Hello to you world, my name is Carli! I love comedy and action movies, reading and writing. I mostly work with watercolour and digital media. I also dabble in the world of fanfiction writing~
My username is the same on Ao3! I'm currently a third year student, so any support is greatly appreciated. Whether it's a donation or sharing my content!
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OC Fanfictions (links to Ao3):
→ The Tale of Eossimar (Bofur x OFC)
→ Miracle (Cable x OFC)
→ Light Down Low (Greg Lestrade x OFC)
→ Angel with a Shotgun (Supernatural x OFC) — updated Tumblr link.
→ Find more of my writing under this tag #Carli’s writings ࣪ ִֶָ☾ (below)
Destiel fic idea (cause apparently there aren't enough)
Hallmark-esque movie style AU, where the Winchesters are farmers and have nothing supernatural ever going on. Sammy went off to pursue his dreams of becoming a lawyer in the city, and during the weeks to Christmas/New Year he goes home to visit Dean.
His boss/coworker, Castiel Novak, who's never really had family/close friends (a workaholic) is annoyed that he can't reach Sam but luckily found an address and goes to insist there's a case they need to work on.
Bonus points if Castiel finds Dean chopping wood shirtless in a barn during a snowy day/night.
If anyone has seen fics like this already please drop their name below 💜 and feel free to write this, I'd love to be tagged though for reading interest and credit.
Cas is a city man, first time in the countryside. He doesn't want to be here; every relative he's had has only ever told him horror stories about places like this. The smell, the people, the mannerisms, all of it was things that went against Castiel knew and grew up with. "Ruffience," his aunt would call them, along with other more colorful language
But this is an important case. He has a duty to his client, and he needs Sam Winchester to look through all the new evidence with him. He's frustrated with the man for up and leaving at such an important time (It's really not, they have another few weeks)
Every person he's asked in the small town uses phrases Castiel couldn't fully understand. The folks seem to know "the Winchester boys" and keep asking Castiel what he wants with "The Moose." Whatever that means
So here Cas finds himself, wandering through someone's property because he has no idea where this "Cabin in the Woods" is, but has a vague idea where he might find it
And instead, he finds a man who should be on the cover of a magazine, playing lumberjack
And boy, he plays it well
Dean Winchester, town sweetheart and resident menace to bakeries, is confused as to why there's a dorky lil dude in a trenchcoat sneaking around his side of the woods
"Not for nothin'. stranger, but last person I caught sneakin' around these parts got shot." He throws out an easy warning
He doesn't expect the scruffy lil dude to tilt his head and ask "By who?"
"What?"
"If people often get shot here, you should probably chop wood somewhere safer"
"... huh?"
"In fact, perhaps you should've informed the authroities-"
If we lean even further into the hallmark movie tropes you could have Cas hate christmas because he's never had anyone to celebrate it with and he usually just works from home during the holidays anyway.
So he learns the true meaning of christmas via the Winchesters and their friends and family
Cas slowly learns to loosen up - he starts in his full suit and coat, then ditches the coat, rolls up his sleeves, and eventually ends up borrowing Dean's clothes by the end.
Hannah, Cas's secretary, wont stop making passes at him (nobody knows he's gay) and she's very persistent with her messages and calls. There's a big miscommunication mix up where Dean thinks she's already his girlfriend and that Cas is clearly straight and he has no chance.
Cas is still trying to get his work done while he's staying in the Winchester's spare room, but he can't stop looking through the window and watching Dean brush down the horses. He keeps sneaking snacks to them and telling them not to rat him out to Sam for it. Cas can feel himself falling for him.
They do that thing where Dean teaches Cas how to chop firewood by standing behind him with his arms wrapped around, so he can grip his hands, guiding him into the motion.
and of course, we CAN'T forget about the cooking scene. It's a hallmark classic
Cas wants to help Dean in the kitchen, but has never cooked or baked anything for more than one person in his entire life.
It gets super messy, and they have a little food fight in the kitchen that ends with Dean pinning Cas's flour-covered hands to the counter. They're both laughing and out of breath, staring at each other. Then Sam interrupts, and they pretend it didn't happen
Dean, in the very beginning, thinks Cas is some snooty, silver-spoon city boy who thinks he's too good for a little dirt under his fancy shoes. And through the story, he learns that Cas is passionate about his job and dedicated to his clients. His clients are not just a single person, but organizations that help the environment, that the case is important because it could save lives in the long run
Oh. and of course, the obligatory snowball fight scene where Cas learns that he's allowed to be immature and Dean sees him in a much different light when he lets himself go
Don't forget the part where Cas asks Dean where the nearest shopping mall is so he can get a couple Christmas gifts. He is thinking of Sam and Dean, but Dean thinks he means for his secretary girlfriend. So Dean (ever the masochist snoop) offers to go with him to the mall under the guise of needing a few last minute gifts himself.
When Dean is caught admiring a particular pair of panties in the window at VS/PINK he tries to lie and say he was going to suggest Cas look in this store for something for his girlfriend. This is how he finds out Cas is not actually dating her, but planning on replacing her soon because of how uncomfortable she makes him with all the flirting (and this was really the last straw, the whole making 'hot lumberjack Dean' think they were dating thing). This is also how Dean finds out Cas is gay and Cas develops the sneaking suspicion Dean actually wanted those panties for himself. (Queue Cas' actual wet dream of 'hot lumberjack Dean' in the panties he was caught looking at in the mall and all his guilty weirdness the following day.)
Bonus points if Cas is stuck in town because of snow or car trouble or something equally cliche. Hallmark movies are all about that.
I can't decide which would be funnier - Sam being oblivious while Cas and Dean flirt and fall in love, then catching them making out and losing his shit cuz he doesn't know either of them were gay/ bi.
OR
Sam knowing they are both gay/bi and practically dieing trying not to laugh at both of them thinking they're at all subtle with their obvious crush or sneaky when they start fooling around. He loves them both, suspected this might happen if they ever met, and pretends not to notice anything is amiss. Acts oblivious when they jump apart or make up terrible excuses to be alone at the same time. Meanwhile he's texting Jess and Charlie with updates and they're all gossiping the whole time.
Okay I've barely started S8, but is it me or have I not heard/seen a reference to Paul Bunyan in Supernatural? Dean is the lumberjack and Sam is obviously Babe the Ox.
idk man I'm gonna put that in my fic now because that made me laugh
Pairing: Dean x reader // Established relationship
Warnings: None. Enjoy the summer vibes with Dean! 🫶
The day arrived wrapped in the kind of warmth that made time feel lazy.
Golden sunlight poured across the water, a light breeze stirred the trees, and the waves whispered against the shore like the world was finally exhaling. No hunts. No omens. Just the slow, sun-drenched peace Dean had insisted you both deserved.
“No monsters, no drama, no saving the world,” he’d said, tossing a bag over his shoulder before giving you that familiar half-smirk. “Just you, me, and some serious relaxation.”
You had laughed because coming from Dean Winchester, “relaxation” usually meant sitting somewhere with a beer while pretending he wasn’t constantly watching the horizon for danger.
But today was different.
Today, he actually let himself be still.
You spent the morning barefoot along the beach, collecting shells you both pretended were pointless, arguing over whether the seagulls were secretly demonic.
“They’re too organized,” Dean had muttered, squinting at a flock.
You had looked at him, completely unimpressed.
“They’re birds, Dean.”
“Exactly. That’s their cover.”
You’d laughed so hard you nearly dropped the smooth conch shell in your hand. Dean watched you the whole time, eyes warm, like your laughter was the only sound worth listening to in the whole damn universe.
By the afternoon, the sun was high and the water was perfect.
Dean was already waist-deep when you waded in, the sun high and the waves gentle against your skin.
“What?” you asked, catching him staring.
“Nothin’.” A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Just appreciating the view.”
You rolled your eyes, fighting your own grin. “Smooth, Winchester.”
“Wasn’t even trying.” He shrugged. “Alright, yeah… maybe a little.”
You moved closer until the water lapped at your waist. Dean reached for you without urgency, just need. His arms slid around you, strong and sure, pulling you in until your legs wrapped around his hips and your arms circled his neck. You tucked your face into the warm curve of his shoulder, breathing him in—salt, sunscreen, and that familiar scent that always meant safety.
He held you like that, one hand splayed across your back, the other rising to cradle the back of your head. His fingers moved slowly through your hair, gentle strokes that said everything words didn’t need to. The waves rocked you both in a slow, effortless drift.
“You comfortable?” he murmured against your temple.
You nodded, melting deeper into him. “Very.”
“Good.”
No teasing. No walls. Just Dean—solid, steady, letting the ocean carry you while he kept you anchored. Every so often he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head, almost absentminded, like he couldn’t help it. The sun warmed your skin. The water cradled you. His heartbeat thrummed steady beneath your cheek.
Sleep tugged at you, heavy and sweet.
“You fallin’ asleep on me?” he whispered, amusement threading through his voice.
“Maybe.”
“In the ocean?” A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest.
“You’re holding me,” you mumbled.
That silenced him. Because you trusted him completely, and Dean knew exactly how rare and precious that was. His arms tightened just a fraction, protective even in perfect peace.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
You believed him. Your eyes slipped shut, the world narrowing to the rhythm of the waves, the warmth of his skin, and the constant, soothing sweep of his hand in your hair.
When you were fully out, Dean moved with the same careful reverence he reserved for the few good things in his life. He carried you back to shore without jostling you, your body limp and trusting against him. On the warm sand under the shade of the trees, he spread the towel and lowered you down gently. You barely stirred, only curling closer to where he’d been.
Dean watched you for a long moment, something tender and almost disbelieving in his expression. “Yeah,” he whispered to himself. “That’s what I thought.”
He stretched out beside you, lacing his fingers with yours. For once, he didn’t scan the treeline. Didn’t brace for the next nightmare. He simply closed his eyes and let the breeze move over him, the ocean murmuring nearby.
No monsters today.
No missions.
No goodbyes waiting around the corner.
Just you, breathing soft and steady beside him.
Just the two of you, drifting together in a rare, golden pocket of peace.
And the quiet promise that, for as long as he could, he would always be there to hold you.
A/N: Thank you so freakin’ much for 1k! When I first started posting a year ago, I never imagined my stories would reach anyone, let alone 1k of you. Thank you for every like, comment, and reblog. Seeing you all loving my work warms my heart. 🥹
they should've had sam making more jokes about his and dean's negligible age gap "are your knees okay" after digging up a grave. "ask if they give out senior citizen discounts" at random motels/diners. "the first vic died in 1843. any chance you knew her?" during research. come on man younger sibling 101
I recently saw this one post saying something about how Bucky would slot his dog tags between his teeth during sex to keep them from clanking or bothering during the moment y’know and I immediately thought of you. 😌
Would you mind writing something soul crushingly horny based on this?-
Much love. Mwah ❤️
. ୨୧ ݁ ꒰ 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍, 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 ⊹ . bucky x fem!reader. minors are prohibited from interacting.
𝔀arnings 18+ : explicit sexual content, no use of y/n, rough sex, unprotected sex, dog tag kink, biting, metal arm kink, possessiveness, dirty talk and general filth
𝓪uthor’s 𝓷ote : ughhhhh this was so yummy!!!! love me some dog tags on buckyyy
Bucky’s on top of you, all heat and coiled power, his broad frame pinning you down as he drives into you with deep, relentless thrusts. His dog tags dangle between his bare chest and yours, cool metal kissing your flushed skin with every roll of his hips, like a silent vow, a reminder of the soldier who’s finally letting himself take what he wants. They’ve been brushing against you the whole time but now they’re clinking softly, rhythmically, against the smooth vibranium of his left arm, the sound mixing with your shared breaths and the wet slap of skin on skin.
He growls low in his throat, a sound that vibrates through you.
“Fuckin’ tags,” he mutters, voice rough like gravel and smoke. His hips don’t stop though, deep deliberate rolls that drag his cock along every sensitive inch inside you, stretching you open so perfectly it makes your toes curl. You’re soaked, thighs slick with it, trembling around his waist as he pins you down with that effortless super-soldier strength.
You reach up, fingers brushing the chain at his neck. “Leave them,” you breathe, because the sound is filthy in its own way, the soft metallic music of him claiming you.
But Bucky’s eyes, stormy blue, pupils blown wide with lust darken further. He leans down, mouth brushing your ear, breath hot. “They’re distracting you from what I want you feeling.”
In one smooth motion, he catches the tags between his teeth. The chain pulls taut against the back of his neck, the metal plates disappearing into his mouth. His jaw flexes, lips parting just enough for you to see the silver edge glinting against his tongue. The sight alone rips a fresh wave of heat through you, Bucky, the Winter Soldier, reduced to biting down on his own history just so he can fuck you without anything getting in the way.
He groans around the tags, the sound muffled and raw. Then he drives into you harder.
No more clinking. Just the wet slap of skin on skin, the creak of the bedframe, and the obscene sounds of your body taking him. His metal fingers dig into your hip, cool and unyielding, while his flesh hand slides up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing at the corner of your mouth like he wants to feel how wrecked you are.
“Look at me,” he demands around the metal. His voice is distorted, rougher, sex-drenched. Sweat beads at his temple, dark hair falling into his eyes as he fucks you with punishing precision, long strokes that bottom out and grind against that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. Every time he bottoms out, his abs flex against your clit, and the tags shift between his teeth with the motion, a constant, visible reminder of how much control he’s exerting just for you.
You moan his name and he bites down harder, jaw tight, eyes locked on yours like he’s memorizing every gasp, every flutter of your cunt around his cock. The chain trembles against his throat with each thrust. You can see the way his tongue moves against the tags inside his mouth, the way his lips are shiny with spit, and it’s so fucking filthy you clench around him involuntarily.
“That’s it,” he growls through clenched teeth, the words barely intelligible but vibrating straight down to your core. “Milk me, doll. Let me feel how much you love this.”
Your hands scramble up his back, nails digging into scarred skin and metal plating alike. He’s relentless, hips snapping faster now, the wet sounds louder, your slick coating his balls as they slap against you. The dog tags stay right where he put them, trapped between those perfect teeth, catching the light every time he pulls back to look at where you’re stretched around him.
You’re close. So fucking close. And Bucky knows it, he always does. He drops his forehead to yours, tags still clenched tight, breath coming in hot pants around the metal. His voice is a broken rasp:
“Come on my cock while I’ve got these between my teeth, baby. Want to feel you fall apart knowing I’d do anything- anything- to keep fucking you right.”
The orgasm slams into you like lightning under your skin, sudden, devastating, unstoppable. Your back arches sharply off the mattress, a broken cry tearing from your throat as your pussy clamps down hard around his thick cock, fluttering and pulsing in relentless waves. Pleasure rips through every nerve ending, white-hot and overwhelming, leaving you shaking uncontrollably beneath him.
Bucky doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even falter. He keeps fucking you through it with those deep, grinding thrusts, hips rolling relentlessly as he chases his own release, dragging out your climax until you’re a whimpering, sobbing mess beneath him.
Only then does he let the tags fall from his mouth, spit-slick and gleaming, dropping heavy and cool against your heaving chest. He buries his face in your neck, groaning your name like a prayer as he spills deep inside you, hips stuttering, metal arm braced beside your head so he doesn’t crush you.
For a long moment, there’s just the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint, final clink of the dog tags settling between your sweat-slick bodies.
Bucky kisses the side of your throat, soft and reverent now, his lips brushing tenderly over the spot where his teeth had been clenched moments before.
“Next time,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, “I’m putting them between your teeth. See how quiet you can stay while I ruin you.”
A little experimental comic about growing up with undiagnosed ADHD. these are all based on real experiences I had, and were all products of misunderstood symptoms. Most of the time, I always felt like I was too much or not enough, which is confusing for a kid.
I finished this last year for a comic-making workshop I did, but I hesitated to post it because A) it's very personal and B) for fear of offending anyone that was around me when I was young, and missed the signs. The thing is, this isn't about blame because by and large, I had a lovely childhood. This is more about coming to terms with my struggles, and trying to accept myself as I am. I was diagnosed in my mid-thirties and felt validated for the first time in my life. I still feel this is important to share.
Anyway, I wanted to add more panels, and the ending was rushed due to time constraints, but I'm still pretty happy with it. Hope it helps someone.
Coming into your inbox to demand a snippet of a WIP since it's WIP Wednesday 👀 (no obligation just feel like annoying you lol 😂💜)
You can come into my inbox with demands any time lol.
Heres a snippet of a Frank Castle x reader fic me and @hellilovedit are collaborating on hehehe 🤩
“You okay, sweetheart?” Frank asks, a low rumble compared to the surrounding shrieks of joy and pounding tennis shoes running house-to-house high on sugar. “Awfully quiet, hm?” With a squeeze to your hand in his. “Talk t’me.”
You glance up at him, startled out of whatever thought had carried you away.
Your eyes soften when they land on him. A smile tugs at your mouth.
"I'm okay."
Frank narrows his eyes immediately. "That's not an answer."
"It is." You protest.
"It ain't." He argues right back.
A quiet laugh escapes you. The sound settles somewhere deep in Frank's chest.
You look ahead again, watching a cluster of children sprint across a lawn toward a house decorated with glowing ghosts.
"I was just thinking."
"Dangerous." He teases.
"Frank."
"What?" He shrugs. "You start thinkin' too hard, next thing I know you're reorganizin' the kitchen at midnight."
You bump his shoulder. “Yeah that was one time, okay? And you never let me live it down!”
He grins.
For a moment neither of you says anything. You just walk.
Crunching leaves.
Distant laughter.
The rustle of Opal's costume wings every time Frank shifts her higher against his chest.
Finally, you speak.
"I was thinkin’ about this. Us. The three ‘a us I mean."
Frank blinks. "What ‘bout us baby? Everythin’ okay?”
Your heart softens at the worry in Frank’s voice. “Yeah everything's great actually. Just... thinking about..this." You gesture vaguely. "The neighborhood. Halloween. Opal passed out on your shoulder."
Frank's grin widens.
Then you continue. "And you."
Frank swallows. “Me?”
"You're a good husband."
Frank makes a face. " I feel like ..I ain't sometimes."
"You are." you pause. "And you're a wonderful father."
"Now you're definitely lyin'."
You laugh again and smack his arm. He never could take a compliment.
“I’m serious.”
The sound rings through the autumn air, that sound that Frank chases every day of his life.
Frank looks at Opal, then back to you. His smile sharpens.
Why the hell did Cas never pick up Sam or Dean. He should have picked up Sam because I think it would be like when you pick up a big dog and the dog has no idea you could do that nor how to react. He should have picked up Dean because of gay.
