi watched you carefully. Your body writhed on the wand, starting to shake as your orgasm grew inside you. They could both tell you were right on the edge, just about to fall over.

“Three, two, one,” Vi said quietly in your ear, then released your face, sending you into a strong orgasm when you were able to breathe again. You gasped and moaned, writhing violently on the wand, your brain suddenly hit with a rush of oxygen.

They held you as you shook, soothing your body to help calm down. Vi picked you up gently, laying you down on the covers.

“One more for us both, okay?” she soothed, pressing a kiss to each cheek.

You whined wretchedly, nodding.

Pushing your legs back to your chest, she guided her strap back inside you, making your back arch off the bed. You keened low, your body pliant as Vi fucked you with her cock.

“This is it, baby,” Vi urged in your ear, her hips moving frantically. “This is gonna do it.”

Cait stroked your hair softly. “Tonight’s the night you get a baby, darling. Oh, imagine if we both bred you tonight, if we both fucked a baby into you.”

You all moaned at the thought.

Vi grunted in your ear. “I can see it, two babies in your belly. You’ll be so round for us, sweetheart, you’ll look so good with our babies in you.”

You wept at the thought.

“But you have to come first,” Cait coaxed. “We can’t come if you don’t, and you can’t get a baby without our cum deep inside you.”

You whined in protest, at the idea of not getting your babies.

“So, finish for us, sweetheart,” Vi encouraged. “You can do it.”

That helped you over the edge, pussy clamping down on Vi’s cock. With a moan of her own, she spilled inside you, her hips pumping her cum into your waiting pussy.

“Fourteen, sweetheart. One more,” Cait smiled, taking Vi’s place. “Can you do it for us? For our future babies?” she asked, running her cock up and down your soaked slit. Not waiting for an answer, she slid inside you, both of you groaning. “One last time, baby, here we go,” she urged, thrusting her hips against yours. You laid under her, wanting to rock your body against her, to hold her close, but your body just wouldn’t move.

All you could do was moan against her thrusts, accepting everything she gave you. Vi reached a hand between you, rubbing your clit, and making you cry out as she did.

“Last one, sweetheart,” Vi spoke in your ear, kissing your cheek, pressing her forehead to yours.

It didn’t take long for you and Cait to cum one final time, Cait holding you close as she pumped her cum inside you.

They held you tightly, both of them cupping your stomach.

“We did it, baby. I know it.”

Three years later

You reclined back on the sofa, just waking up from your nap, one toddler under each arm, their precious heads on your chest. Mila, the eldest and your feisty little pink-haired girl, curled into your side. Eden, the calmer twin, fisted her blue-hair as she slept.

The door to the sitting room clicked open softly, your wives’ heads popping in. You smiled at them from your position, unable to move, lest you wake your babies.

They approached you quietly, crouching down in front of you.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Vi whispered.

“Do you feel more rested?” Cait asked, gently stroking your hair off your forehead.

You nodded sleepily. “A bit. These two are still bouncing around in there,” you nodded to your bumped stomach. “Hopefully they'll settle down before bed.”

Vi rubbed your bump. “They will,” she soothed, kissing you through your dress.

Mila shifted against you, propping herself up on her elbow. She blinkered her eyes open, which widened at seeing your wives. “Mama!” she cried, throwing herself at Vi.

Disturbed from her sleep, Eden groaned into your side, pulling herself closer.

Cait stroked her hair gently. “Eden,” she cooed, “It’s time to wake up.”

The small child pouted, reaching out for her. “Mother,” she begged to be picked up.

“Come here, darling,” she picked the child up, holding her close as she flopped in her arms.

“You both have to wake up,” Vi said, patting Mila’s back, “Auntie Powder’s coming over later for dinner.”

“Pow-Pow!” they both squealed excitedly, suddenly awake.

You laughed as Vi helped you up with her free arm, holding you close as you regained your centre of gravity. The five of you headed out into the garden, your hearts bursting with joy.

Sometimes you still woke up and expected to be that girl again, the one who kept your head down, who thought you didn’t belong, who flinched when people looked at you. But when you felt Vi’s hands on your bump, heard Cait murmuring to the twins through the baby monitor, and you remembered: you made it. Together.

Taglist: @sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516, @zmbieeee, @godhatesgoodgirls, @yoyo-w, @milanyas, @unknownomgg, @bella-but-not-hadid444, @marvelwomenarehot0, @nenoino, @opalundercover, @spicedcherrylolli, @colettespace, @flowersareup

[a-rome-of-ones-own]

spring into summer

remmick x vampire!reader

masterlist

wc: 9.8k

summary: celtic sea, 1701. on the shore of an island that doesn’t exist, a solitary vampire rescues a castaway.

warnings: comfort and angst; drinking of blood; killing an animal for food offscreen

notes: this is gonna get a sequel but can definitely be read as a standalone! reader is female with no specific appearance. also, when no translation is provided, it’s either thank you, you’re welcome, or my love. remmick is a very interesting character to write for: vampires are supposed to be charming, but he’s kind of rizzless and strange. the title is lizzy mcalpine.

if you feel moved to, please know that likes and reblogs make this girl very happy ❤️ merci and enjoy

spring into summer, and the winter's gone i try to hold onto it, but the current's too strong

It is a chilly morning in early winter, the kind where the world seems intent on reminding you that everything is about to die.

The waves are angry. They lap at the island like they’re hungry, like they intend to drag the rock and everything on it to the bottom of the sea. Way out on the horizon, a lightning storm is brewing with great dark clouds, rumbling and sizzling.

Y/N wakes before the sun, dimly aware of the freezing temperature, and shrugs on a heavy gown. Stopping to scratch her old cat Phoebus under one ear, she rolls on her woolen stockings and gathers a shawl around her shoulders, fastening it with an ancient brooch stolen off the body of someone much wealthier. Like muscle memory, she lights a small fire, puts the kettle on. Awaiting its telltale whistle, she heads out into the garden to collect her bounty.

There is only one inhabitant of this gloomy little island.

It’s a rocky and craggy thing, barely wide enough across for a half-acre of farmland. Not that any real crops could thrive here - no, the weather is far too moody and the waves of the Atlantic crash high over the cliffside to kiss the corners of her estate. All of the smaller plants she can grow began as seedlings, remnants of another place and time. Every one of her precious possessions is handcrafted from wood and stone.

Time moves differently in this place.

If you consult any map, you won’t find it: this region of the Celtic Sea is meant to be nothing but dark, choppy water. And yet, when Y/N had been wandering that same stretch of sea so many centuries ago, the island had revealed itself to her like a mirage.

At first, it had seemed too good to be true. She couldn’t fathom the existence of a fantastical place like this, couldn’t accept the presence of ancient magic still at work in this world. Here, the sun hardly shines, the waves threaten but never follow through, and something in the soil permits only the most delicate things to grow.

But, in time, Y/N came to understand that the magic of this place is no different from the arcane enchantment flowing through her own veins. It is a shared spell of immortality - of survival in the worst possible conditions - that binds her to this island. It’s as though the world has forgotten she ever existed.

But that’s alright. She’s building her own.

-

In Y/N’s night-garden, many things have bloomed which must be harvested before the lightning storm arrives in earnest. She gathers the sage and mint to be steeped in hot water, plucks the stalks of nettle for a salve, and culls the cloves of anise with their sharp taste that can almost distract from the thirst for blood. The turnips and beets are pulled and thrown to the pigs. She watches them as they snort little puffs of breath into the cold pre-dawn air, merrily rolling in the fresh mud. The clucking of free-roaming hens catches her attention and she tosses them some feed.

Satisfied with her yield, Y/N is halfway to her front door when she feels something.

It's a strange instinct.

An ambiguous sensation of being watched.

She looks to the pigs, wondering if perhaps one of the sows is about to grunt for more food. But they seem content with their lot, chomping lazily at the root vegetables. She casts her gaze to the goats, little dots of white barely visible against the dark grass, grazing contently up high on the hill. No, surely not.

Finally, Y/N looks down to the beach and spots the body shrouded in darkness.

The dim glow of its eyes catch her own.

She stills.

It’s not fear, not quite - after all, she is more than capable of dispatching any intruders. No, the real problem is that she chose this island for the near-absolute guarantee that no humans could ever find her. The taste of their blood, she remembers, is almost hallucinatory. It's the purest, most addictive substance - and something she has denied herself for centuries.

The act of drinking human blood ripe from the vein is an ecstasy so potent that she almost understands why nature itself abhors her kind: a pleasure that perfect, that divine was never meant to exist on this earth. But if a wayward sailor has somehow washed up on her shore, spilling hot blood and calling out to her like a siren…

Y/N shivers and not from the cold. She hesitates a moment- but, then, dropping her basket by the gateway, she runs down to the beach.

-

There is a pallid man curled up in the surf.

He is groaning, clutching at his bloody chest. Y/N scans the black sea beyond him but sees no sign of a boat. Her island is a good hundred kilometres from the nearest landmass, so whichever craft carried him here must have been destroyed in the storm. He is drenched, gaunt, shaking. She reaches for him and clasps his hand, sand and rock crunching beneath her boots. When she touches him, he is colder than ice. He must be close to death.

She grits her teeth and pulls him from the tide, wincing as he coughs up water and struggles to take a breath.

“Sir?” she shouts, voice rising over the roaring waves.

No response.

“Can you walk?” She stops, pulls off her shawl, drapes it over him. Crouches down, rubs at his biceps to get the blood flowing, notes how corded they are with muscle. “An féidir leat siúl? I’m sorry, the storm’ll only get worse and we can’t linger.” Can you walk?

He looks at her for a moment, as if contemplating her words, and nods slowly. His clothes are plain, simple, like those of a farmhand’s. She wraps an arm under his own, forcing him to lean against her body for balance. Once on his feet, she guides him gently up the rocky path to her cottage.

Y/N continues speaking, attempting to keep him awake while also gleaning anything she can. The obvious questions rattle around in her mind: Who are you? How did you find me? What do you want? But there will be time for that later.

“Are you hurt?”

“Rhiannon?” he asks quietly, almost reverent. His voice is dreamy and mellow. It cracks and he coughs again.

She pauses, taken aback, but continues.

“N-no? We’re nearly there, sir. I’ll make you some tea, I have it going.”

“Cá bhfuil mé?”Where am I?

She deliberates a moment, working out the proper translation. Her Irish is not good- not anymore, not after decades of seclusion and silence.

“Ah…tá tú liom,” she manages. You are with me.

He nods, slowly, lets his head hang heavy. The pair continue up the path, wrought step by wrought step. When they reach the garden gate, the stranger halts and looks around, lagging, as if trying to place all of the vegetables and herbs blooming around him. He reaches out to touch the one closest, caresses the velvet petal of a purple foxglove.

“S’like Eden,” he mumbles, seemingly delirious. “Like Tír na nÓg.”

The man stops altogether as they approach the doorway of the cottage, tripping over an upturned stone in his haste. She feels him fall away from her as she passes the threshold. From behind her, he groans, breathes a heavy sigh.

It hits her then, with perfect clarity, that she cannot hear his heartbeat.

The furious waves battering the shore had distracted them both from the silence.

She turns on a heel to face him, slowly. He leans against the stone wall, an odd look in his eye - something like mirth mixed with unfettered exhaustion.

“So.”

“Aye.”

“You’re…”

“As are ye.”

“Well.”

“Well.”

What is there to say? When in doubt, she thinks, default to hospitality:

“I could still bring you that tea. If you’d like.”

“Aye, f’it’s not too much trouble.” He seems a bit more lucid now, more aware of his surroundings. His voice is steadier though his body is still frail. Despondent, he slides down the wall to slouch in the grass.

Y/N nods, making her way into the kitchen.

She idles by the fireplace, purposefully not looking back at the open door. Phoebus is still fast asleep on the bed. The morning is dark and quiet, but if this man is like the others of their kind, he’ll soon be roasting in the sun. There is perhaps a quarter of an hour before the dawn spells his demise.

And, so, a new question takes precedence in her mind: grant him shelter or let him die?

Well.

She knows she can't let him in. There’s no question of that - this stranger could be anyone, possess any motive. Will he try to drain her animals dry? Or perhaps attack her in a fit of rage? Claim this island as his own? Men do strange and terrible things all the time, she knows this well, and her only protection is the sanctity of her home.

But.

It would be unforgivable to condemn him to the sun solely out of fear. Unfortunately, his strangeness runs both ways: he could be a villain, but he might just as easily be an innocent soul, an errant wanderer who’s found himself shipwrecked and at her mercy. Besides, the island wouldn’t have permitted just anyone to land here…. and, in any case, burning alive is a particularly cruel fate.

The kettle screeches.

Y/N snaps to attention, begins steeping the brew with the last of her dried mint and rosemary. When she peers out of the doorway, bracing herself to rejoin him, she finds that the man is cradling Phoebus in his arms.

“Redi!”* she shouts. The old cat yowls, bolting from the man’s embrace and into the house. She stalks out, letting the rusty wooden door slam shut behind her. If her heart could beat, it would be pounding.

“Apologies, miss! Only he came runnin’ out t’me, couldn’t well ignore ‘im.”

“Your tea,” she replies tersely.

He takes it, brings it to his lips, and takes a long sip. Sighing, he lowers the cup.

“Well, now, how nice. Go raibh maith agat.”

“Y- tá fáilte romhat.”

“Take it yer not Irish, then?”

She crosses her arms. “Is it that bad?”

He raises his free hand in an act of concession. “Not bad, no. More like…yer reachin’ fer somethin’ you’ve fergotten you know.”

They eye each other in silence, an uneasy standoff with no clear resolution.

“When’s the last time you drank, sir?”

He sucks his teeth.

“Been a while. Perhaps a week or two, like.”

“And- well, pardon me, no real way to ask it - but what kind of man are you?”

His smile is easy, almost practiced. “No man at all, miss.”

“Well, I am a woman who values peace. Are you here to disturb that?”

“M’sorry, ma’am. Er, miss. No. Don’t mean to disturb a thing.”

“How did you find me?”

He furrows his brows. “Wasn’t lookin’. Honest.”

“No?”

He shakes his head.

“Swear it.”

“I do, I swear it on me da’s own grave. Ship sank off the coast last night. No survivors. F’I had been a man, like you say, I’d be down there w’the rest of them.”

“Alright.”

He steps from one foot to another, nodding, antsy.

“Sure. Well, I understand protectin’ yer home n’all, but I don’t s’pose a man might find a place to take shelter from the sun?”

“Cairns.”

“Cairns?”

“Yes, sir. Irish monks, I think. Or someone, very long ago. They’re made of stone and built well. Dark as.”

He nods, looking off towards the sea.

“Alright. S’pose I’ll go lookin’, then.”

“That way.” She points east. “Five minutes’ walk.”

“Thank you kindly.” He shrugs off the shawl, holds it up to her like a peace offering. “And, ah- name’s Remmick.”

“Remmick,” she repeats.

His smile is slight, but it’s there.

The day passes slowly.

Not long after Remmick leaves in search of his temporary abode, Phoebus begins to whine.

“What is it?”

The black cat just paws at the window in response.

“You’re fond of him, s’that it?”

He whines again.

“Oh, your life is so hard.”

He hisses. She hisses back.

Y/N continues to pick at her embroidery. She’d started it the week before as a little vignette of places she remembers visiting over her many years - dark forests and green jungles, lone deserts and high cliffsides. But it seems that, without her realizing it, a new design has spawned in the corner: a great black wave, crashing through the other scenes, threatening to engulf everything it touches.

She sighs, sets it down, flexes her aching fingers.

Remmick.

This entire day has been a futile exercise in trying to banish him from her thoughts. It’s hard, though, because the presence of another person on this lonely little isle is so… novel. It feels wrong - a stubborn rock in a shoe, a grain of sand in an oyster. No matter his character, this place has always been hers : no one to appease, no one else to consider.

And, of course, she doesn’t know what to make of him. Outwardly, he seems decent and honest, but those descriptors mean nothing against a creature adapted for survival by any means. Anyone can seem like anything.

Y/N curls up closer to the still-hissing Phoebus and begins unpicking the angry wave, stitch by stitch, until it was never there at all.

-

When the stranger comes to find her at moonrise, he is greeted by the sound of Y/N and her lyre.

He stops, leans his body against the doorframe, listens.

The melody is slow and haunting, the language unrecognizable. It’s an ode to a time and place that no longer exists. Her song is worshipful, reverent, like she’s praying to some long-dead god through the act of singing. And it’s as if she’s left the door open just for him, that he might partake in this tender act of devotion, too.

But, of course, even turned away from the door, Y/N knows he’s there. His presence looms like the grey thunderclouds still roiling above them in the dark sky. She sets down her instrument.

“S’beautiful, miss.”

She turns to face him.

“Thank you, sir.”

“D’I know it from somewhere?”

“Depends how old you are.”

“Aye. Well, m’not so old, meself.”

“Yes. I know.”

He opens his mouth, furrows a brow.

“How could ye know a thing like that?”

She shrugs, standing, stretching her arms.

“Well, you seem skittish. You default to charm to get your way but you haven’t mastered it. And… you move like you’re still expecting time to catch up with you.”

He nods, rubs his cheek.

“Hm. Alright, s’pose that’s fair. Now, I’d ask yerself how old y'are, but I believe s’impolite to ask a lady her age.”

She plays with her braid in one hand, idly scratching at Phoebus’ sleeping form with the other. “Well, ask me. If you want to know.”

“How old’re you, then?”

“Old enough to have composed that piece.”

He tsks.

“Well, miss. I dare say y’don’t look a day over a thousand.”

Despite herself - despite her instincts, despite her better judgment - she smiles. He returns the gesture, fangs gleaming like ivory in the diffused firelight.

The silence stretches another beat. And then:

“Do you need something, sir?”

“Aye. Well, seein’ as I’m here, I thought I’d ask if there’s anythin’ needs doin’.”

Y/N stands, meeting him in the entryway and shutting the door behind her- softly, so as not to wake Phoebus and have him run out again. The evening air is alive with the scent of fresh honey and night-blooming jasmine. In this moment between storms, her perfect little world seems at rest.

Remmick stands a few inches above her, just tall enough so that she has to crane her neck to meet his eyes. He looks better, now, stronger - like these hours of uninterrupted rest have undone the damage wrought by the storm. His pale skin is cool and clean, no doubt from a quick dip in those same waves that once tried to drown him.

And though it’d been hard to notice much of anything earlier through all the matted blood and sea salt, it’s clear to her now that the stranger is handsome. His damp curls sit somewhere between red and brown, and his blue eyes glimmer with a kind of perpetual amusement. His sharp jaw is faintly dappled with golden stubble. He’s beautiful, she thinks, in the honest sort of way.

“That’s awfully kind of you, Remmick.”

“S’only right, I feel.”

“I appreciate it, but you don’t owe me anything.”

He looks amused. “S’no debt bein’ repaid. I just want t’help.”

Y/N purses her lips, considers her little estate and the land beyond it.

“Well…the footpath through the garden could use some upkeep.”

“That so?” He looks down at it, kicks at the stone he’d tripped over that morning. “Aye, s’pose it could do with a bit a’love.”

“If you fix it, I can help you.”

“Help me to what?” He seems curious, almost confused.

“Not sure why you were out there so late in the year, but this storm’s just the beginning. No way off this rock for months. And - I've no boat to offer.”

He nods, as if weighing his options.

“But, help me, and I'll get you some blood.”

His eyes go wide: “There’re others on this island?”

She shakes her head. He sighs.

“Only my animals. But blood’s blood, no?”

The disagreement is plain on his face, but he doesn’t contradict her.

“So, sir, the path. And then I'll have something to offer you at dawn.”

“Alright, yes, s’fair. More than fair. Erm - gratiās tibi agō.”

Her eyes brighten.

“You speak Latin?”

“Aye. Well, some. S’what the Christians bring w’em, ever they go.”

“Ah. But how’d you know?”

“You shouted it t’yer cat.”

“Oh. Yes, he responds best to it. Phoebus is very formal.”

He chuckles, glancing at the sleeping feline through the window.

“D’you speak any other languages, Remmick?”

“No, miss. I find three’s more’n enough.”

She nods, smiling again.

“Well. Ádh mór, then, with your work.” Good luck.

“Ah- Oh. Thank you.”

Remmick rolls his sleeves back, turns to begin the muddy task of digging up the stones. He grabs the hoe and the shovel from their place in the shed, poking experimentally at the cracks in the footpath. From her lingering place in the doorway, Y/N interrupts him with a shout:

“Is my Irish really that bad?”

He barks a laugh, turns to beam at her.

“No, miss, it’s grand.”

At dawn, Y/N finds that the large, flat stones of the garden path are pristine. They’re all clean and well-arranged, bearing no trace of any storm. No, her trail through Eden is now unmistakable, and it seems he’s even gone so far as to choose the new rocks for the swirling colours and patterns trapped within them.

She is shocked.

But then again, Remmick is surely aware that she alone controls his access to the island’s blood supply. He’s likely gone through all this trouble in the hopes of impressing her and earning his meal. Of course he has.

The man himself calls out to her from the gateway, raising a hand in greeting. She waves back.

“G’morning, miss.”

“And to you, sir.”

“Say, d’you have a name I might call you by?”

“It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N. Don’t know that I’ve heard that one.”

“It’s rare in Ireland, I suppose.”

“S’beautiful, s’what it is.”

A small smile paints her lips. She’s unsure of what to do with his unabashed charm. “Thank you.”

The stranger’s eyes burn red and wild, no doubt from extreme hunger, but they still look on her with a quiet kind of fondness.

“Thirsty?” she asks, looking away from the nape of his thick neck.

“Aye, miss.”

“Good. Well, ah- I’ll get you some blood, if you want it?”

“I c’n do it, if ye like.”

“No, I’ll take care of it. Just um, hold her down, please.”

He nods gently and follows her towards the pigsty. She pulls a knife from her pouch. She’d sharpened it earlier, ensured that the blade would cut clean through the poor creature’s throat with no pain. The killing is never her favourite part, but if she didn’t do it, she’d never eat.

Once the deed is done and the mess cleaned, Y/N hands him the bucket of hot blood. He carries it dutifully from the pen towards the ancient willow tree weeping softly over the fish pond. From the cupboard by the door, she grabs two pewter cups and rejoins him. They sit facing each other in the damp earth, brushed on all sides by wildflowers and cattails blowing in the breeze.

“Here.”

“Oh, ta.”

They take a cupful, salute each other, and drink.

“Ah- Christ,” Remmick chokes, coughing violently.

“Not partial to pig’s blood?” Y/N teases, cocking her head.

“Tastes like mud.”

She crinkles her nose. “Well, maybe a little.”

“Swine’s not meant fer drinkin’, Jesus…”

“Ah, it’s not so bad. I tell myself that for every pig I kill out here, that’s one human somewhere else wakes up in the morning.”

He considers this.

“S’pose yer right. Aye, sure, it does the job.”

Y/N realizes - despite the admittedly muddy taste of swine blood still fresh in her mouth - that she has begun to enjoy the company of this strange man. Though she knows nothing of his history besides a first name and an unverifiable tragedy, she finds that there is something about his presence that intrigues her.

She’s not sure what to do with this revelation.

“I, um- I can spare us a goat in a week’s time. ‘Till then, only chicken, I’m afraid.”

He nods eagerly. “S’already more than enough, lass, thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me until you’ve tasted chicken’s blood.”

“Ah, s’that right?” he grins.

They drink, cup after cup, until nothing is left. She watches as he sits back on his hands, takes a deep breath of the sea air mingling with the bright perfume of the water lilies. Something easy settles over his rugged features, something like satisfaction.

“Don’t suppose, miss, you’d have another task fer me?”

She looks over to him with knitted brows.

“You want more?” she asks. “I didn’t tire you out?”

“No, miss- nah, don’t think y’ever could, really. I’m used to the workin’ hard.”

“Oh. Well…” She tries to think. Honestly, there isn’t much left to do that she hasn’t already done herself. “I think the pig pen could use a new fence.”

“As y’wish.”

The next morning, the fenceposts of the pen are even and sturdy. Remmick has exceeded her expectations yet again, having obviously returned to the shore in search of driftwood to fortify the structure. She circles the sty, runs a hand over his impeccable work. He must indeed have been a farmhand in some other life. One leg propped idly on the new fencing, she tosses the sows another handful of turnips and watches as they feast.

Every now and again, her eye strays towards the cairns.

-

At nightfall, she’s waiting for him in the garden.

When Remmick appears at the gate, his skin is peeling.

“Jesus,” Y/N breathes, dropping her trowel and seedlings. “What happened?”

“Went down to the water to find s’more wood fer the fence,” he laughs quietly. “Only, I must not’ve realized how tired I was n’fell asleep. Sun woke me up. Ran around ‘till I found the little cave down by the rocks.”

The pale expanse of chest peeking through his loosened collar shows signs of heavy sun exposure, burns half-healed and still blistering.

“M’very sorry, miss. Makin’ you wait up f’me.”

“No, don’t be absurd. I- well, there’s chicken’s blood still warm, I’ll bring you some. It’s-” She takes in his look of disgust. “No, not especially pleasant, but it’ll help. I’m sorry, s’all I have.”

“Nah, look at me bein’ so ungrateful fer a hot meal.” He shakes his head. “I’ll take whatever you c’n spare.”

She runs into the kitchen and joins him again, handing him a bowl to sip from.

“Ah, thank ye, miss.”

“You asked me my name, yesterday, but you won’t use it?”

He locks eyes with her.

“Thank you fer takin’ such good care a me, Y/N,” he repeats, voice low, raspy. He praises her as though it were a precious secret, as if the wind might carry it away.

Her lower belly swirls with an unnamed feeling.

“Of course, Remmick.”

She watches as he forces himself to swallow the briny blood, coughing and sputtering all the while. Hesitant, she reaches out slowly to pat his clothed shoulder, as if her touch could possibly alleviate the intensity of the experience. He leans into it, though, doesn’t recoil. The burns are already fading.

“Look at that, s’like magic,” she murmurs, half-joking. “That’s it.”

He takes one last gulp and falls back into the soft earth, groaning.

She lays down beside him, marveling as the tender pink skin re-knits itself.

“Better?” she asks.

“Aye. Well- th’flesh, anyway. Can’t believe ye live like this.”

“I’m quite happy here.”

“I see why. Y’ve made yerself a paradise n’here I am, bargin’ in.”

Together, they peer up at the black sky. The clouds have yet to scatter and the promise of rain is looking more and more honest by the minute. Remmick seems to have regained his lively spirit, though, idly tapping out a rhythm with his foot against the dirt.

“Go on then, lass, give us somethin’ else.”

“You’re still hungry?”

He snorts.

“A job, darlin’. Somethin’ to do.”

“You’ve done more than enough.”

“Nah. See, I believe in pullin’ me own weight, so you give me somethin’, now, anythin’.”

“You don’t need to prove yourself to me.”

He turns over in surprise.

“Y’think that’s my aim?”

“I don’t know. Is it?”

“No, miss. Just want t’see you taken care of, s’all.”

He stares at her, unrelenting.

“Alright,” she sighs. “Then I s’pose the roof could do with some patching.”

“Aye.” Remmick nods, glances up at the cottage behind her. “Aye, alright. Sure I can do that.”

He rolls off his back, whole again, and jumps up. Without thinking, she reaches out to grab at his wrist. He looks down at her hand, gaze boring into the soft skin of her fingers. As if it burns, she pulls away.

“Not- you meant now? Remmick, those clouds look furious.”

“Then I best beat the storm,” he shrugs, “‘else you’ll be wakin’ up underwater, miss.”

“Well, té fáilte romhat,” she tries.

“Yer welcome, darlin’.”

When the storm finally hits, Y/N braves it to find Remmick still on the roof.

“Get down!” she screams over the roaring wind.

“Y’sure, miss?” he calls back.

“Of course! Come on, come in!”

It’s lost on her, at first, the significance of what she’s just said.

When she does realize, well, it’s not like she can take it back. (And nor - funnily enough - does she want to.) He just nods and hops down from the patch of roofing he’d been working on. The curtain of rain batters at her frozen skin. If she didn’t know better, she’d think a hurricane was on its way.

Once he’s joined her on the ground, he pushes the cottage door open and ushers her towards the glow of the hearth within, one solid hand firm against her lower back.

Shivering, Y/N reaches for a quilt, which she hands to him.

“Nah, lass, you’d really ought to take care a yerself first.”

“Come on, it was miserable up there. Go on, take it.”

He accepts the patchwork blanket, nods his thanks, wraps it over his body. When she starts rubbing her hands together he takes them in his own, looking them over as if for frostbite. Y/N is startled by the feeling. She can’t remember the last time anyone held any part of her. His palms are rough and his fingers callused, but the softness of their touch is undeniable.

“I’ll make us some more tea,” she says quietly. “Would you like that?”

He nods absently, still running his fingers over her reddened knuckles.

“Sit, Remmick.”

Finally withdrawing, he reaches for the blanket folded neatly at the base of the bed, unfurling it and draping it over Y/N’s shoulders. She mumbles a gentle thank you. He settles on the rug in front of the fireplace, holding out his shaking hands for warmth. Meanwhile, the kettle is filled and heated.

The castaways sit quietly, taking in the low crackling of the hearth and the soft snores emanating from Phoebus’ place beside them. His soft black body is curled up in a bed of fresh laundry.

“How’s it the little man can sleep through a storm such s’this?”

She grins, scratches between his twitching ears. “D’you know what it means? Phoebus?”

He shakes his head.

“S’another name for Apollo. God of the sun.”

“Aye, and music, no?”

“That’s right. Are you a pagan like me, Rem?” Her tone is light, teasing.

A flash of something passes through his eyes - sorrow, anger, longing.

“S’pose so, miss. Although… can’t say I believe in much of anything, now.”

She nods. The kettle hisses.

“Well, the way they taught it to us is that one god can have many aspects.” She reaches for the sachets of tea. “Phoebus is Apollo’s aspect of light. Sunshine.”

He reaches out to stroke the sleeping cat’s coat.

“So he’s yer sunshine, s’that it?”

She hands him a mug.

“Yes, he is.” She pauses to appreciate the cozy scene before her. “And here you are.”

Remmick opens his mouth as if to speak, but the half-formed remark dies on his lips. Instead, he raises his cup in gratitude and they each take a small sip, wincing at the sudden heat after so much cold.

“And Apollo’s yer god, s’that it?”

She thinks for a moment, rolling her neck back and forth as if to ease some tension there.

“Not anymore.”

He nods like he knows exactly what she means by it.

“R’ye feelin’ better?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“Nah, let me worry a moment, yeah?”

“Alright. Yes, I’m feeling much better. Thank you.”

“I think yer roof’s nearly done,” he continues, glancing upward. “Seein’ as nothin’s leakin’ as of yet.”

“I can’t believe you went up there in a hurricane,” she snickers, shaking her head.

“Couldn’t let ye drown, could I, darlin’?” His turn to grin.

“Well, in return, I was hoping you’d let me mend your clothes.”

He raises a brow.

“Aye?”

“Of course. You ripped them up in the wreck.”

“Well, isn’t that kind a ye...” He considers her, the conclusion indecipherable. “Although, I don’t s’pose you’ve a spare set of trousers to lend me while yer mendin’ me own?”

Y/N pauses. Oh. She hadn’t thought of that.

“Er-no. No, I don’t.”

“Ah.”

“You could…cover yourself with the blanket? Won’t take long.”

He looks at her with something heavy and unreadable.

“Aye. F’it’s alright w’you, lass.”

She nods and stands, glancing over at the wall above her bed like it’s the most interesting thing in the room.

“You can, er- well, go ahead, then.”

From behind her, he just chuckles, airy and fond.

“Awe, darlin’, yer so sweet. Didn’t mean to make ya blush.”

She hears him rise, setting down the cup.

“So, d’you mind f’I use this quilt here?”

Her mouth goes dry.

The quilt she’d given him earlier. The quilt from her bed. The quilt she will fall asleep under. The quilt that will touch his bare body.

“Sure.” Oh, her tone is strained and far too light to be casual, she knows that. He probably knows it, too - but if he does, he doesn’t say a thing.

All Y/N can do is listen as the easy sound of fabric dropping from bare skin fills the room. She can still smell the sea salt of him, the sweat, too. The ozone of the rain. And something else, something… singular. Like like smoke from a forge, like the roots of a plant ripped fresh from the earth.

She’s so lost in trying to parse it that she doesn’t realize he’s finished, waiting for her.

“I’ll just leave these here, like?”

She straightens, replies a little too quickly: “Anywhere s’fine. Are you… decent?”

While she still can’t see him, she swears she can hear his insolent grin.

“Aye. Though, I s’pose it does depend on yer definition.”

When she turns, Remmick is already looking at her. She tries to focus on his eyes, but the quilt is pulled taught over his biceps, leaving most of his smooth chest uncovered. It’an overreaction, surely - the way her breath hitches and her stomach drops. This is far from the first time she’s seen a man in some state of undress… but it strikes her, with awful clarity, that she’s never found one this appealing.

“So… well, sit down, I suppose.” She picks up the discarded garments, looks them over, asseses the extent of the damage. There is a job to do and she is going to do it, physiological reactions be damned. “Should only be a half hour or so.”

He nods, folding back down onto the rug.

Y/N removes her sewing kit from its home under the bed, takes her seat across from him, and gets to work. The project is meditative, almost devotional. She’s always found a certain intimacy in the act of mending something for someone.

With great reluctance, she allows herself to admit that having someone to care for again is… refreshing. And on a technical level, this task is so repetitive and so soothing that she finds it almost possible to ignore the naked Irishman sat before her, burrowing into her with his gaze.

Almost.

She feels an urge, then, to disturb the charged atmosphere.

“So. Who are you, Remmick?”

He cocks his head. “How d’ye want me t’answer that, darlin’?”

“Where were you born?”

“Ulaidh.”

“When?”

“1136. Y’always this talkative while y’work?”

“When I have the company. What did you do before all of this?”

He barks a good-natured ha! , runs a free hand through his damp hair. “All of this? Before dying, like?”

She nods, humming, poking at the seam of his still-wet shirt with her needle and drawing the thread through.

“Farmer.”

“Thought so.”

“And yerself?”

“Seamstress.”

“Thought so.”

“Why were you on that boat?”

“Never left Ireland, figured it was high time. See what’s out there, n’all.”

“Hm. Where were you headed?”

“Paris.”

“Why?”

“Heard they’ve got music and poetry and wine to knock ye flat on yer arse.”

“What, they don’t have those things back home?”

“S’not just that. There’re some of us, there, too.” He leans in close, grins cheekily. “And I’ve heard tales f’all kinds a debauchery.”

She laughs at this.

"You're going to Paris to drink and fuck, s'that it?"

"Such coarse language from such a sweet tongue," he tuts.

Her cheeks go hot.

"Aye, maybe some a'that, but s'more the adventure. Findin' a community, like. Belongin' t'somethin' bigger."

"I suppose that makes sense."

“Any more questions?”

“Yes. Do you sing?”

He stills, smile wavering.

“What makes you say that, angel?”

She shrugs. “The way you watched me play the other night. S’like you understood what the song meant, somehow, even without the words. And your voice, sometimes, is… well, it’s nice to listen to.”

He watches her hands. “How could y’know what I looked like, seein’ ye play?”

“Well…” She looks up at him, meets his eyes. “I can always feel it when you’re watching me.”

He nods slowly, and when he speaks, his tone is deep, spilling over with something like recognition: “Aye. I sing.”

“Would you sing me something, then?”

He exhales, long and slow, and his reply is hesitant: “Another night, love.”

She nods, bites her lip, tries not to sound too disappointed.

“Alright.”

Y/N finishes the rest of her work in silence, not trusting herself to speak. It’s as if Remmick knows he’s disappointed her, the way he rolls the edges of the quilt back and forth between his fingers and never lifts his gaze from the glow of the fire. Like he wants to offer something conciliatory but just can’t bring himself to do it.

“All done,” she whispers, holding up the shirt and trousers.

He reaches for the bundle, lets his hand linger atop hers for many moments past what could be dismissed as accidental. The blanket has slipped lower on his shoulder, now resting in the crook of his elbow. She doesn’t mean to stare, but her eyes are drawn to that fresh expanse of skin, to the pale swell of the muscle there. He knows she’s looking, but… she doesn’t mind that he knows.

“Tá fáilte romhat, darlin’.”

“Tá fáilte romat.”

“Tá fáilte romhat.”

“Tá fálte romhat.”

“No, tá fáilte romhat.”

“Tá fáilte rumhat.”

He roars a sudden laugh, smiling so wide his cheeks must be aching with it.

“Oh, yer so close, a stór. Not t’worry, though, we’ll get ye there.”

The weeks pass and Y/N runs out of odd jobs to offer.

“You’ve rebuilt half the island, Remmick.”

“Aw, c’mon lass, you must have somethin’ fer me. Please. M’desperate to be useful.”

The cool air swirls with damp limestone and wild moss. They stand together on the crest of a hill overlooking the Atlantic. Around them loom the ruins of an ancient structure whose true purpose has been lost to weather and time. She’s brought him here to explore the site during the last trickles of watery daylight, when the sun’s rays are barely a tingle on the skin. The pair meander through the wrecked halls and collapsed arches, running errant fingers over the worn stone.

“I could rebuild this fer ye.”

She laughs, loud and strong. It echoes off the walls.

“Nah, I mean it, Y/N. I’ll do it, ask me.”

“Remmick, what would I do with a castle?”

“Rule it, like the queen y’are.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I don’t need to be the queen of anything.”

He stops abruptly, turning to face her. They’re very close. Remmick’s blue eyes are wide and clear.

“Well, tell me, then. What do you need?”

“I don’t know,” she reiterates. What else could she possibly ask for? The garden is pristine, her home is practically spotless, the animals are content. She supposes, then, that all she really wants…

“Would you sing me a song?”

He falters for a moment before relenting, a warm smile blooming from his lips.

“Sure I can do that, darlin’.”

“Well, then that’s what I want. That’s all I need.”

He nods, still breathing her air.

“Then ye’ll have it.”

-

Never once do they discuss his plans to leave the island. She knows, of course, that the time will come: once the violent winter dissolves into gentle spring, he’ll be free to depart as soon as he assembles some kind of craft. And fuck- he’s so handy, she doesn’t doubt he could cobble one together from driftwood and willpower alone.

It’s a sickening feeling, the realization that she does not want him to leave. Even more sickening: the understanding that after so many centuries of solitude, she has finally allowed herself to become dependent on another person.

That was never meant to happen.

When she’d scouted this rock, when she’d chosen it and committed to building upon it, it was because she was tired of sharing the world with others. Tired of crawling through it like a bloodthirsty scavenger, banished from the sun’s light and reduced to killing just to live another miserable day.

Over the centuries, humans had become mere food sources to her - crass, but there it is. With every meal, Y/N felt the humanity draining from her very spirit. She could no longer bring herself to see people as companions or friends, since doing so would mean accepting their fragile lives and premature deaths. It would mean mourning their losses with stunning, perfect regularity.

So she’d left. Built a life on her own, founded a paradise on an island with no name.

But then, a vampire washed up on her shore. And not just any vampire: a gentle and devoted one, a beautiful man with a strange, earnest charm. One who seems to return her affections - or, at the very least, care for her in some small way.

And now, he shares her bed.

There’s nothing improper about it, not really. It’s just that it’s the sole bed on the island: she has no supplies prepared for guests, no spare bedding or extra pillows. No, it’s either he sleeps by her side or down in the rocky huts. And though she’d explained that it was no imposition at all, though he’d protested that the cairns were just fine for a man like him, she knew it couldn’t be a comfortable place to sleep. She knew he deserved better - to fall into a soft bed at the end of a long night.

To care and be cared for.

And so now, here, at the end of a terrible winter, her initial skepticism has blossomed into something like love.

-

That day, he gives her a song.

True to his word, he asks her what she wants to hear.

“Something that reminds you of your home.”

Y/N and Remmick are sprawled languidly on the rug, drinking and laughing. There is a dusty bottle of dark red wine excavated from some forgotten corner of the root cellar. It would be worth a fortune back on the continent, but here, in this cottage, its only worth is the companionship that it prompts between two former strangers who’ve grown into something better.

“Aye, I can do that.”

He makes no move to stand, to sit up, to shift at all. No, when he opens his mouth, he’s still strewn out lazily on the wooden floor, tangled in blankets, the warm skin of his bare arm brushing softly against her own.

And the song he chooses is gentle, nothing like the lively call-and-response anthems that Y/N’s heard so many times in the Dublin alehouses. It’s almost trance-like, a peaceful and melancholy composition. The words are mostly foreign to her - the Ulster accent is hard for her to parse, even now - but there is a truth in them that transcends something as trivial as language. And his voice…

It’s otherworldly. The power of it. She can actually feel it, tingling bold and urgent in the base of her spine. For a moment, the thought crosses her mind that there really had been a siren down on that beach, only his call wasn’t blood: it was magic.

He ends on a tone so low it’s almost a hum.

She just lays there, awed.

Remmick glances over to her as if he’s awaiting her evaluation - but she struggles to speak, still wide-eyed, still spellbound by what she’s witnessed.

“You…can sing,” is all she manages.

He nods, a small relaxing of eyes that spells something like relief. “Aye. Though I’ve not done so in a right long while.”

“Well, thank you for indulging me.”

“S’no indulgence. Feels good, feels right, doin’ it here.”

With you.

“What was it about?” she asks, propping herself up to rest her chin on her knuckles.

He sits up, shifts his weight onto one palm, sets down the glass. “S’an older tune, only a few years younger n’me. A man wrote it fer his lover, begged her to marry himself and not whichever rich man her father’d chosen.”

“And did she choose him?”

He grins, laughs contentedly.

“Who knows? S’probably just a folktale.”

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Folktales r’only the stories we tell ourselves to make sense a the non-sensical.”

“But…you and I, we’re folktales, though, aren’t we?”

“Well. You’ve got me there.” He leans back towards the lit hearth, reaches out with one hand to stroke an idle caress down Phoebus’ spine. “Then yes, ‘a course she married her true love. Folktales end however we’d like ‘em to.”

They look at each other.

“And how does ours end?”

“I reckon you know.”

Y/N nods, drinking long and deep until she drains the cup.

“Doesn’t mean I want’a leave ye.”

“Sure, I know.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t…”

She looks up at him.

“Remmick.”

“B’cause y’know I do.”

“Remmick.”

“Never been so sure of a thing.”

“So say it.”

He leans down to face her.

Brushes an errant lock of hair from her eye.

“I love you,” he murmurs, soft and simple.

“Yeah?” Her voice trembles. He nods.

“I adore you.”

The wine has muddled her mind, filled her head with hurricanes and riptides.

“Y’know, when y’found me there, when I saw ye, I thought it were the goddess herself had come to carry me off to Tír na nÓg. D’you know of it?” She shakes her head. “S’an island, and everyone lives forever in joy n’beauty. S’a proper paradise. And y’can only find it if someone there’s expectin’ you.”

He kisses her cheek. She feels the shiver burn through her as if a bolt of lightning has torn through the roof and struck her down. Remmick presses his fingers to the space between her shoulder blades, kneading softly into the tight muscle and nudging her ever closer.

“Were ye expectin’ me, a stór? S’that it?”

She whimpers.

And then, in her ear, tone lower than a whisper: “S’pose I was right, though, wasn’t I? Was paradise, all right, just one of a diff’rent kind. Somethin’ of our own. Yeah?”

A lone tear falls from her eye.

He kisses it away.

“You thought I was jus’ tryna prove meself to you, doin’ all them odd jobs like?” He runs a finger over her jaw, turning her head to meet his electric gaze. “Nah, darlin’, told ye, I did it to see you taken care of. S’all I want. Know y’don’t need me, but it sure is sweet that y’want me.”

She pulls back, eyes pleading.

“Then don’t go.”

He falters.

“Ah, darlin’…”

"Rem, I-"

She tries and fails to stifle a yawn. It’s been a long decade since she last touched a bottle of wine and, combined with the lullaby she’s just heard, it’s a battle to keep her eyes open. Remmick picks up on it, presses another peck to her nose.

“What say we talk ‘bout it tomorrow, a stór, sleep off all this wine. Y’must be beat. Yeah?”

She nods. He helps her to stand before setting off to clear the glasses and tidy the room.

Back turned to him, she begins the work of undoing the elaborate laces of her gown and stays. Her fingers are shaking, badly, and the task is hard. She struggles to find purchase, over and over, frustration mounting. Just before she says fuck it and falls into bed clothed, Remmick’s large hands come to settle on her waist.

She stills, chest falling, tension escaping.

He takes over, no expert in the intricacies of women’s clothing but clearly a dedicated learner. He hums as he unties, brushing against the bare skin of her arm now and again. The clothes fall to the floor and she’s left in nothing but her thin shift. He presses a long kiss to the nape of her neck before letting go, returning to the clean-up.

Y/N crawls under the sheets, whispering to Phoebus to come join her. He obliges with a gratified purr, nuzzling into her arms. Her mind is begging to drift off but her body cannot seem to find peace in an empty bed.

Once the glasses are sparkling and the fire is extinguished, Remmick takes his place beside her. His chest is warm and his cheeks are flushed. In the clear light of day, he slings an arm over her waist and presses another kiss to her hair. Y/N sighs contently, finally giving in to the fatigue.

“Grá agam duit.”

When she wakes, she knows something has shifted.

The bed is empty. A part of her jumps at the thought that he’s abandoned her already, left as soon as she fell asleep, but then she hears his footsteps squelching in the mud outside. The air is no longer frozen, a sure sign that spring has found her way to the island. Y/N rises, stretches her arms, and tugs on a pair of boots to join Remmick in the garden.

She finds him pulling beets and throwing them to the sows. His bare back is turned to her, trousers hanging low on his hips. She watches as the muscles of his back ripple under the pale skin.

“Yer up?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Came to see what all this noise was.”

He stands, brushing his hands on his thighs. Smiles when he sees her standing before him.

“Just woke up t’feed the girls, is all.”

“Well, thank you, Remmick.”

“S’nothin.” He takes his shirt from where it’s hanging off the fencepost and wipes his face. “Though, I'd not be averse to a lil’ recompense fer all this here labour.”

“That right?”

“Aye. So go on, then, lass.”

She smiles, confused.

The grin he returns is indolent. He continues:

“I’ve repatched enough of yer home that s’practically brand-new. I fixed up yer garden so nice it almost seems an eighth wonder a the world. And I gave these sweet girls ‘ere a real palatial estate in which to roll around in their own shit. That is to say, it appears I’ve done a whole lot fer you, darlin’.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right.”

“And you’ve taken such good care a me in return, ain’t that right? Only… it’d seem there’s one thing I can’t recall you ever doin’ fer me.”

“Yes?”

“Y’ain’t kissed me proper.”

She fights the urge to beam, bites her lip instead.

“How rude of me.”

“Yes, miss, s’awful rude. Just awful,” he hangs his head low, begging for mock pity.

“You poor man.”

Y/N stands on her toes to meet his lips.

It’s soft, at first, just easy and warm - like everything else they do together.

There’s a familiarity to kissing him, a rightness. He tastes like ancient wine and fresh earth, like sweet cherries and bitter grapes. For a dead man, he seems to be overflowing with life.

Remmick drops his shirt into the mud, bringing his hands to the base of her spine and pulling her close. He licks into her, tasting her the way she’d tasted him. Idly, in some part of her brain, she wonders what he’ll find. But it’s hard to think when his hands are moving like this, roving over her waist, gripping the soft flesh of her hips and brushing her ribcage.

She whimpers when she feels the sting of a fang on her lip. He licks at it before pulling away, panting.

“Aw, m'sorry, darlin’. Got carried away there.”

“S’alright,” she whispers, still breathless. “Bound to happen.”

He kisses her again, quick and gentle.

“Satisfied?”

“Oh, all that n’more, angel.”

-

They spend the night walking the island.

He’s already well-acquainted with the cairns, but there are so many treasures hiding in plain sight that only reveal themselves with time. In some of the limestone caves down on the beach, for example, Y/N knows of ancient engravings and paintings of extinct creatures sketched into the wall.

Flickering candle in hand, she watches as Remmick’s eyes light up in wonder.

“Who else used to live here, d’you reckon?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it really is Tír na nÓg. Aren’t we eternally young and beautiful?”

Remmick’s laugh echoes through the cave, ringing off of the stalactites.

“Aye, that’s true, that.”

She looks up at a depiction of some great bird with wings the size of a grown man. “All these years, though, and I still haven’t got a clue. I imagine this place must be part of someone’s folklore, somewhere out there.”

“D’you ever think about it? What’s become of th’world?”

She looks down into the flame.

“All the time. But I’m not sure I’d even recognize it.”

“Ah, sure y’would. People are people.”

“That’s what scares me.”

He offers no counterargument.

“I’ll see it again. One day.” Her voice is small, tentative.

He hums, reaches over to rest a warm palm against the skin of her thigh.

“It’s worth seein’, love. I promise y’that.”

She nods, trying to gauge the truth in his words..

“But beautiful as this here is - and it is, indeed, beautiful - I expect there must be more sights t’see all over this rock, yeah?”

Y/N perks up at the change in subject.

“Oh, you can’t begin to imagine - it’d take forever to find them. But we’ve got the time, don’t we?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are sad.

“Rem?”

Still nothing.

“So. Today’s the day.”

He wavers.

“Doesn’t have t’be.”

Y/N crawls onto his lap, there, on the wet ground of the cave, wraps her legs over his waist. He buries his head in her hair, rubs circles down her back. She savours the feel of his cool skin through her thin shift, the gentle press of his lean frame against her body.

“I think it does,” she mumbles into his neck.

Remmick pulls back.

“Why d’ye say that?” he whispers.

“S’easier for me.”

He nods, expression wounded.

“S’not like I want- I have to go, lass,” he whispers, holding her head between his rough hands, lowering his gaze to meet her red-rimmed eyes. “You know I have to.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

She shakes her head.

“Ah, darlin’…” He pauses, nuzzling into her ear. “Y’know, y’found this place all on yer own and ye made it an Eden. Me, I never had a place like that. Never had a proper home. But ye led me here like ye wanted me t’find ya. Gave me shelter, food, love. Y’gave me paradise, Y/N.”

“Then why would you want to leave it?”

His voice cracks: “Sweetheart, I don’t, but I have t’make it to Paris. Ye know I do - y’understand how badly I want t’see this world. To wander, like you did so many years ago.”

Something within her cracks open.

The worst part of it all is that she understands him perfectly. The way he talks about Paris, about adventure… it’s the exact same wanderlust that once bloomed in her own soul. Going off into the world alone was what had saved her so many centuries before.

So how could she now deny Remmick that same salvation?

He rests his forehead against her own, mumbles against her lips. “But I’m not afraid, y’know that? I’m not afraid b’cause I know we’ll find each other again, someday, soon, ye know we will. We have all the time in th’world, don’t we?”

“No,” she shakes her head, falling back from him, pushing him off. “No, you don’t understand. If you leave now, you’ll never find me. Ever. I’ll be gone, Remmick, we’ll never see each other again.”

He inhales sharply like she’s slapped him. “N- how’d you mean?”

“This island’s on no map. Any compass will tell you to go around it. Hell, it was probably the island herself that sank your ship all those months ago just to stop the other men finding it.”

“I- no, I found it once, I- ”

“It’s cursed, always has been. And- I don’t know how you found me here, Remmick, but you are the first man, the only man to find me. I wanted to be alone, I was always meant to be, but then you came. And you think that’s not fate?”

“Aye, I do, but-”

“I shouldn’t even have found it but I… well, for some reason it allowed me to. It wanted me to.” Her turn to hold his head, forcing him to face her, to hear her. “And I want you.”

He shakes his head, tries to make sense of the words. “So then ye’ll come to me, when yer ready. Ye’ll come find me in Paris.”

“Remmick-”

“And when I have a home ready fer you there, ye’ll sail off and live w’me. We’ll be together, we’ll do it all together.” His voice is resolute, but his pale eyes are wet, desperate, pleading.

“Please-”

“Oh, but it’ll be grand, darlin’! I’ll make it so good fer you- I’ll give ye a castle, I’ll give ye a palace, ye’ll live like a fuckin’ queen w’me. More poetry than you’ll know what t’do with. More music than you c’n imagine- I’ll sing fer ye every night. Make you sing every night. Anythin’ ye want. Y’just have to come find me, yeah?”

“But this is…” She thinks of her little cottage, the hapless chickens clucking in the yard. Phoebus’ glowing eyes in the windowsill. Rows upon rows of flowers and herbs meant to cure and heal. The garden path that still shines from his artistry. The pigs snorting and grunting in their new pen. The roar of the waves in the distance. The scent of flowers and honey and damp earth floating on the breeze.

“This is all I have.” Her voice is feeble, hollow.

“But y’have me, too, lass. Swear y’do. I’ve never loved anyone half s’much s’this.”

She chokes on an errant sob.

“Promise ye’ll come find me, Y/N. Promise me ye will. Please.”

“I…”

“Please, a stór. Please say y’will.”

“You can’t go, Remmick. Please. Please. I won’t survive it.”

“You will. You will because I love you and you love me.”

He clings to her like a drowning man in a hurricane.

“Grá agam duit,” he whispers softly against her hair. “Tá brón orm.”**

“What’s that mean,” she mumbles, still shivering.

“Means we’ll see each other soon.”

The next night, he’s gone.

On his pillow, a scrap of paper: 33 rue d’Assas. And underneath: Find me.

Phoebus crawls in beside her, pawing at the tears leaking from her lashes. He nuzzles at her cheek, purrs low and gentle. He, too, must be feeling the weight of their companion’s absence.

As Y/N musters the strength to roll out of bed, she begins to wonder how she ever came to find this island all those years ago. Why had this rock guided her safely to its shore? Why had it showed her all the hidden streams and caverns, offered her a home so far from all others? She’d always understood it as pure chance: a safe port in a nasty storm; the right place at the right time.

But then: why Remmick?

Was it his own desperate search for belonging that drew him here in the first place? Did the island take pity on him, sensing the potential to offer refuge to a new, deserving inhabitant? Or: did it choose him for her, offering him up as a counterargument against isolation?

Y/N knows she’ll never know, but today, it doesn’t matter.

There are hungry pigs to feed, tricky goats to wrangle, thirsty plants to care for, and lots of other small things that need doing. So today, she’ll do them, and she’ll settle back into her old routine. Try it back on, see if it still fits.

And perhaps, one day, when the loneliness starts to gnaw at her… perhaps she’ll find him again.

* Return; or alternatively, get your ass back here

** I love you. I’m sorry.

Taglist : @pearlstiare @sylvicole-superieur

[thearcanecat]

When you’re bored what do you do? What relieves this odd emotion I am desperate for a clue

Melancholy, I'm feeling blue I'm feeling stuck, left here frozen When you’re bored what do you do?

Delight flees, how do I pursue? Something push me into motion I am desperate for a clue

Times are hard, how do I get through? Joy a victim of erosion When you’re bored what do you do?

I beg my hobbies to renew These interests I have chosen I am desperate for a clue

So I let my lonely thoughts stew What will fix me? I wish I knew When you’re bored what do you do? I am desperate for a clue

IM SO BORED

[thearcanecat]

This poem’s not in

Iambic pentameter

Must be a haiku

[prismkith]

Omg i just read your previous arcane request and i really liked it, would you do the same strange/weird reader but with the men of arcane (I love my frail Victorian man viktor) 🙏🥺

'Dont mistake me for the wind when she blows' pt 2

Arcane characters with a weird/otherworldly partner

Pairings: Viktor, Jayce, Ekko

Viktor:

This man would ADORE YOU!!!

He thinks you are the most fascinating person in the world. He could just watch you interact with the world for hours and never get bored. 

will let you hang out in his lab/office while he works, and he will often look over at you and catch you completely zoned out, staring into space wide-eyed. He’ll stare for a few minutes, wondering what could be going on in your mind that has you so blind to the world around you. Eventually, he’ll snap you out of it to call you over and show you his progress in his work. 

The way this man looks at you. Just stares at you with stars in his eyes while you ramble about something he lost track of a while ago. Watching you go on your little rant, absentmindedly wandering around the room and fidgeting with whatever catches your eyes. When you finish your ramble you pause and stare at him for a response. He just chuckles and says “You are truly a wonder”.

Jayce:

Definitely struggles to keep up with your faster rambles and odd speech patterns, and can find you a little overwhelming but you two still find plenty of ways to connect. 

When he found out you collected scrap metal, he totally geeked out. Now a regular date for you two consists of going out and finding pretty scrap metal and jewelry and anything you can get your hands on, and then spending the rest of the night welding together. Building little trinkets, inventions, or art pieces together. You have the creativity and vision, while he has the muscles and tools to execute it. 

Slowly as you start visiting his apartment, you find all your little projects together and slowly begin decorating his space, until it's practically a museum of your relationship. 

Ekko: 

Finds himself whispering “What the fuckkkk” every ten minutes when you guys hang out. 

Like for example, one time you two were hanging out in the firelights community, sitting on a bench some of the kids built and painted years ago. He looks down for literally one second, and when he looks back up you are twenty feet away, crouching on the ground and petting the raccoon he has beef with (said raccoon chases him every time he tries to take out the trash) and he just stared in utter disbelief as you treated his fuzzy rival like a house cat. 

You are 100% his muse. He has painted and sketched you more times than you can count. He has a tiny painting of you he keeps in a secret pocket of his jacket near his heart.

Instead of either of you ever verbally making things official or asking the other out, one day you just started painting an hourglass on your face to match his. Neither of you acknowledged it, but everyone knew that was when you two became inseparable.

_______________________

A/N: ask and you shall receive! these have been super fun to write lol, I was struggling to think of more habits and traits to give to the reader so I asked my friends for a list of any weird/odd habits I have or things I do for inspo, and oh boy was it humbling.

[af4ll3nst4r]

so this randomly came into mind but can you do like a headcanons noob, 007n7 and 1x1x1x1 (all seperate or u can pick which one to do u dont have to do all of them! Its fine by me :) ) with a killer! reader that is absolutely crazy and fucked up and is like a mix of Jinx from arcane and Darumi Amemiya from The Hundred Line: Last Defense Academy plus their main weapon or fighting style being a mix of Jinx and Darumi's (its alright if u dont want to make this! Theres no pressure! And i luv ur writing for yandere 1x with defiant reader it's chef kiss!!)

TYY!! I don’t really know much about these characters, but I’ll try my best! Even if it isn’t exactly what you wanted, I still hope you enjoy them :)

𝙿𝚄𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙰𝙽𝙸𝚃𝚈

ℕ𝕠𝕠𝕓, 𝟘𝟘𝟟𝕟𝟟, 𝟙𝕩𝟙𝕩𝟙𝕩𝟙 (all seperate) 𝕩 𝕀𝕟𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕖! 𝕂𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕣! ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝗼𝐧𝐬

Tᴡs: Bʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ + ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ

🥤 ✧₊˚ʚ You scare Noob SO BAD.

🥤 ✧₊˚ʚ Just watching you brutally murder someone while manically laughing is enough to shiver their timbers

🥤✧₊˚ʚ Once they catch a single glimpse of you, they’re running the other way as quickly as possible.

🥤✧₊˚ʚ It’s kinda humorous seeing them cry and scream when you haven’t even laid a single finger upon them yet.

🥤 ✧₊˚ʚ Noob shivers and shakes as they stare up at you. You’ve got them trapped in a corner, a manic smile creeps up onto your lips. Before you could so much as mutter some kind of taunting tease, they immediately start pleading. “P-Please! I’m sorry! I-I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to t-throw the bloxy c-cola your way! I-It was a m-mistake! P-Please! I-I’m s-so sorry!! D-Don’t kill me!” They beg, violently stuttering over their words. You can’t help but pause for a moment. You then begin to burst out laughing, which only makes them shake in their boots even more. “Oh my god! You’re hilarious!” You say, in between psychotic sounding giggles. You grip your weapon tighter. “And real entertaining, I haven’t even hit you yet and you’re already crying and begging for mercy.” You grin, cocking your head to the side. “Hm, I actually think I’ll save you for last…” You say, your tone suddenly becoming darker. You lean in closer and Noob shrinks even more once you do so. “Yeah, definitely. Welp, to-da-loo Noob! Can’t wait to see you once all of your teammates are dead!” You exclaim cheerfully as you practically skip away, leaving them trembling in fear.

🥤 ✧₊˚ʚ You find their fear for you hilarious. Especially when they’re the last man standing, it makes an extremely entertaining cat and mouse chase for you. You can literally hear them screaming from across the map once the last man standing music begins to play.

🥤 ✧₊˚ʚ You imagine them as a sopping wet cat.

🥤 ✧₊˚ʚ As much as you would love to simply allow this chase to go on forever, you eventually would catch up to them. You would laugh and admire their terrifying expression as you ruthlessly slaughter them. Then say in a sweet sing-song voice, “Night, night Noob! Can’t wait to see you again some other round! I’ll be waiting~” Is the last thing they hear before winding back up into the cabin.

🥤 ✧₊˚ʚ They are NOT looking forward to seeing you again.

🥤 ✧₊˚ʚ Yeah. They’re horrified of you.

art by 9njiu on twitter!!

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍔 ✧˚ Oh hell.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍔 ✧˚ 007n7 is probably pretty intimidated by you.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍔 ✧˚ You actually remind him a lot of Noli, which is worse.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍔 ✧˚ Your taunting, your maniacal laughter, your messy killing, that look of absolute insanity in your eyes every time blood splatters onto you.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍔 ✧˚ You know what.. how about he stands right over here and you can just… go off and do your own thing while he stays right here..

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍔 ✧˚ I mean, there isn’t really much to say about him since he’s pretty used to bloodthirsty killers. He’s aware of just how many screws you got loose, but most killers are kinda the same way in his eyes.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍔 ✧˚ Yeah I’d say you shiver his timbers though. 007n7 probably tries his best to stay away from you.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍔 ✧˚ “You’re real annoying ya’know?” You laugh, gripping onto your weapon. “All those clones you make… making me have to guess which one is the real you!” You exclaimed, as 007n7 just trembled not so far away from you. “Ohh, and not to mention you always.. teleporting away when I swear I’ve got you cornered!” You drag your weapon along the grassy grounds with a look of rage and insanity in your eyes. Slowly, you grin. Your eyes wide as you crept closer to 007n7. “You’re smart.. I’ll give you that..” You sigh, and prepare to swing. “But, it appears you’ve run out of ways to turn. So, finally.. I can show you what happens when you annoy me a little too much!” You giggle, as his blood starts to splatter upon the walls and the ground.

Art by Kormeets on X!

⁺‧₊˚⚔︎⋆⁺₊⋆ You are probably on the top of 1x1x1x1’s pmo list.

⁺‧₊˚⚔︎⋆⁺₊⋆ They view you as annoying, especially when you laugh psychotically. Sometimes your laugh still rings in his ears and it irritates him so much.

⁺‧₊˚⚔︎⋆⁺₊⋆ However, they are pretty impressed with just how ruthless you can be. Along with your way of slaughtering makes her nod a bit with a slight grumble leaving her afterward.

⁺‧₊˚⚔︎⋆⁺₊⋆ Would she admit that your fighting skills are impressive? Hell no. They’d rather drink salt mixed with vinegar than say it out loud.

⁺‧₊˚⚔︎⋆⁺₊⋆ “Do you ever close that mouth of yours?” 1x4 would say, disdain painting his voice. “Do you ever stop frowning? Come on… lighten up! I thought you enjoyed killing!” You giggled, placing your chin into the palm of your hands. She’d scoff with a role of his eyes. “I do, but your constant blabbering is unpleasant to listen to..” 1x huffed, folding their arms over their black chest that showed their glowing, green rib cage. “Ow! Ouch! That hurt! Ohhh… I’m so hurttt! I don’t think I’ll ever recover from such harsh words…” You say, in an over-exaggerated dramatic tone as you place the back of your hand to your forehead. You open one eye to view 1x’s expression. It hasn’t changed. “You really are no fun.” You sigh, your manic smile never leaving your face. “I hate you…” She growls, her eyes narrowing as she glares at you. “Mhmmm.. add me to your list!” You laugh, cocking your head to the side. “SILENCE!” He yells, slamming his hands on the table. “Or what?” You grin. “THIS IS MASS—”

⁺‧₊˚⚔︎⋆⁺₊⋆ Bro hates you but lowkey likes the way you fight. So um… maybe a win???

IM SORRY IF THIS WAS BAD USHDBNDNDND

[classic-blue]

whelp, so much for that plan

BRIDGERTON JAYVIK AU IS GO

Special thanks to Waldo the drafting cat, who I am cat sitting, and who is forcing me to write for the length of time I am at his house. He's responsible for 5,000 words of draft in the past 2 days. I'm determined to get a solid draft of this thing ready by the time I'm finished catsitting him.

Also, shout out to @melanielocke and @cupidsbow-art who bravely attempted to help me make this not ABO. I'm sad to report that this is becoming more and more regency ABO the more I world build. But thank you for your efforts, kind soldiers, I salute you, as I concede to my fate.

So, coming soon to an AO3 near you- yet another convoluted Jayvik Regency AU. Enjoy your cake.

Me: im gonna make a post and get people to decide what Arcane fic I do first! Also me: NEVERMIND BRIDGERTON JAYVIK GO

Send help.

In better news, I have the A plot sketched out in 13 chapters. I shudder to think of the size of this thing once the B and C plots finish sauteing.

As an related question, any ideas on how to make something that screws with Regency gender roles without making it... too omegaverse? Like, how can I make boys debutants too? I can just bite the bullet and go omegaverse, but I'd ignore all the 'physicality' (scents, cycles, etc) that people often include in omegaverse- I don't need it and I don't want to deal with it. I just want to put my boys in pretty outfits with complicated gender roles.

[fallenprophets]

Home.

Jinx x reader

Summary: set between Act 1 and 2 of Arcane season 2. You find a moment of calm at home with Jinx, Isha, and a stray dog you've found along the way.

Warnings: spoilers for Arcane season 1, tooth-rotting fluff (I hope) not proofread

No use of Y/N, no pronouns used for reader, no gender specific terms etc...

A/N: WHOO first piece of writing by Lev on this blog yippee!! I sincerely hope you all enjoy this lolsies. Please interact! I'm taking requests teehee

You don’t remember the last time you felt this at peace. 

It is like a buzzing, filling your chest, lifting you practically off your feet as you make my way home. 

This feeling is manufactured- it is not coming from the outside. It comes from deep inside your chest, thrumming happily, snuggled between your lungs, right below your heart. There are reasons for this warmth, this light- well, one reason. Her name is Jinx. 

When you say you’re going home, all you really think of is her. Yes, her lair is home- it is warm, and cozy, and as safe as a hot air balloon suspended above what seems to be an infinite void can be- but without her, it would be nothing. 

She is the light that fills your chest, with her bright smile and ridiculously long blue hair and perfect pink eyes. She is the weight on your lungs, making it hard to breathe when you think of her. She’s all the cheesy, corny shit the romance authors you hated so as a child wrote. Only instead of being a character, only words on a worn out page, she’s real, and she’s only a two minute walk away from where you are now. 

You have a satchel slung over your shoulder, the Dog (you don’t know when it became your dog; it just appeared by your side one day, and hasn’t left since) trotting along beside you. Its fur is matted. You reach down and scratch between its ears as you near the Last Drop, smiling to yourself. Never had you thought you would be living this life- on your way home, supplies for Jinx in your bag, the Dog padding alongside you- it is so domestic, so soft, so clean (despite the grime of the Fissures, the thickness of the air, the moaning of the people crowding the sides of the streets). This life is so unlike anything you remember your parents having. 

You take the quick route into Jinx’s lair, the dog following happily, its pink tongue lolling. You should name it, you think as you step onto one of the propellers. 

After Silco had died, you had expected the place to fall into disrepair; you had thought the lights would stop twinkling, and the tinny music would stop playing, and the workstations would gather dust until finally the propellers snapped and fell, taking Jinx with them. And yes, that had started to happen. But then, Jinx had met the kid. Isha, you had called her. All of you, huddled around an old, matted baby names book one of you had found at a scrapyard, pointing out names to each other. Isha, the kid had pointed at, a huge, toothy grin splitting her round face. One who protects. You had closed the book then, knowing that it was perfect. Jinx had smiled at you over the newly baptized Isha’s head, and you had smiled right back, squeezing her hand in yours. You had tossed the book down, into the void below. 

Now, your home was transformed. Jinx’s creepy dolls were gone, replaced with different colourful toys and gadgets picked out or made by Isha. The walls were covered in crayon drawings of all kinds of things- dragons, flowers, the three of you in fields of green and blue and pink and orange. There was a tent set up in the corner, full of Isha’s belongings. It was where you all slept, huddled together like a litter of cats. You love the place. 

At first, you think they’re both out. You call out, and when no answer comes, you venture further in, dropping your bag by Jinx’s workbench. The Dog sniffs around, its tail wagging as it comes closer and closer to an odd lump covered in blankets. You grin to yourself, putting a hand on your hip, tapping your chin with the knuckles of the other. “Hmm,” you muse to yourself, purposefully ignoring the giggle coming from the blankets, “wowie, I wonder where Isha and Jinx could possibly be.” You go in the opposite direction, checking under the workbench, scratching your head. The Dog watches, its eyes saying Can’t you see them? They’re right here! You wink at it, and it sits, tilting its head. “They must have gone out,” you declare loudly as the giggles intensify. “Guess I have this whole place to myself! Finally, I am rid of those stinky-“ 

As you are talking, you approach the mess of blankets. Before you are able to finish that last sentence, a small orange and blue bundle barrels into your legs, almost knocking you flat on your back. Isha launches herself into your arms, grinning her toothy grin as you spin her around. 

“Oh my goodness!” You cry, “where were you hiding? You really are a master sleuth!” Jinx, still have tangled in the blankets, barks a laugh. You hug Isha to your chest and raise an eyebrow at her, mouthing you couldn’t hide anywhere better? She flips you off, but she is smiling. 

She stands and joins you and Isha, her hand finding the small of your back, the other going to Isha’s shoulder. 

“I have a surprise,” you whisper to the child, “but don’t tell Jinx, mmkay?” 

Jinx tilts her head, still smiling. Isha nods solemnly. 

“I found waffles,” you breathe, looking at Jinx out of the corner of your eye. Isha gasps and puts her hands over her mouth. Through trial and error, you and Jinx had discovered that the little one seemed to live for waffles. You now went out of your way, as the only one with your face not plastered all over the place, to find the sweet treat. 

“Gee, I wonder what the surprise could be,” Jinx says, playing along. She follows as you carry Isha to your bag. You set the kid down, the Dog nuzzling into her hand. You rifle around for a moment, and finally pull out the waffles. Jinx lets out a loud gasp, and Isha turns to her, delighted, pleased with herself that she was able to keep this secret. 

“Waffles?” Jinx cries. Isha claps her hands together, startling the Dog. 

You all sit together in the tent, sharing the waffles off the same plate. Isha (who thinks she’s being slick) keeps sneaking pieces of her food to the Dog, who delightedly licks it off her hand. She giggles every time, earning an affectionate look from you and Jinx. 

Once you have finished the waffles, you push the plate away and lie down. Soon, Isha curls into a ball in the space between your knees and your stomach, settling her head on your legs. Jinx dims the lights, then joins you; the two of you become a protective cocoon around the now snoring Isha. The Dog squishes itself in between you and Isha, resting its head on the kid’s side and looking up at you adoringly. You brush a strand of hair from Jinx’s face and smile. She smiles right back. She’s been smiling so much recently. 

“This is perfect,” you whisper to her once you’re sure Isha is fast asleep. 

She smiles, but doesn’t answer. One of her hands rests on your waist, and her fingers trace soothing patterns there. 

“I thought,” she begins, then stops, frowning. Her other fingers tighten around your hand. “I thought that, with Silco gone, there was nothing left for me.” Her words hurt you; it stings somewhere deep in your stomach to hear that she is in any kind of pain. 

“But then… I met the kid,” she continues. “And then I found you.” 

You feel an overwhelming wave of affection for the girl lying in front of you then. A girl you had once known what feels like a very long time ago; a girl who had once had blue eyes and the same wide, toothy smile as Isha. A girl who had been part of your distant past, who was now back in your life. She was right; despite having known each other your whole lives, you have really only just found each other. 

“And- and I realised that maybe, maybe Silco wasn’t all I needed. Maybe…” she trails off, but she has said enough. You shuffle forwards (careful not to disturb Isha or the dog) so that your forehead is only centimetres from hers. She meets you halfway, pressing her forehead to yours; your noses brush, and you smile, reaching up to cup her face. 

“I love you, Blue,” you whisper. A name, who she has always been to you. Blue. Blue like the sky, like the sea. Blue like the warm, the fluttering bird nestled in your chest. 

For a moment, you think she is going to cry. But she only pulls you closer, and whispers the same words back to you, your name uttered like a prayer. 

You close your eyes and smile, and her breathing slows. 

As you fall asleep, you think: 

You have never felt this at peace before. 

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey I saw your post and honestly this is my first time making a request. How about arcane characters with a cat like reader? Idk it's just a thought that came (sorry if that's a bit weird)

Dunno whether this answers your request like you imagined. Also probs shit fire time writing for some of these characters.

Viktor found your cat like personality quite interesting and humorous if he wasn’t within the lab, working with things that normally didn’t capture your interest, unless they glowed of course.

Other than that it felt as though you were intentionally acting up in his lab for a reaction, like a cat would gauge the reactions of their owners before pushing a glass off the table. That’s how Viktor often felt with you

Then he has to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t touch anything dangerous because you were captivated by its light.

‘No, it’s dangerous and could hurt you my dear.’ He so often warms you as he guides your hand away when he felt it was dangerously close to what he was working with. Your mind didn’t head his warning, only the fact that there was a shinny object in the laboratory and it was the only thing you could focus on.

‘If so dangerous, why is it shining as though it wants me to touch it then?’ You responded, daring to touch the object once more and Viktor swore you either knew what you were doing and playing him for a fool, or you had no self preservation skills within your entire body to fight back against your urge to touch a dangerous foreign object.

It’s literally a stand still between the two of you and one that happens far too often that Viktor knows that this was all part of your plan, and unfortunately for him he falls for it almost always. He watches you while you watch him before doing something rash, making think you’ve actually touched the dangerous object, only to look at you unamused when you smiled at him mischievously as you wiggled your unharmed fingers at him.

This often leads you to being banned from the lab for pulling a stunt like that, however this was more for your safety and for him to calm his racing heart. You’ll kill this poor man with your antics but he wouldn’t want you any other way, especially when you cuddled up to him for warmth and sleep there.

It soothes him just as much as it soothes you.

Ekko found himself often wondering where it was you went sometimes.

He sees you in once place and then you disappear the next, returning to base only when you felt it necessary of you to do so, illusive and vague of where you’ve been it was often a bit frustrating. You could’ve been in serious danger for all he was aware and when he confronts you about this behaviour of yours, you’d only shrug and say:

‘Where it is a go on my own time isn’t something you should waste time worrying over.’ Before leaving to go elsewhere within the base and lounge against one of the trees thick and sturdy branches, eyes closed in content as you softly drift off into a light nap.

How the fuck you got up there, he’ll never know other than the fact that you managed to get up there in the first place with effortless ease.

Ekko’s nickname for you was either kitty or something along the lines of a cat based pun. You hated all of them equally but Ekko only feels more vindicated when you only proven his perception of you right whenever you displayed a trait that was common amongst cats. Whether that’d be silently judging everyone from your perch way up high, or lounging in his bed, more specifically where he had laid moments prior, feeding off of the warmth that lingered there or otherwise Ekko would find humour in you cat like traits because they were the things he loved the most.

(In a timeline where they actually have phones I can imagine him sending you cat memes and saying ‘this you?’ Or ‘I found your relative’ he thinks he’s funny, and he is but you won’t admit it out of petty pride)

However the one thing that you could always hold over Ekko’s head was the fact that you could silently manoeuvre your way into a room without him knowing and managing to catch him off guard. Ekko didn’t find it particularly funny but he lets up eventually and admits that it was kinda funny that you managed to take him by surprise. This was why you were more suited to missions heavily requiring a person with an abundance of stealth and agility.

‘Always landing on your feet aren’t you?’ He’d tease but you would let it slid as you shrugged your shoulders and reply. ‘What can I say? It kinda comes with the territory don’t you think?’

‘You sure you weren’t a cat in your past life or something?’ She would ask as she raised a brow at you as you cuddled into her side, much like a cat would when in they wanted to leech off is the warmth of a human.

‘No, why you ask?’ You say as you began to close your eyes, her warmth blanketing you almost immediately, and becoming increasingly sleepy.

‘You act like one for starters with how lazy you are.’ She pointed out and you’d only scoff at her, resting your head on her shoulder, having become too comfortable with your current position to even be bothered to move.

‘I’m not lazy, I’m merely taking advantage of the beauty that is power naps.’ You defend yourself and it was Sevika’s turn to scoff, having heard this excuse countless times before, and it never stopped her from continuing to compare your personality to that of a common house cat.

She disliked it at first, finding it weird and annoying at the fact that you didn’t seem all that bothered with the ongoings of Zaun, instead favouring to rest in high places that provided warmth or close to it and watching everyone with clear judgement within your eyes. However that judgment did end up saving her from time to time, not that she’d ever admit to this, as she was confident in her own abilities to smell a bitch from a mile away.

Though the more as time passed she grew to find it somewhat easier to deal with, though you cuddling up to her for warmth did put her off now and then, affection wasn’t commonplace in Zaun; so forgive her for not exactly taking to it immediately. Though each time you did cuddle into her side, her urge to create distance between you dwindled, from Perivale shoving you away from her, to slowly accepting that this was her life now.

‘Sure, that’s a hell of a way to avoid saying that you’re lazy.’ Sevika smirks when you glared at her, clearly insulted by this, before moving off of her to go rest elsewhere on the bed you shared and making sure your back was towards her in an effort to show your disagreement with her statement. ‘Not. Lazy. I just like napping.’ You retorted.

‘Yeah, sure keep telling yourself that, I’m sure it’ll be true one day.’ Sevika jokes and your shoulders only deflate more, knowing you’ll never win this war with Sevika when her mind is made up. She’s always in the right in most cases.

Mel is all too familiar with your cat like traits that nothing you do is out of the ordinary to her.

She finds humour and amusement in you participating in things commonly associated with felines. A human cat is what you were in her eyes as you slept the easiest you’ve ever slept when besides her, her presence was calming and was more then enough to have you reduced to a relaxed state before succumbing to sleep.

She just had that effect on you and you loved it as much as she does as she got to run her hand down your back.

‘You’re practically purring.’ She teases.

‘It’s not my fault you know exactly what makes me melt.’ You replied as you smiled up at her, never having gotten use to having this absolute goddess of a woman bless you with her smile, her heart, her everything.

Mel smiles softly. ‘You don’t exactly made it much of a challenge.’ She says as she watched the way you practically leaned in towards her touch, eyes closed in content with a smile spread across your face that she swore your nonexistent tail would be swishing from side to side. She has been in this position countless times before and yet it never gets old with how content she felt when moments like these between you and her freely exist within her mind.

You don’t exactly make it hard for her not to love you like she did, it came to you as easy a breathing as that’s how quick you were to fall for her, almost as if it was as though you were breathing; Easy, effortlessly and natural.

‘How can I when you read me so effortlessly and without fail?’ You replied back in almost a purr, a mischievous smile spread wide across your lips, ‘I shouldn’t need to hide myself from my lovers eyes, for she knows me all too well.’ You add. Another thing Mel adored was your cunning but cautious mind and the way you seemed oddly too relaxed for some, watching those very same individuals like they were merely mouses that squeaked about their freedom; like you were being amused by rather was being said in meetings as though you knew something they didn’t.

You were like the Cheshire Cat, often times speaking in riddles that only she herself understands.

Mel kisses the tip of your nose. ‘You smile like the cat that caught the canary,’ she says as she pulls away. ‘Learning more about you is more interesting and intriguing than the last.’

‘Then I hope I stay that way for a long while.’ You said, smirking when you felt her kiss your lips.

[myrruwrites]

A winters night.

. . . Caitlyn x Reader.

CW: SFW, a bit suggestive & references to sex briefly, but it’s mainly fluff. A bit of comfort (r!receiving). Caitlyn walks in on you baking her a surprise on your anniversary. :^)

WC: 1.06K | CC: 5.7K | Proofread: No.. | Notes: this is my first time writing a reader x character fic. One of my first times writing romance at all, actually. I normally write warrior cats. But I wanna branch out to my other interests, one of which is arcane. I hope you like it! | MEN DNI.

It’s starting to get late out, the sun setting. The kitchen’s dim candles are the only things leaving the room barley visible, although, you don’t go to turn the main light on. You’re much too busy for that. You’re working hard making a pie for your girlfriend, Caitlyn. It’s Apple and cinnamon, her favourite. It also happens to be the same dish you made her on your first date. You had worried you’d come onto her too hard, but much to your surprise, she was impressed.

While sprinkling the cinnamon onto the apple mixture, your mind can’t help but drift to Caitlyn. "I wonder what she’s doing right now?" you ask yourself. She’s still at work, you’re positive of that. At least you think you are. You shake your head slightly, as if it’d help you clear your mind. You have to finish the pie before she gets home, even if it’s the last thing you do.

You slowly mix the pie filling, folding it. As you do, you notice the time. "7:30.." you murmur, gulping. Caitlyn finishes work at 7:00 on Tuesdays, she’d be home soon. "Shit, shit, shit." you think to yourself, your breath strained. You try to press on, working harder, faster.

15 minuets later, as you’re beginning to plat the top-crust of the pie, you hear the front door creek open. Is Cait home already? She can’t be, you’re not ready. This isn’t how you had planned it. You were meant to present her with a slice of her favourite pie as she came home from work, snuggling up to her on the couch as you play a movie you both enjoy. This is not what was meant to happen, she wasn’t meant to be home yet. Had it been a Monday, Thursday, or even Friday, she’d be home at 9:00. You’d have more than enough time to finish your plan. But on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, you’re not so lucky.

Before you can start to panic, Caitlyn drops her bag off on the couch. She begins to slide off her uniform, and your gaze immediately begins to take in her curves. Her under-shirt rides up slightly, revealing the soft skin of her stomach. You feel almost sad as she pulls it back down, folding her uniform neatly as she hangs it up to wash later. You gulp, caught off-guard.

"Y/N, you home?" Caitlyn calls out, due to you not greeting her. Suddenly, you realise you hadn’t even said hello. You yell out quickly, almost shakily "I’m in the kitchen! Welcome home, honey!". How hadn’t you done that when she first walked in? You always do. Well.. you know why. You remember the sight seeing you did earlier. How could you not? The way her shirt clung to her body..

Your thoughts are cut off as she walks into the kitchen, she reaches for her ponytail, undoing it. Her eyebrow tilts as she realises you’re baking, a soft grin forming on her face. "What’re you making?" She asks, walking up to you. Her arm wraps around your waist, her hair brushing against your neck. "What do you think it is?" You tease, looking down at the pie. Caitlyn scoffs slightly, before tugging your waist slightly, pulling you against her. "Is it really the pie?". Her phrasing makes you giggle slightly, your hand reaching to cover your mouth. As you do so, her hand meets yours, moving it away from your lips. "Now, don’t go covering such a pretty sight."

The air practically became thicker, a slight blush creeping up your neck. She breaks the silence with a quick peck on the lips, as you lean into it you feel it deepen. Suddenly, you break away from the kiss. "I have to finish baking. How about we.. continue this after?" You explain to her about wanting the pie to be done earlier, but forgot to makeup for her early finish from work. She reaches to cup your cheek, turning you to face her. Her thumb strokes close to your lips. "It’s a sweet gesture, don’t upset yourself."

You smile softly, noticing the sincerity in her eyes. She’s really not mad. You start to think about it, why would you assume she’d be mad in the first place? Caitlyn has always been sweet to you, always patient. You kiss her softly, before quickly turning back around, hiding the stunned look on your face. She lets out a small laugh, her hand still resting on your waist. She watches with awe as you bake, "I’m so glad you can cook, because I sure as hell can’t. Thank you for this, by the way."

You don’t turn to face her while replying, clearly still engrossed in baking, "I was planning to make something, it’s our anniversary after all. And the thought of pie reminded me of you." you admit with a smile. "Well isn’t that cute," she nudges your hip, before releasing it. "Let me help you with that." she moves to the side of you, gently taking the pie out of your hands. She bends down by the oven, putting it in with a smile before turning to you, "there, now I can have your full attention."

As the night wares on, you watch a movie with Caitlyn. It’s Scream, a shared favourite. You still flinch every time at the jumpscares, your nails digging into Caitlyn’s shirt. Her arms drape around you before pulling you closer. "Scaredy-cat, huh?", she teases. It causes you to smile slightly, amused by her tone. For the rest of the movie, you cling to her tighter. She mocks you for it, but you can tell she secretly loves having you in her arms. She plants a kiss on your forehead, holding you closer than ever. You start to wonder, would tonight be the night? The night you two finally.. you know. You shake your head, burying it in her neck as the next jumpscare hits. As time passes, your eyes begin to feel droopy, and you can’t help but think you could stay like this forever. Your body begins to relax into Caitlyn’s touch, her hand stroking your hair. She smiles softly at you as you begin to fall asleep, your eyes fluttering to a close.

Maybe another time. Tonight, you just want to be held, and she just wants to show you how much she cares for you.

© myrruwrites.

I hope you liked ittt.. its my first time posting my writing. If you do like it, feel free to request! I really wanna write more, it’s something I really enjoy. I wasn’t quite sure where to end this fic, and I would’ve made it longer, honestly I don’t know why I didn’t. I can always make a PT2 if anyone’s interested. Thank you for reading! Reblogs & likes are appreciated.