*Commissions Open: 1st Come 1st Served* 18+ Only Please! Hi! I'm Lizzi (30). I write smut. Lot's of it. Do not feed my Fics into AI, for the love writing. Overal, NSFW unless noted otherwise. If there's have a fandom/character/situation that doesn't get much smut, that's my jam.
A curse box from John Winchster’s storage locker of lore items might be the solution to the problem with the Darkness. What Sam and Dean weren’t expecting, was to find someone still trapped in one.
Characters: Dean and Sam Winchester, OC!Kate, OC!Joe
Warnings/Promises: show-level moments of peril, 2nd POV for OC!Kate
Word Count: 1680
Note: I’m not sure what this was supposed to be when I started writing it, but it turned into a Supernatural episode. It takes place between season 10 and 11, after Rowena releases the Darkness by ridding Dean of the Mark of Cain. But before they meet Amara. I took a bit of a writing break, and I hope you guys like this gentle step back into hopefully writing fanfiction again. Please let me know your reactions in the comments and reblogs, and happy reading!
It had happened so fast.
One minute, you had been looking at an antique in a shop.
Then, there was a rush of hot air. And darkness. And then the sense that you were waiting a very long time for something.
Suddenly, the rush of hot air came again. Except this time, it was followed by blinding light.
You lifted your hand to shield your eyes. Vaguely you could make out two figures standing in front of you. Had those statues been there before?
“Who is that?” One of the statues asked.
The taller one shrugged. “I don’t know.”
So they weren’t statues. But your vision was taking its own sweet time in letting you see them.
Their voices hushed. “Has she been in there all this time?”
You blinked rapidly, trying to get your pupils to dilate properly. “Have I been in where?” Finally, the over-white glow eased out of your sight. You startled. The two men standing in front of you wasn’t the shock. You swallowed. “Where are we? What happened to the shop?” Looking around, gone were the tightly packed shelves full of dusty vintage and antique items. Gone were the narrow paths, covered in ornate rugs and runners, and gone were the piles of books doubling as tripping hazards. Instead, the room was floored with concrete. There were shelves, yes, but they were spread out. And they were fronted with bars and tight wiring.
A harsh breath rose ragged through your lungs. It burned like a first breath after holding it competitively underwater.
The taller man held up his hands. “Ah, a question for you first. So we can help you better. What- what day do you think it is?”
Were you dreaming? Had there been an explosion? If there had been, wouldn’t it have been white light, then darkness instead of the other way around?
Glancing down, you still had the pretty box in your hand that you’d been thinking about buying. It was green. Jade, or wood painted to look like jade, because it wasn’t heavy enough to be stone. It was inlaid with mother of pearl and was carved with the most beautiful Asian cloud motifs in gold. You tried to remember if the inside was lined with velvet or more wood. Shaking yourself, you remembered their question. “It’s Friday, isn’t? The tenth?”
They looked at each other. The slightly shorter one, though he was still taller than you, shrugged. “I mean, she’s not wrong.” His eyes slid over you, head to toe. They were brilliantly green. And bright. But you also couldn’t help notice how his hand kept smoothing something at his lower back.
The taller nodded in head in agreement. “What year?”
“Year?” If the box hadn’t been in your hands, you would have crossed your arms. “Today should be Friday, the tenth of July. 1992.”
Both men looked like they were going to be sick.
The box in your hand was getting heavy. There was something about it that you wanted to know. It was why you had picked it up. Your thumb slid over the front ridge of the lid. But before you could lift it to look inside, the men stepped towards you, hands outstretched.
“Don’t open that!”
The green-eyed one motioned for you to lower it. “Set it down. Trust me.”
“Why?” You would have done what he said. But on your way to put the box down, you saw the white lines around your feet. It was a circle. With a pentagram. And several other symbols you didn’t recognize. The box in your hand didn’t want to be placed into the circle. “What is this?” Now you were angry. What had they done to you? “What did you do? Where is the shop? Where’s Joe; what did you do to him?”
“Please, Miss Catherine…”
“Kate. And how do you know my name?”
The other one rolled his eyes. “Sam, just… here.” He snatched something out of the taller one’s back pocket. As he passed it to you, he gruffly added, “and I’m Dean. This is Sam. We’re trying to help you.”
It was a newspaper clipping. Dated for the fourth of August, 1995. The search for a missing person had been called off. It referenced back to a young woman going missing mysteriously from an antique shop. You startled. You had gone missing. The clipping started to shiver in your fingertips.
“What- what is this?”
The taller one, Sam, eased out a breath. “It is real, at the very least. Our dad was there for the initial investigation of your disappearance. The shop keeper, Joe? He said that he heard a thump and came to check on you. All he found was that box on the floor… and you were gone. The lid was locked, so he put it back on the shelf. I know this is going to sound crazy… just as crazy as what else we have to tell you, but our dad recognized it as a curse box. He bought it, and put it his storage locker. He didn’t know how to open it to get you out.”
Your mind reeled. “Get me out? I’ve been in this box?” You looked at it again. And smoothed your fingertips across the lid, feeling the slightly upraised sections of gold and mother of pearl. You wanted to see inside. But you wanted answers more. “That’s… that’s impossible. Even if I could have been, how long are we talking here?” They were dressed familiarly. It couldn’t have been that much time. “So… what? It’s… 1995, or 1996?”
The way they looked at each other made your blood run cold.
Dean licked his lips. “Ah, actually… it’s a bit later than that.”
Absently, your thumb drifted back and forth across the front clasp of the box. It soothed you. “How late?”
Sam kept looking at your hands. “How about you put the box down first. And then we’ll tell you. You’re – you’re probably gonna want to sit down.” He flinched as your thumb caught the front of the lid. “Just… whatever you do... don’t open the box.”
You knelt to do so. The box seemed to vibrate in your hand. Purring? Or growling at you. Funny how a box could seem so alive. It was even warm to the touch. Had you been inside? What did the inside look like?
“Kate.”
Blinking, you glanced up. Dean held his hand out to you.
The moment you took your hands off the box, the green of the jade turned red. Dean snatched you out of the circle. You collapsed in his arms. It felt like something snapped in your chest. Like a taunt thread being cut.
“Sam!”
“On it!”
In one fluid motion, Sam reached back, then tossed a heavy blanket over the circle. The red glow of the box was still visible, even through the thick fabric. Runes and symbols were stitched into it. And, guessing from the signs of knots on the top side, there were more symbols on the box-side of the fabric.
The red glow threatened to overcome the blanket. The symbols glowed like hot coals. A low humming filled the air. As did the familiar hot air. It reached for you, like warm hands settling around your wrists and ankles. It wrapped around your waist and started to drag you back towards the circle.
Desperately, you grabbed onto Dean. “Wait! Please!”
Dean wrapped an arm around your waist, and the other he wrapped around the leg of a shelf that was bolted to the floor. Through gritted teeth, he shouted, “Sam! Read faster!”
The low murmuring of words you didn’t recognize paused slightly as Sam shot him a look. But he did starting reading faster from the small book in his hands. Or was it a normal-sized book in his large hands?
As he reached a certain stanza, the bright red glow deepened to an ominous crimson. Sam shouted as he was yanked off his feet. In his rush to grab a shelf, he dropped the book. It started to slide for the ruffling edge of the protective fabric. You stretched as far as you could without letting go of Dean. Your fingers grazed over the black leather once. Twice. Then you got it.
The warm hand of air on your wrist yanked hard. You were almost ripped out of Dean’s grasp. But with an angry groan, he dragged you closer to his body. The humming approached the decibels of a jet engine.
“What page, Sam!”
“Fifty! Start at the fourth section down!”
Thankfully, huddled into Dean’s chest, the book was seemingly out of the pull of the box. The page was marked with an elastic band across the matching page.
“Oh! It’s Latin.”
The box’s angry red light heaved and shivered into a dangerous blue that leaked purple in the ruffling of the fabric. The sigils were white hot by now.
It had been ages since you’d read Latin in class. And, all things considered, even longer than that. Still, your mouth reacclimated around the unfamiliar words. Line by line, you read down. There was a note in red ink next to the last line, “3x.” You changed the form of one phrase from singular to plural… hoping that it wouldn’t make things worse.
The rushing air picked up speed, sucking the oxygen out of the room. You could feel your grip loosening on Dean, and his grip faltering on you and the shelf. Sam didn’t appear to be doing much better as he gasped.
But with the scream of a hurricane-level wind, the glow snuffed out. Something clicked, like a door locking. The room dropped into silence.
You shivered. Scared to talk, your mouth moved silently over your question a few times before you made a sound. “Is it over?”
Gasping a breath, Dean slowly let go of you.
The blanket didn’t ruffle. The stitched symbols, glowing white hot just moments ago, had returned to their dull embroidered red. The air was stale. But there was air.
You sucked in a breath.
***
The Winchester brothers bought you lunch and explained more about your situation while you ate in their hotel room. It had apparently been over twenty years since you’d eaten. Dean ate as voraciously as you did.
2015.
That was a lot of time that you had lost.
Furthermore, they didn’t have a way to send you back to your own time.
“We would have asked a favor of our friend, Cas, but,” Dean glanced at Sam, “he was in a bad way the last we saw him. The other person we could ask is also missing… and probably up to no good.”
Sam frowned. “Rowena helped us.”
“And now look where we are! The Darkness or whatever is loose. And somehow I don’t think that box is going to help.”
You paused around a pair of french-fries. “The Darkness? What’s so bad about it being dark?” You tried to grin as you joked, “you two look a little old to be needing night lights.” But their serious faces took the humor out of your voice.
“The Darkness,” Sam tried, “is… well, we don’t fully know what it is yet. But it’s big. And it’s dangerous. Our dad kept a log about everything he found or hunted through the years. We found his notes about your box, and we had hoped that we could trap the Darkness in it. But,” he glanced at Dean, “it seems that whoever opens the box is what gets sucked in. Not necessarily anyone or anything around. Even then, unless the Darkness takes a vessel, it’s not going to be tricked unto opening the thing.”
You shivered thinking about the curse box. Now out in the open, your mind remembered the claustrophobia of your lost time. The cold, sweet sip of your milkshake filled you with freedom after years of feeling nothing. “So I have no way to get home. And the box won’t help you. But…” you leaned back in your chair and hugged yourself tight, “thank you. For what its worth, thank you for getting me out. I didn’t even know I was in there. But thank you.”
The brothers shared a guilty look. Why they would feel guilty, you weren’t fully sure. But you still had a few more questions of your own.
“So… since you guys do this thing… often, I suppose. Do you have a system, or a program, set up for people like me that you save? That is,” your hope died on your tongue as Sam ran a hand down his face and Dean’s eyes closed. “That is, where do I go from here?”
They didn’t have a program. As they said, their usual ways to help people were out of their reach. They could front you some money though. And they would take you where you wanted to go to restart your life. And, provided with the smallest phone you’d ever seen, you could call them anytime. Before they had finished their offer, you knew where you wanted to go. In your mind, there wasn’t anybody who was missing you back in 1992. Only one person even knew who you were.
“Joe saw me a lot in his shop,” you explained with a shy shrug. “I would drop by every week or so just to look at the cool stuff he’d collected. I never actually bought anything. But he was friendly. If you could help me find him, I would appreciate it.”
***
Joe and his antique shop, Grandfather’s Attic, was still there. It was just as cluttered as you remembered. And he was startled to see you.
But he enveloped you in a warm hug within a breath of seeing you.
Joe kept asking if you were alright, if you were real. With a smile, you assured him positively of both.
Over dinner that night in his home, shared with the Winchesters, Joe filled in the missing years of your story.
You had been missed by a lot of people actually. Yeah, you mostly kept to yourself. And your job as a chemist in a small lab meant you didn’t have many coworkers. But they missed you. As did the girls at the coffee shop you visited five days a week. All across town, you had actually made several friends and acquaintances who assembled en-mass to look for you when you went missing. It broke everyone’s heart when they called off the search. Joe was really the only one who stayed in town this many years later. And he was glad he had.
After dinner, he brought down a box from upstairs. It was filled with your small mementos.
You cried into his shoulder when he returned your things to you. And again when he opened his home to you, if you wanted it. Pretty much most of the people who would remember her had moved away or had passed. He would introduce you as his granddaughter. And you could start life over again, but with a friend.
Dean shook Joe’s hand as they headed out to his classic car. “I know you will, but take good care of her. She’s going to need someone who can fill her in on the world events she’s missed.” He almost joked about the years he’d missed over his life, then thought better of it.
Still on Joe’s porch, Sam reassured you that they would help out if they could if you ever needed anything.
You glanced down at the palm-sized phone in your hand. “I’m hoping Joe will let me help him run the shop. If anything weird comes in, can I call you guys about stuff like that?”
“Absolutely.”
With a roar, the car soon drove away with the Winchesters. You hoped they would stay safe as they tried to fight the Darkness. Maybe it wouldn’t be as big and dangerous as they feared. But in the meantime, you had a life to pick up.
***
Master List
Supernatural Masterlist
Other Supernatural "Episodes":
Supernatural Fic-Contest Submission: A Spirit Flying Free
SPN Angst Appreciation Day 2017: The Pain of Return
so i took repressed stanford era dean, i tossed up with human cas whose parents get killed by a demon when he's a kid and gets taken in by bobby, vigorously stirred dean and cas growing up as friends whenever john dumped dean and sam off at bobby's, dashed in a painful event that made them part ways at 18, sliced up some 'my dad's been on a hunt and hasn't been back in a few days' when dean and cas finally see each other 10 years later, involved noah kahan lyrics in the whole thing, then boiled it all together in a big pining fucked up destiel slow burn soup
Feel free to reblog for other people to vote. DO NOT SEND HATE TO ANYONE FOR WHAT THEY VOTED. This is merely for fun and to see what people genuinely think.
Note: This was supposed to only be 500 words or so… oops. And it takes place in the Avenger's Tower, because I refuse to give up our collective headcannon. Happy birthday to our Star-Spangled Steve! Please let me know how you liked the fic with comments and reblogs. Happy reading!
“Come on, baby girl. I know you’re close.” Steve leaned close to nuzzle his nose into the curve of your neck. “I can feel you clamping on my fingers,” he hummed. “Come on. Please? Give me my present.”
You desperately gripped his forearms. Your legs were shaking, barely holding you up against the wall Steve had you pinned do. Your skirt was tucked into the neckline of your dress. And you could feel yourself clamping down on his fingers too. And fluttering, and leaking around them, and… all of the above.
Leave it to the birthday boy, America’s golden boy, to want something so filthy for his present. He wanted you all to himself for the weekend. There were a few public appearances he would have to make, but that didn’t mean that you would have to attend.
His smile slid over your flushed skin as he kissed his way across the swell of your breasts. “We have to start somewhere. Let go. Or do you want us to start with the toys?”
He had teasingly threatened to tie you to the bed, leaving you spread there and filled with one of your vibrators while he made his appearances. Then he could come back and ravage you as much as he liked. You didn’t hate the idea. But you had quickly lost your ability to consider any options other than the curling motions of his fingers in your sex and the path of his lips on your skin.
You bit your bottom lip, trying to focus on your pleasure. The motions of his thumb circling your clit paused.
“Open that mouth. I want to hear you.”
Your eyes snapped open too. His brilliant blue gaze was nearly eclipsed by the desire in his eyes. Steve held your focus, grinning slightly when you couldn’t help but whimper through gasping breaths. His nose occasionally bumped yours. Panting himself, his mouth hovered over yours. But he leaned away when you tried to kiss him.
His fingers moved faster, pumping in and out of you fast enough to make your fingernails dig into his suit shirt.
The pleasure overtook you, rattling you from your core. Your eyes shivered closed, but Steve didn’t correct you. He was too focused watching how your mouth fell open around the gasp of release. When you could see him again, though a little fuzzy around the edges, he gleefully matched your gaze as he sucked his fingers into his mouth.
You had made quite a mess.
When he laid you across the bed, you thought he was going to cuddle close until you recovered. Instead, he plucked at your dress buttons one by one until the fabric fell away. The set you’d found, blue with red and silver stars and a little red bow accent, had been a little on the nose. It would have matched the bottoms, but you’d lost that scrap of fabric at the bedroom door. The way the tops of his cheeks turned pink told you he loved it.
You settled back into the sheets. Breathing deep, you waited for him to lay beside you.
With a yelp, you felt his mouth over your sex instead.
His arms wrapped around your thighs. You couldn’t crawl or wriggle away to freedom. He pinned you between the bed and his mouth. Whatever mess you were already made for a noisy meal. He suckled and licked at you like he’d never taste you again.
Your body hadn’t fully recovered from his fingers. When they made a second appearance, your walls were plenty ready to clamp down on them again. Steve glanced up from kneeling on the floor. His nose bumped into your clit when it wasn’t under the attention of his thumb or flattened tongue.
Shivering and quaking, you had nowhere to go as the orgasm rippled through you.
The gentle brush of his free hand was almost cold against your flushed skin. He felt you up, traveling his fingerprints and grasping palm across your body as it shivered for him. Steve pulled your breasts from their star-spangled cups. His lips wrapped around your nipples, humming and pleased.
His cock began to slide over your slit. Coating his length, Steve’s breath hissed out with desperation. His hips jolted. He was desperate to feel you around him, but he wanted one more thing before then.
You were sensitive beyond belief. If he kept moving like that, you might come around nothing. You did your best to reach for his hip. Or his length to take in hand, whichever came first. “Need you, Steve. Need your cock. Please—”
He batted your hand away before pinning your wrists to the sheets. “Nuh, uh. Not yet.”
“But---but… you haven’t cum yet.” Your eyes rolled up under your closed eyelids. “I thought this was-- was supposed to be for you?” Fluttering your eyelashes, you caught the sight of him, the glisten of his brow and the expanse of his chest. When had he lost his shirt? You shivered as he winked at you.
“Watching you fall apart for me? I couldn’t think of a better present.”
With a wicked grin, he kept sliding his cock through your slick. When his cockhead would bump your clit, your whole body jolted with the collision. Mentally, you settled in for what could be an hour of pleasurable torture. He’d done that to you once before and said he’d wanted to try it again. But there were things he had to do today. Surely he didn’t have time for that right now?
While you were thinking about his schedule, Steve was watching your face. When he considered you sufficiently oblivious, he filled you with a thrust and slammed home.
You shrieked with release.
Steve kept still as your body fluttered around him. He watched your chest heave and couldn’t wait to watch your breasts bounce with the rhythm that he had planned. He wanted to fill you; wanted to watch his cum spill out of your perfect pussy because he had filled you with more than you could hold. He had waited for months with this plan. And he could be patient enough for a few minutes more. Second by second, you caught your breath.
The need for patience ran out. He started slow. Slow thrusts. Easy, but solid sheathes that gently bounced you. His eyes locked onto your breasts. With each slight increase of his power, they bounced more and more. It made the silver stars shimmer. The sight made his chest tight with need. Your high-pitched keen brought him back into the moment. And he almost fell apart.
You were wrecked. Hair spread across the sheets, slipping away from the perfect way you had arranged it that morning, it spread around you like a wreath. Your hands clawed at the air. His hands still had your wrists trapped. Your eyes were solidly closed, leaving you fully enveloped in pleasure. Your mouth was a perfect “oh” around his favorite sounds: gasps and moans and murmurs of his name. Yes. This was the perfect birthday gift.
Steve slowed down his pace just long enough for you to catch your breath.
Breathless, you cracked open your vision to see him. What was he planning? Was he going to leave you on edge?
As he let go of your wrists, your suspicions grew.
But his arm wrapped around the back of your hips, pulling you up to meet him.
He leaned over you to kiss at the curve of your neck.
“Thank you for my birthday gift, baby.”
Before you could reply, he was thundering into you again. Your chest arched against his mouth.
Steve was chasing his release now. He knew you would cum soon. It was just a matter of if he fucked you through it into another before he came, or if he would cum with you. If you’d had more non-pleasure-drowned braincells to consider your options, maybe you could have thought about… what? Steve was going to get what he wanted. And there was nothing you could do to change that. Even if you had wanted to.
The inevitability of that realization snapped the last thread of resistance within you. You cried out his name as you came for a fourth time. As you guessed, Steve kept thrusting, but he faltered quickly. With a few more thrusts, he shuddered, filling you with rope after rope of his release. You caught sight of his lips through your haze. They kept forming around your name and “love you,” but you couldn’t hear a think for the rush of static in your ears and brain.
He collapsed over top of you. His cock continued to twitch within you, even as your walls continued to flutter around him. His breath, ragged and hot, puffed against your skin. He nuzzled his face into your hair where it was spread out. You wished he would stay like this. The weight of him laying over you was warm and comforting. You waited for his breathing to even out as he fell asleep so you could follow.
Instead, Steve took a deep breath and stood up. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled down at you. “It’s time to get going,” he said.
You groaned. “You smell like sex. Shared shower?”
“No,” he drawled. “Any longer and I’ll be late.”
“Do you have to?”
“Yes.”
Resting on your elbows, you arched your back, feeling his fingerprints over your body. “Does this mean you’re satisfied?”
His grin darkened. “Not by a long shot.” Placing his hands on either side of your hips, he kissed you deeply, then murmured over your lips, “Well… it is the two hundred and fiftieth birthday of the country…”
Your eyes widened with a twinge of pleasurable fear.
He laughed at you. “We won’t go for that many. Maybe twenty-five through the whole weekend?”
Sinking back into the sheets, you heaved a breath, feeling your body tremble with the threat. He wouldn’t. Would he?
When he grabbed your wrist, you remembered the preexisting threat to tie you down. But he helped you stand and rebuttoned your dress.
“Come on. We’ve got places to be.”
“We?”
“Yes.” Steve kissed quickly at your cheek. “I want to keep you close in case the crowd become too much and I need a… respite.”
The starry panties stayed on the floor by the door as you guys left for the Tower lobby.
i know i say this often but i cannot say it loud enough: people who comment on fics, people who reblog posts and engage with fanworks are the people who generate community and without them fandom would be nowhere, so truly thank you for your presence, you make the world go 'round <3
Summary: When you became an Avenger, you thought your past was buried deep enough to never resurface. But when your skills as a hunter of the supernatural are needed, you’re forced to reveal more about your former life.
Characters: Bucky Barnes, Dean Winchester, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Winchester
Warning: Mature 18+, angst, smut, crossover cringe, flashbacks, reader goes by a codename.
Note: This was supposed to only be 500 words or so… oops. And it takes place in the Avenger's Tower, because I refuse to give up our collective headcannon. Happy birthday to our Star-Spangled Steve! Please let me know how you liked the fic with comments and reblogs. Happy reading!
“Come on, baby girl. I know you’re close.” Steve leaned close to nuzzle his nose into the curve of your neck. “I can feel you clamping on my fingers,” he hummed. “Come on. Please? Give me my present.”
You desperately gripped his forearms. Your legs were shaking, barely holding you up against the wall Steve had you pinned do. Your skirt was tucked into the neckline of your dress. And you could feel yourself clamping down on his fingers too. And fluttering, and leaking around them, and… all of the above.
Leave it to the birthday boy, America’s golden boy, to want something so filthy for his present. He wanted you all to himself for the weekend. There were a few public appearances he would have to make, but that didn’t mean that you would have to attend.
His smile slid over your flushed skin as he kissed his way across the swell of your breasts. “We have to start somewhere. Let go. Or do you want us to start with the toys?”
He had teasingly threatened to tie you to the bed, leaving you spread there and filled with one of your vibrators while he made his appearances. Then he could come back and ravage you as much as he liked. You didn’t hate the idea. But you had quickly lost your ability to consider any options other than the curling motions of his fingers in your sex and the path of his lips on your skin.
You bit your bottom lip, trying to focus on your pleasure. The motions of his thumb circling your clit paused.
“Open that mouth. I want to hear you.”
Your eyes snapped open too. His brilliant blue gaze was nearly eclipsed by the desire in his eyes. Steve held your focus, grinning slightly when you couldn’t help but whimper through gasping breaths. His nose occasionally bumped yours. Panting himself, his mouth hovered over yours. But he leaned away when you tried to kiss him.
His fingers moved faster, pumping in and out of you fast enough to make your fingernails dig into his suit shirt.
The pleasure overtook you, rattling you from your core. Your eyes shivered closed, but Steve didn’t correct you. He was too focused watching how your mouth fell open around the gasp of release. When you could see him again, though a little fuzzy around the edges, he gleefully matched your gaze as he sucked his fingers into his mouth.
You had made quite a mess.
When he laid you across the bed, you thought he was going to cuddle close until you recovered. Instead, he plucked at your dress buttons one by one until the fabric fell away. The set you’d found, blue with red and silver stars and a little red bow accent, had been a little on the nose. It would have matched the bottoms, but you’d lost that scrap of fabric at the bedroom door. The way the tops of his cheeks turned pink told you he loved it.
You settled back into the sheets. Breathing deep, you waited for him to lay beside you.
With a yelp, you felt his mouth over your sex instead.
His arms wrapped around your thighs. You couldn’t crawl or wriggle away to freedom. He pinned you between the bed and his mouth. Whatever mess you were already made for a noisy meal. He suckled and licked at you like he’d never taste you again.
Your body hadn’t fully recovered from his fingers. When they made a second appearance, your walls were plenty ready to clamp down on them again. Steve glanced up from kneeling on the floor. His nose bumped into your clit when it wasn’t under the attention of his thumb or flattened tongue.
Shivering and quaking, you had nowhere to go as the orgasm rippled through you.
The gentle brush of his free hand was almost cold against your flushed skin. He felt you up, traveling his fingerprints and grasping palm across your body as it shivered for him. Steve pulled your breasts from their star-spangled cups. His lips wrapped around your nipples, humming and pleased.
His cock began to slide over your slit. Coating his length, Steve’s breath hissed out with desperation. His hips jolted. He was desperate to feel you around him, but he wanted one more thing before then.
You were sensitive beyond belief. If he kept moving like that, you might come around nothing. You did your best to reach for his hip. Or his length to take in hand, whichever came first. “Need you, Steve. Need your cock. Please—”
He batted your hand away before pinning your wrists to the sheets. “Nuh, uh. Not yet.”
“But---but… you haven’t cum yet.” Your eyes rolled up under your closed eyelids. “I thought this was-- was supposed to be for you?” Fluttering your eyelashes, you caught the sight of him, the glisten of his brow and the expanse of his chest. When had he lost his shirt? You shivered as he winked at you.
“Watching you fall apart for me? I couldn’t think of a better present.”
With a wicked grin, he kept sliding his cock through your slick. When his cockhead would bump your clit, your whole body jolted with the collision. Mentally, you settled in for what could be an hour of pleasurable torture. He’d done that to you once before and said he’d wanted to try it again. But there were things he had to do today. Surely he didn’t have time for that right now?
While you were thinking about his schedule, Steve was watching your face. When he considered you sufficiently oblivious, he filled you with a thrust and slammed home.
You shrieked with release.
Steve kept still as your body fluttered around him. He watched your chest heave and couldn’t wait to watch your breasts bounce with the rhythm that he had planned. He wanted to fill you; wanted to watch his cum spill out of your perfect pussy because he had filled you with more than you could hold. He had waited for months with this plan. And he could be patient enough for a few minutes more. Second by second, you caught your breath.
The need for patience ran out. He started slow. Slow thrusts. Easy, but solid sheathes that gently bounced you. His eyes locked onto your breasts. With each slight increase of his power, they bounced more and more. It made the silver stars shimmer. The sight made his chest tight with need. Your high-pitched keen brought him back into the moment. And he almost fell apart.
You were wrecked. Hair spread across the sheets, slipping away from the perfect way you had arranged it that morning, it spread around you like a wreath. Your hands clawed at the air. His hands still had your wrists trapped. Your eyes were solidly closed, leaving you fully enveloped in pleasure. Your mouth was a perfect “oh” around his favorite sounds: gasps and moans and murmurs of his name. Yes. This was the perfect birthday gift.
Steve slowed down his pace just long enough for you to catch your breath.
Breathless, you cracked open your vision to see him. What was he planning? Was he going to leave you on edge?
As he let go of your wrists, your suspicions grew.
But his arm wrapped around the back of your hips, pulling you up to meet him.
He leaned over you to kiss at the curve of your neck.
“Thank you for my birthday gift, baby.”
Before you could reply, he was thundering into you again. Your chest arched against his mouth.
Steve was chasing his release now. He knew you would cum soon. It was just a matter of if he fucked you through it into another before he came, or if he would cum with you. If you’d had more non-pleasure-drowned braincells to consider your options, maybe you could have thought about… what? Steve was going to get what he wanted. And there was nothing you could do to change that. Even if you had wanted to.
The inevitability of that realization snapped the last thread of resistance within you. You cried out his name as you came for a fourth time. As you guessed, Steve kept thrusting, but he faltered quickly. With a few more thrusts, he shuddered, filling you with rope after rope of his release. You caught sight of his lips through your haze. They kept forming around your name and “love you,” but you couldn’t hear a think for the rush of static in your ears and brain.
He collapsed over top of you. His cock continued to twitch within you, even as your walls continued to flutter around him. His breath, ragged and hot, puffed against your skin. He nuzzled his face into your hair where it was spread out. You wished he would stay like this. The weight of him laying over you was warm and comforting. You waited for his breathing to even out as he fell asleep so you could follow.
Instead, Steve took a deep breath and stood up. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled down at you. “It’s time to get going,” he said.
You groaned. “You smell like sex. Shared shower?”
“No,” he drawled. “Any longer and I’ll be late.”
“Do you have to?”
“Yes.”
Resting on your elbows, you arched your back, feeling his fingerprints over your body. “Does this mean you’re satisfied?”
His grin darkened. “Not by a long shot.” Placing his hands on either side of your hips, he kissed you deeply, then murmured over your lips, “Well… it is the two hundred and fiftieth birthday of the country…”
Your eyes widened with a twinge of pleasurable fear.
He laughed at you. “We won’t go for that many. Maybe twenty-five through the whole weekend?”
Sinking back into the sheets, you heaved a breath, feeling your body tremble with the threat. He wouldn’t. Would he?
When he grabbed your wrist, you remembered the preexisting threat to tie you down. But he helped you stand and rebuttoned your dress.
“Come on. We’ve got places to be.”
“We?”
“Yes.” Steve kissed quickly at your cheek. “I want to keep you close in case the crowd become too much and I need a… respite.”
The starry panties stayed on the floor by the door as you guys left for the Tower lobby.
Bucky who hasn’t touched anyone, or been touched by anyone since ‘43.
Bucky whose body randomly decided to constantly remind him of his physical need.
Bucky one night, against his will, having the filthiest wet dream about you kissing him, riding him, him fucking you against the counter…
Bucky waking up in a cold sweat, cock rock hard; harder than he’s ever been, leaking, dampening his boxers.
Bucky who feels perverted and disgusting but already trailing a hand down to his need; cock jumping at the contact; MAYBE a handful of strokes before spilling into his underwear at the simple touch. oh, and. it’s never just a few spurts. it’s thick, heavy ropes that go through the fabric, dribbling into audible splats against his thighs.
Bucky who never makes a move on you because you literally just started dating but everything makes his body react; that sweet floral perfume you always wear, the way you bite your lip when you concentrate, your hand coming to rest on his stomach during movie nights, the muscles jumping under your finger tips.
Bucky clenching his jaw tight, adam’s apple bobbing with nerves. when you so sweetly ask, “what is it baby?”, the pet name making pink burst across his cheeks. he just shifts his hips under the blanket he is really glad he grabbed before this. he’s never wanted anything, anyone, this bad before, but he refuses to mess this up when he finally just got you.
Bucky absolutely loathes spooning you, which you love so much, because he can’t physically take your ass being pressed so close against him. he always comes up with some excuse to have you just lay your head on his chest. you never push it, afraid you’re stepping over some boundary, but, you want to feel held by your boyfriend. you don’t understand why he’s withholding little fragments of intimacy from you. does he even want you?
You finally asking to talk one day with him. his heart sinks. this is the day you finally realize you deserve better, someone who isn’t as perverted, needy as him. fuck, did you know? you gently take his clammy hands in yours; “okay, you gotta tell me what’s going on. i’m not mad, but, you never let me keep kissing you, you don’t want to sleep next to me, you won’t let me sit on your lap…buck. did i do something?”
Bucky who thinks his heart is going to slam out of his chest…
Author’s Note: Written for @darkspnimagines Dark SPN Challenge and to fulfill my Fear Kink (which I’ve never written before) square for @spnkinkbingo
Pairing(s): Demon!Dean x Witch!Reader x Soulless!Sam
Summary: When Sam’s demon cure doesn’t work, he enlists the help of a witch, y/n, who winds up in over her head. THIS IS A DARK FIC!
Word Count: 3169
Story Warnings: 18+ HERE BE SEX! DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!! Fear kink, choking, NON-CON, forced oral, unprotected sex
When Sam Winchester approached you to come up with a plan to ‘save’ his brother, you weren’t in a position to tell him ‘no’. Literally, the position you were in was locked in spell-etched manacles that he wouldn’t let you out of until you helped him devise a way to restore Dean’s humanity.
“Don’t you have a cure or something? I thought Crowley said-”
“It… It didn’t work. If it had, would I have come to you? If you don’t want a witch-killing bullet to your head, you’re gonna help me fix Dean.”
“This is kinda messed up for the hero to be doing.”
“At this point, y/n, I don’t really care about anything except saving my brother, so…” Sam shrugged.
I genuinely wonder if people realize how many projects get abandoned because the readership "wasn't there", when in reality, the readership just stayed silent. It's a big thing in trad pub that book series get discontinued because readers pirate the books or wait until the series is finished to buy a copy, leading the publisher to think that nobody actually wants the book enough to continue the series, but it happens with indie creators too.
I've discontinued a lot of free, online series because it's not worth putting 3-5 hours a week into posting a project for no readers. Sometimes I finish the series for me but just never post it again, other times I don't finish it at all because it feels more worthwhile to put my time into other things. Sometimes I hear from readers who are sad or upset that I didn't finish something they were liking, but the *reason* it never got finished is because I didn't know anyone liked it. If you like something, tell the creator, tell your friends, make some noise about it. If you would be sad if a story never finished, make that interest known because one of my biggest considerations before discontinuing a series is "will people miss this? Will I be letting people down" and 9/10 times, I come to the conclusion of "no, it doesn't even seem like anyone's reading this" only to learn after I've moved on that apparently someone was.
I've said this before in a different way, and this post said it so well. With real examples.
If you like something, tell people.
If you want more content from an artist or author, if you like their stuff, tell them. It will give them creative fuel to keep going. And often it gives them other resources as well.
Recommend a work to other people. Leave a comment or a review. It doesn't have to be long, just genuine, a sentence or two.
Not many people know that a book's success is judged by book reviews as well as sales. Review the book on Amazon or another site to help it pass the metric of success and be recognized by publishers and retailers.
The Reader invites Wardlow into her home as he recovers from his injury. He spends most of his days watching football and highlights, until you manage to steal away his attention.
Pairing: Wardlow x Reader
Warnings/Promises: social media trend, flirty Reader, SMUT, oral (male receiving), p-in-v, creampie, fluff
Word Count: 3100
Note: 'Been working on this one forever! Now I don’t believe Wardlow would actually be so easily distracted by any sport away from his lady-love, but it was fun to write. I’m also trying out a different format for this one. Let me know what you think about the format, fic, and any other thoughts in comments and reblogs. Happy reading!
Stuck home with his most recent injury, Wardlow had all the time in the world to build his perfect football bracket. He had time to build one for both college and the professional football leagues… and it was starting to drive you up the wall.
While you’re at work (either in the office or working from “home” when you’re in town), he watched hours of past seasons and highlight reels from the games that aired that weekend. At night, he watched his favorite horror movies. Having a TV in the living room and his home gym meant he didn’t have to miss a second.
You technically live in another city. When you have a set schedule to work from home, you travel to him. You’ve got your own room to use as an office and bedroom when he’s up late with either of his favorite topics.
He needed a break. You both knew it.
With a few days of working from home coming up, you invited him to stay at your apartment for a change of scenery.
He’s got his own drawer in your dresser for his clothes. Your apartment complex has a small gym, but there’s a Gold’s down the road too. And you told him about the park that’s ten minutes away where he can go for a run or add pictures of wildlife to his social media.
When you came home that night, it didn’t look like he had moved from the couch. The notebook and pen were out as his eyes are glued to your living room TV. But, as you set down your stuff, you noted that his hair was slightly wet, and he had changed his clothes.
“Did you enjoy your run?”
Wardlow grinned. “I did, Sherlock.” He muted the TV and leaned back in a big stretch. He pinched his thumb and forefinger on either side of his eyes before glancing at your stove’s clock. “You’re home early.”
“Mhmm.” You walked over, leaning over him to press a long, relaxing kiss onto his lips. Wardlow hummed up into your push, smoothing a hand over your thigh in an attempt to pull you onto his lap. “Nuh-uh.” You stepped away with a groan. “Want to get out of my office clothes.”
His grin deepened. “You can do that right here.”
“Not with the blinds open I won’t.”
In the time it took him to glance over at your windows letting in too much sunlight to be decent, you hurried to your bedroom to change your clothes. The short day-dress/sundress you changed into had been the plan long before you invited him over. You swore you were only gone for a minute. But when you came back, he was already deeply enthralled in the next play. You sagged against the hallway wall.
At least he’s put the notebook down. And closed the blinds. His thighs had man-spread over an impressive area on the seat cushion. He had one arm tossed over the low back of the couch, while his other hand worried his beard as he listened to the commentators analyzing the team.
You needed to keep him from worrying his beard so much. If you were honest with yourself, you needed to keep him from worrying about a lot of things.
An idea popped into your head. Your mind latched onto that old social media trend that had fizzled out before you even met your War Dog.
Tilting your head to make sure he was still focused on the screen, you snagged a pillow from the armchair. You plopped it between his open thighs and knelt.
Wardlow’s gaze immediately shifted to your smug face. His wide eyes took in your hands pulling back your hair into a ponytail (or as best of what you could manage with your current hair length) and his thighs spread further. A surprised, bemused smile spread across his face. As your hands smoothed up and down his thighs, he settled back into the couch.
Suddenly, you turned and sat down, snagging his hands to rest them on your shoulders. “Can you massage my neck for me, darling? I think I turned it weird at work today.”
You bit your lip to cover up the giggle that threatened to respond to his irritated growl.
“Of course.”
Wardlow’s massage was a little rough at first. But as the sports channel switched to another highlight reel, his hands actually began to knead your neck and shoulders. Your spaghetti straps fell off your shoulders as he spread his large hands wide over your skin.
The first moan that fell from your lips gave him pause.
“You doin’ alright down there?”
“Mhmm. Keep watching your show, but don’t stop, please. Your hands feel so good.”
His continuing massage was hesitant. Like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to focus on the play-by-play or on massaging you into making more of those sounds. You weren’t very vocal in bed, choosing instead to listen to him and to speak with your hands running all over him.
You hummed high and delighted at his touch.
While he gently squeezed the back of your neck with one hand, he turned the TV down with the other. Smoothly, he removed your hair tie. His touch slid up your hairline until his whole hand was buried in your hair. With the warmth from his hand, and the way he was lightly squeezing it over your scalp, you couldn’t help but let your mouth hang open with a sigh. Wardlow’s body stiffened as your eyes closed.
“I know what you’re doing,” he mumbled.
“Good.”
“Thin walls. Not like the ones I’ve got back at the house.”
“Why do you think I came home early?”
Turning in his grip, you returned to your earlier kneeling position. Wardlow was there with ready lips and a moan of his own. He titled your face up with a light grip on your chin. Your hands returned to resting on his thighs.
Just as you reached for the waistline of his sweatpants, Wardlow’s eyes flicked up towards the screen. His eyes brightened as some part of a play pleased him. You sat back on your heels.
“You know, you seem pretty focused on the game. Maybe we should do this later.”
Wardlow caught your forearms before you could leave. “No! I – we can do this now.” It took a hesitating moment longer than you would have liked, but he eventually turned off the TV. He kissed over your pout.
His hands continued to hold you close as you leaned up into his chest from your position on the floor. Wardlow knew he would have been lying if he said having you on your knees didn’t do it for him. But he wanted you beneath him in another way.
You resisted his attempts to drag you to your feet. With your teeth, you barely nipped at his throat, making him gasp and laugh. Again, your hands drifted to the waistband of his sweats.
He was oblivious. His hands couldn’t get enough of your bare shoulders. His lips needed to kiss every inch of your skin from one side of your neck to the other. Meanwhile, your own reach snuck beneath his sweats and maneuvered to your goal.
Wardlow let out a strangled moan as your hand gently gripped the base of his cock. Your slow, deliberate strokes finished bringing him to a full, thick mast. His hips flinched, silently begging for more.
Above you, Wardlow’s body sagged towards you. His mouth rested open against your temple. He fought to catch his breath. “How—how long have you been planning this?” When you weren’t forthcoming, he cracked open his eyes to catch the smug, mischievous gleam in your gaze. “I never stood a chance did I?”
“Nope.”
His eyes widened further as you guided him to lay back. With you still on your knees, you were in the perfect position to give him a show as you began to tease the tip of his cock with your tongue. He settled into the cushions, occasionally tossing his head back as you caught a sensitive place, then forcing his head back up so he could watch.
You knew what you looked like. Especially as you swallowed him down for the first few times. With the way he was *built*, taking him into your throat was a bit of a struggle. But he never seemed to care if you couldn’t take him all the way.
He couldn’t make up his mind what part of you he wanted to watch more. Your mouth kept drawing his gaze as you took turns wrapping your lips around his length and then smiling as you stroked your hands around him and catching your breath. But when you were stroking him… damn. The angle of his view placed his cock in line with your cleavage. Maybe if he asked nicely, you would let him cum on your chest so he could enjoy that view instead. Then you swallowed him down again and his mind went blank.
He was close. Too close, and too soon.
Running his fingers up and into your hair again, Wardlow held your hair back so he could see your face. But when his hand was wide and warm against your skull, he used the leverage of your hair to pull you away.
“You doin’ okay, baby?” you crooned. His glare made you smile. His grip tightened on your hair when you tried to descend your lips onto his cock again. With a pout, you sat back. “What?”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Too much, too soon. Wanna feel you around me.”
You managed to lick up his length before he pulled you away again. “I thought that’s what I was doing.”
With his control still deep in your hair, he managed to drag you to your feet. His free arm wrapped around your waist. You thought he was headed to your bedroom, but he surprised you with bending you over the back of the couch. You caught the sight of your reflection in the tv of him looming behind you. It sent a thrillish zing up your spine.
“How long have you been planning this,” you teased. But your tease ran out as he leaned in close over you.
He shook his head. “We christened your bed the last time I was here. And I believe I promised to have you against every surface given half a chance.” With a pleased hum, he flipped up the skirt of your dress. The sight almost made him choke. You weren’t wearing a stitch under the fabric. He gripped both globes of your ass and gave them a squeeze. “Gonna have you right here.”
You squeaked as he titled you forward, making you brace yourself on the seat cushions as he raised your hips up closer to his face.
More than anything he wanted to eat you out until you were a messy puddle. But the throbbing of his cock could not be ignored for much longer. He settled for a cheeky open-mouthed bite of your ass, then settled you into place. Just having your thighs around his length made his vision blurry. Easing into your sex threatened to white-out his sight entirely.
It was a good thing your couch sat on a rug. Or your floors would have been scratched to hell with the way his thrusts threatened to scrape the furniture across the floor.
Your vision was spotty at best. Every so often you’d catch your reflection again, and it would make you gasp every time.
His grip on your hips was impossible to ignore and to escape. With your position over the back of the couch, your toes barely touched the floor for more than a second. Your nails scratched into the cushions.
And you were loud. Yes, there was the obvious sound of him filling you, making you gush more and more with each thrust. But the angle of it all made little moans and pleased yelps pour from your lips. Then he dragged your thigh to rest on the back of the couch, opening you up further. The cry that escaped you was like nothing you’d ever managed.
“So was that all I had to do, hmm?” Wardlow chuckled. “Just tilt you at the right angle and make those pretty sounds pour right out of you. What will the neighbors think?”
“Don’t fucking care. Please, don’t stop.” You reached your hand back for his hip as if you could pull him into you any deeper.
You needn’t have bothered. Wardlow was in no mood to make you wait nor to let you work towards your release alone.
By the time his thrusts reached a thunderous speed, you were delirious and your arms hung loosely off the front of the couch.
Then he wrapped his arm under your waist, lifting you up. His fingers brushed first through your slick. Then they barely brushed over your clit. He groaned as your walls spasmed around his length. Wardlow held still as your body shivered and quaked.
Hazily, you caught sight of yourself in the tv.
Wardlow caught sight of you too. The dark screen wasn’t a good enough reflection to show you his full expression, but you could see the way he suddenly grinned.
He toyed with your clit again, making your walls shiver with over stimulation.
Dragging you back, he positioned you so your feet were on sturdy ground and your head was resting on your arms on the back of your couch. His cock never left you. So when he began to thrust again, your body rocked obscenely.
You cried out. The new angle meant he could spear into you deeper than you thought possible. Small gaps and whimpers passed your lips. But he kept going. Surely he was ready to burst soon?
“I—I thought---”
“What?” Wardlow chuckled behind you. He slowed his thrusts to a stop, then pulled out so he could lazily run his cock over your slick. “Don’t worry. I’ll fill you up soon. Been waiting all day to feel you around me. Don’t want to waste it.”
His hand slid warm and solid over your collarbones. On its way past, his thumb stroked gently at the curve of your neck. All the while, he continued to roll his hips, sliding his length over your slick again and again. It blinded you to the way his other arm scooped under your hips.
He suddenly kicked your legs closed, trapping his length between your thighs. You mewled as his rhythm picked up again. His cock-head caught your clit enough to make your whines come out broken and needy.
It was a good thing that his arms were under your hips and shoulders. Your grip faltered on the couch and you would have fallen otherwise.
Wardlow breathed steadily as he felt the way your body trembled beneath him. He controlled the pace. It brought him no small joy that the mess between your thighs was plenty to enjoy. If he could think straight later, he would definitely eat you out in this same position until you were dripping again. But for now, your hands were desperately clawing at the couch and tugging at his grip. Your voice was breathy and pleading. You begged for him to fill you like he promised. How could he deny you?
Tilting you back in his grip, he kissed the back of your neck.
Then he tossed your thigh back to its place on the back of the couch and filled you in a breath.
You mangled a cry and fought to fill your lungs with air as he filled and refilled you with his cock.
He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Which was a shame. Because the bounce of your body on his cock from behind was a sight he wanted to memorize. But with his eyes closed, he could hone in all the pretty new sounds you were giving him. He moved faster, chasing the end that you had teased him with earlier.
“Are you ready, baby?” His grip on your hip tightened as your walls fluttered. “Takin’ me so good. Letting me have you this way. Never gonna be able to walk into this room without thinking about today.”
Was he talking about his own memory or yours?
It didn’t matter. Because he twisted his hips to catch that place within you that made you see stars. You shivered and moaned high and airy, and again as he thrust hard and stilled within you.
Wardlow did his best to keep his hands from bruising you as every muscle in his body flexed with his release. He calmed himself down with a few more thrusts. Each drag of his length sent a zing up his spine. And each pass made your body rock forward.
He shed his shirt so he could use it to clean up most of the mess between your thighs. Tossing it to one side, he promised to drop it in the wash later. He tucked himself away. Then, begrudgingly, he flipped your skirt down over his favorite sight.
Taking you into his arms, he grinned to see your blissed-out face. Your eyes kept fluttering. Did they flutter that way when you fluttered around him? He would have to look for it next time.
He gently laid you out on the couch, then spread over you to rest his head on your chest.
“So how was your day?”
You breathed a laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Mhmm.” He grinned. His lips pursed in that way they did when he was about to sass. “So? Did what’s-his-face cause any problems today?”
Rolling your eyes, you did your best to say that your coworker did not make your day difficult. But all you could focus on was how Wardlow had slotted his body between your thighs so he didn’t crush you. It made you feel open. And you were hyper-aware of the way your sex was still thrumming. You complained under your breath about your ability to think in full sentences after what he did to you.
It just made him laugh.
If he kept stroking his thumb across the swell of your breasts like that, he was going to either guide you to sleep, or inspire another flame of need.
Wardlow stroked the valley between your breasts with his nose. Another round or a nap, he didn’t mind. He would do whatever it took to make your mind as blank and worry free as you had made his.
***
Master List
Wardlow Masterlist
Other Wrestling "Stuck At Home" Fics:
Another Good Morning (S, F) - EC3 x Reader
Vigorous Victorious Submissive Samson (S, F) - Elias/Elijah x Reader
Just a Movie (F, S) - Finn Balor x Reader
Two More (S, Summer Song-Fic Playlist) - Kenny Omega x Reader
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
In the spirit of encouraging people to comment on fanfics while also making it easier to do so, I feel obliged to share a browser extension for ao3 that has quite literally revolutionized the comment game for me.
I present to you: the floating ao3 comment box!
From what I've seen, a big problem for many people is that once you reach the comments at the bottom of a fic, your memory of it miraculously disappears. Anything you wanted to say is stuck ten paragraphs ago, and you barely remember what you thought while reading. This fixes that!
I'll give a little explanation on the features and how it works, but if you want to skip all that, here's the link.
Edit: Yes, this also works on mobile!
The extension is visible as a small blue box in the upper left corner.
(Side note: The green colouring is not from the extension, that's me.)
If you click on it, you open a comment box window at the bottom of your screen but not at the bottom of the fic. I opened my own fic for demonstrative purposes.
The website also gives explanations on how exactly it functions, but I'll summarize regardless.
insert selection -> if you highlight a sentence in the fic it will be added in italics to the comment box
add to comment box -> once you're done writing your comment, you click this button and the entire thing will automatically copied to the ao3 comment box
delete -> self explanatory
on mulitchapter fics, you will be given the option to either add the comment to just the current chapter or the entire fic
The best part? You can simply close the window the same way you opened it and your progress will automatically be saved. So you can open it, comment on a paragraph, and then close it and keep reading without having the box in your face.
Comments are what keep writers going, and as both a writer and a reader, I think it's such an easy way of showing support and enthusiasm.
Our Deepest Desires @deepdisireslonging - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
