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#AT LEAST those three commissioned fics

iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid · 11 months

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okay. ALRIGHT. enough with the random hyperfixations. i have three commissioned mcu fics to finish by november, the current ohtmb installment to work on, the opposite set of people get snapped fic, and the revengers. okay. here we go

#finishes an re4 fic and immediately locks herself in a room to think about thor and loki #this is to say there should be a lot more mcu content coming from me in the near future #AT LEAST those three commissioned fics #if not more #me

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phoenixyfriend · 2 months

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So. Guess who commissioned the amazing @shukruut to do up late teens/early twenties Ylliben (time-traveler Obi-Wan) in A Child’s Ink? Specifically, with most of the tattoos he gains across the course of that fic.

Our boy is mid-workout and there are some very flustered Fellow Teens that he is either ignoring or genuinely does not notice.

(I say 'most' because there are a few I still haven't decided on for chapter three, and thus could not direct the placement or design of. I'll figure those out uhhhh eventually. At least two of them are probably on his legs anyway, so I'll just imagine that's what's going on, and you will presumably forgive me for being bad at Decisions if one of them doesn't quite match up with the art lmao.)

Some of these aren't definitive and if you want to imagine it differently, that's great! I definitely kept a few of them vague enough for reinterp! For me, half the point of this commission was to get an idea what was even going on so I could keep track of where he still had room for another tat in the years to come.

Flats under the cut! Plus, you can open the image in a new tab for Much Details.

#anyway huge props to shukruut for putting up with my Very Particular Requests about placement and size and so on lmao.#they weren't weird or anything I just had very specific mental images for some of these so there was a lot of like #'a little higher and angled clockwise from where it is now' and so on #star wars #ben kenobi #obi wan kenobi #time travel #tattoos #ylliben skywalker #phoenix posts #art for me #partial nudity warning

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fillinforlater · 4 months

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It’s that time of the year again. What are some of your favorite smuts released in 2023?

Monday of Appreciation: Part 104

Hello everyone, Smite here!

2023 is coming to a close and it's been quite the year, a mixture of "this is a bridge year for greater things to come" and "WE LIVIN' NOW MF!" What is a bit different this year is that the highs weren't as high and the lows weren't as low compared to previous years---maybe that is just me getting older, maybe it's hindsight. Either way, I'm good and this year was good.

But some things are more than just good. I'm of course talking about these writers and their stories that I have featured today. All of them deserve special mention, but I want to focus on two of them specifically.

In a year of great, fantastic and already legendary fics, these two stand out.

Without further ado, let's dive into the final MoA of this year:

-1-

@fanfiction4sooya: Can't Save You Now ft. Chaewon, Kazuha, Sakura

I- I- I just read the damn tags and new I one day had to give this a shot. ff4sooya has crazy ideas, futa galore, different dynamics and kinks, which is SO MY THING. This has Mommy and Daddy involved in an absurd (and absurdly hot) threesome that I couldn't take my eyes off.

Now I definitely need to read more and you should too because I bet there are a bunch of Masterpieces in that long Masterlist!

-2-

@iznsfw: Drunken ft. Olivia Hye

Is it really a Monday of Appreciation post without IZ?

Seriously, what this genius is able to cook up in a commission or in the currently ongoing (HYPE) IZ DAYS OF CHRISTMAS is absolutely incredible. We have long stories with in depth characters and love drama that ends not only smuttily but sweetly. Who the fuck needs books, when you can just binge IZ?

With "Drunken", they have once again hit it out of the FUCKIING park. There is never enough Daddy kink fics, yes, but mine seem like nonsensical cringe porn compared to this beauty of a piece. I love how it plays with my heart, no I'm not crying---okay, now that is hot.

Let me change that: there is three very fucking special stories today!

(I think this might even be better than Levi's Hyeju, wtf)

-3-

@cataboliac: Enkindle ft. Wendy

Firstly: I LOVE YOU CATA, BIG QT!

Secondly: "Enkindle" feels a bit like coming home, like a day in Paradise, like the one person that shines so bright in your life that you don't want it to go. And you know, that is the great thing: this might be Cata's final fic, the farewell, but not only is his life gonna be great and he'll be super happy - we also get to read this again and again, and I'm sure I will one day.

Thank you, Cata, for hanging around!

Thirdly: I'M GONNA KISS YOU, CATA!

-4-

@writerpeach: Delectation ft. Wonyoung, Yujin

1.000 Notes, and it's still not enough for what is my pick for fic of the year (FOTY? FOOTY? There is a scene like that, yep). IZ*ONE truly never dies, but it is IVE and these absolute super stars, bomb shells with flawless faces and different, yet irresistible bodies that have us in a frenzy.

Talking about frenzy, all those 30,699 words are a frenzy. I thought Peach would set it up with a long and painful tease that has us edging the entire time BUT NOPE this has so much fucking smut, so many lines of neediness and horniness, it is impossible to finish in one try or two tries or... I dunno, seven-hundred tries?

It's detailed, it's straight forward, it's sex from every fucking angle, I can never get tired of this. I will go so far and say this is Peach's magnum opus, the GOAT fic by the GOAT writer. At least for that day, I can say this without a doubt.

Peach, you are crazy and thank you for that <3

#PeachPavedTheWay #AnnyeongzForDaddy

#kpop smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #ive smut #izone smut #male reader insert #male reader #idol x idol smut #red velvet smut #wendy smut #loona smut #loosemble smut #olivia hye smut #hyeju smut #wonyoung smut #chaewon smut #yujin smut #sakura smut #le sserafim kazuha smut

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ciaossu-imagines · 2 months

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Commissions Temporarily Closed

Hello, hello, my lovelies! I am opening up commissions again, however, a forewarning that I will not be able to start any serious writing until Monday, as I do work all weekend. I have completely revamped commissions so please carefully read the below information as to them. For clients in Canada, I much prefer payment via Interac E-Transfer, so that I have cash in hand. For those from other countries who wish to commission me or for those more comfortable with this option, I have an set up an Etsy shop where you can order! It can be found here!

For now, commissions are as below. With any and all commissions, I am more than willing to discuss, narrow down, and work with the client on all details regarding the commission and will negotiate within reason as to price, while still trying to make sure I'm paid not just for my time, but the effort I go to as well. All commissions are to be done in English, thank you.

Headcanons

$10 – for headcanons for fandoms I’m familiar with. This gets you 15-20 headcanons. The regular rules of the blog do not exist; I will write anything, including yandere and canon character shipping.

$15 – for headcanons for fandoms I’m not familiar with. Again, this gets you 15-20 headcanons, where regular blog rules do not apply.

Match-Ups:

$15 for smutty match-ups for fandoms I’m familiar with. This gets you a detailed match-up of which character would be most sexually compatible with you, plus at least one to two other characters who would be close to being sexually compatible with you, along with the areas where the two of you would struggle to connect sexually.

$25 for smutty match-ups for fandoms I’m not familiar with. This functions the same as the smutty matches for fandoms I’m familiar with; the extra money is only to pay for me to take the time to thoroughly research the fandom and characters in question.

$20 for romantic and platonic match-ups for fandoms I’m familiar with. This gets you a detailed match-up of which character would be most compatible with you romantically or who would be your best friend, the reasoning behind it and thoughts of what your lives together would be like, along with at least two to three other potential characters with detailed reasons on where those characters might struggle to connect or get along with you, and a headcanon for each runner up as to how they might fit into your story.

$30 for romantic and platonic match-ups for fandoms I’m not familiar with. This functions the same as the romantic and platonic matches for fandoms I’m familiar with; the extra money is only to pay for me to take the time to thoroughly research the fandom and characters in question.

Music Mixes

$5 for music mixes of 1-3 hours in length for a character (canon, self-insert, or OC), character ship (canon, self-insert, or OC), character group, or fandom in total.

Character Exploration

$10-15 for canon characters in fandoms I am familiar with. This gets you a detailed essay on the character asked for, their personality, upbringing, mental state, goals and ambitions, how they interact with those around them, basically anything about the character that might be interesting or could be discussed.

$15-20 for canon characters in fandoms I am not familiar with. This functions the same; the extra money is just to pay for my time intensely researching, learning about, and digging into the character in question.

$20 flat for character building or world building help. I specialize and like to think I excel as a writer at fleshing out and building believable, complex characters and worlds. This gets you a week’s worth – so about 7-10 back and forth’s with you helping you further develop a single character or world building.

Fiction

$20-100 for written fics. The price will depend on the complexity of the situation, whether the fandom and character is one I am familiar with, and estimated length of the fic. I no longer charge by word count as I admit as a writer, I struggle with bloat issues. However, how long I feel it would need to be to properly tell the story – one shot versus chaptered, etc., will be a consideration. As with all commissions, this price is decided during discussion and negotiation with you lovely commissioners. All fics come with storyboards (plotting thoughts and extra headcanons) and the mix I was listening to while plotting and writing the fic.

Character Comfort Boxes

$60-70. These boxes will be mailed to an address you will provide me, which is why they are so expensive as the price covers shipping and expenses. Each box will be distinctly personalized to the client so I will need to know information about you. Each box will contain a 2–6-page letter from your character of choice, from any fandom. The letter can be written as if that character is a lover, a friend, a sibling, etc. It will also include either tea, coffee, or a beverage to your liking, a snack, a framed ‘photo’ of the character, and 1-2 comfort/fun items with notes from the character on why ‘they’ chose these things to gift to you, as the box is sent by that character to you, their loved one. To ensure the letters are legible, they will be printed, but a variety of fonts will be used to mimic how I picture the character’s writing looking.

#commissions #please share if you can to spread the word #writing commissions #fanfic commissions

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jerzwriter · 8 months

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Take Me Out

Trystan Thorne x Carolina Rose

In my HC, Carolina was born & raised in the Bronx, and to her, the New York Yankees are a religion. This commission by the magnificent @/artbyainna was inspired by my fic A Celebration, and since some wanted to know how Carolina behaved at the game, the drabble below the break provides some insight. I hope you enjoy it.

Book: Crimes of Passion (Post Book 1, Pre 2)

Pairing: Trystan Thorne x F!MC

Rating: Teen

Words: 1,011

Summary: When Trystan has the opportunity to see Carolina in her element, he just has to steal her away for a moment alone.

A/N: Participating in @choicesmonthlychallenge from the April Challenge: Just want to be with you, sunset, kiss also participating in @choicesflashfics prompt is bolded below.

~~~~

Carolina couldn’t contain her laughter. She hadn’t felt this way since she was a teenager, perhaps not even then. The wind whipped through her hair as she clutched Trystan’s hand, willingly running behind him as he circled the stadium’s ramps, exuding such confidence you would have guessed he knew where he was going.

“Trystan!” She yelled breathlessly. “You’ve never been here before! Do you know where you’re going?”

“Yes, down,” he answered matter of factly.

“And why exactly are you going down?”

She collided into his back, nearly toppling them to the floor, when he suddenly stopped and turned to her with a devilish smirk.

“Carolina Rose, if I was going down... you’d know it.”

“You jerk,” she laughed, playfully pounding her fist against his chest. “I swear you act like a teenage boy!”

“It’s part of my charm,” he winked. “Here,” he pointed to the entrance of a relatively empty section of the stadium. “That’s where we’re going!”

“Why? Our seats are better than that, and besides, we left Luke and Ruby behind.”

“Yes, we did,” he acknowledged as he leaned against the concrete partition separating them from the field. “I like them very much... but if I didn’t get you alone for a few minutes... I was afraid that I would die.”

Carolina’s lips twisted, a playful gleam in her eye. “You thought you would die?”

“Absolutely,” he looped his arm around her waist and pulled her near. “Do you see the effect you have on me?”

“Really? So, tell me... what put a healthy man like yourself in critical condition? Was it the way I curse the umpires out every three seconds? Or how I put that old man in his place when he dared to question if Jeter held the team’s post-season hits record?”

“Neither of those,” he smiled.

“So it was the way I surreptitiously threw peanut shells at the Boston fans passing us?”

“No. Though, I’ll admit, that was impressive.”

“Was it when I jumped up and down like a lunatic when Judge hit a home run?”

“No,” his eyes roamed over her body, momentarily pausing at her chest. “Though I must admit, I rather enjoyed that part.”

“So what was it,” she snuggled under his arm. “What made being alone with me a life or death issue?”

“Seeing you in your element. Watching you be unabashedly yourself without a worry about anything, just Carolina, having the time of her life at a Yankee game. It was enchanting... in a gauche sort of way, but enchanting nevertheless.”

“Really?” she chuckled. “And to think I considered toning it down. I know I can get pretty crazy and I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“Please, I’m from Drakovia. It would take much more than that to frighten me away. Besides, don’t ever change any part of yourself for anyone, especially me. I’m crazy about you just the way you are.”

At a loss for words, Carolina was spared when a roar from the crowd turned their heads back toward the field, or at least Carolina’s head turned. Trystan wanted to be interested in the game, but how? Given the choice of watching a multi-million dollar team play ball or watching her... his answer would always be the same. Carolina…every single time.

He brushed a stray hair behind her ear and marveled over her. He knew this game was important to her, and it linked her to her father, who shared the same passion. Knowing another stadium’s tragic role in her life, he was happy to know she could still enjoy this. She blushed when she caught him staring at her far too seriously.

“What?” She smiled.

“Nothing. I just love seeing you happy. You used to come to games with your father, no?”

“Oh, yes!” She beamed. “Whenever we could! As a teen, he didn’t have the money to come, so he got a job selling popcorn in the stands just to watch them play. By the time I came along, he could spring for tickets, only the cheap seats, but that didn’t matter to me. I have the best memories here. That’s why I always wear his jersey when I come.”

Trystan spun her around and looked at the number 23 on the back of her jersey and the name written above it.

“Mattingly. Was he your father’s favorite?”

“Sure was! Donnie Baseball! Dad was crushed he never got a World Series ring.”

“Is he your favorite player too?”

“Oh, no. I love him, but,” she patted the number 2 on Trystan’s back, “Derek Jeter is my favorite.”

“And why is that?”

“Are you kidding? He’s a legend! Besides...growing up, I had the biggest crush on him... the man was freaking hot.”

“Oh, really?” Trystan simpered. “Now I understand why you gave me his jersey to wear. Although I’m sure I look even more attractive in it.”

“Mmmm, I dunno,” she shook her head playfully. “I’d need you to put on the cap to make a fair assessment, and since you refused....”

“And mess up this hair? My true crowing glory! I think not, Carolina.”

“You’re too much,” she laughed, running her fingers through his impressive mane. “Thank you for bringing me here tonight, Trystan. It means a lot to me. But the sun’s setting, and as much as I adore this time alone with you, we probably should get back to Luke and Ruby. We’re trying to keep us a secret for now, after all.”

“I suppose,” he shrugged, “just one thing before we do.”

“What’s that?”

Without a word, he pulled her into a lingering, tender kiss, causing them to momentarily forget they were surrounded by thousands of people. Yankee Stadium feels downright desolate when you’re kissing the right person.

“There,” he smiled as he pulled away. “Now I can cross kissing a gorgeous detective at Yankee Stadium off my bucket list.”

“Oh, that was on your bucket list?” she chuckled.

“Don’t judge my bucket list, Carolina. I have my kinks; you have yours.”

~~~~~

I totally HC that they were blissfully unaware that they got caught on the "kiss cam." Luke and Ruby saw it all, and Ruby dropped her popcorn as it happened. With their suspicions confirmed, they had a quick debate over teasing them as soon as they returned or playing stupid. They decided on the latter... for now. 😏

@choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

Tagging others separately

#choices fanfic #choices fanart #crimes of passion #crimes of passion 2 #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #choices the stories you play #trystan thorne #trystan thorne x mc #trystan x carolina #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #cfwc art of the week

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dolldrop · 1 year

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So, so foolish for you.

✿ This is part one of a three part series! ✿ read part two here.

❀ Prologue/summary: You were able to land a respected spot in the Fatui because of your heartless nature, yet your feelings became your biggest source of weakness when you started working under Scaramouche.

❀ Pairing(s): Harbinger! Scaramouche x gn! reader

❀ Themes/warnings: angst, slight cussing, reader pining for a cold man.

❀ Doll’s note: Hello Tumblr~ (,, ･∀･)ﾉ゛Just wanted to write a slightly longer fic for your heartstrings during the holiday season, I’m still relatively new to the site so any replies or reblogs would be greatly appreciated!

❀ word count: 1.3k

✿ masterlist (not yet posted) ✿ requested by: N/A, original concept

Scaramouche has always had a distant untouchable demeanor.

You have no clue how things have ended up this miserable during such a supposedly cheerful holiday season, was it something you did wrong? You couldn’t help but start to backtrack in your head, still considering the possibility that it was you who could have done something to deserve how terribly he treated you. The sign of winter in full-swing floating so beautifully from the sky ironically makes your heart sink more. You breathe into your bare palms in an effort to warm them, the silent night filled with only the sound of crunching snow beneath your feet makes you realize how pathetic this whole situation seems.

“Scara, do you really not see me as anything more than one of your subordinates?”

…

You have managed to join the Fatui in order to earn the type of mora you could never obtain through a measly salary anywhere in Snezhnaya. Your mother came down with a chronic sickness that would be incredibly costly to relieve, hence the urgent need for another source of finance. Although your ability to learn was satisfactory to achieve any small job within the nation, your strong suit resided in your combat with your given vision. So much so that it was more than enough for you to understand that any commission in the adventurers guild would not be paying you what your skills are worth.

You were living day-to-day just completing your assigned duties like an automated machine, to the point where your world seemed like a monochrome routine… until you began to work under the sixth harbinger. They called him the balladeer, with a more specific name of Scaramouche. The first time you met, you were struck with a complicated infatuation.

“Love at first sight? Don’t be ridiculous.”

You scoffed as your co-worker tried to suggest the concept when you attempted to speak on your strange feelings for your superior.

You were someone who always felt like they harbored no deeper feelings for those around them, being able to take on ruthless tasks in the organization that would normally be rejected by the other members. That was your charm, your strength that allowed you to climb the Fatui ranks faster than a majority of others.

At least that’s how it was supposed to be. Nobody has ever held such weight in your heart as this man has managed to. You have never felt like your emotions were such a weakness as it is now. You didn’t come to terms with your years and years of longing for intimacy until your feelings for Scaramouche began. It blossomed in the way he nodded approvingly at your flawless completion of fatui missions, in the gentle touches that were briefly exchanged when he handed you information documents.

You were able to take note of his more vulnerable sides when you received the order to work alongside him for prolonged periods of time. You were the one who quietly stayed by his side and soothed his moments of doubt, who always supported him and eventually offered your unconditional loyalty. You forgot all about your original motive the moment he entered your life, when did you become someone so naive and dependent on another? Your love clouded over whatever initially gave you your vision, you sacrificed everything else to keep your position by his side. You left your entire life behind to be at his every beck and call.

Over time, you both seemed to become more comfortable with one another. You surely felt an unspoken connection..

“I know we’ve been working with each other for a while.” You began.

He looked up at you slightly from his drink, you have invited him out to tea this evening to finally confess your welled-up feelings for him after all this time. It was nearing Christmas, a time you desperately wanted to spend with him as lovers. You’ve lied awake countless nights thinking about exchanging gifts with Scara, being able to share an embrace by a fire, and many other typical holiday-couple scenarios of the sort. It became such a habit of pining for him, you couldn’t imagine your life without his presence anymore.

“Scara, do you really not see me as anything more than one of your subordinates? I really feel like we have something special..and…I’ve fallen in love with you, since the first time we’ve met.”

You tried not to stumble over your words during your blunt confession, it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain your usual calm composure.

You are all that brings color to my dull world.

He looks back down at his cup, raising it to his lips without a single thing said.

Please stay with me.

He places the cup down slowly, the sound of it gently set upon the table almost reverberating throughout the room.

Hey..

Still not a word.

I’m begging you...

The silence was deafening, his lack of a response was making it hard to breathe.

I truly beg of you.

“Oh? I feel the same way.”

Huh?

Your heart picked up an impossible pace, staring at the man in front of you with wide eyes. He smiled gently at you, with an expression you’d never seen before.

“You’re incredibly talented (y/n). It’s been such a pleasure spending so much time with you over those other incompetent idiots.”

You’re lying, right?

“To tell you the truth, I always admired you too.”

..For real?

…

“So how long do you want me to continue entertaining you with this bullshit?”

His forced facade snaps into a disgusted frown, shifting his glaring eyes to your teary expression.

What?

“Is that what you wanted me to say? I thought you were beyond harboring such useless feelings, (y/n). I must say, I’m surprised. More so, I’m disappointed in you.”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“You should know better than to think I would utter such pathetic wor-“

His sentence was interrupted by tea thrown over his dark locks, drenching his face from the shoulder up. Unfortunately, it was no longer hot. It had been sitting in front of you for quite some time now while you were working up the courage to say such worthless things. Your scorching tears are now streaming down your face. Regret washed over you for wishing to receive anything more than his horrible attitude.

“You’re really the worst.” You muttered shakily under your breath. While clenching your fists, all your customary polite mannerisms are now long gone. But you didn’t care, it was the least of your concern how you’re in no position as a subordinate to be angry with him.

He could have at least just said no. What kind of man did you end up loving, for him to be someone capable of dangling all that you wanted right in your face just to take it back as a cruel joke? You guess you never saw how heartless he really was, no matter what you’ve lost for him.

Not even bothering to spare his face another glance at this moment, you stormed out of the teahouse. Your face stings from the icy air hitting your wet cheeks. After some time trudging through the harsh weather, the snowstorm had ceased slightly and you were finally alone with your thoughts again.

You stop in your tracks, unsure of where you’re even trying to go. You have no direction, no place without him to return to because you’ve willingly given everything away. You felt your chest ache, this pain was unlike any you’d ever received in battle before.

It’s unbearable.

You didn’t realize when your knees have gone weak and how you’ve even begun to cry again. A sob emitted from your throat as the snow you’re kneeling on has been stained with the remnants of your hurt.

Oh, how I’ve been so, so very foolish for you.

It became clear when this was the way you were finally snapped back to reality from your impossible delusion, that he doesn’t think of you as anything more than just another pawn in his plan.

Scaramouche has decided to reward your hardest efforts with the most excruciating pain.

✿ Part two is now posted!

@ 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳 | please credit if reposted! ♡

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin fic

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kirathehyrulian · 2 months

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♥Help Milana Auction Winner for Art Offer #1♥ (placeholder): 🐟Ocean Fishing🐟

*Do not Repost, Alter, or Use without permission of @wetsammywinchester.*

This work was inspired from @wetsammywinchester 's J2 fic Enthrall (For better viewing on desktop, click the image, then right click the enlarged image, and then click "open image in new tab".)

For more stuff from me please check out my “myart” tag here on Tumblr or my AO3.

👇( wip screenshots and notes below the cut) 👇

For more detailed notes: [AO3 link]

Art Notes:

In early Oct 2019, a section of the creator community held/organized a fandom charity auction to help out a fellow creator who had fallen on hard times (for more info on the past auction click here). I offered three commissions towards the auction. Paula was gracious enough to bid for and win my 1st offer for $30.

The details of that offer was: One title card and one illustration for a fic.

Because life events and burnout got in the way we didn't finish talking out all the particulars, but I just decided to go ahead and make two illustrations for now, and if the particulars ever get fleshed out in the future, I'll do the official title card and illustration that more closely fits the story of the scene and overall feel that Paula would like to be depicted from the fic.

So these works are more a placeholder. I made these because it's always been in the back of my mind for 5 years now to complete the offer because that was 30 dollars donated with nothing given from my side to show for it. So at least now it has something to show for it even if it's not the official work that was supposed to be done.

WIP Screenshots:

This was the first sketch idea that I abandoned because I felt like I didn't know how to actually make it and Jared's face would be mostly hidden, which was not a good thing in my book. I succeed more with Jared's face than I do with Jensen. So I had no confidence going in for this idea:

I ended up settling for a sketch of mer!Jared in the water and then I later thought that just doing Jared wasn't fair so I made another canvas for a Jensen fisherman companion piece to the mer!Jared one. Also, I tried to make Jared look 14-ish because I was told Jensen was around 18 in the fic, but up to the view if the attempt translated well. And this is the wip of both of those:

The mer!Jared illustration obviously was more intricate so that process took longer and had more wip screenshots than the Jensen one. I admittedly was getting burnout when working on Jensen's so I took some shortcuts with the t-shirt decal and the bags and containers surrounding Jensen. I just found some images on google and traced them instead of eyeballing it which saved me time and effort that would have made the burnout worse to the point that I might have finishing this work a lot later than now. So I'm not upset or ashamed about doing it for that reason.

I started this project around Feb 8th this year and finished it all March 14th (today). And that's it for now. Thank you for getting this far and-

Enjoy, if you can!♥♥♥

#j2 rpf #spn rpf fanart #mer!jared #teen!j2 #supernatural rpf #mermaid au #jared/jensen #summer moods #help milana #myart

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lilyoffandoms · 10 months

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Choices Writer Appreciation Month

Based on this ask to @choicesmonthlychallenge.

The event will run August 1st-31st with a few extra days to catch up if needed.

Week 1 (Tuesday, August 1st through Monday, August 7th): Read and reblog, with a comment, at least one fic from your assigned secret writer.

Week 2 (Tuesday, August 8th through Monday, August 14th): Read and reblog, with a comment, at least one fic that another participant reblogged on week one.

Week 3 (Tuesday, August 15th through Monday, August 21st): Recommend at least one writer (any writer) and link to your favorite fic or fics from them.

Week 4 (Tuesday, August 22nd through Monday, August 28th, aka the best day): This week is optional, but highly encouraged by me hehe. Write a small fic/drabble/headcanons/etc. dedicated to your assigned writer from week one. Try and use their characters/pairings, or an AU with your pairings/characters and theirs.

How to participate:

Reblog this post stating your interest AND include the three or four fics you would have your secret match start with. You can also DM me stating your interest and 3-4 fic recs.

Deadline to participate is Saturday, July 29th. You will receive your match and their personal recommendations on Monday, July 31st at the latest.

You can read their recs or read any of their fics that interest you. Read and reblog, with a comment, any or all their recs or fics. It’s entirely up to you.

Please tag me in all reblogs and use #choiceswriterappreciation2023 so I can reblog and keep track.

Rules:

Be kind! This is meant to be a fun and supportive event.

If you cannot complete any of the first three weeks, please let me know asap. Life happens. Trust me, I really do get that. But don’t leave your match hanging. Tell me so I can find a replacement match.

Anyone that participates on week four will be entered to win a two character art commission for themself AND a two character art commission for their match.

Above all else, have fun discovering a new writer or maybe even an old favorite!

——————————

Tagging those that commented in the affirmative on the original ask: @kristinamae093 @karahalloway @choicesficwriterscreations @aallotarenunelma @tessa-liam @storyofmychoices

#playchoices #choices stories you play #choiceswriterappreciation2023 #what the hell do i tag this with 😅#i don’t even know what books are currently out #except the only one im interested in at the moment #thought about creating a separate tumblr for this but that is just too much work so you are stuck with this one #anyway as always here i be rambling in the tags because i can’t help myself

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epickiya722 · 2 months

Note

uve got me HOOKEDDD on the idea of an izuku & rumi friendship/mentorship bc like it occurred to me that not only do they both have the bunny motif, they both have the very specific motif of FERAL bunny - izuku both times katsuki nearly dies & the way he looked as a vigilante, and that one iconic panel of rumi rushing shigafo with both arms gone and her fangs bared like a Beast. like i can just imagine them training together postwar & rumi is going like "and so even if ur fuckin arms & legs are cut off or out of commission, just remember it is NOT the end and u CAN bite the fucker to death until u win 💪💪💪 can even play the long game and give em rabies" & izuku is just like ":OOO"

Anon, you have made me very happy, right now! 😭

For real though, being that both are my favorite characters of BNHA, I started to notice just how similar they are.

And it doesn't even stop at the rabbit thing!

I wrote at least three posts about how they're similar in other ways!

Post 1

Post 2

Post 3

Even wrote a fic where Miruko realizes how alike they're are and it was like "Well, damn, I got some self-reflection to do!"

I just... to me they're my duo! Like, it's a somewhat common concept, yeah, but the idea of Miruko mentoring Midoriya appealed to me. Again, they're both my favorite characters and they share similarities that don't just stop at them being like rabbits.

Bonus, take an account of All Might. When you really think about it, he also share some of those similarities.

Post 3 has a link to another post in which I talk about that and in this chapter of There's Miruko, There's Rumi, All Might has a talk with Miruko.

Oh, and there's this post!

They're like this to me.

All Might - Past

Miruko - Present

Deku - Future

#i rambled on a little #i just got excited #but I'm glad i got you hooked on the idea anon!#kiya answers #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #miruko #mirko #rumi usagiyama #usagiyama rumi #deku #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #all might #yagi toshinori #toshinori yagi

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uncouth-the-fifth · 2 years

Text

playing house, p. 1 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3. masterlist.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (vaguely kripke era).

Tags/Warnings: childhood friends-to-lovers, fluff, pining, undercover as a married couple, miiiight count as case fic, couples cruises, wingman!Dean, mermaids, sexual innuendos.

Word Count: 12,305

Notes: hiiii! this is my first ever commission, courtesy of the lovely @daiziesssart, my muse! she asked for: "a case. undercover fake dating. pining. unrequited love (that actually is very much so requited). dean wanting to die at how oblivious they are. the drama!!!" and i responded in turn with mermaids, wingmanning, and sam in sandals. enjoy 🥰

Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you confessed, “but I love hunting.”

By millionaire standards, your cabin couldn’t exactly be called luxurious. Bobby had called in a favor to “win” your tickets on board, so it wasn’t like you were pouring money into an ultra-fancy suite or anything. But, still. The thousands of cruddy motel rooms you’d stayed in throughout your life suddenly seemed cruddier. All the furniture was rich, dark wood, bolted to the wall so it wouldn’t sway with the ship. Your cabin was heady with the smell of fresh laundry and chlorine. A set of glass sliding doors lead out to the deck, just a few steps away from a horizon filled end to end with the black, breathing, glittering sea. You didn’t even have to flip on the lights; the moon cast its full figure over the ocean, flushing your room with silver light. Being on a cruise ship all weekend was sweet enough on its own, but your room sealed the deal. This was the best hunt you’d ever been on. Period.

Sam peered in from over your shoulder, blinking fast in disbelief. You side-stepped so he could go in first, and Sam teetered in, weighed down by two armfuls of luggage and a strange emotion that neither of you could name. He stared round’ at your cabin for a long time, before finally thunking down his burden in the middle of the room. The ceiling was low enough to warrant him ducking his head a bit. You got the feeling Sam would duck his head anyway. Neither of you had ever slept in a room this nice before, on or off a hunt.

Hip-checking the door shut behind you, you flipped on the lights and gave him a moment to settle how he was feeling. Sam’s reflection in the mirror above the bed was quiet, pleased, and melancholy all at once, especially when he twisted back to smile at you.

“For once…” Sam said, “I think I might agree with you.”

With that, you fell into the familiar rhythm of unpacking your things, picking slowly through your room. It took four times longer than usual since Sam had never packed for a vacation before. It looked to you like he’d brought his entire life with him, and considering you’d done the same, you had two huge suitcases of bullshit and a duffle of gear that Bobby had smuggled in for you. Without Dean taking part in your new-motel-room ritual like he always did, things were… domestic. Sam put all of your toiletries next to his in your shared bathroom. You brushed your teeth together there, bumping shoulders and grazing each other when you used the faucet. Sam even gave you his pillow-mint (which was honestly something you thought hotels only did in the movies).

He was without question your best friend. You’d shared everything in your life with him since you were little, so none of the old motions should’ve felt different. But there was something new in all of it this time—sharing a bed, turning your back when the other changed in the same room—and you knew what it was, and Sam knew what it was.

For the weekend, at least, you’d have to get used to those feelings. This was a couple’s cruise, and the two of you had been cast as the couple.

Bobby and Rufus had pinned down this hunt a crazy long time ago. Two men, then three, then four, had all disappeared out to sea while on a couple’s cruise in the Hawaiian islands. The interesting part was that they’d apparently all gone willingly to their deaths—a number of witnesses had watched one victim go stumbling over the railing, and his wife claimed he’d heard singing in his final moments. All four men had been mending their relationships with wives they’d been unfaithful to. All four men had gone missing on the same massive boat, far too big for a two-person hunt. Bobby and Rufus needed people, and Dean had signed the three of you on the second he heard the phrase: “bloodthirsty mermaids luring men to their doom.”

You’d sat around Bobby’s kitchen in Dakota, strategizing and sipping beer. Mermaids had been hunted to near-extinction during the golden age of piracy (man, had Sam and Dean geeked out about that), but Rufus was confident that at least one of them was skulking around this cruise-line. Your primary weapon against them would be an amulet Bobby had collected, which would burn hot in the presence of a mermaid—and hopefully wouldn’t burn your collarbones too much when you wore it.

“The rest of us will be working on the crew, but… two of you are gonna pose as a couple,” Bobby had said.

Naturally, this was met with uproar. Dean smacked both hands down on your shoulders and shouted dibs, Sam whacked him across the back of the head for objectifying you, and you cackled, gloating over the sunbathing time you were sure to get regardless.

Bobby had to bark over the bickering. “Shut up, all of you! This isn’t some cutesy vacation—people are dying here. We aren’t getting a second shot at this. Now… Dean, Y/N?”

Dean had wiggled his fingers on your shoulders, brimming with excitement. Which, to your horror, slowly dawned into mischief. One of his hands had slid off you to clap Sam on the arm. You didn’t have to see Dean’s face to know he was grinning, all teeth, and in the moment you’d doomed yourself, certain that he wouldn’t give up a Hawaiian cruise for anything.

Except, apparently, to make you his sister-in-law.

“Actually, Bobby…” he hummed, making your stomach drop and your heart restart at the same time. “I think I’ll drop out to stick with you guys on the crew. M’ more cut out to gank mermaids, anyway, not futzing around in dad shorts. Sam can cover for me, can’t you, Sammy?”

He’d crossed his arms and sunk lower in his seat. “If Y/N’s comfortable with that.”

“I wo—” you started, but Dean’s booming laugh had rolled right over whatever you’d planned to say. “Oh, c’mon. You’d be way more comfortable strutting around as Sam’s girl, wouldn’t you?”

The roaring blush pushing against your skin was easier to suppress with your heel digging into Dean’s foot beneath the table. He pinched your shoulder hard, and there you played a silent, wincing game of chicken while Bobby and Rufus exchanged a very unsubtle glance.

“That’ll work,” Rufus had decided, stumbling over Bobby’s desperately-trying-to-be-neutral hums of approval.

“Perfect. Yep. That’ll be just perfect,” Bobby had nodded. They’d brushed their hands over their faces, trying to hide their knowing grins, and not for the first time, you wondered what it would take to convince Cas to wipe Sam’s memory of this moment. What, did everyone and their grandma know about your crush on him?

Now, rooted to the floor in thought, you found your gaze sliding to where Sam was shoving his shoes on at the end of his—your shared bed. You were both dressed in vacationers’ clothes. His hair was fluffy from the shower he’d indulged before you’d left, and after the eight-hour drive to port, sleep had softened his eyes and his brow. Sam scrubbed his eyes with his wrist, blinking slow. An anxious sinkhole opened in your chest. There wasn’t much you wouldn’t do to save some lives, but if you had to play a part, you didn’t want the price to be your friendship with him. It’d kept you alive for so long that you couldn’t picture what your life would be without it. Every inch of it was cliche and stupid, and of all people, Sam deserved to have that effort put in for him.

You rolled around everything you wanted to explain to him in your head, but none of it sounded right. Somehow, you landed on: “You think it’s gonna be weird, pretending to be married?”

Sam shrugged. “We did it all the time when we were kids, playin’ house.” He closed the zipper of his boot, flashing you an innocent smile. “Can’t be that different, right?”

“Yeah…” A slow smirk unsheathed on your face. “I guess we are a little experienced here. You can be the Dad and I can be the Mom—”

Sam finished your thought, “and Dean can be our family dog, just like old times.”

The laugh that pealed out of you was a little too real for your line of work, so Sam’s grin instantly grew at the sound of it, pushing into his dimples. He didn’t join you. Just sat there and beamed, choking your entire body with flustered heat on the weight of his eyes alone. Dean ribbed him all the time for being shy around girls, but Jesus, Sam had to be doing at least some of this on purpose. If he looked at you like that—all genuine and appreciative just cause’ you were laughing at what he said—any longer, you’d start twirling an imaginary phone cord and kicking your feet. Asshole.

You tried to work the sudden dryness out of your mouth, awkwardly bubbling, “I can’t believe your brother ever went along with that. Wasn’t he our car once, too?”

Sam finally tore his eyes away, focussing his smile on his other boot instead. “Yeah. Put us on his back and ran around with us like that, makin’ car sounds n’ everything.”

What Sam had failed to mention was just how involved your games of house were. You had loads of vague memories in Bobby’s yard, of itty-bitty Sam, of the old kitchen toy set that Bobby had bought at a garage sale. The ancient hunk of plastic was baked white by the sun, so the little clock and oven stickers had peeled right off, leaving plenty of room for spiders to live. It was probably still sitting in Bobby’s shed somewhere. But you’d loved it, dirt and all, because it was often the one game that you and bossy Sam could agree on. One of you would be the Worker, who carted around an empty toolbox as a briefcase and went to work. (Or, futzed around in the treeline for however long). The other would be the Wife—you or Sam, whoever won the right to play with the kitchen first—who’d make an appetizing dinner out of whatever the hell was in Bobby’s yard. If you ever repeated these stories out loud you’d probably get a couple patronizing awwws. But really, those memories were the purest in a brief and impure childhood.

It was kind of cute, looking at the Sam you knew today and weighing him against that little boy. The one who’d fake-kiss you at the door of your “house” after an arduous day at “work”, whisk you away to your dinner table (an overturned storage tub), and pretend to prepare dinner for you (a bucket of pebbles). Stepping back, it was a bigger facet of your relationship with Sam than you’d expect—the two of you, hinged on all those dying memories.

“You were a really cute kid,” you thought aloud, tucking your pistol into your waistband. “Real sweet. S’ a real shame you’re such a dork now.”

“Hilarious,” Sam drawled.

It was sickening, how many butterflies one word could summon.

He drew up to his full height, scooped your jacket off the bed, and tossed it your way. Bobby wanted full reconnaissance on the ship before most of the activities started tomorrow, so you and Sam geared up for an innocent and not-at-all-observational couple’s walk. Sam had even changed into a pair of flamingo beach shorts, which you definitely stopped yourself from grinning evilly over. It was bizarre, seeing him in civilian clothes. Like you really were playing house.

“You know, speaking as a veteran house player, I doubt you stand a chance against me,” you airly dared.

Sam’s nose scrunched. “How can you even be good at that?”

“Playing your part?” You guessed. “And I play a damn good wife. I can do all sorts of wife things, like… I make really good coffee… I give good backrubs,” Sam hums (this is true). “Why do you think Bobby made me the girl, Sam?”

“Cause Rufus didn’t want to wear a bikini?”

You swatted Sam on the arm, all too aware of how giggly he made you. Already, you were slipping. Maybe you should’ve pushed to do this with Dean instead. Some cons and hunts had needed you to play husband and wife before, and the whole time, things had been peaceful and buddy-buddy, if anything. You could suffer through Dean being annoying for a few days. That was better than the real, bloody-chested anguish that punctuated every joke Sam made, or the insane chain-reaction that occurred in your body when you thought about… You. Mrs. Winchester. Being Sam’s wife. Drawing him a bath when he was tired… comforting him as he laid his head in your lap, or laughing with him like you did any other day, with the priceless bonus of kissing him right after. With Dean, things would be fine—you’d goof off or make a big joke out of it. But with Sam…

You lingered by the door, ankles pressed together, and smoothed down the skirt of your sundress. The amulet you’d use to track the mermaid sort of clashed with your clothes, but it was nautical and beachy enough to become unassuming. That wasn’t the piece of jewelry you were most concerned about, though.

Sam joined you by the door. He gave you a bracing look as you hovered across from each other, then with an air of finality, dragged his necklace over his head. The two rings hung on the chord were simple, vintage, and a little unclean. He untied the necklace’s knot and let the jewelry pool into his palm, which he opened to you.

You plucked out Mary Winchester’s wedding ring and closed your fist around it, feeling the single tear-drop diamond in the middle of the band jut against your skin.

After a nervous breath, you turned it over and slid it onto your ring finger. Or, you tried to, but Mary’s hands were—had been—smaller than yours. You struggled for a minute, fighting with it around your knuckle, then gave up totally in case you happened to break one of the few living artifacts that Sam had of his mom. He scooped up your hand without question to help. Sam’s eyes were soft but intent, his touch even softer as he helped wiggle on the old ring.

“There,” he said, overlapping awkwardly with your, “I can—”

You halted, gazing at each other, your fingers still draped in Sam’s much bigger hand, and he answered your shared awkwardness by jutting out the other ring at you. The deep draw of his breath from his lungs seemed to fill the dead-silent room. You traded hands so Sam’s fingers, long and calloused, were folded in yours like yours had been in his. John Winchester’s wedding band was simple and gold. It took a little twisting to get it on Sam’s left hand, but it suited him in an understated, honest sort of way.

When he drew away, the touch of his fingertips tingled all over yours in a few invisible ink-prints, sinking immediately into your flesh. You hadn’t even realized it, but your heart was pounding viciously in your ears.

Swallowing, you tried to give Sam a winning smile. “I, um, I-I know I told you and Dean a hundred times already, but—”

Sam finished your thought with a trusting nod. “You won’t lose it,” he said, “I know you won’t.”

And that was that. Sam twisted away to give your salt-lines one last glance, and the millisecond you were in the clear your ring hand darted self-consciously to your stomach. It didn’t feel heavy or different. You thought it might. Bobby had wanted to thrift the rings, but Sam hadn’t wanted to waste resources when there were two good ones right around his brother’s neck. It wasn’t smart to keep the dead’s belongings around unburned and unsalted, but they were Dean’s heirloom, so nobody could really nag him for it. Mary had died with her engagement band on. Sam figured that she’d left her wedding one on the nightstand so she wouldn’t lose it, and forgot it the night she went to check on him.

The air must’ve been getting a little too emotional for him, because Sam cleared his throat. “For the record,” he said, “I’m going to kick your ass at house. I’m going to be the best husband you’ll ever have.”

Your heart was still racing a hundred miles ahead of you, so your voice might’ve shaken. “Oh yeah?”

“I am,” Sam boasted, cracking a careful grin. “I’m gonna… carry all your things… open doors for you, and I’ll even throw my jacket over puddles before you walk over them. Good husband stuff.”

Yeah. Maybe it was a little obvious that the only marriage you’d ever seen was on TV, but the warm, shivery feeling rippling through you now was nothing but real.

“Alright,” you decided, and notched up your chin. “Prove it.”

Sam significantly notched down his, leveling your faces, and taunted, “I will.”

True to his word, Sam slipped behind you, opened the door for you, and bowed with a flourish. He gestured outside for you, ring winking in the light. “Missus Patton,” Sam gleamed.

Even if it was an alias, it charged your body with the same energy that Mrs. Winchester would.

“Mister Patton,” you curtseyed, and resolved to leave him in your house-playing dust.

Your walk was uneventful, but fruitful, leaving you and Sam with a good idea of where everything was on the ship. It was a miracle you could even form a mental map of the place, since the cruise was unfortunately fantastic at its job—things were very romantic. A big butter moon poured over a misty sea. There was a thunderstorm trembling on the horizon, and all you could see of it were these mystifying flashes of light, illuminating Sam in handsome shades of dark blue and brief white. Few people were outside because of it, giving the two of you ample privacy. You were the perfect distance from the storm, leaving you dry but privy to mother nature’s display. A rain-damp wind fluttered Sam’s hair around his face. It made him look regal, powerful, like how you always figured angels looked, electric-eyed and unfettered. It was stupid, how much you liked him and his dumb majestic face.

Your circuit around the ship’s decks probably wasn’t the ultimate scouting mission Bobby and Rufus were imagining. The first thing you’d done was one-up Sam for the door holding, which you accomplished by smoothing your hand into his. This was not grade-school hand-holding with three feet between you. You were not about to lose to a Winchester, so you went all in, snaking your arm down Sam’s solid one and giving the warm center of his palm a delighted squeeze. And Sam was no chicken either, so he refused to let go even when it became inconvenient. He tethered you to him the whole time, drawing you into his side each time you were separated by stairs or slim doorways. At first it was playful. You’d give him mean little tugs when he was in your way and Sam would do it right back, sniping about how clammy your palm was. (He was the sweaty one, mind you). But eventually your focus shifted to your task instead, so Sam’s occasional squeeze or brushing thumb faded into strange immediate normalcy. It was chilly, too, and sometimes the roar of the thunder warranted worming closer to him. Sam was so warm.

After an hour’s worth of scouting, you returned to your room to report to Bobby, Rufus, and Dean. You prepared yourself by guessing any number of jokes they could make at your and Sam’s expense. He got the door open one-handed, drawing you in behind him. It was only once you were inside that he released you, jokingly scrubbing his sweatier hands on his shorts, and rang up Bobby as the two of you got ready for bed.

“So,” Dean shouts into the speakerphone the instant Sam’s done briefing Bobby. “What’re the sleeping arrangements like up there, huh, newlyweds? Back-to-back? Spooning? Sam’s a big ol’ cuddlebug, ____, so you should take full advantage.”

You and Sam jammed the end call button in unison.

Sam respectfully allowed you to decide your sleeping arrangements. You knew it’d be crueler than cruel to deprive Sam of an awesome vacation-suite bed, so you shared it, you on your favorite side and Sam on the other.

Before you turned out the lights, you plucked up the snuggly robe from your bathroom and presented it to Sam. It was a fancy navy color and probably a little small on him. When he questioned you with a dry look, you smirked, “Good wife things, Sammy,” and promptly tossed it over his face.

“It’s Sam,” he muffled. You could hear the smile in his voice.

You abused every luxury your room had that most motels didn’t, including the in-cabin A/C. Sam cranked it all the way up, making your heavy, toasty covers even cozier. It was a bed in a ship’s cabin, though, so it was a little short, leaving Sam’s legs to hang off the freezing edge. Sometime in the night he migrated diagonally to fit. You'd shared a bed with Sam enough times to anticipate his habits (he laid dead still on his stomach, almost unbreathing, like a gunshot victim), but… Of course, the suite changed things. Sam's body heat leached closer and closer to your side of the bed, flooding your nose and your mind with the woody smell of him. The covers were nice, but the way Sam weighed down the mattress seemed even better than heavy blankets. When he would turn over and face you in his sleep, every hair on your body stood on expectant end. He was just… huge, and encompassing, which made laying with a foot between you a punishment worthy of the underworld. Sisyphus pushed a boulder up a hill for all eternity, Tantalus couldn't reach drink or food, and you laid there, chilly and yearning, with Sam warm and cuddly just inches away. Get a grip, girl. It was pathetic, how badly you wanted to turn over and draw him in. Sam had always been a cuddler.

His socks and ankles mingled with yours until morning, the two of you wriggling comfortably into the nicest bed you’d ever slept in.

For day one, it was your job to find your monster-of-the-week and hunt down any potential vics. If that was even possible. The mermaids had all gone for unfaithful men, and on a couple’s cruise built specifically for mending patchy marriages, that meant a seriously massive victim pool. The brochure had even featured his-and-her matching counseling sessions. Your best hope was Bobby’s amulet, which Castiel had lent credence to as some kind of Atlantian artifact. Regardless, all you had to do to make it work was… walk around.

“Yeah,” you breathed in the warm tropical air, sighing, “this is officially the best hunt we’ve ever done.”

Sam tipped back his head, exposing his building tan to the clear sky. “No kidding.”

With the sun high and the thunderstorm behind you, it was blazing and beautiful out. A sweet-smelling sea wind fluttered each tablecloth and skirt on the dining floor, including yours, stirring today’s sundress around your legs. Everyone was out for breakfast and chattering about the ocean view, which was an endless sheet of glittering blue stretching for miles in every direction. You’d technically seen the ocean a fair share of times in your life—off the Long Island Sound hunting a wraith, the Gulf of Mexico chasing sirens in Houston—but there was something different about being off-land. It was all-encompassing. The sea was everywhere and you were just a speck bobbing on its surface. Considering the weird number of times in your life when God had singled out you and the boys, it was a humbling feeling. You liked it.

Beside you, Sam looked just as pleased. He’d let himself get more comfortable than usual for this job, so the top button of his shirt was undone—and the second, and the third, leaving a whole lot of collar room and very little of your sanity. The last of your spraying sunscreen had been used on him, so the bold curves of his arms and the soft lines of his throat all gleamed in the sunlight. His skin was tacky with it too, so when you bumped into each other your skin melted into his. He adjusted his sunglasses against the light, making his wedding ring glitter. Sam was unfortunately and unbelievably kissable. You were not the first person on board to notice this.

A few of the tables closest to you leaned out of their way to blink at him behind their smoothies, and even if the stares were innocent or surface-level, you felt suddenly protective of him. You shifted to grab for Sam’s hand only to find it already looking for yours, uncomfortable at the sudden attention from one side of the railing.

As you pulled each other aside to study the deck, Sam rested his knuckles against the exposed skin of your back and skirted closer to murmur in your ear. “Looks like I might be able to get something out of the people at the buffet… Why don’t I get us breakfast while you look around?”

“You’re the boss,” you joked, since Sam was smart enough to know that he was definitely not the boss.

Sam broke away to get breakfast, and without thinking about it, you both let your hands trail, the sun-warmed tips of his fingers gliding all the way to the ends of yours until he was gone. It was so intimate so fast that your face combusted on the spot, heat sizzling up to your ears and squirming in your cheeks and neck. You were rigged in place for the following minute. Sam teetered off toward his task, hands folded behind his back as casual as could be. If he started whistling or something, you were pretty sure you’d kill him. Kiss him. Something.

You pretended your stillness was purposeful, looking for a target to settle on. The dining pavilion was one huge part of the second deck, a swath of crisp white tables under a big canopy, all in some fancy glass structure you were too poor to name. (Sam would probably know the name). For breakfast, the place was one step below average capacity. The air tinkled with the wind-chime talk of veteran vacationers and first-timers alike. For a moment you were a little overwhelmed by your own place in this ecosystem, since you looked and acted nothing like the trophy wives and businessmen swimming all around you. You’re supposed to be playing house, you reminded yourself, so play.

An employee across the floor was laughing with a group of arriving older women, all apparently familiar with each other. Long-term stay-ins, maybe? If they knew the employees… They might a good source of information.

You pulled a five-dollar bill from your wallet and strolled toward them. When you were close enough to notice, you stooped toward the ground, then came up with the bill unfolded in your hand. “Excuse me, ma’am? I’m sorry, but did one of you drop this?”

They turned toward you as one, all of them one wave in an ocean of flowy dresses and trendy jumpsuits. You felt out-numbered, but not necessarily in a bad way. The one nearest to you, mousy and gray-haired with her purse in hand, perked up.

“Well, there I go again,” she laughed at herself. “Must’ve dropped it while I was futzing around with this boulder,” she waved her purse, taking an armful of rattling jewelry with it. “Thank you, Miss…?”

“Patton. ____ Patton.”

And that was your in. With a little joking and a little part-playing, you had them fascinated. You made conversation, sorting through small-talk for any useful information, assured that you’d found the right crowd. Most if not all of them were third or fourth-timers, and two of them had been aboard for the other deaths. Perfect. You were ushered over to their regular table, making a point to save a seat to your left.

“And who are you here with, dear?”

Alright. Time to put your acting skills to the test. Panic’s stronger, heartsick cousin caught in your chest at the question. You told yourself that the risk factor was feeding you some adrenaline, but you were a shit liar. Brimming with a bit too much enthusiasm, you sorted through the people lined up for the buffet and pointed out the tallest one. The cheek-aching smile you usually tamped down around Sam bloomed in full on your face.

“Him,” you smirked. “Tall, dark, and handsome over there.”

Your new friends laughed at your joke, then immediately stopped laughing, followed by a lot of flustered giggling, face-fanning with drink menus, and disbelieving glances. It was impossible to blame them. Sam had tilted his shades into his hair, and from this angle he was nothing but barely-hidden back muscle and mole-speckled neck.

On your right, another woman pressed an acrylic nail against her chin, biting her lip and taking a long, long look at Sam and Sam’s shoulders. “Please tell me he’s…” she hoped.

“My husband,” you dryly clarified, and failed to trap even your imaginary smugness behind your grin as they groaned. The heat on your face was so intense it could’ve turned water to steam, so you scooped up your glass and held the icy drink against your cheek, grateful for the hazy weather as cover.

Your answer earned a table’s worth of joking sighs of disappointment and teasing pouts, which was funny at first, until you remembered that the monster you were hunting ate unfaithfuls. Sometimes whole. Bobby had used the words gizzard, regurgitate, and pellet, so you’d tried not to think about it. Mermaids ate disloyal men, sure, but rules could always change. Maybe these women were only teasing, but you were starting to understand why the mermaid(s) had chosen this hunting ground in particular. Regardless, you were going to be the most loyal fake-wife of all time, just in case.

“And here he comes now,” you chimed.

Sam appeared, looking exactly how most dads on vacation thought they looked. He was even wearing sandals—Jesus, if his brother could see him now. He swooped behind you, flashing the table a dimply smile as he went, balancing your plates in both hands. His performance was… interesting. Sam stood at his full height like he never did at home. His bangs were astray around his eyes, and his walk was lazy, content. It settled on you hard that you recognized the sexy smile Sam was putting on, since he’d been practicing it on you ever since Bobby had found this hunt. Ever since he knew you’d be paired up like this. Knowing that Sam was doing all of it on purpose gave you some sympathy for these poor women; little did they know, an evil genius was hiding behind those precious, disarming puppy dog eyes. They couldn’t read him like you could, so each and every one of them missed the competition glowing off him on a ten-thousand-volt battery.

I’m fucked, you realized.

“Hey, beautiful,” Sam said, and the smugness was in his eyes too, tallying a mental point for himself. “I made sure to load it up with all your favorites.”

…Which was true. Sam set the plate of breakfast he’d cultivated down in front of you, and just as promised, it was filled with all the food you liked most. It took every inch of your willpower not to glare straight into his soul, since deep down you knew you’d inflicted this on yourself. Sam had sworn that he’d go all in, so he had. You’d dared him to. Now, you were suffering the consequences. Sam had earned his first Husband Point for breakfast—but so long as you lived, it was going to be his last.

“Hi, baby,” you beamed back, a challenge in itself.

As he slid away, he punctuated his leave with a sweet, warm, adoring kiss on your cheek, effectively taking a match to your composure and soaking it with kerosene. That was two points. Christ.

Sam straightened, dropping a loving hand on your shoulder and rolling right into his charming routine. “I hope I’m not interrupting?” Sam winced to the table, his voice handsome and polite.

The table of women tripped over themselves to invite Sam to sit, chorusing from every angle, never, sweetie, and stuttering, not at all! Sam made a big show of thanking them for their kindness as he claimed his spot next to you. You’re on idea number four of ways to get back at Sam when he reaches between you, grabs the closest rung below your seat, pins you down with eye-contact electric enough to blow a transformer, and physically drags your chair so it’s flush to his. So you’re flush to him. When there’s not even an inch between your seats, he brings an arm around your back and single-handedly robs you of your grip on reality. Three points. A million points.

Holy shit. He was not messing around. Not even a little bit. Where had this Sam come from?

Sam turns in to whisper against your ear. “If you get uncomfortable, just tap me a couple times, okay?”

Right. Of course. Almost forgot which brother you were dealing with here. You nod a little too much, the entire left side of your body warmed by Sam and Sam’s ridiculously good-smelling skin. Where was he getting the money for fancy body wash? Or shampoo?

Dimly, you thought you heard one of the other women at the table commenting on how cute the two of you were, but your ears were elsewhere. This reeks of Dean’s influence. Who else could’ve taught Sam this conniving, evil… comfy… romantic… bullshit?

“Colleen! Sophia!”

Speak of the devil.

At first, you thought you were hallucinating. Sam’s finger was drawing circles on your furthest shoulder, successfully sending tingles through your entire nervous system. That’s dream material. But Dean appearing in a waiter’s uniform sounds more like a weird fever dream, and mixing the two genres is a little weird, so you wake up from your Sam-touch-coma long enough to check. Dean is at your table. He’s got a pitcher of water in one hand and a polo with the cruise line's logo on the breast, chipper and annoying and grinning like a shark at the two of you. Sam jerks up in his seat.

“Ladies!” Dean chimes, flashing the dazzling smile that apparently runs in his family. “How’s it goin’? S’ good to see you, too. Refills? Alriiight. Chelsea, doll, is that you down there? How’d that shuffleboard round go with Jason, eh?”

This is not what you’d imagined when Bobby had said they’d be on the crew. Dean begins his route around the table, stopping for conversation, to whistle, and to fill cups as your hosts take sips off the top of their already filled glasses. Just to milk as much out of you and Sam as he possibly can. He wouldn’t dare blow your cover. But Dean’s clever, and more importantly, a villain, since he throws you suggestive looks whenever he can and gestures lewdly between you and Sam. You already know that you’re going to stomp on his foot as hard as you can when he gets around to you. In solidarity, Sam’s shoe slides over too.

“What about you, Mr. and Mrs. Patton?” Sofia probes with impeccable timing. “How long have the two of you been married?”

You made sure to answer before Sam could swoop in and steal the win out from under you. Between being embarrassed by Dean and outdone by Sam, you don’t like your odds, but you can’t let both of them win. You decide to go for the greater evil.

“Six years now this week,” you sighed, low dreamy eyes, clasped hands and all. Hopefully, you don’t sound too murderous. Or obvious. You turn in to admire Sam, faces just a few sparse inches apart with how you’re sitting, and cup his jaw in one hand to pet his stubble with your fingers. “But I’ve been stuck with this rascal for much longer.”

For the three seconds that you’re eye-to-eye, Sam almost breaks character. He presses it down with all he’s got, but whatever he’s feeling is apparently much stronger, because even Dean’s circling presence doesn’t stop the flash of shyness that jumps across his face. He’s hauling his gaze away from you right away, but you’d caught it.

Underneath his performance, Sam was unbelievably, recklessly flustered. Over just one little touch to his face. Maybe you did have a chance to beat him at this, then. The suave confidence that Sam had magicked into existence crumbled instantly, just because you’d stroked his cheek.

You had no clue you had that kind of effect on him. Damn.

“N-Not long enough,” Sam coughs.

The two of you start to scrounge up intel from your hosts. Well, you do, Sam does his best impression of someone honed in on the conversation, his arm around you dead still. The scene on the ship is pretty tame, according to the other women. You’re recommended fun couple’s activities; there’s an entire game deck, a spa, and a dozen pools, among several other possible mermaid locales.

“But… if I were you,” Chelsea warns, sounding grave, “don’t stay out at the bar too late. Kelly’s husband had his drink dosed last night, and they never found the culprit. Luckily, we got him before anything could happen, but…”

“That’s awful,” you frowned. “Sam and I will make sure to watch out. Did you, uh, happen to see it when they dosed him?”

“No,” Kelly shook her head, shrugging sadly. “He’d barely touched his drink, but he was… definitely under something, so we figured that’s what happened. He’s okay now, though. Just… be careful.”

You drummed your fingers on the table. “Hmm.”

That sounded like mermaid song to you. A drunken, out-of-his-mind male victim fit the bill. Man, this job was just getting better and better—you’d found these women right away. Maybe you’d find the mermaid(s) even faster, and end up with a day or two to spare. They must’ve spared Kelly’s husband because they didn’t want any more witnesses. With this many kills under their belt now, they needed to keep a seriously low profile. Thank god for evil businessmen keeping the cruiseline working despite the deaths, since it made your wild goose chase much shorter.

While you’re learning more from Chelsea, in your peripherals, Dean mimes something to Sam that the others at your table can’t see. Coaching him. Right on cue, you feel Sam’s arm give you a warm squeeze that flutters through your whole body and invites you closer to him. The second you glance at Dean both of his arms fly back down to his sides, and it all comes together.

Those cheaters. Dean was helping him!

You glare Sam’s brother off the dining floor, and make sure to linger on the door he scampers out of in case he dares to intervene again. Over your breakfast plate, you immediately get to overthinking. There was only one motive Dean would have for helping his brother romance you (see file: making you his sister-in-law), but Sam was… taking your challenge seriously? Going above and beyond for this hunt? It was unorthodox. Any guess you could come up with didn’t really suit the reasonable, emotionally-aware Sam that you knew. Except for one. Which you thought about. A lot.

Dean couldn’t have told him, right? He joked and he prodded, but you’d asked Dean personally to leave your feelings for his brother alone. There was so much going on in your lives at any given time—and adding unrequited love to the mix would royally fuck with the dynamic you’d treasured for years. You could keep it to yourself and Dean could make his jokes, but Sam could never know. Ever. At least, he’d never hear it from you.

It’d taken ages, but after a hundred nights sharing curbs across the country with him, Sam had opened up to you. Relationships… aren’t really a possibility for me anymore, he’d told you. Besides… you and Dean are my life. There’s not really room for anyone else, is there?

He’d made sure there wasn’t. Since he’d joined you and Dean, you’d never even seen him look anywhere else but the road in front of him and his brother. If he ever looked back, it was to your face in the rear-view mirror. It broke your heart for him, but you understood what he was saying. A relationship would never work on the road. You, yourself, hadn’t considered dating since high school, given that the boys were everything you needed anyway. You could be at the altar and if either one of them called you, there was no doubt in your mind that you’d throw off your veil and bounce.

Sam had never… You’d never labeled what he felt for you that way. Hunting was—strange, and hunting together even moreso, since it took simple relationships and knotted them together so fiercely that they were indistinguishable from love. Any kind of love. You’d held Dean’s stomach together after hellhounds had torn him apart, up to your elbows in his blood. And Sam—you’d taken the clothes off your back to keep him warm, dragged him half-dead to home on a broken leg and faith, murdered for him, died for him, and lived for him, simply because he was Sam and Sam was your everything. Without question. You’d laid dying beside him, bleeding out, abandoned and alone, his blood-slick hand growing weaker in yours. Each of the boys owned a piece of you and you owned a piece of them. Anyone could mistake that ride-or-die devotion for romantic love.

By god, you wanted to translate Sam that way. But that’s what hunting had turned all of you into, so you couldn’t be sure that Sam had those kinds of feelings for you. It hurt. Frankly, it sucked. It sucked even more because you swore you saw it in Sam all the time. But finding out the truth could mean detangling that devotion, and there was nothing you wouldn’t do to keep that insane, mangled ball of obsession and friendship the way it was.

Still. You couldn’t explain why Sam would ask his brother for help on this kind of thing, and your crush on him demanded that you question it. This was exactly what you’d been worried about, going undercover as Sam’s… wife. You knew that you’d start questioning everything he did, hoping, wishing, and picking at his every move, just in case you saw something you pretended you weren’t looking for.

You turned your ring around your finger, wondering.

Sam tilted closer to you, all sense of shyness or guile wiped clean. He looked worried, whispering, “You okay? You’re making your overthinking face.”

“S’ nothing, Sam,” you stared at him, “just got something on my mind…”

With the two of you having at least something of a lead on the mermaids’ hunting grounds, Sam called Bobby to report your findings. You’d wanted to stay as separate as possible, just in case somebody pinned the five of you as co-conspirators, so Bobby surprised you by requesting to meet in person. You agreed on an alcove by the maintenance rooms, not wanting to be overheard.

You and Sam beat Bobby there. Considering how leisurely your walk down had been, you were expecting to be a little late. After fighting through the growing crowds, you and Sam had lingered by the railings of the upper decks, mystified by the magnitude of the swaying, lively ocean. The sea breeze was no less beautiful, especially when it fluttered Sam’s shirt around his waist and tousled his hair so sweetly. A default part of your disguise had quickly become hand-holding, so each of your hands had already taken a turn being warmed in Sam’s. You were falling into your roles still.

Though you registered that you were on a couple’s cruise, seeing all the other couples around you made you itch. They lounged in twin beach chairs, kissed, shared sips of champagne out of one glass, kissed, wrapped their arms around each other, and also kissed. A lot. They would share a joke and complete it with a kiss. They would stare out at the sea, catch eyes, and seal the moment with a sweet peck. They would be lounging beside each other at breakfast, turn in and kiss. Everywhere you went, your eyes found the first lip-locked couple without fail. It put your brain on its most basic setting, so all it could supply was: They’re a couple. They’re kissing. Sam and I are a couple. We could kiss. Sam. Kissing. Wow.

Now, you were navigating your way around the maintenance floor, hand in hand with him. Everything echoed in the tight metal hallways. The unused ones remained dark, so you stuck to those as best you could. The hissing of machinery and the deep, chest-rumbling purr of the ship gave you a good amount of cover. You probably weren’t supposed to be down here, but slipping around some ship staff was child’s play for two capable hunters, and you’d only speak to Bobby for a moment anyway.

Sam was quietly rattling off his thoughts about the case when, boom, you stopped mid-step around a corner and reeled you both back. Footsteps ahead. The sound bounced off the walls in circles, making it hard to say where they were coming from. Shit. Come on.

You bunched up in the nearest corner you could find. As in, you bodily wheeled sideways and slapped Sam into the wall, then yourself into him, safely hidden in the blindspot of a doorway.

Sam stilled. You both held your breath.

The footsteps passed, and the idle whistling of the employee they belonged to disappeared down the other end of the hall. But the echo confused you and the employee was really taking his time, because you were pressed against Sam that way for ages, smushing you both out of sight. You’d put on a stern face and readied yourself for trouble, only to miserably fail at… focussing. Thinking. Or feeling anything, past the sensitive, tingling air between your face, throat, chest, and hands.

Both of your fists were in the front of Sam’s shirt, frozen where they’d maneuvered him out of sight. His heart was loud enough to hear beneath your knuckles. The rest of your body only sent out signals where it was linked to Sam’s, so everything but your stomach pressed against his and your knees knocking together was filtered away. It had to have only lasted a few breaths. But your mind ran rampant for so long that time passed in hours, keeping you there. Lifting your head even an inch would put your mouth right across from Sam’s, so you kept your chin ducked, almost into his chest. The open collar of his shirt. The smooth, sexy scooping lines of his collarbones. Hell. To your own embarrassment, your fucking mouth started to water, since your body had a mind of its own today. His warm breath fluttered across your cheek and hair, cloying with the honey-sweet smell of the fruit he’d had for breakfast. Jesus, Sam.

“Good instincts,” Sam blushed.

You blinked. You hadn’t even heard the footsteps fade. “Thank you,” you answered on autopilot.

You didn’t release his shirt. Sam didn’t ask you to. You managed to step back an inch, giving Sam room to breathe that he instead used to watch you curiously. Finally, your fingers unwound, raw from how hard they’d clenched around his shirt.

“Sorry,” you said, scrambling to explain yourself. “I’m lost in my head a bit, trying to finish this job… y’know. S’...”

“...a huge victim pool, with a small timeframe to match,” Sam finished your thought. He was blushing like a cartoon, his moles lost in planes of red. “It’s okay. I’m frazzled too. I didn’t even hear that guy coming, to be honest with you.”

“I guess we’re both a little off our game,” you smirked.

“You? Never.” Sam scoff-laughed, and you wanted so badly to fist your hands into his shirt, cram him up against that wall again and kiss him stupid, since that’s exactly how he made you feel. Stupid. Breathless. Kissed all over.

Standing across from you in the hall, Sam opened his left hand for you to take. Shooting him a playful smirk that probably came across as I’m-going-to-eat-you-alive-later, you clapped your hand to his, then sealed the deal, Sam’s fingers slotting naturally into yours.

“Hey,” Sam said, hesitating to take the first step away from this moment. “Um… I’ll watch your six if you watch mine, yeah? We can keep each other alert.”

Knowing it was fruitless, you knocked your shoulder against his and put your game face on. “Deal.”

Bobby met up with you at the rendezvous point a few minutes later, fighting to carry a couple of plastic bags while shoving a janitor’s cart along with him. Any annoyance about his workload was put on a backburner at the sight of you and Sam. You thought at first the clever look on his face was because you were failing to appear inconspicuous, crammed together in a dark corner of the ship’s underbelly, but by now you should’ve known better.

“Well,” he wuffed out. Bobby scratched his beard, smiling at your entwined hands. “You two are getting along swimmingly.”

You rolled your eyes. Yeah, death was sounding pretty good about now, especially if it meant an end to these jokes. You could almost hear Dean ribbing you for it in your final moments. So, lemme guess… Sam’s getting everything in your will, eh? Bein’ your husband n’ all.

Sam dropped your hand lightning-fast, a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, and you followed suit with no bad feelings about it. Okay, maybe a few. After holding hands with him all day and night, being denied that right felt unfair enough to cry over.

Together, you reported to Bobby what you’d found, including your potential victim, Kelly’s husband. Lore indicated that mermaids made nests—they needed somewhere to hurl up all those bones, after all—which was what Rufus, Dean, and Bobby were focused on finding. The easiest way out of this was with a good ol’ fashioned ambush. Preferably soon, so that all of you could enjoy a good vacation. Not just you and Sam. Though after the wringer he’d been putting himself through lately, you were glad Sam had taken the easy track for this job. He, of all people, deserved some rest and relaxation. Maybe a good backrub, too.

“Oh, uh,” Bobby forced on a neutral face. “The reason I needed the two of you down here is this,” he gestured with the bags he was leaden with, pronouncing, “Dean wanted me to pass along some gifts.”

A coil of dread grew in your stomach. Dear god. Bobby dropped the puffy bags down between the two of you, then immediately drew back with bomb-squadron level trepidation. You almost expected to see a kitchen timer hooked up to a blinking ball of wires amid the plastic. To be honest, you had to give Dean some credit: it was somehow worse than an active explosive.

Bobby clarified, “He gets a huge discount at the gift shop, working here. Didn’t want to,” he cleared his throat, shuffling in a way that pealed with silent laughter, “waste it.”

You pulled out the biggest item in the bag closest to you. It was a men’s shirt in Sam’s size, eclipsing you shoulder to shoulder, in a pink color so violent and so tropical you could only hope it wasn’t radioactive. Husband and Wife, it read, Cruising Partners for Life!

You glanced down. Of course, there was a matching women’s to go with it. Dean was never merciful. Your glaring went on long enough for you to realize that husband was in hard, masculine font, and wife was, obviously, curly and feminine, the text framed around a cruise ship and hearts. Sam was squinting at it over your shoulder, unimpressed.

“Dean Winchester,” you proclaimed, folding the shirt against your belly, “you are a cancer.”

Glinting with humor, Bobby said, “Congrats on six years, you two.”

He flicked up his cap at you, then hustled away, janitor’s cart rattling and the matching keys jingling on his belt. You and Sam stumbled over each other trying to coax him back, but anything above a whisper could get you caught. Bobby was around the corner and gone before you could get in any more protests, abandoning you and Sam with three huge bags brimming with bullshit. Psuedo-father-of-the-year.

The bags sat and looked at you. You and Sam shared a disgusted, yet mutually curious glance.

“Once this is all over—” Sam started.

“We kill your brother?” You finished.

“Yeah,” Sam scooped up another bag and started to dig through it, “We kill my brother.”

Along with the shirts, there were also sunglasses, condoms, tote bags, socks (with little ships on them, duh), a second variety of condoms, and hats. Most of this you mutually plotted to shove onto the first couple that would take it, but you paused on one of the twin his-and-her hats. It was… somehow… kind of cute. In a kitschy, self-aware, corporate-evil kind of way.

You took it by the bill and tugged it over Sam’s wind-swept bangs. It flared his hair out to the side all funny and shook loose the glossy, too-long curl that Sam had been wrestling back all day, which he self-consciously brushed back another time. The hat matched the color of his pants, accidentally coordinating with your outfit as well. Altogether, it would make your already paired clothes look intentional.

Notching your fists on your hips, you rocked back on your heels and examined him with a long hum. “Hm. Not bad.”

(He looked fucking adorable.)

Sam slouched. “What does it say?”

You bit your lip, giggling, and did your best romantic husband voice. “She’s the only fish in my sea.”

“Clever,” Sam snorted, “M’ not wearing this.”

“Not even if I wear the matching one?” You winced, hopefully.

In an attempt to convince him, you fished out the other baseball cap and popped it on, even flashing a modelesque pose to really sell it. You weren’t sure why you were throwing yourself under the bus for this bit, but the idea of Sam dorking around in a dumb hat all day sounded entertaining. He looked unfortunately good in it, too. Matching with him would only help your cover…

Sam read your hat, doubtful at first: “Really? He’s the only buoy for me? If Dean saw us in these…”

He didn’t sound too afraid. The appeal was starting to register with him, since you were blinking prettily up at him from below the bill and Sam was doing the exact same thing. He smoothed the edge of the cap with a hand, almost convinced. Sam’s eyes are hazel when they rake over you, flickering fast on a narrowed face.

“S’ funny,” you shrugged. “And… y’know. You look really cute.”

Sam’s head immediately ducked to his shoes, overwhelmed with flattery, and he did the same helpless, breathless chuckle he did when he was embarrassed. You watched him twist his ring around his finger, mentally beating yourself over the head with a shovel. There was a canyon-wide gap between pretending to be married for a case and flirting with Sam for real. You really could accomplish anything, since you’d managed to swan-dive straight over the cliffs and sail the mile across. Shit.

You knew he heard it a lot. He probably didn’t need to hear it from you. Yet, Sam still smiled down at his ring, shy and smug in the same beat. “You think so?”

“No. I just wanted to see if I could convince you to walk around in that all day.”

Panic. You’d panicked. Shit.

Sam’s laugh stuttered a bit. He swooped down to collect two of the bags, head low, and kept it cool as he hung them over one shoulder. But you still got the impression that he was disappointed.

You’re beyond handsome to me, you wanted to say. A thousand similar phrases piled on top of each other in your hurry to make up for what you’d said, so none of them landed, most too emotional or disconnected to make sense. You made a choked sort of noise trying to spit out something to say, which Sam gave you a funny look for.

“I do, though.” You blurted. “I was, I was kidding with you. I think—” you grabbed the last bag to have something to do, “...that.”

You’d be rambling if you could come up with more than three words at a time. It didn’t help that you decided to reclasp hands with Sam as you said this, so not only were you declaring out loud how stupid you were for him, but showing it in touch too. Sam swelled up with a deep breath, his eyes calculating between your face and your hand grabbing for his. You knew that anything else you could say would just be another nail in your coffin, so you helpfully shut the hell up.

“You’re pretty cute, too,” Sam says, all humor. He lifts his eyebrows. “When you’re flustered.”

You bat him in the side with the plastic bag in your unheld hand, which bounces, predictably, right off him. Sam laughs and you laugh, but it dawns on you with uncomfortable clarity just how much he could know.

“Kiss my ass, Mr. Patton.”

“Don’t worry. S’ kinda my job.”

Equipped with matching hats and plenty of tension, you and Sam decide to change into your swimsuits before tackling the rest of the day. The weird energy tingling between you and him feels like it’s hit a different, warmer frequency, but you tell yourself that you’re just imagining things and push through. Friends can call each other cute. Closer-than-close hunting partners can call each other cute. Sam, of all people, is allowed to tilt his face closer to yours when he talks and say ridiculous things like: You’re pretty cute too. And now you’re going to see him shirtless. What the fuck.

God. You almost trip over your own shoes by the door, you’re so delirious. Sam caught you by the hand he was still holding and steadied you, asking, “You good?”

“Yup.” Absolutely not. “Just a little dizzy from the heat.”

You find your swimsuit, a safe, monster-hunting one-piece that covers your monster-hunting scars well enough, in your suitcase. Just in case, you grab a pair of jean shorts to wear with it. Before you duck into the bathroom, Sam tosses you an ice-cold water bottle from your mini-fridge and gives you a pointed look. The second there’s a barrier between the two of you—you changing in the bathroom and Sam in your suite—you gulp down half the bottle and mentally prepare yourself for what will be on the other side of that door.

It’s just Sam, you remind yourself.

He knocks on the wood, giving the all-clear signal.

Just Sam, you mentally sigh, who has been bulking up for the past three years.

You assumed your facade, took the doorknob in hand, sucked in a breath, and breezed out of the bathroom without a care in the—

Boom. You almost smacked face-first into Sam. Almost, but you’d slammed your brakes just an inch before you would’ve collided with him. Teetering on those brakes, there’s a twelfth of a second where your vision is filled with nothing but his torso. Don’t objectify him, you order yourself. It becomes a mental chant. Don’t do it. Don’t even think about it. But Sam robs you both of your control and your ability to think, so you hang there, dumbfounded, swallowing butterflies by the fistfuls and staring at him.

Your eyes had already started on the floor, determined to avoid the sight of him, so you’re forced to drag them up when you meet his gaze. So. You literally look him up and down, like people do in the movies. In the sea of skin your brain is censoring, you think you see his naval and the pretty little freckles constellating over it. A touch of sun-kissed collarbone. More dark brown freckles.

You whip up your head before it’s obvious that you’re trying not to look, only to catch Sam. Who’s also looking? At you. In your swimsuit. Okay, that wasn’t your imagination.

With no other way to defend yourself, you resort to instinct and glare at him the first chance you get. There’s no heat in it, but Sam still takes a step back.

“...Sorry,” he winced, apologetic, and held up the sunscreen lotion he’d packed. “Do you think you could help me with my back?”

Okay. This couldn’t be your imagination.

“I got my legs and my arms already.”

This… Sam didn’t do this. He was too independent, for one thing, and he hated to bother anybody about even menial things. Sunscreen? Really?

“But, y’know… I can’t reach.”

I mean. You’d gladly do it. But before, Sam always insisted on doing this kind of thing himself. It seemed like all these little coincidences were lining up with him, but you were determined to not look at him through a romantic lens.

“And you can. So…”

You kept doing this. Every time Sam even sneezed in the direction of your feelings, your whole body ignited, connecting dots that weren’t there. But this was… suspicious. Officially suspicious. You blurted:

“Do you have a crush on me, Sam?”

Sam veered to a stop. The hands playing with the sunscreen dropped to his sides, where his toying grew even worse, clicking the cap with anxious fingers. A blazing, suffocating blush patched from his cheeks to his ears. He made a pained giggly sound. “...What?”

He clicked the cap a couple more times in the silence, stopping immediately when you moved into his bubble to extract it from him. “I’m just saying,” you grinned, brimming with dry humor at his expense, “You must have a big ol’ crush on me, asking me this. If you wanted a backrub, all you’d have to do is ask, Winchester.”

Sam scoffed. The nervous tension in his shoulders unwound. “You’re an ass.”

You wagged your finger in a circle. Sam obeyed the order, (grumbling), and turned around for you. The second his gaze was elsewhere, so much bubbly adrenaline burst out of you that you could’ve broken out into song. You quietly put your hand over your mouth and pushed the excited sigh out through your nose, wracked with disbelief. None of that had been your imagination. Not one lick of it. Oh my god.

Trying to focus, you squeezed some of the cold lotion out into your palm and scrutinized your work area—which was, of course, fucking gorgeous. Sam and Dean had probably pulled such an awful lot in life because every ounce of their luck had been poured, by the truckload, into their good looks. Sam’s back was only barely the labor of good luck, though. Everything else was nothing but hard work and due diligence. Don’t you dare objectify him, _____, you begged yourself. But it was… there were… He had all these freckles everywhere that you hadn’t known about… and just… the, the beautiful line of his spine down the middle… looked good. It all looked good. Regular people didn’t… have glamor muscle like this. You knew what fighting muscle looked like, where it was equal parts mass and strength. Sam had that and then some. But he was also a lot more defined everywhere than your career needed him to be, so… he wanted to be that way. He wanted to like his body, and wanted to take pride in how he looked. You knew that he hadn’t always liked himself that much, so the improvement was… it was sweet. Admirable. You were proud of him.

“____?” Sam glanced over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” you murmured. “Just thinking about when you were still short enough for me to roughhouse with you.”

Before Sam could answer, you pressed the mouth of the tube against the top of his spine and whipped a long, chilly line of lotion all the way to his back dimples. Sam yelped, “Ah! ____!”

You might have laughed at him a bit. Tossing the sunscreen aside, you fortified yourself enough to settle both hands on Sam’s warm, handsome back. You expected it to be brick-hard by the look of it alone, but Sam’s skin was yielding and soft instead. His muscles less-so. After getting an even coat of lotion everywhere Sam couldn’t reach, you pushed your palms into the meat of his shoulders and let out a long whistle.

“How can you even move your neck? This feels painful, Sam. Your shoulders alone are wound hard enough to turn coal to diamond.”

Sam hung his head, nodding. “Yeah. Feels like it.”

“Well, c’mere then,” you balmed, and gestured him to sit on the bed’s end.

Sam hesitated. He glanced between the blankets, which were still in disorder since you’d woken up that morning, and you, playful and wriggling your fingers at him. After so long, Sam could probably see underneath how much his stress ate at you. The temptation to indulge in an award-winning, world-renown ______ backrub was hard to pass up, too. Bobby and Ellen had told stories. Dean got teary-eyed when he talked about it. From past experience, Sam knew how mind-blowing they were.

Of course, only he could have the willpower to resist. Sam pressed his lips together. “We should really keep looking for the mermaid…”

“Five minutes,” you bargained, “Then we’ll hop back to it, I promise.”

Sam swayed on his heels with indecision, and you watched the twisting briars in his back weigh on him all over again as he remembered they were there. He and his brother both killed themselves doing this job, for the big stuff and the little stuff, so the least you could do was take care of him—in the small portions he allowed you.

You softened your voice. “C’mere, Sammy.”

Hook, line, and sinker. Sam shuffled toward you before he could convince himself otherwise. He plopped down to your left and angled stiff and straight-backed away from you, like always. You were sure you could do this for him a hundred times, and with each one he’d forget how to act around you the minute you started. It was a good thing that Sam was mostly unaware of his cuteness, since he tended to weaponize it when he was; you weren’t sure you’d survive Sam like this, the curves of his shoulders speckled with moles, his head bent, and the fluffy hair at the base of his skull flared out in tufts.

At first, like everything else with Sam, things were routine. You did this for your friends all the time. Hell, Dean used to come back from hunts and trade you stories for a good back massage. Hunters had a tendency to knot themselves up, so being one yourself, you had no problem helping Jo or Bobby or any of your other allies out. But… Sam. With his broad, heavy shoulders, and his beautiful, smooth-soft back tissue… Open and trusting you to touch him. There were only a handful of people in the world that Sam allowed to sit this close, and even less that were allowed to touch him if they did. Your shared duffle of weapons was within grabbing distance. If you wanted to, you could scoop up the butterfly knife you knew was folded in the side pocket and put it up to his throat. But Sam’s trust went so far that, not only would he sleep in this room with you, surrounded by weapons and the possibility of betrayal, you could hold him at knife-point and Sam wouldn’t even flinch. He trusted you that much. He trusted you with him.

It was an extremely intimate realization to have with your fake wedding band pressing into his skin.

You finished spreading the sunscreen across his back, first. Taking the heels of your hands, you smoothed them from the base of Sam’s spine and up around his shoulders until you were confident you’d covered every vulnerable stretch of skin. It looked glowy by the time you were finished, making all the weird feelings swirling around in your chest squeeze tighter. Touching him this way, you thought nothing but clean, pure, and innocent thoughts, especially when you started to work into his shoulders and Sam moaned in relief.

He leaned forward, giving you more access to his aching back. For him, you pulled out all the stops, kneading his shoulder blades with skilled rolls and presses, pinching the rough muscle between delicate fingers, then fanning out your palms and working into the tissue with your thumbs. You knew Sam bottled up a lot, but feeling the evidence of it in your hands made your chest ache.

“Nobody should be this tense on vacation,” you mumbled, mostly to yourself.

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, and his dry sense of humor was back in his voice again. “We’re not on vacation.”

You found a spot with the pads of your fingers that made Sam audibly wince, so you surged in, holding hard to it, draining the tension from it by force with deep circular motions. He could take pain like nobody else you knew, but he decided to be annoying and chanted ow over and over anyway. You knew he was just being a baby about it on purpose. It didn’t hurt too much for too long, because soon the shoulders flexing away from you melted into clay puddles under your hands, every harsh line in his muscles blending out into soft strokes.

Sam’s chanting sloped into a relaxed, shuddering groan. “...Ow, ow—oh.”

You probably should’ve kept your hands to yourself once you’d finished. Without thinking too much about it, your touch lingered there instead, the fingertips on one hand ghosting over his pressure-pinkened flesh. Sam melted into that, too.

You’d never been able to look at him too closely back here. It was hard not to lose yourself in it. Sam was broad everywhere, but his back was easily the biggest part of him, one massive wall of soft, trusting breathing and curling shyness. Every once in a while, when you hugged him or when he stood close behind you, it occurred to you that Sam must’ve been a truly terrifying hunter to everyone else. The towering body you were admiring now could absorb the recoil of a twelve gauge like nothing. You’d watched with your own eyes as Sam hacked off a vampire’s head in one swing—and sure, they were less durable than humans there, but that’s still loads of flesh and bone to go through. Here, you could see him as nothing but sweet and gentle.

Hidden in the line of Sam’s spine was a scar about the length of your thumb. It was surgical-neat and had healed magnificently, to the point where you could only notice it if you were close enough to touch. You drew your pointer finger alongside it.

“Think I should wear a shirt over this?” Sam asked.

“Maybe,” you frowned. “I don’t know how you’d explain all this to the Lindas and Cathleens out there ogling you.”

“Skiing accident?” Sam joked.

You forgot how to answer, since Sam had thrown a look at you over his shoulder and it was kind of a sight to behold. The way he was sitting, neck exposed to you and back sloped with relaxation, his eyes seemed to have this coy spark to them, like a cat swishing his tail as he eyed you from under a blanket. His shoulders were drawn in and his gaze was playful beneath his bangs, even more so with the grand expanse of his back to lead him. If you squinted, there may have been a hint of his flirtiness from earlier. You’d done the unthinkable: Sam was actually, genuinely relaxed.

The touch-allowance you’d been granted had made you greedy, so you stood, palm dragging up to his bare, mole-dotted shoulder as you did. You tapped the bullet scar there. “With bullets flying? Yeah, I’m sure they’ll be convinced.”

“It was a pretty crazy trip,” Sam shrugged, lazily, and it shouldn’t have endeared you so much that he followed along with your bits.

Somehow, you managed to pull your hands back to your sides. “But… you feeling better, at least?”

Sam sucked in a deep, content breath, and marinated in the new freedom you’d given him. There was no way to ever make a lasting dent in that brick-wall-wrapped-in-barbed-wire that he called his back, but when he gazed up into your face—bleeding with thanks—you knew he’d be okay for a little while, at least.

“Much better,” Sam breathed. “You’re an angel, _____.”

You burst out laughing.

He picked up the loose button-up he’d been wearing earlier and put his arms through the sleeves, neglecting, to your enjoyment, to button it at all.

“And… you’re right, you know,” Sam flirts. “You do give good backrubs.”

tags: @lacilou @cookiemumster1 @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-loou

#sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #supernatural #spn #uncouthspn #user uncouth

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emiliasilverova · 10 months

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A reclist of Tenshi's work (and some memories)

It's late here and my whole being demands sleep, but I promised to myself I'd make a reclist of my favourite things @slimysuckers/@tentacletenshi ever made for Tenshi day, so here goes.

As far as photomanips go, there's really one that immediately comes to mind: the hug in camo. I just love it, I can't tell you much more than that.

For fics, however, there are three of them I'd like to mention:

Welcome Home, You're No Longer Alone—I have a funny story about that one. See, I first stumbled upon it way before I joined the Café, knew Tenshi personally, or even shipped any combination of 00Q00... but the art struck me (I mean, it's uh, very striking indeed 🥵). I had to frantically search the whole Bond category on AO3 to find it again (maybe some people from the slack remember it?)... and yeah, I did find it. And you can be sure I'll never forget about it ever again.

Kisses Across Universes—aaaah, good, old-fashioned bondalec (and yet another amazing piece of fanart). If I dedicated my earlier post from today (A Time for Sweetness) to Tenshi, it's because of this fic. Tenshi really loved bondalec, and actually had commissioned the piece of fanart at the end before creating the fic itself. From our talks together, I can show you something she probably never showed the world before—the sketch she provided the artist to explain what she wanted (see below). It's just so sweet... reminds me she had a very extensive collection of bondalec/00Q00 fanart, btw. A real treasure trove I should download from Discord before it disappears forever (you can never be too careful these days).

And last but not least, Good Names Are Forever. I personally think this is her best (of those I read, that is). The premise, the characterisation, the plot, I love everything about it. In fact, now I remember telling her I wish I had enough skill to make a fanart of it. Considering how my art skills have dramatically improved as of late, I might just do it. I wanna bring to life this image I have in my mind: Q stands next to a sitting Alec, his hand on Alec's shoulder, and Alec gives his most Janus stare/smile and says something like "don't f*ck with my son". You'll surely understand reading the fic.

You were so shy, Tenshi... and yet, look at everything you created. Everything you brought other people to create, even. Looking through Discord messages, I see you were saying you've been in the fandom since LiveJournal days, that you've seen GE in theaters, and that basically you've always been there, even when you weren't creating yet. Even though you didn't start writing until 2020, I have the conviction you've always been there indeed. Perhaps I was seeing your name in comments, although I'll probably never know for sure. I'm so sorry you were bullied, you absolutely didn't deserve it. I'm even sorry for scaring you at first, all because of those firm Opinions I used to have. So I'll conclude with this:

*hugs the tentacle creature*

And thank you, as always.

#007 Fest #007 Fest 2023 #TeamBondVillains #Tenshi Day #alexis tenshi #slimysuckers #james bond #007 #alec trevelyan #q #quartermaster #james bond/alec trevelyan #bondalec #00q00 #fanfic #fanart #photomanipulation #rec list #my memories of tenshi

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nualaofthefaerie · 7 months

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Who am I, and why I'll always show where Nuala is mentioned?

So hello guys.

I came to the realization that a lot of people on Tumblr do not know me, and I came kind of suddenly to you guys. So, allow me to tell you who I am and why I hope to become a big part of your "Sandman" experience. I will attach some pictures for references 🩷🪷

My name is Li. My main platform is Twitter. Most of my friends are there too. I hope I can make a lot of mutuals here, too. I came across "The Sandman" one year ago. Now, the Sandman is a wonderful piece of media for people to explore a plethora of dynamics they enjoy. For me, it was a bit of an adjustment.

Before reading the comic, I tried to stan Dreamling. However, for me personally, I very rarely enjoy dynamics with no women in them. That is, of course, me personally. I am not the one who should tell people what they should enjoy. Bi/Pan WLM and WLW, those are dynamics I truly enjoy. However, at the time, I was trying to fit in with what was popular. Truly, it didn't make me very happy because I just don't see it the way Dreamling shippers see it.

So I tried changing my angle. I tried to get into Calliope and Morpheus (I apologise, I do not know if they have their own little ship name). This one fitter me a bit better. However, I have personal issues with the concept of divorce, and I could never quite brush aside the fact that at the end... they were divorced. I even made a Calliope cosplay at the time and met Tom (loveliest person on Earth).

(I envisioned this ballerina Calliope cosplay, and for the most part, I made it work. This was my VERY first attempt at anything.)

He kind of convinced me to just read through the comics. And I did. And it all really fell into place. And Nuala of the Faerie became my spark. I want to make it clear that I love Nuala so much more and so BEYOND Sandflower. She is just so exceptional, so complex. I became SO excited to explore what the Internet could offer on her only to get...nothing. Absolutely nothing. Whatever little official art there was (three-five drawings and it was usually not even Nuala centered, she was just there) and two three pen drawings on DivienArt made in 2010.

Now, one thing about me is that I am persistent as all hell. And it is completely out of line that Thessaly is a "main character," but Nuala isn't. So, in January, I had a very "If no one is going to do it, I will" moment. I began talking about her every day. Analysing, sharing panels, commissioning artists (uni student making commissions, I was kinda of crazy for that one. I made one commission once and then had 20 bucks left for the week to buy food) and every minute since January until today, I do it all for her. Because she deserves to be recognized. Nuala is no less than Lucien/ne or the Corinthian. I have an ask sitting in my inbox that I simply don't know how to answer:

"Why do you think "x" is more popular than Nuala?"

I do not know, to be honest. Frankly, I also try not to care. Because my love for Nuala is not based on bringing other characters of the Sandman down. I do this to uplift her to a status where one day, I won't be the only person on the Nuala tag (I was SO happy the other day when like five new people had made art, SO happy) and not the only one on the Sandflower tag (that is ONLY me for now). And until then, I will be the only one. It's okay. And when I no longer have to be, I will sit back and enjoy the fruits of my hard work.

This may appear very self-centered to those who do not know me, but those who do will tell you I work day and night for her. I have a 70k Sandflower fic, 50k of which is only its first arc, just sitting in my google Docs. I have sketches upon sketches. I talk with artists about more commissions and how to make it so she gets a new outreach. I have conversations and try to introduce her to as many people as possible until they notice her and care for her at least a fraction of how much I do. She inspired me to try sewing and really get to cosplay a SOLID version of her (still working on that).

(I sewed most of the outfit and and it was my second attempt to do anything from scratch. I'll get better at it 🪷🌿🩷)

I like to think she would love it. She only ever longed to be loved. And I love my girl.

So much. We help each other every day. We exist together. And when her actress joins our little triangle, we will make the perfect fairy. The perfect personification of womanhood the way I see it.

My Nuala (Lala, Lali, Lalita, flower, the pearl, sun, if I missed any of my moots nicknames for her, hit me up).

So that's it, dear Tumblr. I am afraid you won't be able to mention Nuala of the Faerie without me because somewhere in May, we started co-existing.

And we are not going anywhere.

Love,

Li and Nuala 🪷🌿🩷

#A little intro meta from me #the sandman #nuala #nuala of the faerie #nuala the sandman #the sandman netflix #the sandman comics #tom sturridge #morpheus #dream of the endless #cosplay #sandman meta #introductory post #admin intro

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silenceinternalmonologue · 1 year

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you there! tumblr user!

are you constantly thinking about your OTP doing this One Specific Thing but not a single person on AO3 has had the same idea? is there a beloved OC you never have the time to write about? do you hate canon and need to see it fixed in an extremely specific way?

my writing commissions are now open and together we can solve these terrible trials!

my ao3 is here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saucekays/profile

i know it can feel awkward to explain your blorbo concept but trust me i've been there. and i'm happy to make yours a reality :) just DM me and we can figure it out!

(image transcript under cut)

ID: a writing commissions page made in the style of an old-fashioned newspaper ad. The text reads as follows:

Headline: Skadi's Writing Commissions.

Section One: Who I am.

Hi, I’m Skadi! I’m a longtime fic writer for many different fandoms. I’m currently a writing student. People have told me I have a poetic, emotive writing style. I tend towards writing angst and smut but anything is welcome!

For examples of my writing style, visit my AO3 page saucekays (linked below).

I’m opening commissions because I’m currently struggling with money but can’t work alongside my studies due to my autism and other personal circumstances.

Section Two: Put Those Blorbos in those Situations

Some of my fandoms are Star Wars, PotO, Tolkien, MCU, Naruto, JJBA, Batman, and MDZS. I am happy to write characters from fandoms I’m not in if you give me details about them. I will also write OCs, NSFW, kink, etc. Rejections may occur (such as if I don’t know a character well enough or am personally uncomfortable with a topic) but feel free to at least pitch your idea!

Section Three: Prices

Minimum price is $10 USD for fics of 1k words or less. After that, add $5 per 500 words (rounded down)-- for example, a 2.2k word fic would be $20.

Payments are made through Paypal. You will receive a PDF of your fic and/or it can be posted on AO3.

#writer #writeblr #commissions open #writing commissions

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spideypoolficexchange · 7 months

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Rules, FAQ and Timeline

It has come to my attention that the rules page is not mobile friendly, sorry about that! I’m putting it all here and will pin this post to the page for easy access for the future. ♥️

Basic Rules:

Participants must be 18+.

Fics must be a minimum of 1,000 words.

Fics must be Spideypool-centric.

Please follow the spirit of the event and the requests as much as to the letter. If it’s only technically or incidentally Spideypool, or if it’s not technically what the listed squick was, please request/write something else.

That’s about it! No event-given limits beyond that, go nuts!

Timeline:

Sign-ups open: Sunday, November 12

Sign-ups close: Saturday, November 18 at 6pm Eastern Time

Prompts go out: Saturday, November 25 (or earlier, if the matches are done before then!)

Deadline to post: Tuesday, January 2, 2023 at 11:59pm EST

Rules and FAQ (extended):

What is this event?

Essentially, you receive a person to write a fic for, along with up to 3 prompts. You write one of these prompts and then gift it to them, on AO3 and/or Tumblr. And it’s all anonymous until the fic is posted! If you’ve heard of a Secret Santa event, this is the same idea, just with an attempt at a more inclusive name.

How do I sign up?

Fill out this Google Form (closed until November 12). You’ll receive an email with your responses and voila, you’re all done!

This event is now reserved for those 18+, so please be sure you’re at least 18 before signing up.

Do try to keep the prompts open! Remember, this is a gift, not a commission. You will not have precise control over what is made, and that’s part of the spirit of the exchange!

How long does my fic need to be?

1,000 words. There is no word limit, but if your giftee has stated they are not okay with receiving a WIP, please do keep in mind your time limit and adjust your length accordingly.

Do my prompts have to be holiday-themed?

Nope! Prompts can be for any holiday or completely unrelated to one.

Is [blank] allowed?

The only requirements are to keep it Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, and to work off the prompt(s) and DNWs (do-not-wants) given. So long as you’re trying to give your giftee something they will enjoy, the fest has no other limitations on what content is allowed.

*Note: prompts must be Spideypool-centric. E.g., you can request Spideypool with background Irondad, but please don’t request Irondad with background Spideypool. It’s not what the event is for, and makes it much harder on the mods to pair people up.

There are three prompts. How many do I need to write?

Only one! If you have the time and energy to fill more, then go right ahead! Though I suggest finishing one before starting on another, so you don’t risk leaving your giftee with nothing.

#spideypool fanfic #spideypool #fic exchange #spideypool fic exchange #peter parker x wade wilson

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blouisparadise · 1 year

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There are so many amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of December. We’re entering a new year feeling incredibly grateful for the amazing fics we got in 2022, and excited for the many we’ll get in 2023! Happy reading!

1) Far From Reality | Explicit | 1138 words

Note: The main pairing is Louis/Henry Cavill.

Henry and Melissa looked like the perfect couple. Nothing could be further from the truth.

2) Honeymooning In Italy | Not Rated | 2386 words

Honeymoon sex.

3) Poisonous Ivy | Explicit | 3241 words

Louis is a starving man.

He craves many things in his life. Mainly of those things that he is hungry for are things that had been deprived off of him.

4) Flame Colored Paradise | Explicit | 3282 words

Note: The main pairing is Louis/Mads Mikkelsen.

A side smirk widened Mads’ lips. He looked like a sight straight from heaven in his dark three-piece suit, hair in perfect place, a relaxed look on his face, as if he hasn’t had a hard-on for the last half an hour. Louis loved how Mads was always perfectly composed, never a single strand of hair out of place. He could have his whole cock buried in Louis, with the boy falling to pieces in front of him, but not a single drop of sweat would dampen his face.

5) Alpha Heater For Sale | Ten & Up | 3626 words

He passed by the bulletin board in the hallway, as usual, flyers about open mics, dorm events, and the like. This time though, he stopped when a flyer caught his eye. The words “alpha” and “heat” calling out to him.

Louis tilted his head at the flyer curiously.

It read: Alpha heater for sale! Winter weather got you down? Call Harry for your warm, furnace-like needs!

6) Unspoken | Explicit | 5175 words

Harry and Louis broke up when they were nineteen. They see each other after six years.

7) You're The (Devil In Disguise) | Explicit | 5179 words

Louis is, in appearances, the perfect omega. Small, graceful, docile, polite and very sweet. At least, until the rebellious side of him comes out, which sends alphas running away.

8) Little Minx | Mature | 5514 words

Harry’s new flatmate Louis seems to have a growing problem…literally.

9) Down Comes The Night | Explicit | 5974 words

Note: The main pairing is Louis/Pedro Pascal.

A love story set in the 18th century. Pedro is a painter, commissioned to create a wedding portrait of Louis, a young man who has just left the convent. Louis is a reluctant spouse to be and Pedro must paint him without his knowledge.

10) Our Stained Skin | Explicit | 6019 words

When Louis' 8-year-old daughter shows up with a tattoo on her arm Louis needs to get to the bottom of it. That may or may not involve him tailing someone. But at least he has a good reason for it. Sort of.

11) Forever Is Composed Of Nows | Not Rated | 6598 words

There was one time of the year that Louis loved more than any other. It came on the heels of autumn, slowly at first in frosted blades of grass and misty mornings and then swept over the countryside in sheets of freshly fallen snow glinting in the sunlight. With its arrival came the glow of multi-colored strings of lights strung from the eaves of every home and a magic in the air that filled the lungs of awe-inspired pups craning their necks to take in the festive displays.

Harry and Louis spend Christmas Day together.

12) Can We Please Get Back to Fucking? | Explicit | 8370 words

Harry and Louis have had a toxic back-and-forth relationship since they hate fucked at freshman orientation. Now in their senior year, they’ve lost count of how many times they’ve broken up and gotten back together. This is a smutty one-shot from when Louis makes Harry jealous at a club. Harry takes back what is his, and they fuck in the bathroom.

13) Singer And Photographer | Not Rated | 15361 words

Harry Styles: singer, songwriter, alpha

Louis Tomlinson: photographer, omega

What if you get invited by one of your best friends to join him and his band on tour?

What if you are photographing the tour?

What if you're slowly falling in love with a special alpha?

14) Here Where You Should Be | General Audiances | 19497 words

When Harry, an anxious alpha, found himself panicking over last minute Christmas shopping, he found comfort in the kind omega shop assistant, Louis. He wasn't meant to invite the omega home for Christmas when he found out that he's spending Christmas alone. He wasn't meant to catch feelings. Hell, he wasn't even meant to be able to go home for the holiday. It was shaping up to be a Christmas full of surprises.

15) Under The Rain Or Under The Snow | Explicit | 20667 words

“I don’t think I understood.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes, as if distancing himself from the situation. “Harry? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Your mum invited me, also, how could I say no to her superb roast potatoes?”

16) 12 Days of Courting | Explicit | 22709 words

They're friends with benefits and Louis' heat is scheduled for Christmas.

17) The Evenness I Fake | Explicit | 26385 words

Harry doesn’t do relationships. He has a perfectly enjoyable friends-with-benefits agreement with a perfectly lovely omega, and he doesn’t see the need to change that anytime soon. The small fact that Louis giving his attention to another alpha makes Harry want to put his head through a wall isn’t nearly as much of an issue as everyone’s making it out to be.

18) Something Along The Lines Of ‘An Office Love Story At Christmas’ | Explicit | 43148 words

Harry hadn't planned on seeing Louis again, not after that night. When he finds out his only competition for a very desired promotion is Louis, he spirals into a mess of trying to be a better coworker and person right before Christmas in hopes that he can outdo Louis' effortless effect on his office. If he manages to get his head out of his ass along the way, it’ll be a holiday miracle.

19) All I want For Christmas Is You | Not Rated | 43253 words

Christmas AU in which a soft alpha with gorgeous green eyes and an even prettier smile moves into Louis' apartment complex and turns the omega's world upside down during his most favourite time of the year - featuring christmas decorating, christmas markets, cookies in the making, and copious amounts of mulled wine (and kisses).

20) Your Gift is Wasted On Me | Not Rated | 54472 words

“He had a partner for a long time, and he says that he was too dependent. He doesn’t want an alpha, at least not right now. But he’s got a pretty severe case of touch deprivation. So it’s … not great.”

“Is there anything …”

“He doesn’t like to be touched. There was an incident a few weeks ago and he just … he can’t bear human touch.”

21) Now I'm Begging for Footnotes In The Story of Your Life | Explicit | 80742 words

Harry and Louis are engaged, but a few months before the wedding Louis realises that they don't like each other, so instead of ending the engagement two of them go head-to-head in an all out prank war.

In the battle of who will end the engagement first.

22) You Sunshine, You Temptress | Explicit | 88148 words

A story about a forbidden love

& secrets that come to light.

Eyes as green as the forest And eyes as blue as the lake When they met a love began

Stronger than the tide And wilder than a river Fearless Despite the ban

Fairy and wolf Together one

23) My Kind Of Love | Explicit | 108178 words

Harry marries Louis for one year. Louis has no choice other than marry Harry fucking styles. There is a reason behind Harry’s sudden marriage with Louis and Louis has no idea about that. Maybe Harry married Louis for revenge.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#fic recs #bottom louis #top harry #larry #blp fic recs #monthly fic recs #blp

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