Nat, adult, I am active here, but below you can find my old fics.
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ArtUni!Magic AU. You do a love spell. It backfires. Horribly.
Supernatural beings in a small English village, witches, monsters and monster hunters. Spells, blood and smut. They're both stubborn and it's complicated. Blacksmith! Eddie and Silversmith! Reader
Notes: Updates are less regular from now on, but then again it's only few of us here so : D Thank for reading! It get's worse before it gets better! I swear there was something in the air that made me soooo eepy. There will be slight Eddie x Chrissy in the chapter although not really? And I cut the smut part of it since no one would enjoy it xD
Word Count: 3k
Jiri wanted to be yours.
Especially knowing that your heart was taken, he wanted it even more. It wasn’t a game, it wasn’t a piss fight over ownership of a fire hydrant. He just liked you more because he couldn’t have you.
There was something familiar staring back at him when he looked at you. Precious—the way your sore heart clung to him for safety, and his own swelled in return. Honey, he wished to say. Slunce, stay warm next to me. I promise I will try not to freeze you to death with my shadow.
His hand left yours as you approached the workshops. Early enough that no one was in the building, he tried prolonging the buzz from the early morning. He had woken up with you on his chest, cuddled up, relaxed, trusting.
You were trusting him.
He stacked all the mornings, evenings, and lunch-break kisses in one neat box in his head. Titled—for later, for when he is cold again. And he knew he would be cold again. He always was. But there was still so much life in your eyes. You still looked happy looking at him—tired, sure, he had that effect—but with soft eyes, almost loving. He could imagine you would keep him, and that made his mouth curl into a smile, one you saw and mimicked.
You wanted to give yourself to Jiri fully. You really did. Your body unfurled under his kisses, his patient attention, because he was a patient man—a smart, kind, soft man willing to wait for your heart to open as well. If you could, you would explain to him the spell, the connection you had with Eddie, the whole mess from the past month, but you wouldn’t risk dragging him into it all. And they have been making you extremely tired as of late.
Your cheeks had sunken, eyes hollowed, hair dulled. You were stressed, still seeing the fae, lurking to see if you would keep your promise—and you did. Of course you would. Who fucks with fairies?
Then Syd, also around, but not daring to come close. At least not when Eddie was near.
And Eddie.
There was always Eddie.
After that first day you went to Jiri, he saw you. Entering the workshop just like today, still glowing with that newly budding love, bellies full, bodies sated, glued together by hands and mouths when no one was looking.
But he was looking.
Pieces of you—the new you, managed to fit into the puzzle holes—popped off under the pressure. The old pieces, the ones he was giving you, didn’t match the image of yourself you had in your head.
The things he said made your brows pinch and your eyes sting with tears. Why was he being so unkind? Didn’t he see you were trying your best to leave him alone? Let him and his own heart stay undisturbed, unaltered.
He said you were a friend, yet friends didn’t say things like that. Friends didn’t say they would report you and Jiri. Friends wouldn’t make you lie just to protect the little peace you had just built.
Eddie was supposed to be your lighthouse, leading the way. But recently all he did was punch hole after hole in your boat, and now you felt like you were going down. Couldn’t he see you were trying to be happy?
All this—all this stress, all the coursework, all the work, Syd, the fae, and anything else whose eyes shined when you passed—was making you exhausted. You just wanted a break. A few days of nothing happening. Silence.
Your head found itself on your jewellery bench. Unsurprisingly, it smelled like metal. The reddish-brown leather sleeve was worn out, tiny silver shavings shining when you unfocused your eyes.
Jiri had been away at a big jewellery event that you had to skip because of work. He would be back after the weekend, so no one was about to bother your self-pity party. If you could just close your eyes for a little bit and drift down into that deep, dark water…
Hamilton’s voice reached you before you could, and reluctantly you lifted your head before he entered the room. You just had to polish all the beetle wings you had shaped over the past few hours, but you could barely hold the pendant motor without shaking.
You must be getting sick.
Yeah. Definitely.
You pressed the heel of your hand into your eyes, making sure you could still see clearly. They were shiny.
All thirteen pieces of silver were polished. Glitter covered them—but not the manufactured kind. The kind you had seen scattered before, wherever the fae went.
They helped you
You were avoiding him. You were spending time with Jiri, and you were avoiding him. Chris had been worried, because he was worried, and she could sense it, but he didn’t know what to tell her. Courseworks sounded like a very shitty excuse, but that was the only one he could mutter, looking away, hiding.
His neck and ears had been rubbed red, his cuticles pulled raw and bloody. He didn’t even bother washing the soot off his fingers anymore. There was no point. Eddie’s hands were always dirty, no matter how much he scrubbed them. The coal, the ink, the blood.
And he had gone for a hunt.
He swore he was done with it. He was not good—no. But he did all his coursework ahead of time, which was really not like him. He got a great mark at the end of life drawing class, when they held an exhibition. Eddie would always sketch his surroundings quickly, and somehow—totally coincidentally—ended up standing behind you. So you naturally ended up in the corner of most of his work. A faceless girl, just a few short lines and squiggles, but he knew you were there. And now, having his work back after marking, made his chest squeeze.
He couldn’t talk with you, he couldn’t talk with Chris, he didn’t want to smoke or drink himself into oblivion—surprising, really. But he wanted to stay sober. He had to stay on high alert, because Syd was still around, and he couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t retaliated. I mean, that was great news, but why?
Why Syd did nothing.
Why were you avoiding him so violently?
Why were you hanging out so much with Jiri.
Why, why, why.
He was just running in circles again.
And so the only other thing he could do with his hands and his loud brain was hunt something.
The bloodsucker was living in the town next over, a thirty-minute train ride, faster if you took a car. He followed the trace of faint spells that plagued the quiet place, knowing damn well it wasn’t seasonal sickness. Everything like Wayne taught him, down to the point, perfect. Even if he knew it was stupid, he still followed through. Maybe if he got drained down to a raisin, you would show up at his funeral. Maybe he would haunt you as a ghost. That would be fun.
Throwing the last of his cigarette into the corner of a post-rain wall, he huffed the smoke from the side of his mouth. A special blend that masked him from the supernatural.
Back to black.
Wasn’t true. He always wore black. But the song always stuck in his head whenever he contemplated coming back. The temptation was always there.
A pull.
He was tall and straight like an arrow. Clean-shaven, with skull-length greying brown buzzed hair. Nicely trimmed beard and a tall, shapely nose. His fingers were long and ringed, almost like Eddie’s own, but his jewellery was made of precious stones, right next to a fat, shiny band.
Heart pounding in his chest, he could feel it rising from his stomach to his throat. Acidic and swollen, ready to burst like a grape.
He followed the man all the way to his home. Metal letters on the letterbox spelled his surname, something he couldn’t read right away, a long and pretty-sounding name.
There were roses in the garden, plenty of them, the whole greenery shaped and elegant, something that looked curated over years.
His rings scraped softly on the window frame as he peeked inside.
It was a hoax that you needed a stake to pierce a vampire. All you needed was to burst their heart. Any tool would do. They were fast and strong, but all the blood they drank collected in the shell of their hearts, turning them into walking balloons. Easy-peasy. If you managed to come close, that was.
He told himself he just wanted to make sure. See if he was dangerous. After all, there were no reports of actual murder anywhere nearby. All the remaining vampires were the smart ones. The ones who learned how to ration, how to be left alone.
What he saw was not what he expected.
There was an old lady at the table, set for two, but one plate was empty. There was a rose in the vase, the same kind that grew right beside where Eddie stood. The guy from before—the vampire—was kneeling in front of her, head resting on her plush tights. She was soothing him, cooing sweet things that were inaudible through the glass, but her face was kind. The hand that stroked him had a matching golden band.
Eddie was out of there as fast as his legs would let him. The blade he had taken and anointed beforehand dropped somewhere in the bushes with force. His hands were shaking. They were still shaking as he ran them down his face, dragging the wet from his eyes across his cheeks.
He was so sick and tired of this. He was not fireproof.
Why did you think he was okay with being put under a silence spell? You were friends, weren’t you? He made a promise to you, didn’t he? Then what did he do to make you avoid him, treat every word of worry like a challenge, like a call to war instead of care? Why did you make him act so stupid?
He would have been a murderer.
That vampire… that guy was harmless.
He just fell in love with a human and tried to live.
And Eddie almost killed him.
For what?
Principle?
Because he was hurt?
He didn’t like fighting with his friends. But you didn’t understand. You just thought he wanted to—what? Fuck with you for fun? Tell you not to do something for shit and giggles?
The next train was delayed.
You just wanted to see him burn, didn’t you?
The next day there was silver outside your window. You found chunks of it—raw ore in your shoes, in your bag, and even as you took a sip from your water bottle.
You didn’t know why the fae had decided to grace you with gifts, but you needed it more than ever, finishing the last of your project. Thanks to their help, you were back on track, the extra going into making wire, melting, pulling it through smaller and smaller holes, until dragging the softened silver took you to the other side of the workshop. Long spools twisted and hammered gently down, then twisted again into ornaments that you planned to put inside the beetles.
Since yesterday, you have felt tugs at your neck. At first you thought it was muscle spasms, magnesium deficiency, or the fae themselves feeling playful. But you saw it again as you were taking a shower—the red pick that you never dared to take out dragging downward, like someone yanked it.
There was only one person who could potentially do it.
Eddie.
Of course.
He couldn’t reach you, so he decided to be an ass.
It came at the least expected times. When you were falling asleep. In the morning before your alarm. During lunch. But the more you ignored it, the more persistent it became, tugging at you while you were smelting and smoldering, losing your already depleting focus.
He did it just now, causing you to drop the hot tongs, burning your finger.
“Fuck!”
Your finger landed in your mouth, and it was so tempting to just rush over there and tell him to fuck off. But you knew that was what he wanted.
So you ignored it. For the whole next day.
And then the next.
As you walked back from classes, you almost pulled it off yourself.
He was persistent. You gave him that.
You responded to your name before you even registered who had said it.
“What?”
Steel-blue eyes stared back at you. Only he could match you in looking ghostly and sickly. Hell, he definitely outmatched you. He looked destroyed.
“Can we talk?”
Honey-coated, that voice. Still so soft, breaking in places like a crumbling cookie—and just as delicious.
“I can’t now—”
You tried turning, but he grabbed your hand.
“Please.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Lift the spell. Please.”
“I don’t know how. Let me go—” you yanked.
“I’m starving. No matter how much I try, it’s only enough to keep me from dying, but not enough to feed properly. I never hurt anyone. Why did you do that?”
It wasn’t my idea. It was Eddie.
You realized you didn’t even know why he had insisted on binding him. And monster or not, your tired recognized his tiredness. Guiltily, you looked down.
“I’m sorry. I don’t— I don’t know how to lift it. I’m so sorry”
You managed to slip away.
He just stood there, watching, that cat-shine flashing in his eyes the last thing you saw before turning the corner.
Guilt and hunger sometimes went hand in hand. Guilty you might eat too much — or not at all — but right now, tired you, guilty you, needed oily, sodium-heavy food. You went for pizza, stuffed crust — a woman’s best friend for the evening. Whatever was cheapest and most convenient was your favorite at the moment.
Your phone flashed with yet another unread message. Eddie had tried a few times today before giving up, a string of single-line texts peppering your sparse conversation. It wasn’t that you wanted to punish him — you just wanted to show him you were serious. That his actions and his words weren’t without consequences, even if you depended on him. You wouldn’t let him walk all over you, for your own peace of mind. If he wanted the name of a friend back, he had to apologize — and that still hadn’t appeared in anything he’d said.
So much talking, and not a single apology.
Granted — you took a bite of your pizza. Fuck, it was heavenly. — he probably didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. But you weren’t about to be bullied or twisted into pitying him just because he knew how to pull at your heart.
The pick yanked again, turning your slice into your cheek instead of your mouth. Hot sauce smeared across your skin, and, annoyed, you slapped the piece back into the box.
“Nope. You can fuck off. That’s what you can do, Eddie. Fuck. Right. Off.”
The pick was no longer your concern. Thrown onto your desk — doubling as a nightstand — it bounced angrily a few times, like a dying fish, before settling in the corner next to the dusty lamp.
_
You were used to dreaming about him at this point. It has been quite some time, true, but you were not surprised that it was back. Behind black of your eyes you saw flashes. Eddie arguing with you, or more you trying to speak to him, and him looking away. He looked like was hiding something, ashamed or guilty and you felt the lethal mixture of hurt and resentment bubbling up in your gut. But somehow you moved differently, your voice sounded different, your body felt different. Next the black, the black was again.
No, wait.
This one was different. At first the sweet after taste in your mouth, powdery rose on each pass of your tongue behind your teeth. You were in the bed, but it wasn’t yours and when your eyes opened you saw Eddie's arm draped over you.
Then a scratch of stubble over your neck sending a shiver travelling down, down your toes.
A hold, scoop and press, then another press but not body but lips. Soft and warm and wanting.Then a hand making a way though your lower stomach, up and up over the covers and to where your neck was, long fingers framing your jaw and turning your head to access that sweet part that showed what music your blood played. Another kiss, hot so hot you could feel the warm spreading. The hand cradling you, moving, the other growing up, spreading to your chest, grabbing a handful. And that exhale, a sweet exhale of relief.
“Chris”
What?
“Need you. Please”
Chris?
You felt yourself nodding. Another kiss dipping lower towards your collar, and exhaling your lips did but you did not order. Then the collar of your shirt pulled down, and down, giving him access to your chest.
You felt his hands on them, the other opening up your neck for him, splitting up a peach. You could not react to what your — her body was doing. Just observing, and feeling and oh — something hot and wet fell down your cheek, as his fingers sinked into you. Into her, the hot and wet but different kind. Moving, playing her till her voice — sounding different now, deeper from behind her eyes — said and moaned. After that the black was back.
✧ The Game of Teaching Body -> masterlist
overall explicit - viktorxfem!reader, modern AU university (can you tell I miss being young yet?), TA Viktor, about falling in love against the odds of insecurities.
tag: #the game of teaching body
✧ A Deer and a Man -> masterlist
overall explicit - (based on a request), viktorxfem!reader, regency era AU, arranged marriage.
tag: #d&m
✧ Tightrope -> masterlist
overall explicit - (based on a request), viktorxfem!reader, modern AU, academic rivals/friends to lovers.
tag: #tightrope
✧ To Be Known -> masterlist
overall explicit - viktorxfem!reader, modern AU (sorry), set in London, a full blown self-indulgent shit about sex in d/s relationships :v
tag: #to be known
✧ In Thy Name -> masterlist
overall explicit - viktorxfem!reader, gothic AU, linguist!Reader and paranormal investigator Viktor in my attempt at gothic X-files.
tag: #in thy name
✧ Favours Between Friends Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4.
overall explicit - viktorxfem!reader, modern AU, omegaverse (alpha!viktor x omega!reader), fake dating romcom, sorta friends to lovers, classic omegaverse shenanigans.
tag: #favours beetween friends
Ok my guys, remind me to never crash out again, because un-privating posts is a pain in the ass. Arcane fics are back up with a small exception of kinktober which I still need to revise. My queue has ended and I have disabled asks on this blog, but if you still wish to read whatever new I'm going to write or simply chat to me, head over to @goat-limbs.
there’s a phenomenon when it comes to enjoying a male character in a piece of media where it’s so much fun and i love my blorbo and i want to talk about my blorbo and read analysis of my blorbo but i realize very fast and very hard that the majority of fans made up a version of him that appeals to their horniness and it’s become the popular and standard interpretation and i do not care for that guy at all like i’d beat him with hammers actually
vaporwave
prguitarman
titsay
yousharknotpass
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
