#with mermaid furniture pillows
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Modern Fantasy Monsters: Monster Roommates!
Werewolves having to disclaim to their human/ non werewolf roommate that they get a bit cranky when it gets close towards the full moon so the roommate can prepare for it.
Vampire's who are almost always home during the day due to the sun so they can let you into the apartment/ dorm. Also going out at night with the vampire at night since they might know were all the fun night-life spots are.
Rooms that have a mimic living there for a while only to be discovered by a collage student who accidently almost smothers the poor thing with a pillow on the collage furniture in the dorm. They sorta have truce were the collage student will allow the mimic to stay only if they can keep their shared space well guarded.
Elves who's room smells completely like a forest and morning dew. They use diffusers to make their room and the shared space smell like you're walking through a dense wooded area to make it feel more homely.
Mermaid, naga and centaur accommodating rooms that have areas were they can rest their bodies and have more space. Similarly centaurs having stable like doors rather than regular doors.
Ghosts of collage students who have been living haunting in the dorms for a long time giving small tidbits of advice to incoming students who are moving in on stuff they've seen. Such as
Ghost: "They never check for stuff under the bed man. You a can hide your stash there."
Human: "Are you sure? I think they might be suspicious."
Ghost: "You just gotta be sneaky with it. Like really sneaky with it. I snuck in so much shit and I turned out fine."
Human: "....But, you're a ghost."
Ghost: "Oh, uhh...died for different reason
Demons who place a pentagram portal to the underworld in the basement right next to the laundry machine of their shared small home. The roommate realized that there was a portal in the laundry room when they saw a hellish monster ripping up their bedsheets.
Angels who bless every single part of their shared room plus their roommates room so that they always at least feel a bit warm and fuzzy on the inside whenever they feel sad. They're a great roommate despite their feathers getting everywhere.
#urban fantasy#suburban fantasy#modern fantasy#fantasy#my writing#urban magic#writing#werewolves#werecreature#vampries#vampire#vampyr#elves#high elf#elven#merfolk#mermen#mermaid#centaur#centaurs#ghost#naga#angels and demons#demons#angels and devils#angels#writer#fantasy writing#writeblr#writers
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Oooh ! I was currently wondering a bit but like you've mentioned that a few years later, Aster and Asha would likely have a daughter. I'd just ask the usual questions, I hope thats fine !
1. Who does she looks like the most
2. What relationship dynamic would Evangeline have with her parents
3. Daddy or mommy's girl ?
And a small prompt of just Evangeline running around the house taking after her father's speedy runs then cue Aster trying to catch her for her bath while Asha is like " She takes after you." JUST A WHOLE CUTE FAMILY AHWHAGQHGWHA
I just had the best ideas!
1- Evangeline (or Lin for short) would look similar to these concept arts of Asha
With the curly side fringe and the big braid. She’d have Aster’s skin tone and Asha’s dark hair, and of course freckles since they both have freckles.
She’d have Asha’s eyes and nose, and Aster’s smile and jawline.
So I’d say she looks like a perfect mix of both
2- I believe that they’d have a great relationship, with Asha being very caring and loving and Aster being the fun dad that lets her do anything. I imagine Asha would teach her how to draw and tell her a lot of stories, while Aster would be more active and just play and sing to her all day.
Basically this:
I’m conflicted if they’d tell her that Aster used to be a Star or not, because on one hand they could keep it a secret and we’d have a Melody from The Little Mermaid 2 situation where she eventually finds out and gets mad that her parents hidden that from her, but the more I think about the less I think they’d even keep it a secret, so yeah let’s say she knows Aster was a star once.
But wouldn’t it be interesting if she was different from her mom because she doesn’t want to take effort to get what she wants? And wishes she could have magic like her dad used to have and her mom still does with her drawing wand (that only Asha can use and no one else)? Wouldn’t be neat if she wished upon the brightest star on the sky for her to have magic? And then the star came down and Evangeline got to meet her SISTER??? I think that’d be neat… May or may not have started to think of a potential sequel to Kingdom of Wishes.
Anyway yeah their relationship is very cute, just two sweet parents, a spunky and headstrong daughter, and their other space daughter they didn’t know about.
3- DONT MAKE HER CHOOSE! SHE LOVES THEM BOTH EQUALLY!
… daddy’s girl
And finally, YES I can see that scenario, let’s see what I can come up with:
Evangeline (5 years old): HEH HEH HEH you can’t catch me papa!
She’s running all over the house, jumping from furniture to furniture
Aster: OH YES I CAN! HAhaha- Careful though! You might fall!
He tries to catch her while placing pillows on the floor so she doesn’t hurt herself.
Asha walks in the room and watches the chaos amused
Asha: I see bath time is taking a bit longer than expected hehe
Aster: I COULD USE A LITTLE HELP!
Asha: Alright Lin, that’s enough running around, time to-
Evangeline: NOOOO!
She jumps out the window, which is on the first floor so she’s fine, and she runs off laughing and doing cartwheels 🤸♀️
Aster: *sigh* Again?… You better grab your wand.
Asha: On it, she takes after you, ya know?
Asha says jokingly.
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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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I made a carbord cot (crib) an painted it cweam wif a boo star! I also made a carbord wardrobe an I has lots of fun colowing pichures for da walls wif my cwayons! I sewed a few blankies an pillows and found sum old dolly furniture in charity shops (wich are da same as thrift shops I fink??) for weally cheep! I also has a peppa pig pwaygwound I put outside the dolly house that my dolly's have lots of fun playing on! As soon as I get home fwom holiday I'll wach da wittle mermaid!
(I made a cardbord cot (crib) and painted it cream with a blue star! I also made a cardbord wardrobe, and I've had lots of fun colouring pictures for the walls with my crayons! I sewed a few blankets and pillows and found some old dolls furniture in charity shops (wich are the same as thrift shops I think??) for really cheap! I also have a peppa pig playground I put outside the dolls house that my dolls have lots of fun playing on! As soon as I get home from holiday, I'll watch the little mermaid!)
- (🔱🏰)
- hihi cupcake'! <3 ⭐
:o look at you go you little crafty bee!! <3
that sounds awesome!! i love that you're using like furnitute from charity shops too! it's like a mix and match house hehe <3
i used to love doing little crafts! i need to get back into it! <3
+ you'll have to let me know what you think of the little mermaid! i might make daddy rewatch it with me at some point too heheh <3
-ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗
#agere blog#age regression#sfw agere#sfw age regression#agere community#sfw little community#safe agere#sfw little blog#agere little#sfw little post#ageregression#agere lifestyle#agere#age regressor#sfw regression#agere sfw#age regression blog#babblecorner#🔱🏰 babblecorner#babble
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EAH Dorm Rooms Headcanon pt 13
Farrah & Meeshell
One's a dutiful fairy godmother and the other is a mermaid princess, two of the top popular fairy tale creatures!
Farrah and Meeshell were one of many characters that came during the show's end. The only reason I was able to get info on their dorm is because of the books 'Fairy's Got Talent' and 'Fairy Tail Ending'.
Before Meeshell came along Farrah was one of a few who had their own dorm room. Meeshell was offered her own room, but chose to have a roommate to avoid favoritism. My guess is that their room is the same size as Lizzie & Duchess or Ramona& Justine.
Also, can you imagine all that blue in the room, it would be different shades of blue for each girl and how calming the room must be?
Farrah's side:
Farrah is not only the future fairy godmother for the future Cinderella (Ashlynn) she's also the future blue-haired fairy for Pinocchio. After, the future blue-haired fairy went Rebel she disappeared, and Farrah was tasked with the destiny. Yeah, that's fake! My theory is that the future blue-haired fairy is Astronova from Monster High (I'll explain in another post). Farrah is a huge fan of fashion and magic and loves to share it with others.
In the books Farrah's side of the dorm is described as :
The simple decor sort of fit with Farrah’s personality—sweet and friendly. There was a canopied bed, lots of soft pillows, and an overstuffed chair that looked very inviting. And the paint, bedspread, pillows, and wallpaper palette were all variations of one color. - Blue
I picture Farrah's side of the dorm looking similar to the party in 'Wish List' and most of her furniture with star patterns on them.
In the books Farrah (and Meeshell's) room has a relaxing mood to it due to all the blue since Faybelle almost yawn and thought of napping due to being in the room.
Farrah has a humongous corkboard with photos of her friends and parties she's attended. Her room divider would have more pics.
Her pet mouse, Clydesdale, has a little mouse castle (cute).
Farrah has a desk piled high with books such as: 101 Things You Can Do With a Pumpkin, How to Turn a Mouse into a House and Other Affordable Decorating Tips, From Rags to Riches: How to Make Her Look Like a Princess, and Does Everything Have to End at Midnight.
The reason Farrah reads these books is because she (and other fairy godmothers/godfathers) wishes for her magic to last longer than midnight (lore), whenever she questions herself, she reads them to remind her that midnight is a part of her story and should be grateful for her part to help others even for a short time. Farrah, it's okay to be upset!
Being a fashionista, I can see Farrah having a sewing machine similar to Lizzie's (only blue with stars), a sewing kit, & a mannequin to make outfits with. She also has fashion books on her desk as well.
Being a Fairy, Farrah has to take care of her wings. Like Faybelle, she has special lotions to keep them neat and healthy.
Farrah has a huge collection of wands for special occasions.
I can see Farrah having a huge collection of clothing for herself and her friends that she keeps in a closet and a trunk for storage along with other outfit making materials.
Meeshell's side:
Meeshell is a literal fish out of water due to her mermaid nature. When she first arrived at Ever After High School she was shy and tried to hide she was a mermaid. As the future Little Mermaid, she is anxious about her role especially her future prince part (spoiler she dates Humphery). After she revealed she's a mermaid she becomes more open and shows off her musical talent.
This is the only time we she her and Farrah's dorm and it appears her room divider as blue garland hanging on it. She would also put pics of her home under the sea and would later out pics of her friends.
After becoming friends with Maddie, Briar, & Ashlynn she kept the snapdragon plant as a pet in the dorms since her other pet narwhal, Finbert has to stay with the other pets (they would have a place for aquatic pets on campus) .
Meeshell has the basic EAH student furniture: a canopied bed, desks, dresser, and a closet.
I can see Meeshell's side of the dorm resembling the lone pool room from her episode debut (minus the pool) with the seashell & underwater aesthetic. And like the tank she's in it has faux coral, tiny castles, and seaweed decorations.
Singing being Meeshell's I can see her getting a karaoke machine or audio equipment to record her singing.
In the books Meeshell loves manta rays so she has a tone of manta ray plushies.
She also has a huge seashell collection that she keeps on her desk/trunk.
Images from EAHWIKI & ROYALREBELWIKI
#my art#ever after high#ever after royal#dorm room#everafterhigh#eah#meeshell mermaid#farrah goodfairy
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Me rambling for that one brainrot I had of a Little Mermaid Kanera AU *sobs*
~
Hera was usually not so uncertain about announcing herself. But then, having a voice was something she’d taken for granted, it seemed. Would it be rude to knock? Would it be ruder still to not knock at all, to simply stroll in uninvited with the hope that the sound of her footsteps might alert him to her presence?
Hera frowned and slid a gentle hand against the solid wood. She didn’t want to disturb him. Knocking might have that effect. The idea that he might not appreciate her visit at all never crossed her mind. His wishes at the moment were irrelevant, and Kanan should not be alone now. He’d almost drowned again.
Eventually, she decided against knocking. It was too quiet in this hall to knock, to disturb the silence for such a trivial gesture, especially when she was not asking permission. Maybe the sound of the door swinging open would be enough.
It was suitably assertive for Hera’s standards, but when she pushed into the room and saw what Kanan was up to, she had her doubts.
The vast space was ordered neatly and sparsely occupied. Few accessories or decorations adorned the furniture, which Hera found curious considering the rest of the castle’s opulence. Enough had been accumulated to befit a prince, but Kanan—it seemed—was sparse in his personal quarters. It made a bit of sense. He was always out and active, rarely spending lengths of time cooped up indoors at all. Only a few corners of the large room appeared to be properly lived-in. Some of the others were even collecting dust.
It was in one of these frequented places that Hera saw Kanan. A clear space on the floor by the window was set up like a lounge of sorts, arranged with a worn, braided rug, and beautiful embroidered cushions. Kanan had one tucked beneath his knees, back facing her, head bowed.
Hera nudged the door closed with a soft click, then moved towards him with quiet purpose. He gave no indication he knew she was there. When she rounded his side, she found his hands resting stiffly on his thighs. There was an uncomfortable frown impressed upon his handsome features, as if he’d begun with a neutral expression and slowly soured over time. Tears streamed freely from both his closed eyes.
She wanted so badly to speak to him, sing to him, to feel the sound of his name in her throat. But she’d gambled her voice away, so there was nothing to say now. Hera toed off her slippers and sank to the floor. She waited.
Kanan sighed before blinking slowly, having waited and soured for a few minutes longer. “I know you’re there.” He murmured in a soft tone, fingers twitching on his legs.
Hera shifted. Kriff legs and sitting and such. She missed her tail. How could he sit like that for so long and not fall over? Her legs were getting tingly.
“You don’t need to check on me.”
Hera wished she could speak. She didn’t know what to say, but she wanted to say something so strongly, and the music in her heart was trapped without a song to fly out on. It fluttered around the inside of her chest, banging on her ribs with an indignation she’d never had to suffer with before. He was clearly hurting. She wanted to help, hated to see him in pain for a moment, and the best way she knew to soothe a soul was through song—but again, her voice was gone.
Kanan opened his eyes (his beautiful vibrant tired eyes) and looked at her sitting across from him, awkward and stiff. When he flashed a fleeting smile at the sight, his cheeks stretched and the tears there caught light. “You can use a pillow, you know.”
The permission was a small relief, if not largely helpful. Hera wasn’t sure she’d ever be comfortable on legs, but his offer was nice. She ignored it, however, in favor of frowning. She was concerned for him. Besides that, he was trying to deflect from the whale in the room, and it wasn’t amusing in the slightest.
His smile dropped, and his chin went with it. “Hera,” He sighed softly. “I’m fine.”
She nudged his knee with her toe. Then why are you crying? She signed, which was a tricky business when her arms held her legs in place.
Kanan grimaced with teeth. The way he turned his face away almost presented as embarrassed. “It’s nothing.” But his eyes were still shining and the skin at the corners there was pinched, tense. He looked so sad and unsure of himself. Not at all the picture perfect prince at court. “It was—it happened a while ago.” He huffed, now frustrated as well. “It was months ago. It shouldn’t still bother me. It doesn’t.”
Was he talking about what she thought he was talking about?
Hera shuffled a pillow beneath her many skirts. The sudden thought of that song sent her ribcage alight with motion, trapped and building pressure. She’d never heard of anyone plagued by their own siren call before, but then there was always an outlet. Always someone who could listen to the melody: an audience, a recipient. She’d forgotten the way it took humans.
When all she did was stare at him in open expectancy, Kanan slumped, defeated, twisting his legs around to cross them in front of himself. He wrapped his arms around his knees. He looked smaller like that.
“I shipwrecked before you came to us.” He said lowly. “We were coming home from a peace conference, a day off the coast. Then a storm came up from the east and… it was bad. Our vessel was left in splinters, ruptured from a lightning blast and powder. The only thing I recall after that is not recalling anything, then finding myself miraculously washed up on shore and…”
Hera had heard others dismiss the rest of his testimony. This far removed from the incident, wild gossip had reached even the farthest corners of the castle. Some embellishments had made her laugh. Others were the product of too many drinks too late at night. But at the end of it all, no one believed him. No one believed in this mystery savior but Kanan, and Kanan with all his heart. Hera was to blame for that. She did sing to him.
I heard. Hera signed. She kept her expression neutral, but Kanan still deflated sadly.
“Then you know how ridiculous it is—”
No. She gestured with a firm hand, and shook her head for emphasis. No.
He let his gaze flicker across her face, searching for meaning without hope of validation. Hera didn’t know what to offer then except her support. What could she do when he cried still, haunted by the lingering echo of the song she used to save him? It plagued him. She’d enchanted him that morning on the shoreline, brought back from the precipice of death, endowed with the magical music of the sea. It made a home in his mind and waited for her—but she couldn’t sing it free because her voice was gone, so Kanan’s tears fell freely still.
She wished she could explain herself, her adamance. But even if she had the strength, she had no words. For now, they’d have to do without them. Hera reached across the space between pillows and touched Kanan’s wrist. The song in her chest raced down to hum at her fingertips, almost almost home, and the song in his head raced down to meet it, separated by skin and circumstance alone.
At the very least, it brought him a moment of respite. He sighed a shuddering breath. His eyes fluttered shut, and more tears slipped away.
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Out on a Limb
Brutal fighting. That's what the wizarding world had succumbed to. Violence. All her life, she had only known the peace of magic. That changed when she became an apprentice at the ministry. She wanted to be an auror. She wanted to restore peace. He who shall not be named had ruined everything for her, and it needed to be set right. Nothing felt normal for her.. not until him.
__
Chapter 3: Rest
The small house seemed much too empty tonight. Plastic covered furniture sat in the middle of the living room, reminding Venus of the home project she had yet to complete. She barely felt at home. The confines of the walls made her feel suffocated-as if she was choking on the air she breathed. Venus hated being home. The door behind her clicked shut, cutting her off from the outside world for the rest of the night.
She stepped through the home. Each room was undergoing some kind of project. Her bedroom was the only place truly safe to be. She stepped into the bedroom, flicking on a half melted candle with her wand. The lazy motion ended with her wand on the bedside table while she flopped onto the bed. The bed creaked and bounced under her weight.
"So.. fucking.. tired.." Venus mumbled out. She kicked off her shoes and tossed away her clothes. Exhaustion had taken its toll; only leaving her enough energy to throw on a sleep shirt she had laying on the bed. Her eyes drifted closed the moment her head hit the pillow. Dreams over took her vision. Haunting memories surfaced from deep within her memory. One jerk turned to two. Jerks turned to rolling between the covers.
A vision of Alastor played beneath her eyelids; blood pouring from his leg, color from his face draining, her silent voice begging to be heard across the field. She watches helplessly as Alastor dies slowly, moaning in pain and pleading for it to stop. Voldemort's laugh echoes in her ears and mocks the loss of her coworker. It won't stop. She just wants it to stop. A scream rips through her throat and out into the air, "Make it stop! Please! Make it stop! Why won't you please make it stop!" It all feels too real. And it is. Her body jolts awake with a choking cough. Her own saliva is caught in her throat while she screams. The thick spit is moved with a strained gag, and Venus sits up.
Her palms place on her eyes, wiping away the sleep. She yawns into the back of her hand. Her knees feel weak the moment she stands. That dream.. its all too real. Even though she knows it isn't. The dark hallway is lit by the soft words of "Lumos" and her wand. Venus moves her eyes from the floor to the kitchen. They glance over the brand new tile placed along the back of the stove-beautiful mermaids she painted herself; each one was slightly different from the last. Different eyes, different hair, slightly different skin tones or patterns, different tail shapes. A soft smile spreads over her lips at the sight. Pride swelled in her chest. Her art had come a long way.
Her eyes shifted from the tile to the covered table. Venus difted her wand over the top, looking over the numerous paint cans and paint caked brushes. She hovered her light over the middle of the table. A guitar, painted to look like the seaside, stared back at her. She reached out for the neck. It was heavy in her already tired arms, but welcomed.
The floor invited her down for a seat. Venus took the guitar into her arms. One hand placed on the neck while the other wrapped around the body. Her fingers smoothed over the strings, letting out an off pitch tone. Her face knitted together at the sound.
"Guess i forgot to tune it after I painted it.. didn't i love?" Venus spoke softly to the instrument- as if it were a child in her arms.
Her left hand moved up the neck and to the headstock. She turned the pegs, testing the sound each time until the key satified her. One stroke of her hand over the strings filled the house with a beautiful melody. The moon shone in through the window, down onto the floor where Venus sat. Of all nights, the moon chose tonight to be full of her silvery glow.
Venus strummed her guitar peacefully. Her head nodded in a rhythmic pattern with her lips parted in anticipation. One last cord, and she began to sing. A song of two lovers; one lost in the seafoam, the other waiting anxiously on shore. The words barely leave her lips before flashes of the weeks before take over. Her friends, family, and coworkers. All of them, gone. Her fingers slip from the chords. The house falls back into silence while tears fall from her eyes.
She wipes away the first few. The salty substance clings to her skin and only makes a path for the next droplets to replace them. The guitar is set back on the table, and Venus turns to the floor for comfort. Beneath the table, she is safe to let her feelings flood through her body. Sobs wreck through her relentlessly. There is no one to comfort her. The once beautiful moon only reminds her of how lonely she is in England. She would do anything to be with her family again in America. But what good would it do? Her work is here. Her dreams and passions live here. There is nothing for her there, and no one for her here.
__
Author Note
Okay, so i know this focuses on Venus today, BUT i promise it's important. Also, im not sorry about the sad bits. She needs her moment. Shes gonna get several of them. Chapter 4 makes it all worth while i PROMISE.
~Project V-175 🖤
#alastor moody#alastor moody x oc#alastor my beloved#oc insert#novel#fanfic#angst#im not crying you are#pining#Harry Potter#romance#tension#mermaid oc#main character#mutual pining#strangers to lovers
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10/19
i'm guessing this is for the nsft ask thing
10. What do you think your favourite position would be?
well, the position i'm usually in when i'm alone is on my back, sometimes with my legs up. i'd like to try more things, being on my tummy with my hips raised for example. i'm more interested in trying things now, but i have no one to do anything with at the moment 😅 ...haha.
19. If money wasn’t an issue, how many sex toys would you have and what would they be?
oh, wow. so many things!! i recently got a really cute, rainbow petite le wand on sale. i love toys that feel like "toys" and have a whimsy about them or are overly, devastatingly, pretty (less resembling it's purpose and more like a fairy wand, or a mermaid's seashell, etc). Very kawaii.
i don't like large sized dildos and such. the toy i use for penetration is the avant d15, which is 5 inches insertable and has a width of 1.25. the toy i was considering getting next is the blue unihorn, with a flicking tongue. i was also interested in trying a device, like the rolevin electric nipple corrector. i think a session with a machine sucking on my nipples sounds way nicer than a plastic fimble hanging on, not doing anything really...
i wish i knew of a shop that sold more items that are cute AND body safe, and that aren't just silicone toys. (if you know of any i could look into, please share the information! it'd be very appreciated.) i also have some toys from Cute Little Fuckers (starsi, jix, and trinity- which is too big for me to insert lol. i mostly like trinity's adorable little fangs tbh.)
i also want to get a cool silicone toy from a handmade shop, something like a monster tongue. but lots of terato toys are either too big or too expensive to try out without knowing for sure if i'd like the way it feels. i kinda wish they made penile pumps for vulvas, but i guess the closest thing is an air sucking toy?
i would try so many obscure items if cost wasn't an issue lol. that, and my privacy holds me back from buying larger items (like furniture pieces or that vibrating machine you straddle, and regular fucking machines honestly).
kinda funny how much my pillow prince/ss tendencies are showing right now. all these toys basically require me to do nothing lmao. yeah... just hook me up to a bunch of gadgets and gizmos in a room full of screens with spirals and filthy content for a few hours like... xP
i've also thought about making my own, like, casting my own vulva or someone else's part for a toy. but idk much about actually doing that so... i haven't tried it.
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Should I mention Catherines been Arrested for stealing from a Furniture store?....and killed the Sky Knights during her prison break?
Sense in the Main AU Elizabeth also had a thing for Catherine. Don't know if Elizabeth is a Mermaid or a human in this. But if she is a Mermaid....Catherine will just be screwed. Mermaid and Siren be following her Whale whenever they come down to do some Sea Quests.
Then theres the Pirate AU where Meliodas is a Pirate himself if I'm not mistaken? The Sky Whale thing could totally be a thing here. Catherine on Mel and Zels Fathers shit list already cause she....Stole his pillow!...Left him a Lava Lamp but took his Pillows.
Meliodas might try to stow away on Shrimpzilla sense theres no way they can catch him in the sky....Right?...Right?.....RIGHT!??!!?!?!??!
so much story potential! this is great. and the fact she can't even buy her own furniture. Must steal. bwhahaahaha
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I KNEW when this barbie world furniture set came out I HAD TO HAVE this mermaid shell bed for Octavia. I was smitten.
I use TOOL for the bed pillows by the way. so my sims can sleep
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Masterpost | Rules | FAQ | Ask | Discord | AO3 collection
CLAIMED
To claim this pinch hit, please send an email to smutwars(@)outlook.com with your AO3 username.
Pinch Hit #3: Wolviecat; Star Wars - All Media Types
Request 1: Cassian Andor/Bodhi Rook; Cassian Andor/Ruescott Melshi; Cassian Andor/Syril Karn; Cassian Andor/Luthen Rael; Art; Fic
Request 2: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth; Art; Fic
Request 3: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi; CC-1010 | Fox/Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious; CC-2224 | Cody/CT-7567 | Rex; CT-9904 | Crosshair/Clone Commander Mayday; CT-6922 | Dogma/Clone Trooper Slick; CC-2224 | Cody/CC-1010 | Fox; Art; Fic
Details for the request under the break as well as on the Auto AO3 App 🔗.
Andor Request by Wolviecat
Cassian Andor/Bodhi Rook; Cassian Andor/Ruescott Melshi; Cassian Andor/Syril Karn; Cassian Andor/Luthen Rael; Art; Fic
Treats are welcomed!
DNWs: A/B/O, no animal transformations, mermaids, dragons and such, PWP, domestic!AU and other overly sweet scenarios, healing cock, bestiality, children, whitewashing, Ahsoka in any ship, crack, reader insert
Favorite scenarios: sex while undercover/during mission, Narkina 5, sex worker!AU, Cold War!AU, non-con (with Syril or Luthen), dub-con (with Luthen), trans man Andor, Nemik Lives!AU (especially when he survived with a disability)
And because I've missed nominations like an idiot, feel free to add Karis Nemik/Cassian Andor or Karis Nemik/Arvel Skeen as a ship.
NSFW likes:
Oral sex - Drooling, come on face, Bruised lips/jaw/throat, Blowing someone under the table, Masturbating while giving a bj, Deep throating - coughing, retching, throwing up (in noncon/dubcon scenarios), Holding by the hair
mastubation - improvised toys, Humping a pillow/furniture, In front of others
Bodily fluids - Licking come/other fluids from fingers/toys, Tears, Peeing on face/mouth
bdsm - Forced orgasm, Repeated, oversensitive, In public (under the table, through clothes, atd), Hair pulling, Blindfolds, Leash/collar, Begging, Kneeling, Rough sex in general, Bruises (Hiding them in civil life)
mind alteration - Drunk/high Bad Ideas, Tired, Aphrodisiac, Brainwashed/conditioned
Anonymous sex - Glory hole, Gang bangs, In a club bathroom
sex work - Survival sex work, Runaways,Trafficking, Old shame porn movies
Body mod - Piercing (Tongue, Snakebite, Genitalia), "cyberpunk" body mods (Computer/brain connection as a sex thing), Forced body mods
non-con/dubcon - Taped as a ransom note, Bruises on legs, Uneven relationships, Age differences (no one under 16),Teacher/student, POW, Institualized violence (dystopia, handmaid tale situation), Pain during sex
Mandalorian Request by Wolviecat
Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth; Art; Fic
Treats are welcomed!
DNWs: A/B/O, no animal transformations, mermaids, dragons and such, PWP, domestic!AU and other overly sweet scenarios, healing cock, bestiality, children, whitewashing, Ahsoka in any ship, crack, reader insert .
Favorite scenarios: modern day!AU, specifically Din was in a cult!AU, taking care of each other's injuries, sex worker!AU
NSFW likes:
Oral sex - Drooling, come on face, Bruised lips/jaw/throat, Blowing someone under the table, Masturbating while giving a bj, Deep throating - coughing, retching, throwing up (in noncon/dubcon scenarios), Holding by the hair
mastubation - improvised toys, Humping a pillow/furniture, In front of others
Bodily fluids - Licking come/other fluids from fingers/toys, Tears, Peeing on face/mouth
bdsm - Forced orgasm, Repeated, oversensitive, In public (under the table, through clothes, atd), Hair pulling, Blindfolds, Leash/collar, Begging, Kneeling, Rough sex in general, Bruises (Hiding them in civil life)
mind alteration - Drunk/high Bad Ideas, Tired, Aphrodisiac, Brainwashed/conditioned
Anonymous sex - Glory hole, Gang bangs, In a club bathroom
sex work - Survival sex work, Runaways,Trafficking, Old shame porn movies
Body mod - Piercing (Tongue, Snakebite, Genitalia), "cyberpunk" body mods (Computer/brain connection as a sex thing), Forced body mods
non-con/dubcon - Taped as a ransom note, Bruises on legs, Uneven relationships, Age differences (no one under 16),Teacher/student, POW, Institualized violence (dystopia, handmaid tale situation), Pain during sex
Clone Request by Wolviecat
CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi; CC-1010 | Fox/Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious; CC-2224 | Cody/CT-7567 | Rex; CT-9904 | Crosshair/Clone Commander Mayday; CT-6922 | Dogma/Clone Trooper Slick; CC-2224 | Cody/CC-1010 | Fox; Art; Fic
Treats are welcomed!
DNWs: A/B/O, no animal transformations, mermaids, dragons and such, PWP, domestic!AU and other overly sweet scenarios, healing cock, bestiality, children, whitewashing, Ahsoka in any ship, crack, reader insert.
Favorite scenarios: fics set on Kamino, cadets (16+),modern(ish) day!AU, quickies between battles, lack of privacy, dealing with anti-clone prejudice, inexperienced, trans men clones
NSFW likes:
Oral sex - Drooling, come on face, Bruised lips/jaw/throat, Blowing someone under the table, Masturbating while giving a bj, Deep throating - coughing, retching, throwing up (in noncon/dubcon scenarios), Holding by the hair
mastubation - improvised toys, Humping a pillow/furniture, In front of others
Bodily fluids - Licking come/other fluids from fingers/toys, Tears, Peeing on face/mouth
bdsm - Forced orgasm, Repeated, oversensitive, In public (under the table, through clothes, atd), Hair pulling, Blindfolds, Leash/collar, Begging, Kneeling, Rough sex in general, Bruises (Hiding them in civil life)
mind alteration - Drunk/high Bad Ideas, Tired, Aphrodisiac, Brainwashed/conditioned
Anonymous sex - Glory hole, Gang bangs, In a club bathroom
sex work - Survival sex work, Runaways,Trafficking, Old shame porn movies
Body mod - Piercing (Tongue, Snakebite, Genitalia), "cyberpunk" body mods (Computer/brain connection as a sex thing), Forced body mods
non-con/dubcon - Taped as a ransom note, Bruises on legs, Uneven relationships, Age differences (no one under 16),Teacher/student, POW, Institualized violence (dystopia, handmaid tale situation), Pain during sex
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A POSSIBLE ARRANGEMENT OF A PATHWAY OF 250 ROOMS OF 5.6X6X5, TO BE INTO WEIRD STUFF
Knitting sweaters for animals
Extreme pogo stick jumping
Collecting and cataloging different types of moss
Competing in synchronized swimming with rubber ducks
Sculpting miniature sculptures out of belly button lint
Organizing hamster fashion shows
Participating in professional snail racing
Decorating houses exclusively with neon-colored furniture
Collecting and arranging vintage toothpaste tubes
Hosting underground origami parties
Exploring abandoned amusement parks at night
Building sandcastles in unconventional shapes (e.g., pyramids, spaceships)
Mastering the art of underwater yodeling
Designing custom-made hats for garden gnomes
Creating abstract paintings using spaghetti and meatballs
Competing in extreme hula-hooping contests
Collecting unique and exotic belly button lint samples
Performing magic tricks with rubber chickens
Assembling intricate mazes for pet hamsters
Creating elaborate hairstyles using brightly colored pipe cleaners
Hosting finger puppet theater performances for adults
Collecting vintage chewing gum wrappers
Organizing synchronized shopping cart races
Creating intricate sculptures out of discarded chewing gum
Participating in extreme bubblegum blowing competitions
Building and maintaining elaborate ant farms
Collecting and categorizing bizarre-shaped potatoes
Performing stand-up comedy exclusively for houseplants
Designing and wearing elaborate costumes made of recycled materials
Participating in competitive moustache twirling
Collecting and cataloging unique-shaped clouds
Hosting underground "Pajama Olympics" for adults
Creating miniature landscapes using food ingredients
Participating in professional pillow fighting leagues
Collecting and arranging vintage soda bottle caps
Mastering the art of synchronized nap-taking
Creating intricate sculptures out of discarded bottle caps
Organizing snail speed-dating events
Hosting underwater tea parties for mermaid enthusiasts
Collecting and categorizing peculiar-shaped rocks
Competing in extreme tea bag tossing competitions
Designing and wearing clothing made entirely of feathers
Participating in competitive paper airplane races
Collecting and cataloging unique-shaped tree leaves
Creating elaborate sand art on beaches
Organizing underground bubble wrap popping parties
Hosting synchronized skateboard dance performances
Building and maintaining elaborate butterfly gardens
Collecting and arranging vintage button collections
Mastering the art of synchronized sneezing
Creating intricate sculptures out of discarded paper clips
Participating in competitive yo-yo championships
Collecting and categorizing peculiar-shaped pasta pieces
Designing and wearing clothing made entirely of recycled newspapers
Organizing extreme spoon balancing contests
Hosting synchronized pogo stick performances
Building and maintaining elaborate terrariums
Collecting and arranging vintage keychain collections
Mastering the art of synchronized bubble blowing
Creating intricate sculptures out of discarded coffee grounds
Participating in competitive balloon animal making
Collecting and categorizing peculiar-shaped cereal pieces
Designing and wearing clothing made entirely of candy wrappers
Organizing extreme jigsaw puzzle races
Hosting synchronized unicycling performances
Building and maintaining elaborate sand sculptures
Collecting and arranging vintage postage stamps
Mastering the art of synchronized water splashing
Creating intricate sculptures out of discarded wine corks
Participating in competitive rubber band shooting contests
Collecting and categorizing peculiar-shaped seashells
Designing and wearing clothing made entirely of playing cards
Organizing extreme hopscotch tournaments
Hosting synchronized kite flying performances
Building and maintaining elaborate bonsai gardens
Collecting and arranging vintage vinyl records
Mastering the art of synchronized bubble wrap popping
Creating intricate sculptures out of discarded candy wrappers
Participating in competitive juggling with unconventional objects
Collecting and categorizing peculiar-shaped vegetables
Designing and wearing clothing made entirely of recycled plastic bottles
Organizing extreme rock-paper-scissors championships
Hosting synchronized pogo stick basketball games
Building and maintaining elaborate sand mandalas
Collecting and arranging vintage matchbooks
Mastering the art of synchronized sneezing harmonies
Creating intricate sculptures out of discarded bread crusts
Participating in competitive spoon balancing on the nose
Collecting and categorizing peculiar-shaped ice cubes
Designing and wearing clothing made entirely of recycled aluminum cans
Organizing extreme hop-on-one-leg races
Hosting synchronized bubble gum bubble-blowing shows
Building and maintaining elaborate hedge mazes
Collecting and arranging vintage postcards
Mastering the art of synchronized finger snapping
Creating intricate sculptures out of discarded eggshells
Participating in competitive hacky sack tournaments
Collecting and categorizing peculiar-shaped fruit peels
Designing and wearing clothing made entirely of recycled cardboard
Organizing extreme musical chairs competitions
Hosting synchronized roller skating performances
Building and maintaining elaborate flower arrangements
Collecting and arranging vintage comic books
Mastering the art of synchronized hiccups
Creating intricate sculptures out of discarded bottle labels
Participating in competitive rubber duck races
Collecting and categorizing peculiar-shaped coffee beans
Designing and wearing clothing made entirely of recycled bottle caps
Organizing extreme bean bag tossing contests
Hosting synchronized scooter dance routines
Building and maintaining elaborate sand castles with intricate designs
Collecting and arranging vintage ticket stubs
Mastering the art of synchronized whistling
Creating intricate sculptures out of discarded paper napkins
Participating in competitive marble racing
Collecting and categorizing peculiar-shaped pasta shells
Designing and wearing clothing made entirely of recycled plastic bags
Organizing extreme kite fighting tournaments
Hosting synchronized hacky sack performances
Building and maintaining elaborate cactus gardens
Collecting and arranging vintage toy figurines
Mastering the art of synchronized finger puppetry
Creating intricate sculptures out of discarded banana peels
Participating in competitive yo-yo tricks and stunts
Collecting and categorizing peculiar-shaped bread slices
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Happy little Marina
#animal crossing#marina#fan art#game fanart#pixel#pixel art#pixel gif#gif#simple#acnl#doodle#fish#shes so cute#i love her#pink#animal crossing octopus#animal crossing villager#what#with mermaid furniture pillows#and fish
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Bubble Dream Mermaid Set Part 2 by MincSims
<HERE> (TSR warning)
#sims 4 buy mode#sims 4 set#sims 4 furniture#sims 4 table#sims 4 pillow#sims 4 seashell#sims 4 nautical#sims 4 mermaid#sims 4 wall decor#sims 4 mirror#sims 4 object#sims 4 lighting#sims 4 lamp#sims 4 vase#sims 4 trunk#sims 4 favorite
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Omg can you write about coops going live on instagram and answering TONS of fans questions? And just being domestic and cute together in general
I can, yes! This is partially the 450 celebration--to the lovely person who suggested writing a sequel to one of my favorites, please know that I love and appreciate you! Coop credit goes to @lumosinlove
Check out Part 1 here
“Is it working? I think it’s working.” An explosion of hearts covered the screen and Remus’ eyebrows rose. “Yep, definitely working. Hello, Instagram! I’m Remus Lupin, winger for the Lions.”
“And I’m Sirius Black, center and team captain.” Sirius waved at the phone. “We had a great time answering your questions last month and we figured we’d come back to do it again, since there were so many people we couldn’t get around to in those few minutes.”
“I can already see a bunch coming in. Should we start?” Remus asked, turning to him with a small smile.
“You go first.”
“Alright, first question….” He squinted at the screen. “How long have we been together? We’ve been dating for just over a year now, but we’ve known each other for three-ish.”
Sirius snorted when he read the next question. “What do we do in our free time? It’s cute that you think we have free time. Um, we read a lot. Sometimes I’ll play video games with the guys.”
“If we have a free weekend, we’ll go hiking or take a short road trip. Practice takes up four or five hours a day, so we’re very low-key, which I think surprises people.” Remus scrolled down a bit. “What are our favorite foods?”
“Don’t say it.” Sirius said immediately. “Don’t you dare.”
“Fine, fine.” Just as Sirius began to answer, he coughed, “pineapple pizza.”
“No!” Sirius smacked Remus on the arm with a pillow as he laughed. “Menace. My favorite food is pasta, because it’s versatile and I’m not a heathen. All of you who are agreeing with him, stop it right now. I’m very disappointed in your tastebuds. Next question…do either of us cook? We do, yeah.”
Remus gave him a look. “Do you, though?”
“That’s a funny thing to hear coming from the man who said he’d die for one of my grilled cheeses yesterday,” Sirius countered.
“Fair point. Yes, we both cook, but I generally do it more often because I enjoy it.”
Sirius looked back at the camera with sad eyes. “He kicked me out of the kitchen last week.”
“You kept stealing bites of soup!” Remus laughed. “It wasn’t even done, you could have gotten salmonella!”
“You can’t get salmonella from soup,” Sirius scoffed. The comment section went wild. “…apparently you can. Huh.”
“Next question, before we get too off-track. Who is the more dramatic one?” Remus folded his hands and rested his chin on top. “I’m giving you three guesses and the first two don’t count.”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’re plenty dramatic.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
“Moving on! Oooo, this one is for me specifically.” He shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Remus’ waist as he read. “Sirius: does Regulus—you spelled that wrong by the way, there’s only one ‘g’—does Regulus still live with you? If yes, how does that work?”
“I’m telling him someone spelled his name wrong,” Remus said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “He’ll get a kick out of it.”
“He’ll be so pissed,” Sirius agreed. “Nope, Reg moved out a few months ago and now lives with Pascal Dumais, but it was really neat to have him around. He’s still got a room here and it was nice spending so much time with him after we didn’t talk for a while. He’s awful about vacuuming, though.”
“Aw, people think that’s cute.” Remus smiled as he read the responses. “Ohoho, people are getting nosy. What do we argue about the most?”
“I’m not sure, actually. Maybe chores?”
“I was going to say practice time. We’ve gotten into a couple tiffs about watching tape or running drills after we get home.”
“That’s true.” Sirius frowned at the screen. “For those of you who apparently think that’s all one-sided: it’s really not.”
“He came downstairs to get me at ten or eleven at night the other day. We’re both hockey nerds, so it happens from time to time.”
“Are we going to keep doing tiktoks? Oh, for sure, they’re a ton of fun.”
“Absolutely. Where else am I going to get the inspiration to glue things shut just to irritate him?”
Sirius shook his head with a smile. “Diablotin.”
“Nothing like being called a gremlin by your fiancé,” Remus laughed, tapping the screen. “Okay…who’s the best in bed?”
“I’d say we both sleep really well,” Sirius said. “You talk sometimes, which is really funny.”
Remus glanced over. “Do I really?”
“Yep. I think you were grocery shopping the other night. You kept saying orange juice very adamantly.”
“Interesting. I agree, though, we both value sleep.”
“There are too many questions!” Sirius scooted forward and sifted through them. “To jay-mac 2001, we both love kids and might have some in a few years. No, mermaid queen, we don’t really have friends outside of hockey because we don’t have lives outside of hockey—” Remus leaned his forehead on Sirius’ shoulder as he laughed. “—but I’m sure that will change someday. Oh, here’s a fun one: what are our love languages?”
“Our what?”
“Love languages. Like the Buzzfeed quiz Pots made us take last week.” The screen lit up and Sirius looked offended. “Of course we know what Buzzfeed is! We’re 25, you fuckers!”
“I think mine was quality time.”
Sirius pulled Remus’ arm further around his shoulders and leaned into his side with a smile. “It’s physical affection,” he singsonged, making him laugh. “Your turn.”
“Have you finally found your song?” Remus read aloud. “I think so! We did an interview a while back and there was a question about our ‘couple song’, which we didn’t have at the time.”
“That didn’t answer the question, sweetheart.”
“Oh! Shit, sorry. It’s La Vie En Rose by Edith Piaf.”
Sirius read the next question and snorted. “This is convenient. Who swears more?”
Remus looked away. “It’s, uh, a tie.”
“That’s such a lie.”
He sighed. “It’s probably me.”
“You taught a literal baby to swear.” Sirius turned back to the camera with a wicked grin. “Harry’s first word was ‘Loops’, but his second was ‘shit’ and there’s an eighty percent chance he learned it from Re.”
“Changing the subject!” Remus cleared his throat, then smiled. “Aw, I like this one. What’s the compliment you get most often from your partner?”
“Does it have to be verbal?”
“Sirius.”
Sirius’ eyes went wide. “Not like that! Oh, fuck, I did not mean that! You always touch my hair, so I figured that was a compliment. Merde.”
Remus shook his head. “We need a supervisor again. Anyways, you talk about my freckles all the time and it’s adorable.”
“You’re adorable.”
“Sap.”
“Yeah.” Sirius kissed his cheek. “What’s the best date I’ve ever been on? We went ice skating at the local rink a few weeks ago and it was so much fun. I had never done that before.”
Remus’ eyebrows rose. “I thought for sure you would say the aquarium.”
“The aqu—oh, right! With the jellyfish arch!”
“Yeah!”
“Now it’s a tie, I can’t decide.”
“That’s fair. From spaceman93: who tops? We actually don’t have a bunk bed, though that would be cool as hell! Do you think Ikea sells them?”
“We should check.”
The screen exploded into activity again and Remus did a double-take. “Yes, we do buy our furniture from Ikea, there’s no need to sound so shocked. This person—I can’t read your username, sorry—wants to know which of us is more cuddly.”
“Definitely me,” Sirius said.
“For sure. I like cuddling people, but only a select few. I mean, I’m assuming you guys saw the Cap cuddles slideshow at our last game.” He laughed when Sirius turned pink. “Why are you embarrassed? It was cute!”
“There’s a hashtag now!” Sirius complained. “I have a reputation.” Remus rolled his eyes fondly as Sirius looked for the next question. “Ha! Do we ever get jealous?”
“Yes, but not for the reasons people might think.”
Sirius laughed quietly. “We went out to a bar for Kasey’s birthday a month or so ago—”
“Oh, please no.”
“—and a young lady was hitting on me, not taking the hint—”
“Jesus.”
“—so Re comes out of nowhere and kisses me full on the mouth in front of everyone.” He snickered and Remus hid his face in his hands. “It was kinda hot, not gonna lie. Really funny looking back, though. Your turn, sweetheart.”
“Who is clumsier? Ooh, we’re both disasters off the ice. I tripped over the carpet about twenty minutes ago.”
“I’ve run into every doorframe in this house at least twice.” Sirius grimaced. “If I could just tape my skates to my feet and always be on ice, that would be much safer.”
Remus cocked his head to the side. “I dunno, it would be hard to sleep in them.”
“I do that all that time.”
“That’s true, you take a nap in the hall at least once a week in full gear.”
“Reverse Edward Scissorhands.” They had to take a moment to stop laughing before Sirius turned back to the phone. “Mon dieu. Alright, what do we have next…when did you know I was ‘the one’? When did you know, mon amour?”
“Breaking out the nicknames, very snazzy,” Remus teased as he rested his chin on his hand. “I think it was just an accumulation of things, and then one day I went ‘oh shit’ and just knew. Sometime around New Year’s, maybe?”
“You only made it two months?” Sirius teased, nudging him lightly.
“Shush, you.” Remus nudged him back. “I knew I wanted to propose when I came home from hanging out with Leo and you were napping with the dog. You had done the dishes and left Avatar on so we could watch it together, and I opened the door and knew that I wanted that moment forever.”
Sirius smile was unbearably soft, and he kissed Remus on the cheek as hearts filled the comments section. “I’ve never seen so many keysmashes in my life,” he laughed when he looked back to it. “Hey, someone addressed one to you specifically.”
“Really?” He leaned forward eagerly. “To Remus, do you feel like part of the team yet? I do, a hundred percent! It helped that I was close with a lot of the guys from being the PT, so those friendships carried over really well. Being a player on the roster has only made that better and it’s the best job in the world.”
“Who has the better smile? We’re going to say each other, so I think we’ll leave that one to the comments—fuck, that was a bad idea, it’s moving too fast for me to read!” Sirius tapped the screen desperately, then gave up and waited for the scrolling to slow down. “Ask each other one question you’ve always wanted to know the answer to.”
“Do you actually want to get your ears pierced?” Remus asked. “You talked about it a while ago but I wasn’t sure if you were kidding.”
Sirius thought for a minute, biting his lip. “Y’know, I might. It was one of those things where it started as a joke and then I kept thinking about it. I’m not sure, hockey’s not the best sport to have things that can catch and tear.” They both winced at the idea. “My turn. What is it about pineapple pizza that you actually enjoy?”
“It annoys you.” Remus laughed as Sirius rolled his eyes. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I honestly don’t know why I like it so much. There’s something about the sweetness that goes so well with the regular pizza taste. Okay, last question for me: how many freckles do I have? Not many right now.”
“So many in the summer,” Sirius said dreamily. “That’s the best part of summertime and the only reason I like Florida. They might have bouncy ice, but it’s worth it to see the freckles pop.”
“Whew, Florida’s getting mad in the comments!” Remus grinned. “Get some real ice, then come talk to us.”
“Final question, then we really have to go. What does your partner look best in?” Sirius drummed his fingers on his knees. “His jersey. Or my jersey. He does own a pair of skinny jeans, though, and that was the closest thing to a religious experience I’ve ever had.”
“They’re comfortable.” Remus shrugged, but he looked rather self-satisfied. “That’s all we have time for, folks, but thanks for joining us!”
“Go Lions!”
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The Tanning Rock
Harringrove April prompt 28, Tanning--Creatures!AU (This one grew to nearly 6k and I’m so sorry) @wasting-time-again HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, HAVE A MERMAN! XD
The lawyer who summoned Billy—about an inheritance, he said—was...weird. Straight out of a movie, with long incisors and a cravat, and he steepled his fingers as he talked.
Max said he was probably actually a vampire, and Billy agreed—which was weird, because as far as Billy knew, his mom’s family wasn’t exactly old money, and it was hard to imagine a vampire getting on a plane to fly clear to California and summoning him to a crypt full of file cabinets, all just to read a will about his mom’s collection of surfing stickers and pile of old National Geographics.
Billy knew his father had disowned him, so he bit his lips together, waiting to hear that his mother had died.
“I am here about the estate of your grandmother,” said the vampire lawyer, and Billy drew a shaky breath of relief. “Your mother was disowned—” he said, and Billy almost snorted a laugh—like mother, like son, he thought, “—and so her domicile has passed to you.”
“Wait, what,” Billy breathed, wide-eyed.
“It is an unusual case,” said the lawyer—Fangun and Stayk, est. 986, read his card, but Billy wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to Fangun or Stayk, or whether the whole thing was a joke yet, so he kept his mouth shut. “You will take ownership of the house and land, however, you may not live there—that is, not year-round, not unless you are given an invitation by a resident. It is a closed community.”
“...can I sell it?” Billy asked, and the deepset eyes of the lawyer stared back at him, bloodshot and dry.
“At well below market value,” he said, steepling his fingers again. They made a dryish noise. “As I said, they dislike outsiders. And a stranger will be even more of an outsider than you, in whom runs...the blood of the place.”
Billy wondered, dully, whether he’d inherited a haunted graveyard, or a den of werewolves, and groaned into his hands. Maybe he was part zombie somehow. Just his luck. “Where is it,” he sighed.
“It is not on commonly available maps,” said the vampire, and Billy nodded. It figured, he thought, though his ears perked up considerably when his grandmother’s lawyer laid out a map of Hawaii.
They got a ride from the shore on a fishing boat at four o’clock in the morning. “It’s barely tourist season yet,” said the fisherwoman, showing Max how to steer. “There will be a ferry, in a week or two, but I can give you two a ride out the day your visa’s up if the ferry quits sooner.”
“We want enough time to look around,” Max said, glancing at Billy. They’d let their lease run out, and sold most of their things, because a few orange crates of records were a small price to pay for never running into Neil Hargrove around town. “You could get a job on one of the normal islands,” Max had suggested, quietly, over and over. “If they don’t like us enough.”
Billy’d never suggested moving Max so far away, but she’d assumed they were going, and after a while he went along with it. It wouldn’t be so bad, he thought, getting a job in a hotel somewhere after the islanders threw him out. Max would probably love it, in Hawaii.
A fresh start, she had said, and it sounded good.
He and Max were greeted by a woman in a wheelchair, who stamped their passports. “Technically, we’re a different country,” she said, smiling. She had very brown skin, and looked contentedly half-asleep in the sun. “You’re the only visitors on the island, for a week or two,” she said, cocking her head. “We’re not always in a big hurry to scrub up the ferry for the summer. We love the money, but the tourists...” she laughed, shaking her head. “Three-month pleasure trip visa. Have a nice summer,” she said, waving them away.
Her benign lack of interest lessened Billy’s initial fears that he’d inherited membership in some rich, yoga-pants-wearing, white Human Superiority cult.
The house was traditional-ish, with a grass roof and walls, big open windows with no glass, only shutters, and a wide shaded veranda all the way around. It looked over a beach with rolling waves, and Billy couldn’t wait to get his board out there.
“I’m gonna look around the house,” Max said. “See if I can find any neighbors. Maybe I can bring them cookies.” She set her jaw, frowning around at their luggage, and the scattered pillows. “Maybe we can buy some furniture somewhere.”
“...we can always just come here for summers,” Billy told her, breathing it in.
“Yeah, you’re gonna have a great time getting a tourism job where you don’t work summers,” Max said, raising a sarcastic eyebrow, and Billy realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that she expected him to figure it out. Find someone who wanted him to stay, here, on the island, at his grandmother’s house.
“I’m no good at making friends, Max,” he reminded her, and she snorted.
“Better get out of my hair, then.” She folded her arms, taking another deep breath of the smell of grass in the sun. After a long moment, she looked back at him again. “...we’ve got a little over three months, Billy.”
He suspected it sounded longer to her.
When he wandered down to the beach, Billy could see someone’s tanned shoulders lying across a jutting rock about fifty feet out, and he paddled a ways towards it on his surfboard, getting the lay of the ocean. There was a rip tide, dark and eerily quiet, to his right, but the rest of the beach had shallow, warm, clear waves over white sand and coral until a dark dropoff about fifty feet out where the rolling waves began.
As he paddled closer to the rock, he could see the man on it—asleep, Billy thought, just lying in the sun as the waves lapped at his skin. As Billy drifted closer, paddling with his hands, he could see a long-fingered hand hanging in the water, and he paddled faster, suddenly wondering whether the man wanted to be out on a rock, or whether he was a Dude In Distress, his leg cramped, needing a ride to the beach on Billy’s surfboard and a trip around the boardwalk, and maybe some shaved ice.
As Billy approached, the guy opened his eyes, frowning over at Billy with wide, half-awake brown eyes. He pushed himself up on the rock with his arms like the goddamn Little Mermaid, Billy thought, amused. His throat went dry watching the flex of muscle, and the water droplets where the dude had lifted himself out of the bay.
Billy paddled at random, a little, unable to tear his eyes away. He cleared his throat. “Just, uh, making sure you didn’t need any help,” he said, staring at the tanned arms and swimmer’s chest in front of him, nearly triangular, like a superhero. “I, um. Guess you’re fine.”
The guy raised his eyebrows, starting to smirk, and then his eyes widened, and Billy realized in a flash of blue and foam that he’d drifted right into the fucking rip tide. Right in front of the gorgeous dude on the rock, Billy thought in the back of his mind, trying to hold onto his surfboard and let the rip tide take him wherever it would. Just his luck, he thought, dying because he was so damn gay he saw nice shoulders and his brain switched off. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to breathe before he got sucked down, and his lungs and sinuses were starting to ache worse than the rest of him, even as he was buffeted around against his board, when an arm slid around his waist.
He wanted to yell at the guy—and he did, in an explosion of bubbles—because what the hell good was it gonna do, swimming into a rip tide, but the muscles against his back and butt flexed, and they were moving sideways out of the rip tide, and then Billy’s head was above water. He gasped and choked, coughing up half the sea. The ocean moved soothingly around them, as this dude had no trouble holding Billy up, and Billy tried to clear his throat and eyes.
“Have you seriously never seen a tail before,” the guy groaned, hauling Billy along like he was no more effort to lift than a little kid at the pool. Billy felt rock against his thigh, suddenly, and scrambled onto it, coughing and wiping his eyes to see he was on the jutting rock the dude must have jumped off of, to save him.
“How-how fucking humiliating,” he gasped out loud. “Can’t believe. C-can’t believe I fucking p-paddled into a rip tide.”
“You drifted back into the...yeah,” his hot rescuer said, still in the water, with one hand on the rock to hold him steady as he frowned at Billy. His voice sounded a little odd—Billy was reminded of the Chinese grocery by his house, where their English was perfect, but they had a lilt as they tried to speak an atonal language with a tonal ear. Up close, he was even prettier, with moles Billy wanted to track down his neck and shoulders, and a doubtful, scrunched-up mouth Billy wanted to kiss.
“Sorry,” Billy wheezed, still coughing. “Sorry, I’m such a moron, sorry.” He tried to keep his eyes above the water level, but some part of his brain kept looking for tanned legs kicking under the surface, and he suddenly registered that the moving colors weren’t just fish and anemones. “Holy shit,” he coughed out. “You have a tail.”
His rescuer frowned harder, probably worried Billy had brain damage. “I figured that’s why you swam into the rip tide,” he said slowly, and Billy shook his head, groaning.
“No—fuck, I’m sorry, you—you’re just hot as fuck, I’m just a moron, I’m—damn it,” he sighed. “Sorry, jesus, I’m so fucking rude, sorry, I just didn’t notice, I was like ‘How the hell did he get me out of there? OH!’, sorry,” he muttered, sighing. “...drown me.”
“I am though, right,” the merman said, grinning, “—hotter than you,” and Billy realized he’d found the only person on the island more annoying than he was.
“Yeah, yeah, just laugh at the poor gay moron who nearly drowned staring at you, that’s nice,” he huffed, lying back against the warm rock to catch his breath.
“Was it love at first sight?” asked his rescuer, and Billy opened his eyes to glare.
“Shut up, asshole,” he grunted.
“Just asking,” his tormenter asked. “Are you gonna pine away, sighing over me? Hey, d’you think you’ll always do that? If I swim over in town, you think you’ll fall off the boardwalk?”
“Fuck you,” Billy told him, leaning his face in his arms and laughing. “Yeah, probably, you shithead. Are you gonna...follow me around? So I can look like more of an idiot?”
“Mmm, can you though…” the gorgeous merman asked thoughtfully, and Billy growled into his arms, feeling his whole body warm. He blamed it on the sun. “Why,” his rescuer asked, pulling himself up to laugh against Billy’s ear. “—you want me to follow you someplace?”
“Oh my god,” Billy groaned, laughing harder. “Are you afraid to leave me alone now? What if I try and eat my surfboard?”
“...are you gonna?”
“Maybe?!” Billy told him, then pushed himself up, frowning around to look for it.
“I’ve got it, it’s right here,” the smug asshole told him, waggling the surfboard in the water. “Want me to take you back to shore?”
“No!” Billy laughed, sighing. “I’m going surfing, just because I nearly died making an ass of myself doesn’t mean—”
“Hrm, maybe I should keep an eye on you.”
“Why,” Billy asked, then pitched his voice just a little lower. “You like what you see?”
“I could get used to it,” the merman said, and Billy started to preen, but the dickhead finished with “—kind of a comedy special, kind of thing,” and Billy reached over and smacked a big splash of water at him.
He laughed, his throat arching back, the gills along it thin dark lines that Billy fantasized kissing around.
Just as Billy was considering grabbing the surfboard and using it as a weapon of blunt force trauma, the merman leaned in close, his smirk widening around pointed teeth, and his cool, salty lips pressed firmly against Billy’s. Billy made a weird gulping noise in his throat, and the asshole started to pull away, but Billy leaned in, and fell clean off the rock. His weight dunked them both, and they rose sputtering and laughing, Billy held securely in his merman’s arms as his surfboard floated away. He couldn’t really bring himself to care.
“...my name’s Billy,” he panted.
“...Steve,” the mer-dickhead said, raising his eyebrows, like it was weird to want to know his name.
“...I inherited a house here,” Billy told him in a rush, drunk on kisses. “I’m from California. My mom used to talk about this place when I was a kid. Surfing here. With her mom.”
“...is she here?” Steve asked, steadying them with one hand on the rock, and glancing back at the beach.
Billy laughed, shaking his head. “Fuck, sorry, you don’t need to know my shit. We can make out. You’re short-circuiting my brain.”
“...I should probably get your surfboard,” Steve told him, grinning, but he leaned his head in again, gentle with his sharp teeth, and Billy inhaled shakily as the points grazed his lips and tongue.
“Jesus,” he whispered, once he could talk, and then he licked his lips and wrenched himself away to swim after his surfboard, just so his smug rescuer wouldn’t have to fetch it for him. The waves got bigger as he got out to where the trees weren’t acting as a windbreak, and he clambered up on his board, glaring back as Steve wolf-whistled.
When he let the tides pull him back towards the gorgeous merman on the rock, he lost his mind again, telling him his tail looked like a peacock butt, and Steve cracked up, grinning at him.
“...so, neighbor, you have to win someone over enough to invite you to stay,” he said, cocking his head.
“Yup,” Billy told him, pointing up at the house he’d inherited, built into the hill, the old grass vacation cottage blending in with the trees.
“And your method is to tell me I look like bird ass,” Steve continued, and Billy grimaced, waving his hands.
“No! No, I don’t—I know people have to get to know you. Here. I’ll…” he sighed. “I’ll try for a few months and see what happens. If nothing...clicks, maybe I’ll try again next summer,” he said, grimacing, and wondering what Max would do, if they weren’t allowed to stay. Leave, maybe, he thought—she was seventeen, and she could get a job herself.
He ended up teaching Steve to surf, after showing off his best efforts. When he swam back, panting, Steve looked properly impressed, and even more tanned. “Teach me,” he said, and Billy leaned in to kiss him again, nodding.
“That gonna get you to like me enough to let me stay?” Billy asked, and Steve frowned at him, but Billy laughed, and leaned in for another kiss.
“Tomorrow?” Steve had whispered against his lips, and Billy got no sleep at all that night, he just rolled over every couple hours to check the clock, and see that another two minutes had passed.
Steve was fascinating to watch on the board, his tail trailing as he controlled it with his hands around either side, his abs flexing as he held himself in a kind of plank pose with the support of his tail. Billy watched, and realized he was drooling.
“You like me enough to keep me?” he asked that night, teasing, and Steve laughed.
“Ask me again tomorrow.”
Merpeople—or at least, Steve, Billy corrected mentally, realizing he was dealing with a sample size of one—loved bread. Like a cat, Billy thought, watching Steve eye his croissant, or bagel. He started just bringing one every morning for Steve, and some coffee, and it was hilarious watching the fluffy flesh of a croissant dangling between Steve’s shark-like teeth. He waited every morning, and even though Billy wasn’t sure whether Steve was waiting for Billy or the bread he was carrying, he got heart palpitations every time he came down the ramp to the dock, and he could see the little lump of Steve’s head on his folded arms, the rest of him hanging off into the water.
“A few bagels aren’t enough to win me over,” Steve told him, and Billy’s stomach twisted, a little. He wished he hadn’t brought it up, kind of—the knowledge that he might have to leave hurt, like a sore tooth he couldn’t stop worrying at in his mouth. “Maybe more croissants,” Steve said, smiling, and Billy brought him more croissants.
When they’d arrived, they’d discovered the town was filled with mermaid stuff, and at first, Max and Billy had snickered at it, because surely even if there’d been a merperson or two living near a human town once, they’d died decades ago, or they just traded with fishing boats, far out at sea. They hadn’t considered the amount of people in wheelchairs, or the spray bottles close to hand.
When Billy suggested he bring lunch down from town, Steve swam over to haul himself up—his tail flashing in the light—through the bottom of one of the little sheds on the dock. Moments later, he banged the door open, wheeling out in an old rusty wheelchair. He spun it in a circle, waiting for Billy to climb out of the water, and then zipped ahead up the ramp to the path.
“Wait up, jesus,” Billy yelled after him, and Steve laughed, the muscles in his arms mesmerizing as they spun the wheels. He slowed down eventually, panting, enough for Billy to jog and catch up. “...lemme know if you want me to push,” Billy told him, and Steve snorted.
“Touch my chair and die,” he said.
“Fair enough,” Billy said, holding his hands up, and Steve laughed.
“It makes me…” he squinted, thinking. “...seasick…?” he offered, and Billy nodded, trotting along next to him.
“Motion-sick, probably,” he suggested, and Steve mouthed it as he rolled along.
The lady at the shaved ice stand leaned out and folded her arms on the edge of the little window, laughing at Steve. “You know they make those that work!” she called, and he flipped her off. “They don’t have to be electric! They make ‘em that just move smoothly.”
“It’ll just rust in my shed,” Steve told her, shrugging. “It’s fine.” As they waited for their tacos, Steve pulled up to a table, and his rusty, janky wheels kept rolling backwards, until Steve sighed and bent down to stuff some rocks under there.
“My friend Robin and I went in together on a nicer one,” he said, “—but I can’t park it in the shed. This one’s not so bad,” and Billy’s perception of it shifted a bit—maybe it was more like getting stuck with an old beater car occasionally, instead of something Steve needed help with. “...want to wander around, after?” Billy asked. “I haven’t got any souvenirs yet.”
Steve paused, then licked his lips. “Planning your trip home already?”
“...dunno yet,” Billy said, the invitation unspoken between them. It seemed ridiculous to want to stay so badly just because he’d met a pair of gorgeously tanned shoulders and a teasing smile, but it also wasn’t...hard to imagine, lingering on the island to go snorkeling with Steve, and learning about the reefs—he’d absorbed enough for a few semesters of marine biology, he was fairly sure, but told as stories, just off-handed things Steve had seen—and Billy was already wanting a drysuit, so he could go in the fall. Maybe Billy could get a job on a fishing boat, he thought vaguely, or help out in one of the shops.
If Steve would invite him.
Steve had slid his hands under Billy’s swimsuit a few times, pressing him back on their rock, or on the docks, rocking into him as Billy panted and gasped and fell apart under his hands—but he never said anything, after, and Billy hesitated to ask whether it was...anything, to Steve. Maybe he picks an idiot every summer, he thought, watching Steve smile at the depictions of mermaids on every surface of every shop on the main street.
“You all spend so much time keeping everything dry and dead,” he said, grinning over at Billy, who’d been anticipating a comment on the mermaid’s hourglass-like proportions, not her lack of water damage.
“...oh,” he said.
“I have a figurehead like that, but covered in anemones,” Steve said, cocking his head. “It’s beautiful.”
“I mean...you could...plant a vine on it, maybe?”
Steve nodded. “Put it outside in the rain, let it grow.” The lady behind the counter sighed, rolling her eyes, and Steve laughed.
“There’s a whole movement to ‘preserve’ our art,” he whispered to Billy. “Which mostly means they don’t let it become our art.”
“Huh,” Billy said, wondering whether human houses looked like museums, or mausoleums, to merpeople.
“Not to say that I’d pour water on your television set, or drop your mattress in the bay,” Steve said, grimacing a little, and watching Billy’s face. “I get that much.” He looked kind of uncomfortable with the lady behind the counter glaring at him, ducking his head.
Billy leaned to kiss him. He nearly steadied himself on the chair, and then remembering it would roll, and just held his hands away. Steve grinned up at him, particularly at his outstretched hands, and yanked Billy down on his not very much of a lap, hurriedly curling his tail up and around Billy’s waist as Billy threatened to slide down the smooth scales to the ground. Billy threw his arms around Steve’s neck, wide-eyed, as Steve held the wheels firmly, keeping the chair from rolling backwards under the weight of two grown men.
“Let’s go,” Steve whispered, and Billy nodded, breathing Steve’s sun-and-salt smell, and wondering whether it was okay to ask whether Steve would consider inviting him to stay—just until the next season, Billy thought, as the chair and Steve’s tail moved under him. Until the next summer, when he could ask whether Steve wanted him to stay again, or whether he wanted Billy gone.
After staying a whole year, Billy thought he might not have it in him to ask whether Steve was tired of him yet, but the thought of waking every morning to run down to the docks with coffee and banana bread was addictive, and he tried not to think about the end.
Billy ran into the lady who’d stamped his passport, and caught himself staring at her tanned legs propped up on the railing. “Oh, I’m human,” she said, laughing. “But I love it here. I can even shop in the little bookstore, imagine,” she said, and now that Billy thought about it, he realized it had an elevator in the back, and little lifts for the walkways along the higher shelves. “I’ve never had someone offer to lift me into their cafe, here,” she said, her nose wrinkled, and Billy nodded slowly.
“Shoot that thing!” she yelled, when she saw Steve’s awful old wheelchair, and he flipped her off.
“We can only invite a few people,” Steve told him, as they ate noodle bowls. “It’s for somebody you marry, you know, their family, maybe. Or if you leave the island, and have a kid.”
“Yeah,” Billy said softly, hearing the message clearly—invitations were not to be wasted, and Billy wasn’t special enough to keep. He finished his lunch, trying not to feel all butthurt about it. Max would probably understand.
Steve kissed him again, on the docks, and Billy leaned into it, feeling the familiar pressure of tears in his sinuses, and behind his eyes. He had three weeks left, he told himself. Three more weeks. Steve slid a hand up the back of Billy’s head, humming against his mouth, and Billy let himself go soft in his arms.
When they returned to the docks, Steve dug a big beach blanket out, and they spread it out on the sand, and Billy stayed out that night, losing himself in Steve’s warm hands and mouth, under stars like he’d never seen before.
Steve was watching his face the next morning, with a little frown, and Billy pulled away, sitting up.
“Better than croissants?” Billy asked, smirking a little, and Steve sighed.
“Was that what this was? Fucking me won’t make me give you an invitation,” he said. He didn’t look amused, the way he had over the bagels, and Billy wondered whether it had worked, a little. Billy’d always had a talented mouth.
“I won’t know if I don’t try, will I,” he said, laughing. “Maybe another round will help?”
“...I have to go,” Steve said, and he didn’t even fold up the blanket, just pushed himself off the edge and slid over the wet sand into the water, gone in a flip of tail. Billy watched for long minutes to see whether he’d come back—they’d been spending every day together, but probably Steve had stuff he needed to do, all the things he’d done before Billy had shown up at the island, easy with his body and his affections.
Billy folded up the blanket, and sat it in the shed, looking around. There really wasn’t much in there—it was the size of a small bathroom, with some knives for fishing, and a frayed net, and the beat-up wheelchair.
It smelled like Steve, and Billy stood and breathed, his eyes blurring with tears.
Steve didn’t come back, and after an hour or so Billy walked home, and ran into Max returning. “Billy!” she said, with a wide grin. “Nice night? I was out getting breakfast.” She told him about somebody named El, and somebody else named Lucas, and a Dustin.
Max was making friends too, he realized, which kind of made everything worse—she was doing her best, and Billy was just mooning over some guy who thought he was barely good enough for a fuck on the beach. She’d even met their families, he realized, listening, and registered that he hadn’t met any of Steve’s friends. He groaned into the pillows tossed around on the mat floor, and sighed.
“Should I stop seeing him?” he asked, mostly at the ceiling.
“I dunno why now,” Max said. “You’re not gonna find somebody else in a couple weeks.”
“Shit,” Billy groaned again.
“We can try again next summer,” Max said. “I like it here.”
The idea of returning the next summer, once Steve was bored, was enough to make Billy clench his jaw tight against the pillow he was hugging, squeezing his eyes shut against tears. “...yeah,” he said softly.
“God, you sound tragic,” she sighed, wandering over and dropping to sit on his butt. He grunted. “It’s fine, jesus. Worst case scenario we have a, like, vacation home. The vampire dude said we didn’t have to pay taxes on it.”
“Yeah, just pay for plane fare,” Billy sighed.
“He’s out there, y’know,” she said, “—tanning,” and Billy scrambled up so fast he dumped her with a drum noise on the taut mats.
When he swam out, Steve just stared out to sea, and Billy clung to the edge of the rock, biting his lips.
“I’m not giving you one of my invitations,” Steve said. “So stop trying to manipulate me into it.”
“Yeah,” Billy said, kind of wishing they’d never met. “Yeah, okay. Do—is that all, or are you sticking around?”
“I’ll stay,” Steve said, frowning at him, “—if you still wanna waste your time on somebody who’s not—how do you say it? Putting out?”
“...it’s not a waste of time,” Billy told him, swallowing hard. “I just wanted it to last longer, is all—” and Steve’s eyes narrowed intently. He grabbed Billy around the back of the neck, and yanked him into a kiss.
The remaining weeks, he took Billy snorkeling, and they had sex every night under the stars, Billy panting Steve’s name, and Steve holding him so tightly it almost hurt. Billy took him to meet Max, and she eyed him warily, but Billy fought and succeeded at securing Steve a plate of brownies, and he was vocally appreciative. She softened a little, at that.
Two days before they had to leave, Steve was lying next to Billy on the wet sand, the waves lapping up nearly to their waists. His shoulder was warm under Billy’s head, and smelled like the high ocean waves.
“...d’you think you’ll come back next summer,” Steve asked, and Billy snorted.
“Depends on whether I can afford airfare,” he said, sighing. “Depends on whether I can get a job somewhere that doesn’t need me in the summer.”
“...so I might just never see you again?” Steve asked flatly, and Billy laughed, shrugging.
“I don’t know,” he said, “—do you want to?”
“...fuck you,” Steve sighed, and Billy pushed himself up to frown at Steve’s face.
“I don’t know what you want,” he said, glaring back at Steve’s narrowed brown eyes. “You wanted me to shut up about staying. What am I supposed to say?”
Steve bit his lips together, and looked away. “...you know I’m gonna give you an invitation. You can just tell me.”
“What,” Billy whispered, scrambling to sit up, his heart pounding as Steve flopped over to scrabble around under his wheelchair, his tail flapping around a little in concentration, like a cat’s. He held an envelope out to Billy without even looking over.
“There,” he said. “All yours.”
“What,” Billy breathed, and then he half-crumpled it, opening it clumsily. “You—you’re giving me one?”
“Two,” Steve said, flatly, frowning down at the sand under his hands. “You and Max, right?”
“Holy shit,” Billy whispered, scrambling over to kiss him, once, then twice, relishing the little noise Steve made in the back of his throat when his lip slid between Billy’s teeth. “I have to go tell her,” he said, half laughing, his vision blurring with tears.
“Okay,” Steve said, quietly, and Billy hugged him before scrambling up and running back to the house.
Max stared at the two calligraphed invitations on the odd plasticky “paper” the merfolk used, written in Sharpie, and shook her head slowly. “You did it,” she said, and Billy laughed, nodding.
“He wanted me to stay enough,” he said, wiping his eyes, and desperately wanting Max to offer to handle the paperwork, so he could run back and kiss Steve.
There was a knock on the door. Max ran and opened it, and a short-haired woman wheeled in in a rainbow overall dress, and a small, fancy electric wheelchair, her tail the reds and oranges of a sunset. Billy never quite stopped being envious of how pretty the merpeople were.
“Steve gave you his invites, didn’t he,” she said, and Max slid them around her back, her eyes narrowing.
“...yeah,” Billy said, warily.
“Give them back to him,” she ordered, glaring between them. “He’s been saving those a long-ass time. He’s got plans for those, and he doesn’t need guilt-tripping by a pair of manipulative orphans, jesus.”
“I didn’t guilt-trip him,” Billy said, feeling guilty, suddenly, and remembering Steve’s stiffness as he handed them over. “I didn’t,” he said, less certainly. “...he...he just likes me, he wants me to stay—”
“He’s known you three months, and you told him you fucked him to get someplace nice for your sister to live,” she said crisply. “Give them back.”
“He’s not giving them back,” Max hissed, but she was staring at Billy in horror.
“I didn’t say that,” Billy said, waving his hands. “I didn’t! Not...exactly.”
“Fuck you,” the woman said, glaring. “You pressured him.”
“Fuck,” Billy agreed, his eyes tearing up again. “Lemme—lemme go talk to him. Max, give—give ‘em here.”
“No,” she said, sounding choked, but he walked over and grabbed them, and hugged her.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said under his breath, for her ears only, and ran back out.
Steve was perched up on his rock again, and Billy grabbed his surfboard and sat on it to glide out, paddling with his hands. The water was clear under him, his shadow passing over the anemones on the reef, and he watched the fish darting around, swallowing repeatedly.
“Hey,” he said, when he got close enough, and Steve’s head jerked around, glowering warily.
“...you came back,” he said.
“...you want me to stay, right,” Billy said, cutting straight to the chase. “You gave me these because you want me to stay.” Steve frowned back at him, and Billy’s heart sank. “Answer,” he said, his throat closing around the word.
“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it,” Steve said, reaching out, but he just grabbed Billy’s board before he could drift into the rip tide again. “You wanted to stay.” He was tense, and he wouldn’t meet Billy’s eyes.
“What do you want,” Billy asked again. “...because I think your friend Robin’s in my house, and she says I guilted you into it, talking about Max. Do you...if I didn’t need an invite. Would you want me to stay?”
“...I guess,” Steve sighed, and Billy swung his leg over the board, dumping himself straight down in the water, because he was definitely about to make some kind of awful noise, and the sea felt good on his hot, wet cheeks. Steve couldn’t see him crying underwater, he thought, grabbing a jut of rock to keep himself from floating back up.
He wished he could take a few slow breaths, he thought, closing his eyes, and then something brushed his arm. He opened his eyes on Steve’s wide-eyed face, his hair swirling in the water. Billy bit his lips together harder, his hands clenching on the rock, and Steve shook his head, pointing up.
“Up,” he mouthed. “Come on.”
Billy let himself be hauled upwards, and pushed up on the rock again, like when they’d first met.
“What are you doing,” Steve asked, hanging on to Billy’s surfboard.
“Nothing,” Billy said, keeping his voice level. “I thought you wanted me to stay. For me. You can have your invites back. I didn’t—” he took a deep breath, hearing Steve’s voice say stop trying to manipulate me, and Robin’s guilt-tripping. “I fucking know I’m pathetic, okay, you don’t have to pity me. Sorry I—sorry I fucking tried, jesus, I just—” he shut his eyes tightly again, laughing as he imagined Robin’s disgusted look knowing Billy’d gone out and cried.
“Wait, fuck,” Steve whispered, clambering up next to him, where Billy barely fit by himself, since it was high tide. He was warm from the sun, his tanned skin gleaming with water droplets, and Billy salivated, because his dick obviously hadn’t gotten the message it wasn’t wanted. “Wait,” Steve said, half on top of him, his weight grating Billy’s shoulder blades against the rock. Billy didn’t really mind. “You only want to stay if—if I want you, what—what does that mean—” His brown eyes were huge.
“...don’t really know how to be clearer,” Billy told him, unable to pull his eyes from Steve’s mouth.
“You don’t want to stay unless I’m happy about it,” Steve said, grabbing Billy’s hands.
“Yeah, that’s kinda how it gets, when you fall for somebody,” Billy told him, raising his eyebrows, and Steve took a shuddery breath and kissed him again. He didn’t stop, though, he just kissed Billy and kissed him, laughing shakily, his eyes welling up with tears.
“Don’t go,” he whispered, as Billy clung to him and the rock, trying to keep them from tumbling off. “I want you here, I want you. Stay with me.”
“I’m what you want?” Billy asked, startled, his brain hazy from warm kisses, and the scrape of pointed teeth. “‘M yours then,” he whispered. “All—all of me. S’yours.”
They laid there so long, whispering and giggling, that Billy had tan lines of Steve’s fingers on his shoulder for months.
Here are the other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done!
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