#keep in mind this is the rough draft so there may or may not be some small changes

[cfyslvr]

Hey so I saw your reqs are open!! So I've noticed a lot in the past of how people portray baji as super aggressive and violent in a relationship when I think he'd be pretty soft and always put his s/o's needs first. Please give me super cute sfw and nsfw hcs that you can think of baji x fem reader! Thank you!!

࣪˖ ִֶָ ೀ 𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑻 𝑺𝑶𝑭𝑻𝑰𝑬𝑺

summary :: tough looking guys that are actually softies towards their s/o!!

pairings :: keisuke baji × fem!reader, izana kurokawa × fem!reader, rindou haitani × fem!reader,

warnings :: aged up characters!! nsfw content, smut, possibly ooc, protected sex!, pet names, tit play, mommy kink, not proofread, mentions of rough sex, mentions of multiple positions (doggy, missionary, cowgirl etc), mommy kink, just me being biased, might contain spoilers ig(?), may contain grammar mistakes (either bc eng isn't my first language or bc I'm typing too quickly 🤷🏻‍♀️)

a/n :: YESS!! I've been thinking about this for so long and I'm glad I'm not the only one 🥹 I actually have a draft explaining this but for izana so I decided to make this a multi character drabble, hope u don't mind ㅠㅠ

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࣪˖ ִֶָ ೀ 𝑲𝑬𝑰𝑺𝑼𝑲𝑬 𝑩𝑨𝑱𝑰

— SFW ::

you were most likely baji's first girlfriend, so he probably has no idea what he's supposed to do in a relationship (and I will die on this hill). he's nervous, get flustered at the sight of you, at the thought of holding hands with you or anything similar to that.

now, we all know that baji can be a bit... vile. burning cars when he's hungry, brutally beating people he believes he needs to.. yeah. but!! that's not the only reason he is believed to be super aggressive with his gf and all, it's also because he tries to act pretty nonchalant and cool, like his usual self around you because he's embarrassed of how flustered you make him! (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)

at first, he's actually really good at keeping this cool guy nonchalant persona (atleast in public), but.. it's also super obvious he has a soft spot for you. he'd do cute things like fixing your hair, holding your hand, even being pretty clingy in private. it surprises you at first, but you grow used to it after some time.

he's so gentle with you :(( would literally never yell at you, even when he comes back from school/a gang meeting/a fight completely stressed, he would just pout and pull you into a hug because it calms him down<33 also gets super super mad if anyone else tries to yell at you. like, if you came to him crying because some guy was bullying you and everyone was just brushing it off bc "he probably likes you!" (why are we romanticizing abuse •n•), the next day your bully is coincidentally found passed out in some alleyway; if you had a fight with your parents, every time he comes over or sees your parents, he not-so secretly glares at them and makes sure to purposely mention something you were fighting about in a subtle way (example, if they were commenting about your weight or smt, he would make sure to voice a little too loudly how much he loves the way your body looks).

I could go on and on about him but I think I'll end it here cuz I have two more characters to work on!!

— NSFW :: honestly, baji gives me the type of guy who doesn't think of sex as something that's 100% necessary in your relationship and would be completely fine with waiting until marriage, but once you're his, you're his. he does not like the thought of sleeping around and even finds the thought of it a little weird, the thought of being intimate someone just for the fun of it didn't sound appealing to him.

most likely, he loses his virginity to you, and if you are a virgin as well, he's so gentle with you. he has you laying down on the white sheets under him, since it's both of y'all's first time, he figures that missionary is the safest position to start with (although he wouldn't mind experimenting with other positions in the future).

spends half the time just preparing you with foreplay, kissing your neck, sucking ur tits, thighs, licking up your stomach >< he'll eat you out so softly, so gently, slowly making out with your cunt, asking you "is this okay?" "am I making you feel good?" he just needs reassurance :(( it's his first time too!

once he was finally sure you're 100% ready for him, he first grinds his cock against your core, coating it properly (he probably heard of vaginal bleeding if there wasn't enough lubricant and the thought of hurting you scared him), he would 100% use a condom, atleast until both of you are comfortable to fuck without it.

after, once again, making sure everything was perfect and you were ready, he pushes in, slowly, painfully slowly in order to make sure it doesn't hurt, and if you show any sign of pain with your facial expressions or body language, he freezes until he makes sure it's okay for him to keep going.

once he's finally in, he waits for a full minute for you to adjust to his size before beginning to move his hips, once again, slowly at first. he groans, and despite wanting to be gentle with his pretty girl, he can't help but bite your neck (baji has a biting kink and I'll die on that hill), and he ends up accidentally doing it harder than he intends to, but not enough for it to bleed!

I always see people saying that he calls his s/o really degrading names, but I actually see him mostly calling often calling you like "pretty girl" (≧~≦⁠) I also think he's also good at edging himself, so even if he's so close it's painful, he wouldn't let himself cum until he's made you cum at least once.

when you're finally done, I feel like aftercare with him would be a bit awkward lmao. he would probably be too lazy to shower so he just cleans both of you up with a towel, helps you put your pjs on and falls asleep right then and there with you trapped in his arms. all in all 10/10 he's so sweet <3

࣪˖ ִֶָ ೀ 𝑰𝒁𝑨𝑵𝑨 𝑲𝑼𝑹𝑶𝑲𝑨𝑾𝑨

— SFW ::

(gosh I love him sm ><)

we all know about Izana's past, which naturally causes a lot of trust issues, so I genuinely believe he would not get with just anyone, he needs to build trust with you as a friend before he first off accepts he likes you beyond friendship and then actually starts dating you.

once you finally move onto the next stage, he would still have a hard time fully trusting you. although he wouldn't be too distrusting, he would be the type of boyfriend constantly calling you when you're not home and asking those "where are you at?" "who are you with?" "when are you coming home?" etc etc.

I saw this drabble on tumblr where the creator compared izana to an untrusting cat and I love this theory!! at first (the first few months of your relationship), he would he a bit distant, not talking to you nor showing a lot of love to you for awhile (mostly because he didn't know how to do so, but also because he wasn't sure if you were 100% trustworthy), but every once or twice a month, he would come to you out of nowhere and become super clingy and needy towards you, like a cat. it confused you, but you decided to stay with him because you genuinely loved him and believed he would change.

and he did.

after those few months of being an untrusting cat, he realized that even though he was a horrible boyfriend to you, you still stayed, you still let him in every one of those vulnerable nights, always took care of him, always showed that you truly loved him. and he realized that he genuinely loved you too..

after that day, he started putting more effort into your relationship. he would take care of you in the form of beating up anyone who even looked at you wrong, made sure you were never in any danger, making sure you always got what you wanted, basically treated you like his little princess.

since I believe that izana is fluent in tagalog, I fully believe he would call you names like "mahal" (love), "prinsesa" (princess), "maganda" (beautiful) etc etc. (I used a translator for this so if anyone knows tagalog correct me if the translations are wrong).

he would be so worried about you being scared of him because of his reputation in tenjiku, so he would never want you to be present during his meetings/fights with tenjiku :(( also, although he did trust you, he didn't trust almost anyone else. the only person he would trust with you was kakucho, but other than him, he didn't want to see you with any other man. he was shamelessly possessive, but if it ever came to a misunderstanding (if he misunderstood you meeting with a cousin or smt like that) he would be so apologetic to both you and the cousin bc he genuinely wants to be on your family's good side :(

— NSFW ::

now, as I said earlier, izana does not trust just anyone, so I doubt he would ever be the type of person to sleep around. he sees lovemaking as the most vulnerable moment that a couple can go through and despises hookup culture. why would he sleep with someone just for the "fun" of it?

I also see him as someone who doesn't mind waiting for marriage, but I don't think he would last ㅠㅠ (although I fully believe he would not sleep with someone he's been with for like a year or so- as I said, he sees lovemaking as vulnerable and wants to create a strong relationship bond with strong trust with someone before engaging in such a vulnerable act).

he gives me the vibes of someone who is pretty 50-50 when it comes to if he likes it gentle or rough. sure, he does likes to come home after a stressful day (either after losing a fight with tenjiku or fighting with one of his gang members in the tenjiku timeline, or after a stressful day at work in the final timeline) and quite literally fuck the stress out with you. in those situations, he does like a good doggy style, just seeing your ass bouncing as he thrusts into you like a madman gets him seeing stars.

another thing I wanna mention is that I genuinely believe he would prefer wearing a condom, just because he doesn't want to risk you getting pregnant when neither of you are ready to be parents, also because he has a sensitive dick and he would probably cum in seconds from the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around him so snuggly ><

as I said, yes, he does like rough sex, but you wanna know what he loves? lovemaking. soft, loving, gentle lovemaking. he loves to scoop you into his arms and lay you down on the bed, whisper sweet nothings into your ear while slowly undressing you, gently kiss and bite at the skin of your earlobe, down to your neck, shoulders and collarbone before finally reaching your soft breasts, immediately taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

while distracting you with his mouth on your chest, he slowly pushes his throbbing cock inside of your tight hole, whining around your peak and giving both of you a moment to adjust before beginning to slowly move his hips.

izana has a mommy kink argue with the wall. as he's fucking you so slowly and lovingly, he's whining in your ear cuz, like I said, he has a sensitive cock, just repeating the sweet nothings while also calling you mommy over and over again and your eyes are just rolling back in bliss bc of how good it feels !! ><

he'll speed up his thrusts if you ask him to, bringing both of you equal amount of pleasure until you're cumming all over his rubber-covered dick and he follows right away, filling the condom up with his white cream.

aftercare with him is basically the two of you just laying there, wrapped around in each other's bodies and staring at each other lovingly in the comfortable silence until you two eventually fall asleep together (with him laying on your pretty chest)

࣪˖ ִֶָ ೀ 𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑶𝑼 𝑯𝑨𝑰𝑻𝑨𝑵𝑰

— SFW ::

now.

I have a lot to say about this man right here.

but I also don't know how to word it.

I genuinely believe he's the type of guy who would act all tough and nonchalant but is the biggest loser when it comes to his s/o. (ughhh >﹏<)

he would try to put up this fake persona in public (especially around ran bc he knew he would tease him), but the second the two of them were alone, he would become the clingiest guy ever. he would love to cuddle with you, sleep on your chest, just straight up hold you. (I love him sm wthhhh)

he would love kissing u sm :(( on the lips, the cheek, on the forehead, nose, hand, neck, whereverrr. like every time the two of you would see each other, the first thing he does is grab your hand and kiss the back of it before doing anything else.

he would be super overprotective of you, not in a toxic way, he just doesn't want you to get hurt in any way :( he only has you other than ran and he can't bare the thought of you getting in any danger.

it's also a canonical fact is that rindou has a drinking problem, but he would genuinely try to at least get it under control or even completely stop drinking just for you :(( he would come to you and flex how long he's been sober, expecting praise from you (which you always give him because it gives him motivation to keep going).

he would love to take you out absolutely anywhere !! from shopping sprees and fancy dinners, to wholesome café dates and movie nights. he just loves to spoil you so much because he feels like you deserve it for sticking with him through the thick and thin <33

— NSFW ::

maybe I'm biased but I also believe rindou wouldn't mind waiting until marriage if you really wanted to, but if you were okay with premarital sex, you would probably do it within maybe a year and a half.

he also doesn't mind using a condom, but he would also want to experiment without one aswell.

yes, I do believe rindou would enjoy positions like doggy or cowgirl, but would also love slow and sensual lovemaking in positions like missionary. he would love to see your face as he rutted his hips into yours, you're just so pretty and he can't stop himself from staring at you with a shit-eating smirk on his face (⁠＠⁠_⁠＠⁠;⁠)

I feel like he would be the type who prefers rough sex, he just loves pounding his pretty girl until he's fucked you dumb >< buuut, every now and then, he would love gentle lovemaking aswell!

he would love it when you ride him he gently, slowly moving up and down his dick while he held you by the hips, helping you lift yourself up and down his long, veiny cock. he wouldn't be as loud as izana, but he would let out soft grunts and groans, leaning down to rest his head on your shoulder as he cums either inside of you or the condom.

aftercare with him is soft and gentle. he'll give you water and food if you wanted it, would bring you to the bath and help you clean up (also might fuck you one more time just to make sure ><). after that, he would dress you up and would go to sleep while holding you tightly in his arms. <3

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© cfyslvr 2025 ; please don't steal, repost on another app or translate my posts without my permission, thank you for reading !! - rina

[phoenixtakaramono]

Truce - Ch3 Preview 3/?

Keep in mind this is from an earlier rough draft so there may or may not be some differences in the final draft version on AO3.

Context for who Doctor Peculiar is in the comics (why, yes, the entire purpose of bringing him into the story despite this being a short cameo is 1) an Easter egg reference, and 2) to foreshadow Billy’s plan for SwingWing and—by extension—Tek Knight in this chapter for the last scene in the chapter involving Butcher’s superhero debut/ his “surprise bday gift” for Homelander’s July 4th birthday special):

You can read the previous sneak peek here (it’s an earlier draft so there’ll be some differences in the final AO3 version)

Chapters 1-2 can be read here:

(AO3 🔗)

[luludeluluramblings]

Okay, I'm so sorry but I'm laughing at an alternate timeline for pregnant Reader in my head.

Cause imagine if Jason had won the pole and the story had continued as it's been written thus far? If Jason found out he got Reader pregnant after she beat the shit out of him for eating the gender reveal cake? Finding out he's having a son because he ruined the surprise for Reader would be a hell of a rollercoaster. The guilt would be even worse.

And because he wouldn't know that Reader doesn't remember it was him she slept with? He's going to assume he's been such an ass that she wasn't going to let him be in the kid's life. That she was hoping he'd be a deadbeat or was planning on moving out before having the baby so he'd never get the chance to be near them.

He's making up scenarios that keep getting worse, but Reader literally doesn't know he's the dad.

Hey, this isn't what you had in mind. But, it's been sitting in my drafts for a good long while. So enjoy.

Jason's POV on THAT night if he had won the Poll for the Pregnant!Reader Fic.

Warning: Technical Pseudo-Incest (Reader DID NOT grow up with the BatFamily), Fem!Reader, NSFW themes, Yandere themes

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

In Jason’s defense, he was an idiot. He never claimed to be the smartest Robin. Never claimed to have it all figured out. He had street knowledge, but that didn’t mean shit if you couldn’t pick up the context clues of a delicate situation.

He’d been in a foul mood for nearly three months. Since that night you didn’t remember. The night were you drunk and giggling after coming home from a party. Gave him an adorable glare before climbing in his lab and demanding he explain why he hated you.

Oh, he didn’t hate you, Princess. Himself? Yes. But, you? Not one single bit.

Now, he wasn’t stupid enough to have a rough fuck right there in the middle of Bruce’s living room. He had more self control and more willpower than that.

So, he did his duty as Bruce’s ward and hauled your ass to your room over his shoulder. Listening to you squeak and squawk with a smirk on his face.

And, then you started giggling. Fuck, he loved your giggling. So fucking cute. He may have accidentally squeezed your legs to fight himself for wanting to choke you in a hug.

He could feel himself slipping into hell as soon as he heard that little moan you let out from his grip.

He couldn’t just drop you and runaway either like a saint would. No, he had to see this through.

And, he did. Passing through your door like they were the gates of Heaven and gently setting you on your bed like it was your personal cloud. Because he couldn’t let himself be rough with you. Just couldn’t.

But, it was over the moment you kissed his cheek so fast your teeth grazed his skin.

Completely over for him.

The next morning he snuck out as soon as he felt you stir. Wanting to hold you as long as possible. Leaving you to wonder where those loving bruises had come from.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I'll be going in a different direction when I write the AU Pregnant!Reader where one of the Bat Boys is the baby daddy, so as I said enjoy. This mostly just to play around with Jason's character.

[dduane]

I have been trying to write fic (well, smut) set in a world where certain things are slightly different to serve the fic's plot.

However, each time I try I have run into a problem: my head insists I need to justify the changes - I need to know comprehensive details about how the world works so I can ensure everything is consistent and not too f'd up.

So I get bogged down, and don't write a word. What do?

In your position, I’d sit down and write myself a bible.

This is how I did my prep for Barbie: Fairytopia.* And how I’ve done it for various works of fic presently on AO3… and how I’m doing it right now for the new Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rats of Sumatra III project. I was taught this art by my animation story editors at Hanna-Barbera, and it’s stood me in good stead. (Peter and I pulled down our first miniseries assignment from a company that told us “we gave great bible.” And that was true.) 😄

When I say “bible” I don’t necessarily mean something that thick! (Though some of mine have been pretty hefty, with one TV project’s bible running more than a hundred pages… because I knew I had skeptical and underinformed TV execs to convince about something historical.) For the kind of purpose we’re describing here, your prep bible could be quite short: maybe looking like a bullet-pointed “shopping list”, five or ten pages long. It can be just as long or short as it needs to be to cover all your salient points.

The idea is simply to put down, in concrete form, a list of the main “different things” you need to know and remember about your alternate universe when you’re working in it. This is where you do your justification work, in as much or as little detail as you need to convince yourself you’ve got the necessary bases covered. The virtual “stage manager” who sits at the back of the theater of the Writing Department in your mind, judging when things are right, will be your guide here, and will advise you as to when you’ve got enough and it’s time to stop. And once this stuff is down on the page, you’ll be a position to judge critically whether everything makes enough sense to work with, and slots together correctly.

This is also a bit like (for the prose part of a project) outlining, in that it’s incredibly freeing. Once you’ve got this background nailed down, you know you can safely turn your attention away from it and get down to the serious business: drama, and the character interactions that express it. (And inevitably as you’re doing the bible writing, you start getting ideas for how the substrate you’re laying down is going to affect the conflicts between and among the characters. The bible stage can be incredibly fruitful this way.)

It would be facile to describe the bibling process as “getting the easy part over with first”. Because sometimes it’s not easy! But it’s worth doing first, because having done this first relieves you of the ongoing anxiety caused by knowing you may have to keep inventing or rationalizing stuff on the fly. (Which can produce the kind of micro-blocks that a writer can generally really do without.) …Not that you’re not going to be inventing things on the fly anyway: that’s a normal part of the writing process. But the biggest and most obvious issues will have been handled already, and you’ll know they have; which is always a weight off one’s mind. And the fewer of those weights you have loading you down, when you’re in the midst of the labor of composition, the better.

Anyway, give it a shot and see how it works for you. And then you can, like the rest of us smut writers, get on to the really pressing business: making sure you haven’t lost track of where all the characters’ arms and legs (and things) are when you’re writing those hot steamy sex scenes. 😏

Hope this helps!

*ETA: My remit on this job did include creating a bible for them. But I write a rough-draft one for myself first, including various meta that I needed but they didn't.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

malevolence

part I

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Bobby's!Niece!Reader

Summary: You've had a crush on Dean for longer than you even remember, but Uncle Bobby told you not to play with fire. When Dean returns home from a hunt, you knew something was off... you just didn't expect it to be this.

Warnings: 18+!, language, violence, manipulation, gaslighting, corruption, pining, smut (kissing, spitting, marking, fingering, oral/cunnilingus, p in v, implied breeding kink, rough sex, dirty talk, mildly dubious consent, cum-play), I may have missed some.

Word Count: 5,887

A/N: Oh my god. This has been in my drafts forever and I'm so happy I've finally put it out. I'm thinking... three parts? If I get all of the story down as it is in my head, then for sure... should be about three parts. It's set not long after John's death, so Dean is still a baby boy. <3 I found these gifs ages ago and I was like, "oh, I need to do a Demon!Dean fic where he's early seasons Dean." because ugh, the potential. You know the drill. If all the warnings listed above aren't evident yet? They will be. Oh, boy, will they be. I hope y'all like this. All the love.

You didn’t remember when it started. Maybe it had always been there, tucked beneath your ribs like a secret. Something soft and patient, biding its time in the dark. A seed waiting for heat and blood and something wicked to make it bloom.

Dean Winchester had been in your life for as long as you’d had a life worth remembering.

Not family, not really. But close. Tangled up in the same blood-and-oil world that raised you. The golden boy in your uncle’s long, strange shadow. Loud, sharp, sunburnt around the edges—he came and went like a storm, shaking dust off his boots and filling every room he entered with too much heat.

He was six years older, which had once felt like a canyon.

When you were ten and he was sixteen, he may as well have been a movie star. Too cool. Too fast. All swagger and sarcasm and smudged knuckles from a fight he didn’t bother to explain. You remembered the first time he called you sweetheart—just a tossed-off thing, barely looking at you as he handed you an ice pop in the middle of a sweltering July.

“Here ya go, sweetheart.”

And you remembered the way it made you freeze. How the word hung in the air like cigarette smoke, thick and confusing and too warm. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know why it mattered. You just knew that your name had never sounded like that before.

He’d swung you up onto his shoulders that same day—hands sure, grip steady, like he didn’t mind your weight. Like you belonged there. You’d clutched fistfuls of his hair and shrieked with laughter while Bobby hollered from the porch to “cut that damn foolin’ around before someone breaks a bone.” Dean had just grinned and jogged faster.

You were twelve when he taught you how to throw a punch. Fourteen when he handed you your first switchblade, silver and wicked and gleaming like a promise in your palm.

“Keep it in your back pocket. If a guy gets too close, don’t hesitate.”

He said it like it meant nothing. Like he hadn’t just handed you the sharpest thing you'd ever owned and trusted you not to flinch.

He always trusted you not to flinch.

That was the difference.

You knew what adoration felt like long before you understood it. You knew you liked his voice, liked his hands, liked the way he’d lean against the hood of the Impala and call you trouble when Bobby wasn’t looking. You hated the way your stomach twisted when he brought girls around. Hated the way you’d listen for laughter through the thin walls of Bobby’s house and feel sick when you heard it.

You were seventeen when it changed. When it stopped being something soft.

You’d grown into yourself by then. Still not tall, still not loud, but sharper in the eyes. More aware. And Dean—he’d started looking at you like he wasn’t supposed to.

It was in the way his gaze lingered a beat too long when you passed him in the hallway. The way his voice dropped when he asked you how your day had been. The way he smirked when you snapped back at him, low and dark, like he liked it. Like he was daring you to try again.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. But you started wearing tank tops when he was home. You started sitting a little closer on the couch. You let your fingers brush his when you passed him a drink.

You told yourself it was nothing.

Bobby, of course, saw it all.

“That boy’s got too much fire in him. You don’t go pokin’ it just to see if it burns.”

But by then, it already had.

You were twenty-one now. The canyon had closed.

That afternoon, like so many before it, you sat curled in your usual spot on the porch swing, the cushion beneath you faded from years of sun, the book in your lap more of a habit than a distraction. Your bare legs were pulled up under you, one foot tucked beside the other, your back pressed to the peeling white wood of the armrest. The breeze was warm, sticky with late-summer heaviness, and the cicadas sang like they didn’t know how to stop.

Out in the yard, Bobby cursed low under his breath as he wrestled with the rusted insides of a pickup that hadn’t run since the Reagan administration. His ball cap was pushed up on his forehead, sweat darkening the brim, grease streaking his arms all the way to the elbows. There was a glass of sweet tea beside you, sweating rings into the wood, forgotten in the quiet rhythm of turning pages.

The world hadn’t shifted yet. Not that you could tell. Everything was still where it belonged.

You’d been half-asleep in the sun, lulled by the rhythm of cicadas and the creak of the porch swing, when Bobby’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Son of a bitch!”

You blinked, looked up from your book. A moment later—

“Goddamn bastard bolt won’t budge—get in there, ya stubborn piece of shit—”

Yep. Classic Bobby.

You closed your book around one finger to mark your page and leaned forward, peering past the porch railing toward the truck hood and your uncle’s hunched figure.

“You need a hand, Uncle Bobby?” You called, voice lazy with the warmth of the afternoon. “Or want some tea?”

There was a pause. A soft clank of metal against metal. Then, gruff:

“Tea, girl. And ice this time—I ain’t drinkin’ lukewarm leaf water in this heat.”

You huffed a laugh and stood, arms stretching up overhead as your back arched, joints crackling from the hours spent curled on the swing. The hem of your tank top slid up your stomach, bare skin catching the last of the sun as you padded barefoot across the porch.

Your cutoffs were frayed at the bottom, threadbare in the way only your favourite ones could be. Your legs had picked up freckles over the summer. You felt them heat now under the open air as you reached for the screen door.

Inside, the house was cooler, dim and familiar. You moved on autopilot, pulling a glass from the cupboard, grabbing the pitcher from the fridge. The ice clinked softly as you poured. You lifted it, turned—

And froze.

That sound. That rumble. Low. Hungry. Home.

The Impala.

You nearly dropped the glass right there on the kitchen tile.

You turned so fast your bare feet squeaked against the floor. The screen door banged open behind you as you stepped out onto the porch, tea sloshing over the rim, eyes locked on the long black shape pulling into the drive like it owned the world.

She slid to a stop in a slow growl of gravel. The driver’s door creaked open.

And then—there he was.

Dean climbed out like a scene from a movie. One hand on the roof, the other shoving the door closed. His boots hit the dirt and your heart tripped over itself. He looked broader than you remembered. Taller somehow. His hair was longer than it had been last time—curling just slightly at the nape of his neck, damp with sweat. His jacket was slung over one shoulder, and he moved like he hadn’t just been on the road for hours. Like his body didn’t get tired the way other people’s did.

Bobby looked up from under the hood.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said, already wiping his hands on a rag. “Where the hell’s your brother?”

Dean just smiled, that lazy half-smirk you knew too well.

And then you called his name.

“Dean!”

His head snapped toward the porch so fast it almost startled you.

And when his eyes landed on you—barefoot, flushed from the sun, standing under the porch roof with your tank top clinging to your ribs and the glass of sweet tea still trembling faintly in your hand—he grinned.

Not like he used to. Not like the soft smirks he’d given you when you were younger, teasing and warm and safe.

No. This one was sharp. Wolfish. Like he’d been starving and just spotted his first meal in days.

“Well hey there, sweetheart.”

You didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

The second his voice hit your ears, smooth and warm and laced with something low and dangerous, your body moved before your brain caught up.

The glass of tea hit the porch rail with a clatter, sloshing again, forgotten as your bare feet left the wood and hit the gravel, sharp stones biting into your soles. You winced but didn’t slow, teeth catching your lip, eyes locked on him like nothing else in the world mattered.

“Girl!” Bobby hollered from the front of the truck, voice sharp as a whip. “You’re out here barefoot on the goddamn gravel again—what’re you, feral?”

You didn’t answer. Just ran faster.

Dean was already grinning by the time you reached him. One brow quirked, his whole face lit with smug delight like he’d known you’d come running. Like he wanted it.

You could see it in the way he stood, relaxed and ready, arms just starting to open. Like he was expecting to catch you.

And God help you, he did.

You threw yourself into him without grace—without shame—legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck, breath catching somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. His hands caught you under your thighs, rough palms settling against bare skin, fingers pressing. Harder than they needed to.

He smelled like heat. Like leather and road salt and motel soap and something darker curling beneath it. Something you couldn’t name.

Your voice came out soft, pressed close to his ear as you held onto him tighter than you meant to.

“We missed you.”

His hands flexed where they held you—gripping tight. You felt it. The possessiveness in his touch. The way his thumbs slid just slightly against the crease where your thighs met the curve of your ass. The quiet exhale that ghosted down your neck.

“Speak for yourself,” Bobby grunted from behind, but even that sounded weaker than usual. More bark than bite.

There was a pause. Then:

“Dean,” he said flatly. “Put my niece down. Don’t think I ain’t seen where your hands are, boy.”

Dean turned his head just slightly, that grin never leaving his face. Still holding you.

“Just catchin’ her, Bobby. Can’t help it if she’s a little…” His gaze dragged back to you. Slow. Heavy. “Squishy.”

Your breath hitched. You felt heat rise all the way up your neck.

Dean’s fingers squeezed again. Barely perceptible. Just enough for you to feel it. For Bobby to notice.

“Dean,” Bobby snapped, and this time there was steel under it.

With infuriating ease, Dean let you down. Gently. Like he didn’t want to. His hands slid down the backs of your thighs as he lowered you, only releasing when your feet touched dirt and your balance returned.

You took a half-step back, suddenly too aware of the heat between your legs. Of the gravel under your soles. Of the way he looked at you like you were his to pick up again whenever he pleased.

Bobby was already walking past, muttering to himself and wiping his hands again.

“Damn fool boy…”

Dean just chuckled, low and satisfied. His eyes never left you.

“Miss me, sweetheart?”

The house smelled like garlic and onions and whatever Bobby had pulled from the freezer that morning and declared dinner. The table was set with mismatched plates, forks with dull edges, and two sweating bottles of beer you’d pulled from the fridge yourself. One slid in front of your uncle with a thunk, the other nudged across the table toward Dean with just enough force to draw his eyes back to you.

He caught it easily, grinned like he knew the touch of your fingers on the bottle had been deliberate, and then tipped it in a mock toast before popping the cap with the edge of the table. You pretended not to watch the way his throat moved when he took the first sip.

You took your usual seat to Bobby’s left, legs tucked beneath you, sipping your water slow and quiet. The table was warm and familiar. A little too small for three grown bodies. A little too crowded in the heat.

Dean and Bobby talked like no time had passed at all.

“So where’s your brother?” Bobby asked around a mouthful of food, squinting at Dean like he expected bad news.

“Chasin’ some lead out in Idaho,” Dean replied, casual. “He’ll meet me back on the road. Said somethin’ about needing space.”

“From you or the case?”

Dean just smirked. Shrugged. “Probably both.”

You didn’t join in. Just twirled your fork in your noodles, dragging them across the plate like you were thinking hard about something. You weren’t. You were trying not to look at Dean. You were failing.

He looked good. Too good. Tanned and broad and infuriatingly comfortable, leaning back in his chair like it was his own damn kitchen. Like he belonged there. Like he always had.

You caught yourself staring and dropped your eyes back to your food.

Then something brushed your foot. Just a light nudge. The kind that might’ve been an accident. The kind that would’ve been nothing, if you weren’t barefoot and hyper-aware of every single thing about him.

You froze. Fork paused mid-twirl. Eyes still on your plate. The nudge came again—more deliberate this time. A soft push against your arch.

You looked up. Dean was still talking to Bobby. Still sipping his beer, leaning back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world.

But his eyes cut to you. And he grinned. Slow. Shit-eating. Wolfish.

Your stomach dropped straight to your knees. You cleared your throat and took a sip of water, suddenly warm all over. Bobby was still muttering about Sam, something about demon omens in Ohio, and you tried to focus. You really did.

Dean’s foot slid along the curve of your ankle. A slow, lazy stroke like he was petting a dog. You flinched. He didn’t.

You jabbed him back without looking, your toes kicking out under the table—more annoyed than anything else. But all it earned you was a harder nudge, right against your calf this time, like a shove disguised as affection.

You looked at him again. He didn’t break eye contact. He arched one brow, lips twitching around the mouth of his beer bottle.

What’re you gonna do about it, sweetheart?

You wanted to kick him. You wanted to crawl into his lap. You wanted to do something reckless. But you just stabbed a piece of meat with your fork and tried not to choke on your own pulse.

Bobby looked up, finally catching the flush on your cheeks.

“You alright there, girl?”

You smiled too quickly. “Just hot.”

Dean chuckled. Low and full of teeth. His foot bumped yours again under the table. You didn’t look at him this time. But you could still feel him.

You barely touched your dinner after that. Every bite tasted like heat. Every sip of water failed to cool you. You could still feel the press of his boot against your ankle long after he’d stopped. Like his touch had sunk straight through your skin.

You were the first one to stand when the plates were empty, scraping your chair back with a little too much force.

“I’ll get this cleaned up,” you said quickly, already stacking yours and Bobby's plates, trying to busy your hands so they didn’t shake.

Bobby looked up with a lazy arch of his brow.

“Someone’s in a damn hurry all of a sudden.”

You forced a small laugh, ducking your head. “Just trying to be useful.”

“Mhm.”

You were already halfway to the sink, rinsing plates under warm water, grateful for the hiss of the faucet and the hum of muscle memory. Plate, rinse, stack. Forks, soak, scrub. Your feet shifted over the cool tile, and for a moment, the tension in your shoulders started to melt.

Behind you, a chair scraped back.

“I’ll help.”

Dean.

Bobby snorted from the table.

“You? Since when do you ever lift a damn finger after supper?”

“Feelin’ generous,” Dean said, all smooth edges. You could hear the grin in his voice. “Must be the company.”

Bobby huffed and pushed to his feet with a grunt, grabbing the last beer and heading toward the living room.

“Well, bless your heart. I’ll be in my chair, pretendin' not to hear whatever dumb shit you’re about to break in my kitchen.”

And just like that, you were alone.

You didn’t turn around. Just kept scrubbing the last plate, shoulders a little too stiff, breath caught somewhere too high in your chest. You heard him behind you—soft bootfalls, the clink of glass against glass as he gathered the empty bottles and his dish.

Then—

Heat. He was behind you. Close. Then closer.

The heat of his chest pressed flush to your back, hard muscle and worn cotton, and you froze. Completely. Your breath caught in your throat. The plate in your hand nearly slipped from your fingers.

Dean reached around you, casually, his forearm brushing the side of your breast as he slid his plate into the sink with a quiet clink.

He didn’t move. He lingered, then stepped back a beat too slow.

“Oops.”

Your whole body burned.

You turned your head, wide-eyed, and found him just watching you. That smile on his face wasn’t sheepish. It was smug. Knowing. Unholy.

You tried to say something—tried to form any kind of reply—but your tongue felt thick and your heart was pounding in your throat.

Dean leaned one arm against the counter beside you, his body angled lazily toward yours. He was close enough that you could see the faint pink line of a healing cut along his collarbone. Close enough that his scent wrapped around you again—leather, motel soap, motor oil, and something else. Something you couldn’t name. Something dark.

“You always clean up this fast, sweetheart? Or just when I’m watching?”

Your mouth parted. Nothing came out.

He tilted his head, eyes dragging slow across your face, then down your neck, then back up.

“You've never been shy.”

You tried to laugh. It came out breathless.

“You’re messin' with me.”

Dean’s smile widened, teeth flashing.

“Am I?”

You shook your head—barely. “You don’t… You don’t look at me like that.”

“Don’t I?”

His voice was low. Deliberate.

You turned back to the sink, trying to hide your face, the blush crawling down your throat. Your hands moved automatically, scrubbing at a plate that was already clean.

Dean didn’t leave.

“Been gone a while,” he said, voice softer now. “Did you miss me?”

Your hand paused on the dish. Your voice was almost a whisper.

“Of course I did.”

He leaned in closer again, heat at your back, breath on your neck.

“Yeah?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

And behind you, he chuckled. Low and dark and pleased.

“Good.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Dean was still behind you, heat pressed too close, breath ghosting somewhere near your ear—and for a second, it felt like he might lean in further. Might say something else. Might do something else.

But before anything could shatter, Bobby’s voice cut through the house like a crack of thunder:

“You two done makin’ out in there or can I start the damn show?”

You practically jumped.

Dean chuckled—soft, smug, low in his throat like he was deeply entertained by your reaction—and stepped back just far enough to let the heat leave your skin.

You scrambled into the living room a little too fast, like Bobby’s voice had tugged you from the edge of something you couldn’t name. Your skin was still warm, your breath still not quite steady, but you dropped down onto the couch with a half-hearted exhale, like you could shake it off with the right posture. You curled your legs up beside you, pulled a throw pillow into your lap, and clutched your glass of water like it was going to save you.

“Eastwood or MASH*?” You asked, too quick, too light.

Bobby looked up from the remote, squinting at the ancient television like it had personally offended him.

“Whichever channel works. If I get static again, I’m throwin’ the damn thing out the window.”

You smiled, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The house had settled into its familiar hum—floorboards creaking under the weight of time, cicadas still buzzing low through the open windows, the faint clatter of Dean moving around in the kitchen.

You heard him before you saw him.

He entered the room like a slow-moving shadow—easy, casual, like he belonged there more than the furniture. Your stomach twisted.

He didn’t say a word. Just met your gaze for a moment—sharp, amused—and then reached down, hooked his hands under your ankles, and lifted your legs without asking. You startled slightly, not because it hurt, but because it didn’t. Because it felt so easy for him.

Then, with a slow exhale, he dropped onto the couch beside you, your legs falling across his lap like he’d planned it that way all along. One of his arms rested along the back of the couch, close enough for you to feel the heat of it at your shoulders. The other—casual, lazy—settled over your shin, fingers tracing an idle path along your skin.

You tried not to tense. You tried not to breathe. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t need to.

And Bobby noticed. He turned his head slowly, one eye narrowing as it moved from the screen to your legs across Dean’s lap, then up to the hand that hadn’t stopped moving. His jaw clenched. His beer bottle landed on the side table with a quiet clunk.

“Touch her like that again,” he said, voice low and dry, “and I’ll break your fuckin’ hand.”

Dean didn’t flinch. He didn’t even stop. Just kept rubbing slow, maddening circles along your shin with the pad of his thumb. He still hadn’t looked at you.

“Aw, c’mon, Bobby,” he drawled, the smile curling across his lips like smoke. “Ain’t like I’m doin’ anything wrong.”

Bobby didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink.

“You think I don’t see it?” He asked, and his voice was sharper now, honed to an edge. “The way you been lookin’ at her since you pulled up? I ain’t blind, Dean. And I sure as hell ain’t stupid.”

There was a pause, a hitch you felt more than heard. Dean’s smile wavered for the barest second. Just long enough for you to wonder if Bobby had struck a nerve.

Then it returned, just as cocky, just as easy.

“She’s not a kid anymore,” he said, casual, like that settled something.

Bobby leaned forward in his chair. His eyes were cold. Steady.

“No, she ain't. Which is exactly why I’ll put you in the goddamn ground if you so much as look at her like she ain’t got a choice.”

Something shifted.

You didn’t understand it, not fully. But you felt it. Something sharp beneath the surface. Something not quite right. Like there was more to what Bobby said than what he said.

Dean’s silence stretched long enough to be dangerous. Then he tilted his head, eyes still on Bobby, and smiled.

“She looks like she can make her own choices to me.”

You tried to move your legs. Tried to pull away, just a little. Dean’s hand pressed down. Not painfully. Just firmly. Deliberately. Bobby was still watching. And so was Dean.

“You touch her like that again,” Bobby said, lower this time, the threat coiled beneath each syllable, “and I’ll remind you who the hell you’re talkin’ to.”

Dean didn’t answer.

The television filled the silence, tinny dialogue from a rerun you couldn’t focus on. And under the hum of it all, Dean’s thumb resumed its lazy stroke against your skin, like nothing had happened at all.

The house was silent, save for the low creak of floorboards beneath your bare feet.

The kind of silence that came only after the heat of the day had broken—after the static between bodies had faded into cool sheets and shallow sleep. Bobby had gone to bed not long before you had, muttering something about his bad knee and early mornings, casting one last look between you and Dean like he was waiting for something to ignite.

But nothing had.

Not then.

Now, it was past midnight. Maybe closer to two. You didn’t check the clock—just blinked awake with your throat dry and your skin too warm beneath the sheets. The house had cooled but your body hadn’t. Something restless sat in your chest like a live wire humming under your ribs.

The floor was cold beneath your feet, quiet in the way old houses only were when everyone else had gone to bed and the world had softened into stillness.

The air felt different after midnight—cooler, heavier somehow. The way it settled in your lungs felt like a warning, though you couldn’t say why. You moved without thinking, sleepy and restless, fingers trailing along the hallway walls as you padded toward the kitchen, drawn by nothing more than the dryness in your throat and the weight of something unnamed sitting beneath your skin.

Bobby’s old shirt hung off one shoulder, worn soft with age, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked. No panties. No bra. Just that and bare skin and the ghost of sleep still clinging to the corners of your vision.

The fridge opened with a low hum. You filled your glass slowly, letting the cool water slide over the ice and kiss the rim, the glow of the open door painting your skin in pale blue light. You lifted the glass to your lips and drank.

And that’s when you heard it.

The creak.

Not the house settling. Not the wind. Not the sound of an old man in the hallway. Boots. Slow, deliberate.

You turned just as the light from the fridge caught the edge of his silhouette, cutting him out from the dark like something carved from smoke and heat and half-formed sin.

Dean.

Leaning in the doorway like he hadn’t been asleep at all. Like he was waiting. He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you. And when he did? Something in his expression made your stomach twist—not with fear, not yet, but something so thick and dark and electric it almost knocked the air out of you.

That grin.

It was the same one he’d worn when you were sixteen and he caught you staring at his mouth. The same one he used when he fixed cars with the sleeves of his flannel rolled high and the cigarette tucked behind his ear. Familiar. Easy. Pure Dean.

But something about it wasn’t right anymore. It was too still. Too slow. Too hungry.

“Well,” he said, and his voice was rough in that way it always got when it was late and he hadn’t talked in hours. “Aren’t you a sight.”

You swallowed hard. “Couldn’t sleep.”

His eyes dropped down your body. Then rose again. Like he had every right.

You didn’t move. Didn’t cover yourself. You should have.

“You always walk around like that?” He asked, stepping into the room. “Wearing nothin’ but some old shirt and a smile?”

You didn’t answer. The question didn’t feel like a question.

Dean smiled again, slower this time, head cocked to the side as he watched you over the rim of the glass in your hand.

“Bobby know his niece’s struttin’ around like a damn centrefold at two in the morning?”

You flushed hot. “It’s just a shirt.”

“Mm.” He nodded slowly, stepping closer. “Yeah. I can see that.”

He was close now. Close enough to smell—leather and heat and that undertone you still couldn’t quite place. Something wrong. Something sour-sweet and unplaceable. It made your knees feel unsteady.

His hand lifted—not fast, just steady—and pushed the fridge door shut behind you. The kitchen plunged into shadows again, save for the faint light of the oven clock. He was still grinning.

“Didn’t think you’d grown up this much.”

You laughed, shaky and quiet, trying to ease the weight of his stare. “Been a year.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s showin’.”

Your breath caught.

He took another step. Close enough now that the fabric of his shirt brushed your arm. He tilted his head down, voice dropping just slightly.

“You used to look at me funny,” he said. “Back when you were younger. Always staring. Thought I was imaginin’ it.”

You blinked, pulse pounding. “You weren’t.”

“No,” he murmured, and his eyes flicked to your mouth. “Guess I wasn’t.”

You could feel his breath on your skin. The heat of him. His fingers brushed the side of your thigh—light, just once, and then gone. It burned like fire anyway.

“You’ve really come into yourself, sweetheart.”

He said it like a confession. Like a revelation. Like it was all finally clicking into place.

And you couldn’t breathe.

His voice went softer. Meaner.

“You want me to look at you like this, don’t you?”

You didn’t speak. He didn’t need you to. Because he already knew.

You didn’t know who moved first. Didn’t know if it was his hand on your hip or the tilt of your chin or the way the space between your bodies seemed to vanish all at once—like the air itself had given up pretending there was still a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

All you knew was that you were suddenly there. Back pressed to the counter. Dean’s body crowding yours like gravity had finally remembered what it owed you.

And then he kissed you.

Not softly. Not hesitantly. Not like a maybe. No, Dean Winchester kissed you like he was claiming you.

His hand came up to your jaw, thumb pressed against your cheek, fingers curling behind your neck as he pulled you in and kissed you like it was the only thing that had ever mattered. Like he’d been waiting too. Starving for it. For you.

You gasped into it, lips parting without thought, and he groaned—"fuckin’ finally"—and kissed you deeper, tongue slipping past your lips like he knew exactly how to take what he wanted. And he did.

You were drowning in him. Pressed between cool counter and burning heat, chest heaving, hands fisting into the hem of his t-shirt just to keep from sliding down the cabinets. Your knees had gone weak. Your body was molten.

When he pulled back, it was barely an inch. His breath hit your lips. His grin carved into you like a knife.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, voice thick and low and already wrecked. “I always knew you’d taste this fucking sweet.”

You didn’t get a chance to reply.

His hand was already moving. Down your side. Over your hip. Between your thighs.

You gasped.

He grinned harder.

“No panties,” he murmured, dragging the hem of the shirt up your thigh with his knuckles. “You really were asking for it, huh?”

You opened your mouth—to protest, to deny, to confess every filthy thought you’d ever had about him—but then two of his fingers slid between your legs and found you already wet, and the words died on your tongue.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes dark and hungry, lashes low. “You’re soaked for me. All this time, and you’ve been walking around just beggin’ for me to get my hands on you.”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.

He slipped one thick finger inside you, slow and deliberate, watching your face as your jaw dropped open around a gasp. Then another, stretching you perfectly. You choked on a sound, back arching, thighs trembling.

“Shhh,” he crooned, lips at your temple now, the hand at your jaw moving to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep it down, sweetheart. Bobby hears you moaning like a whore in his kitchen, he’s gonna come down here and shoot me.”

His fingers curled.

Your eyes rolled back.

You moaned—muffled, desperate—against his palm as he started to fuck you with those fingers like he meant it. Like he’d been thinking about it for years.

And maybe he had.

His hips were pressed against yours, his breath against your cheek, his mouth dragging along your jaw as he fucked you slow and filthy and completely possessed.

“You ever think about me, baby?” He whispered. “Late at night, all alone in your bed? Bet you used these pretty fingers trying to imagine mine, didn’t you?”

You whimpered under his hand, your body jerking with every pump of his fingers, slick and obscene.

“Bet you used to fuck that little pillow, huh? Crying into it thinkin’ about me pinning you down, stretching you open…”

You were going to come.

It was embarrassing how fast it was happening—how quick he’d found every nerve, every want, every buried need you’d never let yourself speak out loud. But now it was all on the surface, raw and exposed, dripping down his wrist.

He growled in your ear, soft and dark and lethal:

“Come for me, sweetheart. C’mon. Be a good girl and come all over my fuckin’ fingers.”

You did.

You shattered—silently, somehow—body writhing against his hand, nails digging into his shoulders, whole frame trembling with the force of it. His fingers didn’t stop, fucking you through it, dragging every last wave from your body until you were limp in his grip, gasping into his palm.

He finally pulled his hand from your mouth, cupping your jaw again, kissing you slow and deep, like the filth he’d just whispered into your skin meant nothing. Like it meant everything.

He pulled his hand away, brought it up to his lips, and licked his fingers. Then smiled.

“Told you,” he said. “Sweet as goddamn honey.” 

Then his lips were back on your neck.

You were still trembling, thighs slick and trembling where he held you, one hand gripping the back of your thigh, the other back between your legs, slick with everything he’d pulled from you. You were floating, dizzy, pressed between the cool of the counter and the heat of his body, his mouth trailing kisses up your throat like he was about to say something—

And then the kitchen door slammed open. You barely had time to register the heavy feet pounding across the floor before—

Splash.

Dean staggered back with a sharp, visceral hiss, smoke curling from his shoulder where the water hit, his skin bubbling in a flash of red.

You gasped, shoved back into the counter, heart leaping into your throat.

“What the fuck—!”

Dean growled—growled—low and guttural, his spine arching with the burn, lips curling back to reveal teeth that didn’t quite look like his own.

And Bobby was standing there. In boxers and a flannel and socks. Holding an empty mason jar in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Breathing hard. Rage in every line of his face.

“Get. The fuck. Outta my house,” Bobby said, each word like a shotgun blast. “Now.”

Dean turned his head slowly. Eyes flashing black for a moment before shifting back to the green you'd always known.

“Well, shit,” he rasped, voice raw. “Knew you were smart, old man. Didn’t think you’d catch on so fast.”

“Yeah, well,” Bobby snarled, stepping forward, “I’ve seen a lot of demons pretend to be worse things. You just happen to be wearin’ a face I liked.”

Dean smiled—teeth too sharp, too wide.

“I’ll be seeing her again.”

Bobby raised the shotgun in his hands.

“Not if I have anythin' to say about it.”

Dean looked at you once. Only once. That same smirk, but now you saw it—really saw it—for what it was. Too smooth. Too slow. Something evil wearing something you used to love. And then he vanished. Not in smoke, not in fire. Just… gone. The air thinned out. The heat left the room. And the absence of him was a screaming thing.

You were still shaking. Still pressed to the counter, shirt rumpled, legs slick, skin flushed. The high hadn’t even left your blood yet. You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

Bobby lowered the shotgun, then turned to you.

“It ain’t safe anymore.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

He crossed to you slowly. Gently. Like approaching a spooked animal.

“That thing,” he said, voice quieter now. “That thing wearin’ Dean’s face? That’s a demon. And he’s been here all day.”

You stared at him. Everything in you recoiled. Denied. And yet—you knew.

Bobby exhaled hard. His hand came up to your arm, grounding you. Steady.

“I’m sendin’ you somewhere safe.”

You blinked. “What—?”

“Somewhere he don’t know. Somewhere he can’t get to you. You’re leavin’ in the mornin’. No arguments.”

You were still in Bobby’s shirt. Still barefoot. Still breathless. And now the world had cracked open beneath you. You nodded. Because what else could you do?

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l <3

[wipbigbang]

WIPBB Big Bang/Reverse Bang 2025 - Schedule & FAQ

Schedule

All times are by 11:59pm PST. Convert time zones.

Big Bang/Reverse Bang Sign-ups- April 1st- May 2st Big Bang/Reverse Bang Check In #1- May 22nd - May 29th Big Bang/Reverse Bang Check In #2- June 15th - June 22nd Big Bang/Reverse Bang Snippets Due- July 1st - July 11th Big Bang Art Claims/Reverse Bang Fic Claims- July 17th - August 14th Big Bang/Reverse Bang Check In #3- July 22nd - July 29th Big Bang/Reverse Bang Check In #4- August 6th - August 13th Big Bang/Reverse Bang Rough Drafts Due- August 15th - 22nd Big Bang/Reverse Bang Posting Claims- August 23rd - September 1st Big Bang/Reverse Bang Final Drafts/Art & Fic Due- September 7th Official Big Bang/Reverse Bang Postings- September 8th - November 30th Emergency Big Bang/Reverse Bang Postings- December 1st - December 31st

FAQ

What is the WIP Big Bang?

Good question! This is a Big Bang with one goal in mind: to clean out your fanfic drafts folder. These are stories that were unfinished for whatever reason, that authors returned to and completed, and the art that goes with them!

What is the WIP Reverse Bang?

It’s similar to the regular Big Bang, except it’s for artists to finish WIP artwork (either traditional art, digital art, fanvideos, fanmixes or filk) and get a fic in exchange of at least 2000 words.

Do I need a Livejournal/Dreamwidth/AO3/etc. account to participate?

No! You don’t have to have an account on anything to participate, though you will need to have somewhere to post your finished work. Having one or more accounts will help for you to follow what is going on with the bang (we crosspost to Dreamwidth and Tumblr and heavily use our Discord server at the moment), but they are not required to participate. You can always leave comments anonymously or with an opensource ID.

How many fics/art pieces can we sign up for?

We absolutely don’t mind multiple sign-ups; I know one year someone submitted 50 fics to finish, and got at least half of them done. We just ask that when you sign up with more than one fic/art piece you give each fic/art piece a unique user ID (please do not use the same ID for all your fics/art pieces...it’s important to have different IDs for the check-ins).

Will I get emails about the bang?

We do send out some emails, mostly for fic snippets and art/fic claims and to ensure communication between authors and artists, but please do NOT rely on getting an email to remind you of due dates. We currently do not keep an updated email list of participants, so we only send individual emails as needed rather than mass emails.

However, email is the fastest way to communicate with the mods. If you have any questions or are having trouble communicating with your artist/author, please do email us! We will do our best to respond quickly.

If you need a reminder about due dates, the FAQ/Schedule is pinned on top of the Tumblr and we use the Discord (which anyone can join) to remind participants of important dates.

What do you mean by minimum word count to enter the WIP Big Bang?

This is a WIP Big Bang, therefore we ask you to have at least 500 words of your story drafted when you enter.

Can an outline count towards those first 500 words that are needed at sign up?

We have admitted work on an outline before so yes, if your outline is fleshed out enough to cover a 7,500 word+ fic, we’ll allow it.

Are multi-chapter fics allowed?

Yes, multi-chapter fics are allowed and even more so encouraged if your fic is lengthy.

What about fics that are already posted on ao3 in part? Do those qualify for the bang?

It's okay if you have posted a few chapters of your fic already (you never know when the muse deserts you, after all), we just require you to refrain from posting more until posting begins here. All we ask is that you not post any public updates to the fic until September 1st (or August 1st with the mod’s okay). We don’t want you to lose kudos and comments so don’t worry about pulling the fic down, just hold off on updates for now.

Is there a minimum word count?

7,500 words for each finished fic, but the sky's the limit, right?

I see that the fic minimum is 7500 words and that published WIPs are acceptable - but what if the WIP I’m considering is already more than 7500 words? Is the expectation to add an additional 7500 to it?

No. You can add as much or as little as you need to finish the story, though we do expect at least 1,000 or so new words if your WIP already meets the word count.

What happens if an author finishes the fic they signed up with but it’s less than 7,500 words? The intent was to go over the minimum but once they got into it the story was shorter than they thought and stretching it out would make it less good. Do they have to drop out at that point?

By all means, we want your stories to feel as natural as possible, and if it’s under 7,500 words you may have two options:

1 - Drop the fic for the main BB event, post it now, and wait to post it to our AO3 collection in February when we run our International Fanworks Day celebration of finishing fics that are less than 7,500 words when finished. There’s no art for the fic, but bragging rights are posted to the communities for a week.

2 - If there are enough fics that fit that category, we can do a special day of posting the fics, but you’ll have to forgo art for the fic. I, as a mod, would probably pick November 30th for the posting day, as it’s the last day of posting for the bang and I don’t think anyone will mind more than one fic that day. You can post bragging rights to the community and share the fic with everyone.

I have a fic I wrote a few years ago, but only the first couple chapters are posted on AO3 because I was never happy with the rest of it and knew it needed major revision. Is that something I could use for WIP Big Bang? The entire fic has been posted, but only on one platform, and it would be rewritten for AO3 and WIPBB.

I think revising a fic for posting would work, as long as you have at least 500 words done, will have 7,500 words at a minimum when it’s done, and are planning to add more to the fic. Simply rewriting what you have would be a gray area, but if you’re going to take stuff out and add new scenes, either in the old scenes place or on its own, you should be fine.

What's the etiquette around OC-centric stories? Ones that are set in a well known fandom and use several characters, but still lean a lot on original characters? Are they discouraged, or fine?

Based on my own personal experience making art for a story that had a heavy OC presence, it’s not something we discourage at all, but be forewarned when it comes to the art accompanying your fic your artist may not be able to incorporate the OCs into your art. Not everyone makes art of a hand-drawn or digitally drawn nature, so it helps if you have people for face claims ahead of art submissions, and you and your artist communicate regularly. You can also end up with art not featuring the OCs at all, just the canon characters, which is not necessarily a bad thing.

Your other options are to bring in an artist you trust with your vision of your OC or to make your own art (we do allow that, we just need to be told during the check-in before art that you’re bringing in your own artist if you go that route, or that you’re doing your own art…there will not be a need to sign up in the artist’s sign up, however), or to opt-out of art entirely. So there’s plenty of options to call on when it comes time for art.

What is the minimum requirement for the WIP Reverse Bang?

We’ll allow an outline of what you want to create or a rough sketch if you have it for digital/traditional art, and at least 15 seconds of fanvideos or filk (fic songs) recorded, or an outline and notes. Fanmixes can be partially finished with either some of the music picked or some of the art made/a combination of the above.

What do finished products for the WIP Reverse Bang look like to be considered complete?

Art must be fully drawn and at least shaded, if not fully colored. Filk and fanvideos must be at least one minute long and fully finished to the fanartist’s vision. Fanmixes must have a front and back cover and at least 8 songs picked out, and there must be an available playlist on Spotify, YouTube or for download.

Is there anything not allowed?

As long as you wrote it and you want to finish it, you're welcome to participate. RPS/RPF is fine. Incest pairings are fine. Things like that I know have been hinted at in questions asked and as long as you tag for them, we’ll allow it. Also, canon settings with mostly OCs is allowed. Original fic is allowed (though it is harder to pair an artist with). We just ask that it be tagged properly with any content warnings you would deem fit and be given the appropriate rating for the level of sex/violence there is in the fic. Just bear in mind that while original work is allowed you may not get art for it.

What are 'check-ins’?

These are a way for us to see what you've been up to and for you to make sure you're still on track. It will give you a little nudge/reminder if you need it, but they are not compulsory. Basically a form is posted that you fill out with your user ID (unique for each fic) and a checkbox to let us know you’re still participating, plus a section for any notes for the mods.

How are the check in IDs used?

They are solely for the mods organizational purposes. Each ID being for a separate story allows us to keep all the information you submit during check-ins and for snippets in one line on our spreadsheet. You don’t have to share your check in IDs with anyone else if you don’t want to.

How much progress should authors be making between each checkpoint? (Percentage-wise from our estimated total wc, I guess?)

Ideally, with each check-in, you should be at least 25% closer to finishing. The end word count for fic only really matters in that the fic needs to be at least 7,500 words when done, so it’s more your progress towards finishing that should be measured, not so much the word count.

What are the snippets requirements?

This is for the WIP Big Bang only! In order to allow the artists to make art for the story they claimed, we require you to supply three snippets from your fic, between 500 – 1500 words each. The snippets will be sent to the artist after they have claimed your story. They're to help the artist match your story for artwork the best way he or she possibly can. It’s helpful to choose scenes or parts of scenes that you feel best represent your fic, but don’t feel like they have to be perfect to be submitted. Along with the snippets, we will send your artist the basic fic info and your email, so the two of you can collaborate more if you would both like.

WIP Reverse Bang snippets is the art (at whatever level of completion you are at) uploaded to an image hosting site/YouTube/an audio steaming site and you only need to upload one piece of it. We’ll link to the site in the claiming post that you use so art will be thumbnailed/snippets of video or audio will be used. If you’re submitting a fanmix, we ask for at least the back cover graphic with the song listing.

What are the rough drafts requirements?

For the rough drafts, stories or art should be at least 80% complete. You will not have to turn them in to us, just assure us that you are at that point. Anything less is at the discretion of the mods and those authors should speak to one of the mods asap.

What is, and do I need, a beta?

A beta is basically a person who goes over your work to make sure that there are no spelling/grammatical errors and they can even be of assistance in helping you with story lines, etc. It is highly recommended that a beta looks over your work before posting. If you are having trouble finding a beta, try this post.

Where can I post my fic/art?

Stories and art can be posted to your own personal journal, Tumblr, ff-net, AO3, or wherever you like. For those of you with AO3 accounts, we will set up a collection that will go live on the day of the posting. If you don’t currently have an AO3 account but would like one, you can contact the mods for an invitation code to see if they have any available. You can also add yourself to the AO3 Invites Request queue.

What does posting look like? Do we have to post the whole thing on the day, or can we stretch it out between when posting starts and our date? I’ve had a few longfics get killed by big bangs forcing posting to happen on a given day, and would prefer to avoid that if possible.

For most fics, posting to AO3/FF.net/other places will be allowed to start in September and you can stretch it out as many posts as you want as long as the complete fic is up by your posting date (and posting dates go from September 8th to November 15th with two weeks for emergency posting and one month of non-assigned posting). However, you can send us an ask/e-mail about posting as early as August if you have an extremely long fic/something with a long posting schedule. Mostly what we want is the fic to be completely up on the website of your choice by your posting date, and I know some people don’t want to overwhelm their readers. So we want to work with writers to give them ample time to post the story up to their posting date.

Now, as for posting to the communities, you get to choose which day your link to the story and bragging rights are posted, and as I said, we have a range of dates from September 8th to November 15th with two to three stories posting a day. If for some reason you miss your posting date, you have until December 31st to post to the community, during the two weeks of emergency posting and the non-assigned posting dates. So hopefully there should be plenty of time to get a longfic up and posted to the website of your choice and our BB.

Art for WIPBB and WIPRB should be posted to YouTube/Soundcloud/Spotify/Tumblr/Dreamwidth on the day of our posting using the Bragging Rights form. If you want to embed it into an AO3 post, ou can do that as well and add it to the AO3 collection we start just around posting day.

Will the three snippets per story we have to send in be the ones we want the artist to make art for? Or can it just be random snippets and then later the artist and I can check together to see which scenes would work best for art?

Ideally, you and the artist will be communicating once you’re each sent each other’s contact information, and you’ll give your artist a chance to read all that you’ve written at that point. That’s what happens in most cases. If your fic gets picked by an artist and they don’t work with you, then the snippets you sent will be what the artwork will be based on. It’s a good idea to know that, while most of the time the artists work closely with the authors, there are a few exceptions to that.

How do I know when to post?

Posting will be tiered; you'll each get your own posting date that you and your artist will decide on together. There will probably be four fics, plus art, posting per day between September 8th and November 30th. The post with date claims will go up on August 23rd and you'll have to choose your date by September 1st.

Posting of chapters on AO3 or your own blog (or wherever you usually post) generally starts September 1st, but you can post earlier (as early as August 1st) if you let us know you have a long story. However, posting has to be finished by your chosen posting date to the comm. One of the things we're hoping to do with the posted dates is to give everybody on the comm a little bragging time in the spotlight. You know, "this story was incomplete for this long, but I finished this sucker." If you don't have time to post your bragging rights to the communities on your chosen posting date, you can queue up a post ahead of time and we can post it on the date you picked or you can email us your bragging rights and we can post by proxy for you. Either way works for us. Art will be due on the chosen posting date to the comm.

WIPBB and WIPRB post on the same timeframe, and some days we may have a Reverse Bang post among the Big Bang posts, and both art and fic should be posted the same day for both WIPBB posts and WIPRB posts to Tumblr and/or Dreamwidth with the bragging rights.

What am I posting to the Livejournal/Dreamwidth/Tumblr community if I’m posting the fic elsewhere?

You’ll be posting what we call bragging rights. It’s a small form you fill out and post to the community with a link to your fic (we’ll enable moderated posting to the Tumblr, Livejournal and Dreamwidth communities for members on August 8th). We will post a template for posting artwork and stories to the comm closer to the posting date.

Is there a minimum/maximum requirement for my art for WIPBB?

There is no strict minimum, but we do ask artists to remember that the authors are writing a minimum of 7,500 words and your artwork should reflect that. You can do anything you like, including banners, wallpapers, icons, mixes, vids, gif sets, picspams, etc. Suggested guidelines for art are 500x500px (or equivalent of smaller pieces like banner + spacers, cover + icons, etc.) for traditional art, digital art, and manips; 2 minutes for vids; 8 songs + cover art for mixes; and 6 images for gif sets and picspams. We also ask that when you are in contact with the author, you work with them to see if there is anything specific they would like (i.e. a wallpaper, book cover, etc.). The art is your work, but having ideas doesn't hurt!

What are 'art claims' and ‘fic claims’?

The claims are when anonymous summaries of the story go up for artists to choose from for WIPBB and fic writers to claim for WIPRB. Artists sign-ups and art claims are the same thing, as are fic claims for WIPRB; we use one form each for both things, and that way the artists and authors don’t have to sign up for an event they may not end up participating in. It is based on a 'first come, first served' basis and artists/authors may choose up to three potential stories/pieces of art (in case their first choice is unavailable). If there are more stories than artists, there will be a second round of claims wherein artists may choose a second story to work with, and on until all stories are claimed for art. Same goes for fic claims; we’ll do multiple claiming periods until everything is claimed.

If a fic or piee of art up for claiming is rated explicit (R, NC-17, etc.), please only claim the story if you are over 18 years of age. Some authors and artists may be uncomfortable working with underage artists or authors on explicit works. We do not verify ages in any way for the bang, so this is solely on the honor system.

What do I do if I have problems or concerns about my author/artist?

Sometimes authors and artists do not get along and this may cause problems with working together. If this happens to be the case with you, please email the mods and we will try to do what we can so that everyone has a chance to have fun at WIP Big Bang!

If you have not heard from your author/artist in some time after trying to contact them, you can reach out to us via email and we will try to get in touch with them for you.

Can I get an extension?

Community extensions may be given in the event that the majority of the authors/artists need one. They may also be given individually under certain circumstances, but this must be discussed with the mods and will only be a short extension for posting. If you are certain that you won’t be able to finish your story in time, please let us know by July 13th.

Can I swap out a fic/piece of art if my muse abandons it again?

When you sign up, you give us the information on the potential fic(s)/art piece(s) you want to finish. If, say, one piece isn’t working but one you didn’t sign up for is, you can switch them out while letting the mods know if you need to change a user ID you used. It is absolutely okay to switch fics all the way up until snippets are due. By then, we hope you’ll have however many fics you plan on doing to at least 80% completion since rough drafts are due not much later. Just drop an email to the mods at wipbigbang@gmail.com with the new information (title, fandom, etc) and if you want a new sign in ID or plan to use the same one for the fic you’re replacing it with.

Can I drop out?

We have high hopes that everybody who signs up can actually finish the round and share in the joy of the reveal with us, but real life can unfortunately get in the way and we completely understand! If you feel like you just cannot finish in time and no amount of assistance from us can help you, just let us know by August 13th (if at all possible).

Is it possible to be banned?

We do have a banned users list. We hope to use this to encourage participants who are having issues to communicate with the mods. We want to help you! The way the ban works is that participants, either authors and artists, will be banned for dropping out without notifying a mod. This means that anyone who has not posted or talked to a mod by the time the posting period ends will be banned. Dropping out is not in and of itself a banning offense, so please do not panic if you have to drop out! We understand that there are many reasons you may need to drop, and we want to work with you.

Bans will last one round or until the issue is resolved, whichever comes first. To resolve a ban, authors will have to finish and post the story they signed up with and artists will have to finish and post the art for the story they claimed. Three bans will result in a permanent ban from the bang.

Are we allowed to participate without joining the Discord?

Absolutely! The Discord server is optional, as just another way to interact with your fellow writers and get updates on important dates. It’s not mandatory you join, however.

I was just wondering if there’s any way to enter the bang anonymously? Like would it be okay to put our work in an anonymous collection on ao3 or something?

Unfortunately, I can’t think of a way for that to work. The collection that we use is moderated but it’s not anonymous, and there are the bragging posts that you post on your posting day, which you would have your username on whichever platform you use.

I was just wondering whether I'm sworn to secrecy on which fics I'll be finishing up, or if I can shout it out to the world?

No one is sworn to secrecy once they’ve signed up (aside from posting new parts to fic that’s already up somewhere…we ask that you refrain from doing that until at least July 1st)! We will be running Word Wars, where you can add more to a fic in a certain amount of time, and Whine Bars, where you can complain or ask for help or whatever else you feel like talking about when it comes to struggling with a fic, all after sign-ups end on a weekly basis, plus there’s the Discord server for chatting with your fellow authors and artists.

I have a question/concern that’s not mentioned here.

If you need help, you can always contact a mod and we will do our best to make sure that you get your story/art finished. The best and fastest method of contact is through our email, wipbigbang@gmail.com.

[yanderes-galore]

dirk anon here finally with request 5 (my final request!!!!!!) again, all gender neutral :3

Fandom: Cookie Run Kingdom Character(s): Shadow Milk Cookie and Pure Vanilla Cookie (sharing reader, id prefer if theyre not shipped together but if you'd like to write otherwise das ok :3) Pairing: Romantic/Rivalry/Harem(?) Type of Fic: Concept/Headcanons Other Info: i love the idea of these two sharing a darling. or a rivalry that becomes sharing. i have no idea what else to say i think it will be fantastically chaotic /lh (you can choose if it stays a rivalry or if they end up sharing :3)

I don't ship CRK so I get it. At least... I have exceptions. These two are NOT shipped together in this. No worries!

PV = Pure Vanilla

SM = Shadow Milk

TR = Truthless Recluse

Yandere! Pure Vanilla + Shadow Milk HCs/Discussion

Pairing: Romantic - Rivalry/Sharing (Sorta)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Jealousy, Stalking, Sabotage, Clingy behavior, Overprotective behavior, Possessive behavior, Dubious/Forced relationship(s).

Honestly, I do find the idea of writing HCs of the dynamic between these two fun (also I was given a lot of requests to write for them both).

The two don't need to be together to have a rivalry or share.

I personally just like to view them as opposites.

Yandere-wise they're opposites too.

I typically write PV as submissive, gentle, and kind... even as a yandere.

PV dedicates himself fully to his love... Even if it gets himself hurt.

SM, obviously, is completely different.

SM is dominant, cruel, and rough at times with you.

He wants control, not to be controlled.

However... I do think SM is occasionally submissive on his own.

Yet if he's competing with PV, he doesn't plan on being vulnerable.

I feel like with normal PV, sharing between them isn't really... sharing.

It's more like a rivalry that's barely hidden.

Tolerance would be more like it.

PV doesn't feel secure just leaving you with a Beast like SM.

SM already feels you're his... Yet uses PV's affection to... well... hurt him.

Actual sharing would be between TR (Truthless Recluse) and SM since SM would want TR to help him corrupt you.

Yet since I already have a draft planned for that, I won't spill that here.

Instead, this is a rivalry before Truthless Recluse.

SM still very much despises PV for replacing him and being all heroic.

So when SM finds out PV has someone he loves... It gives SM ideas.

Considering how SM thrives off manipulation and likes to take his anger out on PV...

You can imagine how the rivalry started.

It starts as SM using you against PV to hurt him.

SM thinks he's above love... However...

You still manage to make him obsessive about you in the end.

PV is trying his best to protect you from his beastly counterpart.

Unfortunately, there's times it feels like an uphill battle.

The rivalry probably takes place once you all get The Spire officially.

Yet when the seeds are planted are probably when you first arrive in Beast-Yeast to help the Silver Kingdom.

This is where SM gets his first look at you.

You knew PV first, the hero having been by your side as you traveled Crispia.

He may have not even been yandere... although it's hard to tell with him since he's so gentle.

His yandere behavior doesn't kick in until there's a threat like SM, the beast locking his many eyes on you with sadistic glee.

Even when he's driven off... It isn't the end.

No, SM plans to watch you with PV until you get to his Spire.

Then the real fun can begin.

Despite these two being opposites... There's traits they have in common.

What comes to mind is their clingy and manipulative behavior.

While PV is protective and SM is possessive... They are both smothering.

PV wants to keep your attention on him to protect and love you... He wants his affection to be gentle and sweet.

SM, however, wants you to be a delightful little toy or puppet.

He sees you as someone to 'play' with and the jester hates sharing toys.

So, for the most part, they have a rivalry.

It's even worse when SM drags your group into his games, making you watch in his Spire so he can watch your reactions.

He's mostly focused on making PV suffer... all the while he gives you affection, knowing it will make everything sting more.

So... While I imagine they have a rivalry... I will admit they tolerate things between each other.

SM only promises to share you if PV gives into his games... and even hands over the Soul Jam.

SM exploits PV essentially, so unless PV becomes TR... There isn't a lot of sharing.

... Beast-Yeast story wise.

If you want an AU where you have them both in your Kingdom and SM is forced to play nice... Then they have more opportunities to tolerate each other.

PV is still protective due to what happened in Beast-Yeast, even in his awakened form.

SM is also still as chaotic as ever, but is reduced to a jester playing cruel jokes if he wants to stay around you and not get thrown out.

This could be an example of the two sharing with PV as his usual yet awakened self.

The two would tolerate each other because they want your approval in this AU.

SM still does questionable actions... stalking you with his magic eyes when he's unable to be around to watch you.

Although... PV isn't much better with how much he sticks around you.

The two are definitely obsessive about their feelings towards you....

Yet neither can make a move without the other one sabotaging the other.

SM is, ironically, the king of sabotage.

So they're both forced to keep their personal feelings to a minimum, like a stalemate.

This stalemate forces the two to tolerate sharing.

Or... more accurately, force SM.

I say that because now that I think about it... Awakened! PV wouldn't mind sharing.

PV would probably think using their shared affection over you would be a good way to convert SM to good.

So... It would be a rivalry right up until Awakened! PV happens.

In that case, it's only a rivalry to SM.

Overall I feel rivalry or sharing could work depending on certain situations.

It would be a rivalry with original PV, but it would be "sharing" with TR or Awakened! PV.

SM sees it as a rivalry regardless though.

Their overall dynamic is fun to discuss.

I like the idea of them trying to manipulate their obsession to the side of truth or lies.

PV means well, saying not to trust the beast.

Meanwhile, SM just likes to gaslight you into not trusting anyone.

After all... He's a master of lies.

If he and PV are so similar... Can you really trust PV?

I actually feel the rivalry would mostly conclude with PV awakening and trying to negotiate sharing you with SM.

Yet when it comes to SM... Who knows if he'll listen?

Sharing with them could easily become a rivalry again if SM tries anything.

Ironically, I'd describe their dynamic as chaotic all due to SM....

Sure, SM will tolerate PV's plan just so he can sneak in a few cuddles or possible kisses.

But someday... SM may just steal you away if PV doesn't change him.

Which, obviously, strikes the match on the rivalry again.

So, even when sharing, there's always that subtle tension...

A warning that things could go wrong regardless of who you choose.

[fixyourwritinghabits]

What do I do when the characters have chosen to go somewhere that makes sense, but leads absolutely nowhere?

I know exactly what you mean, and fixing it is certainly not impossible. It's pretty natural, especially if you're a pantser, to have your characters end up in a situation that wipes out all the tension. (It's easy to fall into this as a plotter too, so beware.) What you need to do is turn up the pressure in the plot, both externally and internally.

Possible Problem 1: Your Characters Are Too Comfortable. If your characters don't have enough internal conflict going on, they might just not want to move forward with the plot. This is a really easy hole to fall into (for all the stereotypes of writers tormenting their characters, I find it's much harder not to pull punches, especially with the first draft). Drive up that internal conflict within the characters and with each other. Laying down a subplot about an unrequited crush or a secret identity that implodes right when your characters feel safe can help get them going again. An argument between characters that causes them to do something reckless might be the catalyst you need.

Possible Problem 2: Not Enough Plot Tension. If your characters have lost steam, they may be in the wrong place. You may need to ramp up the danger by backtracking in the plot to lay down more external pressure to keep the characters going. A ticking clock fueled by the need to cure a deadly disease, a looming threat that's on their heels. If your characters still end up in a spot that too easily solves their problems, cut them off from getting there! The pass collapses, forcing them through the shadowy woods instead.

Possible Problem 3: You Don't Have the Next Plot Point Lined Up. If you're pantsing and are stuck (or if your outline isn't working), sometimes you just gotta take a moment to figure out where your characters actually need to be next and jump to that point. Sometimes writing out the next big scene will help you figure out how to build the connective tissue between them. Sometimes you will write "fix this later" and curse your past self into oblivion. We've all been there.

Possible Problem 4: You Might Just Need a (Short) Break. Truly stuck? Inspiration often strikes when you take your mind off the issue. Go for a walk, play a video game, try not to think of your writing issue for a couple of days. You'll likely realize the solution in the middle of doing something else.

Now, all of these techniques are for writing a story or a novel. If you're plotting out a game, you may just need to drop a Big Bad in the middle of things to force your characters into action. (Hell, you may need to do that for your novel too.) The most important thing is that no matter how clunkily you fix it, you can always go back and smooth over those rough parts with the power of hindsight.

[yan-lorkai]

Any headcanons for Sebastian dirty talking 👀 like the kind of things he'd say

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Casually throw this to y'all like it wasn't hidden on my drafts for some time now. No but like I can't dirty talk to save my life (+ I'm ace ╮⁠(⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠╭) so I don't know if this is good? But if I don't post this now, I may never post tbh. I hope it's good lol, enjoy!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, possessive Sebby, very suggestive content, dirty talking obvs, amab and afab reader

Sebastian is a versatile lover, dedicated to you and your pleasure. And he knows how to draw out each syllable, what tone of voice to use and how to speak to make you melt in his arms. What does he normally say?

"Love, you're doing so well for me, mmh!"

"Let's see if you're capable of keeping this atitude after I'm done with you."

"You naughty little thing, you think I wouldn't notice how you were trying to tease me? You're not walking tomorrow, mark my words."

"You're so hard already, how cute! Let's see what kind of sounds you make when I swallow you whole, hmm?"

"You like when I'm rough with you, huh? Tell me, tell me how much you love my cock."

"Good girl, so good for me. Mmh, are you close? Gonna cum for me?"

"Please? Please what, darling? Enlighten me, what do you want? Do you want me to touch you here? Wanna me to be faster? slower? I can't read your mind now, can I? Don't get shy on me now, angel. Use your words!"

"Your moans always get me hard, so heavenly it's almost sinful, darling."

"You look so handsome like this - ooh, fuck, you like when I praise you? I can feel you clenching around me, my good boy. So precious for me, so good, aah!"

"You look so so gorgeous right now - ohh, riding me like that."

"Think you can top me, think you can make me scream and cry like I do you? That I like to see, angel."

"Like that, scream my name like that — ahh I'm close!"

"Cum on my tongue for me. You tastes so fucking sweet."

"Who owns this pussy? Who? That’s right. I do. I own your fucking pussy, your ass and your mouth. I own everything you are, darling. Never forget this."

"You did so well for me, love. But do not be fooled, I'm not done with you just yet!"

[thestrangepoet]

The Furrcinating Adventures of Champion, the Archives Cat | The Magnus Archives Fanfiction | Ch 1/?

Based on @ultramarinaa’s Cat!Martin AU 

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

DISCLAIMER: As per usual, this is an unedited first draft that I haven’t proofread. Forgive any typos and roughness around the edges – I tend not to go back over fanfics, as they’re just a bit of fun writing for me. (I am a full-time professional writer, and if I start telling myself I need to edit and proofread my fanfics, it’ll cease being fun for me.)

This is chapter one of…I don’t know. I may continue if enough people are enjoying it.  Next Chapter →

──── •✧• ────

Oh God, Martin thought to himself as fur began to emerge from under his skin, covering newly reshaped limbs and hiding sharp claws from sight, Jon’s going to be so mad at me!

Oh no, Martin panicked as blunt teeth gave way to pointed canines, this is so unprofessional of me! 

Only then did Martin allow the terrible question to enter his mind – what was he becoming? 

He should have known better than to pick up an unfamiliar book lying around in the archives of the Magnus Institute, the academic home of research into the paranormal and esoteric. At the very least, if he was going to pick it up, he should have done so only to tidy it away. Why he had felt compelled to open the tome and sneak a peek inside, he couldn’t say. 

As the world around him lurched into a new angle, Martin could only think about the presentation his boss had delivered a few weeks prior. 

Obviously, you shouldn’t be dealing directly with any artefacts of note, Jon had said dryly, tapping the large screen behind him that showed countless examples of seemingly mundane objects. We have a department for that for a reason. However, it’s not unusual for one or two to slip through the cracks; particularly books, given the extensive nature of our library. If you should check out a book as part of your research and you see the name ‘Leitner’ involved in any capacity, do not read the book. Put it down immediately. Martin, that goes double for you – if you even think the word ‘Leitner’ near a book, I want you to turn around immediately and walk back to your desk – do you understand? 

Had he seen the name ‘Leitner’ in this book? There had been a torn bookplate in the front, and maybe the remaining letters had been ‘ner’...

Did it matter? He was paying for his stupidity now, Martin thought. All fur and claws and fangs, and oh, what hideous monster would emerge from what had once been Martin Blackwood? 

Martin lay down, his fluffy belly flat against the floor, and pushed his newly shaped paws over his eyes. Oh, it didn’t bear thinking about! Jon would burst in at any moment, see some horrible creature, not realise it was Martin, and—

“Martin?” 

As if on cue, the door to the shared office of the archival assistants opened, and in walked Jonathan Sims. “Martin, have you taken your lunch break? Tim and Sasha have already gone, and Elias has been getting very prickly about me making sure you all…oh. Martin?” 

Martin had scampered under the table in hope of avoiding his boss’ gaze. Treated now to a blurry view of the man’s green socks and scuffed brogues, he watched as Jon entered the office. “Oh. Good. He’s gone already,” Jon said to himself with the air of a job well done. He turned to leave, and Martin had almost let out a sigh of relief when the man’s feet stopped. 

No, no! Martin thought, Go! You can’t see me like this! I bet I’m the ugliest monster, all fangs and talons and hair all over the place! 

A scarred hand appeared in Martin’s imperfect vision, scooping up the fallen book that was to blame for Martin’s plight. A new fear sprang up in Martin’s mind then – what if Jon read the book too? 

He had to do it. He had to save him! Even if it meant Jon would see Martin’s disgusting new form, he had to keep Jon safe! 

He lunged with a power that Martin hadn’t ever known before. A screeching roar – or a miaow, really – pierced the air, and Martin all but bodyslammed Jon’s hands, knocking the book firmly from his grip. It span across the room and slid under the bookshelf out of sight. 

Now he’d done it. Now Jon would see Martin in all his revolting glory – witness what that awful Leitner book had turned him into. If he didn’t recognise Martin, as surely he wouldn’t, he’d no doubt call security, and then what would happen? Would Martin be taken down? Locked away in the tunnels for examination and research? Worse, what if Jon did recognise him? He’d know that Martin had messed up in a spectacular fashion, and he’d be so disappointed in him. Would he be the one to tell Martin nothing could be done, that the effects of a Leitner were irreversible and that they’d have to–

“Good Lord! Oh…oh, now, where did you come from, little one?” 

Jon’s voice took on a bizarrely soft tone that Martin had never heard before. He couldn’t respond, however, as thin hands had latched gently around his torso and lifted him from the ground, a startled purr rumbling from Martin’s chest. 

All of a sudden, Jon’s face filled Martin’s entire view. And for once, no scowl darkened his features. In fact, Jon almost looked…delighted? 

Martin blinked. 

“Mrrow?” 

Not once in over a year of working for Jonathan Sims had Martin managed to coax a smile from the other man. All his best attempts, his best teas, his ridiculous amount of overtime to finish his reports to a standard Jon would accept, all his own smiles and attempts to cheer the man up, not one of these gargantuan efforts had been rewarded with a smile. 

And now, with one confused miaow, Martin had unlocked a smile from Jon. 

“How did you get in here? Did you get lost? Did Martin leave the door open again? Oh, I bet he did. I bet he did!” Jon repeated, descending into a cooing baby voice that would have had Martin howling with laughter if he could still laugh. Jon shifted the perplexed Martin to sit over his shoulder more comfortably, the book all but forgotten. “But you’re such a handsome boy! And no collar? Poor little man, have you been wandering around looking for some food and shelter? We’ll get you sorted, don’t you worry, little champion.” 

What…the hell…is happening? Martin wondered, even as a big, goofy smile curled his lips. 

Jon was carrying him. Out of the office. Stroking his back. Calling him a little champion and handsome. 

“How about a saucer of warm milk, hmm? Does that sound good? Would that set you right, hmm?” 

It was only then that Martin’s mind dragged itself out of the dazed, happy fog to piece together what Jon was saying. Why he was saying it. 

Martin had not been transformed into some vicious beast from the eldritch corners of reality. 

As they passed by Jon’s office, Martin caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass pane of the door. 

A large cat with white and orange fur blinked back at him from over Jon’s shoulder. 

──── •✧• ────

Martin was, of course, the talk of the town after everyone returned from their lunch break. Funny, then, that not one person actually mentioned Martin. 

“So you’re gonna take him to the vets, right, boss?” Tim asked, rolling another roll of Sellotape towards Martin, apparently expecting him to play with it. Martin, on principle, refused, turning his nose up and huffing. 

Tim, come on! You’re back, Sasha’s back, who isn’t back yet? Ask where Martin is! he thought. 

“He seems healthy enough to me,” Jon replied, not looking up from the paperwork he was pouring over. “Why?” 

“To get his microchip checked? Get him back to his owners?” 

That made Jon look up, a flash of shock and upset clear in his widened eyes and slightly parted lips. “His ow— No, no, he hasn’t even got a collar on. No owners.”

“Right, but by law, cats have to be microchipped. Maybe his collar fell off or something?” A hint of amusement danced in Tim’s questions; Martin could tell that Tim was toying with Jon. Jon, however, hadn’t picked up on that. 

“M-maybe,” he replied stiffly. “Right, yes, fine. Vets after work. But he can stay here for now. Till the end of the shift.” 

Martin wandered over to Jon, sitting himself down by the leg of his chair and craning his neck up, tail swishing behind him. 

Right, now that’s sorted, onto the next obvious issue in the office, Jon, he thought. Which is…the obvious and mysterious disappearance of—

“Martin’s late back off his lunch,” Jon noted, checking the office clock with a critical glance. “Could you check the archival assistants’ office please, Tim? Maybe drop him a text. Probably got himself distracted by some…particularly interesting bollards or something…”

Sure, there’d been an insult mixed in there, but Jon had noticed! He’d noticed Martin’s disappearance, and that meant Martin had to repay his kindness! 

Fuelled with delight, the cat sprang up onto Jon’s lap, earning him a surprised chuckle. “Ah! Well, hello! Y-yes, you can sit there while I work, Champion. That’s fine.” 

Tim snorted as he headed out of Jon’s office, arching an eyebrow at the pair of them. “Champion? Are you kidding me? He’s a classic Fluffy or Ginger or Marshmallow or something.”

“Nonsense. He’s brimming with regal strength. A Champion if I ever saw one,” Jon retorted with a sniff, deeming the argument not worth his attention beyond that and turning back to his work. “Let me know if Martin gets back to you. And if he shows up, send him in here.” 

The newly named Champion stretched out lazily on Jon’s lap, settling down for a cheeky nap on company time. 

Already here, Jon. 

──── •✧• ────

[roseyreveries]

Journalism

Summary: You’re a journalist chasing the Daredevil story, hell-bent on uncovering his identity.

CW: injuries, blood, angst, sort of enemies to lovers?

A/N: This was originally a Batman x reader fic I had saved in my drafts for a while, but I’m not all that into Batman anymore so I remastered it into being Daredevil x reader. Apologies if there are any discrepancies I may have missed <3

Directory <- click!

The neon buzz of Hell’s Kitchen bled into the haze of cheap whiskey and crumpled notes spread before you on the bar. The Daredevil story wasn’t just a story—it was the story, the one that could finally yank you out of the shallow waters of clickbait articles and catapult you into headlines that mattered. But Hell’s Kitchen’s devil wasn’t making it easy. He moved like smoke, left chaos like a storm, and stayed maddeningly out of reach.

And then there was Matt Murdock.

The smug, blind lawyer with his disarming charm and infuriating habit of dodging your questions. Every time you brought Daredevil up, he’d flash that crooked smile, toss out a few words that said absolutely nothing, and leave you steaming. You knew he knew more than he let on—he was practically daring you to figure it out.

And, hell, you were close.

“Rough night?”

The voice slid through the din, smooth and calculated.

Your stomach tightened before you even turned. Speak of the devil.

Matt Murdock stood there, his red-tinted glasses catching the flicker of the neon sign outside. His tie hung loose, his shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to make him look more dangerous than approachable. He didn’t wait for an invitation, just slid onto the stool next to you like he owned the damn place.

“Murdock,” you said, trying to keep your tone even. “What a surprise.”

He tilted his head, smirking in that way that made you want to smack it right off his face—or maybe wipe it off with your lips, depending on the day. Tonight, though, you weren’t in the mood.

“Surprise?” he echoed, his tone light but his words sharp. “Come on, you don’t really believe that, do you?”

You set your pen down and turned to face him fully, your pulse thrumming. “Let me guess. You just happened to wander into this exact bar, at this exact time, knowing I’d be here?”

“I don’t need to guess,” he said casually, resting his elbow on the bar. “You scribble loud enough to wake the dead. Or maybe I just have a good sense of where trouble likes to settle.”

“Trouble? That what you call me now?” you shot back, arching a brow.

“I call it like I see it—or hear it, in my case.” His smirk deepened, and there was something wolfish about it.

Your grip on the glass tightened. “You’re awfully invested in what I’m doing, Murdock. Makes me wonder why.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “You’re chasing shadows in a city full of monsters. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t get eaten alive.”

Your heart skipped, but you refused to let it show. “I can handle myself.”

“Maybe you can,” he said, his tone edging into something darker. “But Daredevil? He’s not the type to appreciate being stalked. He doesn’t take well to being cornered.”

There it was, the warning hidden behind his honeyed words. You met his gaze—or where you thought his gaze would be behind those glasses—and leaned closer. “Funny. You talk about him like you’ve had dinner together.”

He smiled again, slow and deliberate, as if you’d just given him exactly what he wanted. “You’d be surprised what a good listener can pick up. Something you should keep in mind, yeah?”

The air between you crackled, his words dripping with implication. You were sure now—he knew something, probably everything. But Matt Murdock wasn’t just a lawyer. He was a wall, and cracking him would take more than words.

“Well,” you said, breaking the silence and lifting your glass. “I guess I’ll just have to keep digging. Trouble’s kind of my thing.”

His smile lingered, razor-sharp. “Good luck with that, sweetheart. Just don’t dig yourself too deep. Some holes are harder to climb out of than others.”

The fire escape creaked softly under your weight as you climbed, the chill of the night air biting at your skin. You heard from a sweet old lady who lived nearby that she’d see him standing here some nights. You weren’t sure what you’d expected to find when you followed the whisper of a lead to this rooftop, but as you pulled yourself up, your breath hitched.

There he was.

Daredevil.

He sat perched on the edge of the fire escape, one knee up, his red suit blending into the shadows like he belonged to the night itself. He didn’t move as you approached, didn’t even turn his head, but somehow you knew he was aware of you. His stillness felt like an acknowledgment, like he’d been waiting.

“I didn’t think you’d actually be here,” you said softly, pulling yourself fully onto the landing.

“I knew you’d come. Heard the elderly give her statement to you the other day,” he replied, his voice low, almost detached.

You paused, shivering under his cold, steady presence. “Then you know why I’m here.”

He tilted his head slightly, and though you couldn’t see his eyes beneath the mask, you felt the weight of his attention like a physical thing. “I know everything I need to about you.”

That stopped you in your tracks. Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, but you forced yourself to steady your voice. “If you already know, then you know I need an interview. Just ten minutes of your time. That’s all I’m asking.”

He let out a quiet exhale, the kind that wasn’t quite a sigh but carried the weight of one. “No.”

You blinked, stunned at the finality of his tone. “What? You didn’t even think about it!”

“There’s nothing to think about,” he said, standing now, his movements fluid and effortless. He stepped closer, his boots landing softly on the metal grating. “You’re chasing a story you don’t fully understand, putting yourself in danger you’re not prepared for.”

You squared your shoulders, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. “I can handle myself. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I know what I’m risking.”

His jaw tightened, but his tone remained even. “You think you know. But you don’t. And you won’t—because I’m not giving you an interview.”

Your frustration boiled over, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Why not? You talk like you’re on some crusade to help people, but you won’t let them know who you really are. You hide in the shadows and leave everyone guessing while people like me try to tell the truth!”

His head turned slightly, the mask catching the faint glint of the city lights. “The truth?” he repeated, his voice soft but cutting. “The truth doesn’t change what I do. It doesn’t make people safer. All it does is make them targets.”

You faltered, the conviction in his tone slicing through your determination. He wasn’t just cold—he was certain, and that certainty rattled you.

“I…” you began, but the words died in your throat.

He turned back toward the edge of the fire escape, his posture rigid. “If you want to take a picture when I leave, go ahead. That’s all I’ll give you.”

Your heart sank at the finality in his voice. “That’s it? A picture? No words, no explanation?”

“No,” he said simply, the word dropping like a stone between you. “Because anything I say, anything I give you, will only pull you deeper into something you’re not ready for.”

Despite his coldness, there was something in his tone—a faint thread of concern that softened the blow just enough to sting.

“Why do you care?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly.

He paused for a moment, the silence stretching unbearably before he finally spoke. “Because people who get too close to me usually end up hurt.”

With that, he stepped onto the railing, his balance effortless, and turned back to you one last time. “Take your picture, if you want. But stay out of this. For your sake.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the night like a ghost, leaving you alone with your unanswered questions and a hollow ache in your chest.

The next few weeks turned into a twisted game, a dance you hadn’t signed up for but couldn’t seem to stop. Every time you got close to something—anything—Matt was there, slipping into your path with maddening precision. It was almost as if he wanted to frustrate you, to keep you chasing your tail.

One afternoon, as you stepped out of the courthouse with your notebook in hand, he appeared out of nowhere. His cane tapped lightly against the pavement, but the smirk on his face told you this wasn’t some random coincidence.

“Let me guess,” he drawled, falling into step beside you. “You’re here to dig up dirt on Daredevil’s last fight? Hoping for a juicy quote, maybe a headline?”

You stopped dead in your tracks, glaring at him. “Do you have a tracker on me or something?”

He chuckled, annoyingly unbothered. “You’re predictable,” he said with a shrug. “Same courthouse, same sources. You’re practically leaving breadcrumbs.”

“Funny,” you shot back, shoving your notebook into your bag. “You sound a lot like someone trying to cover his tracks. What are you doing here, Murdock? Hoping to throw me off again?”

“Throw you off?” His tone was playful, but there was an edge beneath it. “Why would I do that? I’m just here to offer my services. You need an interview, right? I’ve got some time.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Unless you’re Daredevil, you’re not the interview I need.”

His smile faltered. Just a fraction of a second, but you caught it. The mask he wore—figurative, for now—slipped, and in its place was something raw, unguarded. It was gone as quickly as it came, but it was enough to send your heart skittering.

“Careful,” he said quietly, his voice dipping low. “Throwing accusations like that could get you into trouble.”

“Is that a threat?” you challenged, stepping closer. You weren’t about to back down, not now, not when the tension between you felt like it was about to snap.

“Just an observation,” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching into another maddening smile. “You’re obsessed, you know that? This whole thing—chasing Daredevil—it’s consuming you.”

You scoffed, though his words landed harder than you wanted to admit. “I’m doing my job. If that makes you uncomfortable, maybe you’re the one who should be asking questions.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might snap back. Instead, he leaned in closer, his voice soft but heavy with meaning. “Maybe you should ask yourself why you’re so desperate to figure him out.”

The proximity was unbearable—too close, too charged. His words hit like a punch to the gut, leaving you reeling. You wanted to push him away, to tell him he was wrong, but something in the way he looked at you—or didn’t look at you—kept you rooted to the spot.

“Why don’t you tell me?” you said, your voice quieter now, the fight in you mingling with something else entirely.

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not the one chasing ghosts.”

With that, he stepped back, his cane tapping the pavement as he turned to leave. You stared after him, your chest tight with a mix of fury, confusion, and something you didn’t want to name.

This wasn’t just a game anymore. It was war. And you weren’t about to lose.

The turning point came late one night, the kind of night where the city felt alive and malevolent, every shadow a threat.

You’d been following a lead, tailing a low-level thug rumored to have ties to Wilson Fisk. The alley stank of rot and desperation, but you stayed hidden, your camera ready to catch anything that might blow the Daredevil story wide open. And then all hell broke loose.

The thug had barely turned the corner when he was intercepted, the dark shape of Daredevil descending like a predator. The fight erupted fast and brutal—fists cracking against bone, bodies slamming into dumpsters. You stayed frozen, heart pounding, snapping photos as quietly as you could.

But chaos doesn’t care about quiet.

A thrown blade missed its mark, spinning wildly before burying itself in your shoulder. Pain exploded through you, a raw and burning shock that stole the breath from your lungs. You stumbled forward, your cry piercing the fray.

The fight stopped.

In an instant, Daredevil was on you, his presence like a force of nature—overwhelming and commanding. He caught you before you collapsed, his hands firm and steady despite the violence still radiating off him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice a rough growl that sent a chill through you.

Your vision blurred as you tried to focus on his face—or at least the mask that hid it. “Doing my job,” you bit out, clutching at the hilt of the blade. Pain ripped through you, and your knees buckled.

“Your job?” His voice was laced with anger, though it wasn’t clear if it was aimed at you or himself. “Your job is going to get you killed.”

“Yeah, well,” you gasped, teeth clenched against the agony, “newsflash—dying’s not in the budget this month.”

His jaw tightened beneath the mask. For a moment, he just looked at you, his head tilting slightly like he was listening to something you couldn’t hear. Then he cursed under his breath. “Can you walk?”

“I think so,” you said, but your legs betrayed you as soon as you tried.

Without another word, he lifted you into his arms like you weighed nothing. You swore, weakly pounding your fist against his chest. “I’m fine! I can—”

“Shut up,” he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re bleeding all over the place. Stop being stubborn.”

The world spun as he carried you, moving through the labyrinth of Hell’s Kitchen with a confidence that felt inhuman. The smell of incense hit you before you realized where he’d taken you: an abandoned church, its walls cracked with age and its air heavy with dust and decay.

He laid you down gently on a makeshift cot, his movements careful but unceremonious. Without a word, he pulled out a first aid kit and went to work, cutting away the fabric around your wound with swift precision.

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the sound of his gloves peeling off and the sharp hiss you let out when the antiseptic hit your skin.

“You’re not going to scare me off,” you said finally, your voice shaky but defiant.

He paused, his hands hovering over your bandage, before letting out a low, humorless chuckle. “I’d be disappointed if you were that easy to scare.”

He finished wrapping your shoulder, his touch firm but not unkind. Then he leaned back, his masked face unreadable as he looked at you. “You shouldn’t have been there.”

“And you shouldn’t be running around in red tights picking fights with mob bosses,” you shot back, exhaustion dulling the sharp edge of your tone. “But here we are.”

For the first time, his head tilted toward you in something almost like amusement. “Stubborn doesn’t even begin to cover it, does it?”

“Guess not,” you muttered, leaning back against the cot. Your eyelids felt heavy, but you refused to look away from him. “So, what now? You keep playing knight in shining armor, or are you finally going to tell me what the hell’s really going on in this city?”

He stood, his broad shoulders casting long shadows in the flickering light of the church. “You want answers?” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “Then stop putting yourself in the crossfire.”

He moved toward the door, pausing only to glance back at you. “Next time, I might not be there to save you.”

You lay there for a moment, watching Daredevil move toward the door, his silhouette framed by the soft, dying light of the church. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to let it go, to take the bandage and your bruised pride and call it a night. But you weren’t wired that way, and if you were going to end up in his world tonight, you sure as hell weren’t leaving without answers.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you called after him, your voice sharper than you intended.

He stopped mid-step, his head tilting slightly as if weighing whether to engage. After a moment, he turned back toward you, his arms crossing over his chest. “Doing what?”

“Showing up out of nowhere, pulling people out of danger, and then disappearing without giving me anything to work with,” you snapped. You propped yourself up on your good arm, glaring at him. “I’m not just some idiot with a camera, you know. I’ve been digging into this for months—years, even. I know there’s more to all of this than just a masked guy punching bad guys in alleys.”

His lips pressed into a thin line beneath the mask, and when he finally spoke, his voice was maddeningly calm. “What exactly do you want to know?”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. “For starters? Why Fisk’s men are running scared of you. What you’re trying to accomplish out there. Hell, who you even are!”

He stepped closer, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. “Who I am doesn’t matter,” he said evenly. “What matters is that people like Fisk don’t get to run this city unchecked.”

“That’s not an answer,” you shot back, frustration bubbling under your skin. “That’s a slogan. Try again.”

He tilted his head, his lips quirking in the faintest hint of a smirk. “What I do isn’t exactly something you put on a résumé, you know. It’s not about me—it’s about stopping people who think they’re untouchable.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the cot. “God, you’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told that,” he said dryly, leaning down slightly.

You looked up, opening your mouth to fire off another retort, but the words caught in your throat when you realized just how close he was. He’d stepped into your space, his presence overwhelming, and you could feel the heat radiating from him even through his suit. His gloved hand rested on the edge of the cot, his other hovering near your bandaged shoulder as if he were still checking on you.

Your breath hitched, the charged air between you crackling with something that wasn’t just frustration anymore. His head tilted slightly, his red-tinted lenses trained on you—or at least giving the impression that they were.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice softer now, barely above a whisper.

“Making sure you’re not going to pass out,” he replied, his voice lower, rougher.

“I’m fine,” you said, though the waver in your tone betrayed you.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he murmured, his lips quirking again.

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. “You’re not helping, you know.”

“Not trying to,” he admitted, his voice dropping even lower, almost teasing.

The tension between you was unbearable now, thick and suffocating. Every part of you was hyper-aware of how close he was, the way his broad shoulders seemed to block out everything else in the room, the subtle flex of his jaw beneath the mask.

“This whole vague, mysterious act of yours?” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and something else. “It’s not going to work on me.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

You held his gaze—or at least where you thought his gaze would be. “Yeah. I’m not scared of you.”

He leaned in slightly, close enough that you could feel his breath against your cheek. “You should be.”

Your breath caught, your heart hammering against your ribs. You didn’t move, didn’t look away, even though every nerve in your body screamed at you to.

The church was eerily quiet, the faint scent of old incense lingering in the air as Daredevil knelt beside you. The makeshift cot beneath you creaked softly as you shifted, wincing at the sharp, hot pain radiating from your shoulder.

“Stay still,” he said, his voice low but firm. His gloved hands worked quickly to gather what he needed—a bottle of antiseptic, gauze, scissors. The sound of his movements echoed faintly in the vast, empty space.

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, biting back a hiss as the adrenaline began to wear off. “You’re not the one with a knife sticking out of your shoulder.”

He glanced at you—or at least turned his head slightly in your direction, the red lenses of his mask catching the faint glow of candlelight. “It’s out now,” he said flatly, his tone a little softer. “But it’s going to hurt worse before it gets better.”

You rolled your eyes, your lips quirking despite yourself. “Great bedside manner, really. You ever consider a career change?”

“Funny,” he replied dryly, reaching for the bottle of antiseptic. “Hold still. This is going to sting.”

You braced yourself, clenching your fists against the scratchy fabric of the cot as he poured the liquid onto a clean piece of gauze. When he pressed it to the wound, you couldn’t stop the sharp gasp that escaped your lips.

His hand immediately came to rest on your good shoulder, grounding you. “Breathe,” he murmured, his tone gentler now. “I’ve got you.”

The warmth of his touch, even through the glove, sent a shiver down your spine. You focused on his voice, letting it pull you back from the edge of the pain.

“You’ve done this before,” you said after a moment, your voice shaky but laced with curiosity.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rough. “More times than I’d like.”

“Lucky me,” you muttered, your eyes darting to his face. Even under the mask, his presence was overwhelming—calm, steady, but with an undercurrent of something darker, something electric.

“Lucky,” he repeated, almost like he was testing the word. He tilted his head slightly as he worked, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his lips. “Most people wouldn’t call it that.”

“Well,” you said, biting back a grimace as he applied pressure to the wound, “I’m not most people.”

His hands stilled for just a moment, his head tilting again as if he were studying you—or listening to something only he could hear. “No,” he said quietly. “You’re not.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than they should have been. You swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was, how the heat of his body seemed to seep into yours. His fingers brushed your skin as he reached for the bandage, and it was impossible to ignore the way your pulse quickened.

“Is this part of the whole ‘devil-may-care’ act?” you asked, your voice a little too breathless.

He smirked, the curve of his lips just visible beneath the mask. “You tell me. Does it feel like an act?”

The question sent a rush of heat through you, and you hated how much he could rattle you with so little. “I think you enjoy this,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended. “The mystery, the danger. Keeping people guessing.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower. His fingers lingered on your shoulder as he smoothed the bandage into place, and the light touch made your stomach twist. “But you’re not like the others. You don’t scare easy. You said it yourself.”

You scoffed, though the sound was shaky. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Take it however you want,” he said, leaning back slightly to look at you.

Your eyes locked with his—or where you thought his eyes would be—and the air between you grew thick, charged with something you couldn’t name. His hand was still on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that felt far too intimate for the circumstances.

“You don’t make this easy,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m not trying to,” he replied, and for the first time, there was something raw in his voice, something vulnerable beneath the cold, calculated edge.

The silence stretched, the weight of it pressing down on you both. You couldn’t look away, couldn’t bring yourself to break the moment.

His fingers lingered for just a second longer before he pulled away, standing with the smooth, effortless grace that always seemed to remind you how different he was.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, his tone shifting back to something cooler, more composed. “Just… stay out of trouble for a while.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Right. Because you’re so good at that yourself.”

He hesitated, his head tilting slightly as if he wanted to say something else. But instead, he turned, his cape shifting as he moved toward the shadows.

“Get some rest,” he said over his shoulder, his voice softer now. “You’ll need it.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the dim light, your heart pounding and your thoughts spinning in a way that had nothing to do with the wound in your shoulder.

After that night, something shifted. The line between Matt and Daredevil blurred in ways you didn’t expect, leaving you teetering on an edge you weren’t sure you wanted to cross. Matt had grown softer—not in the dismissive, charming way he used to handle you, but in a way that made him more frustrating. He deflected your questions as always, but there was something protective in his tone, something that suggested he was more invested than he’d ever admit.

And Daredevil? He was everywhere now. Sometimes just watching, sometimes stepping in when danger got too close, but always lingering just long enough to leave you questioning everything.

It was that same infuriating pattern that brought you to Matt’s apartment one stormy night, your resolve hardened by weeks of half-truths and unspoken tension. You weren’t leaving until you got the answers you’d fought so hard to piece together.

When Matt opened the door, his expression flickered with surprise before settling into something guarded. He stepped aside to let you in, his jaw tight as he shut the door behind you.

“You’re here late,” he said, his voice low.

“I figured it out,” you said, no preamble, no hesitation. The words spilled out like a challenge, filling the small space between you. “You’re Daredevil.”

The air seemed to still. Matt froze, his shoulders stiffening, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t deny it immediately, and that told you everything you needed to know.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said finally, his voice a fraction too calm.

You stepped closer, your heart pounding, a heady mix of pride and adrenaline thrumming in your veins. “Don’t I?” you shot back, your voice sharp but steady. “You’ve been stonewalling me since day one. You always know where I am, what I’m doing. And Daredevil? He’s too… you. The way he moves, the way he talks. You’re the most religious man I know and Daredevil took me to a church for gods sake. It all fits.”

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as he turned his head slightly, as if trying to decide whether to keep arguing. “Stop,” he said quietly, his tone firm but strained. “If you’re right—and I’m not saying you are—then you’re in more danger than you realize.”

You let out a sharp laugh, the sound almost bitter. “Danger? You think that scares me? I don’t care about the danger, Matt. I care about the truth. I care about you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged. For a moment, something flickered across his face—guilt, fear, frustration. He exhaled slowly, stepping closer, the space between you evaporating.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

“Maybe not,” you whispered, lifting your chin defiantly. “But I’m asking anyway. Because if this is you, Matt… I can’t finish the story..”

His hand came up almost hesitantly, brushing against your cheek. The touch was electric, sending a shiver down your spine. His thumb lingered near your jaw, his head dipping slightly as if he couldn’t decide whether to move closer or pull away.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he asked, his voice a low rasp.

“Probably the same thing you’re doing to me,” you said, your voice trembling but steady enough to meet his intensity.

And then the tension snapped.

The kiss was inevitable, a collision of frustration, need, and something deeper that neither of you could put into words. His lips crashed against yours with a desperation that made your head spin, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to pull you closer. You gripped his shirt, pulling him down to you as if the heat of his body could ground you in the chaos.

It was messy, frantic—his lips trailing fire down your jaw, your hands fisting in his shirt as the world narrowed to just the two of you.

When he pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his forehead resting against yours. His hand lingered on your cheek, but his expression was torn, the war inside him written all over his face.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he said, his voice rough, almost pained.

You swallowed hard, your heart still pounding in your chest. “No,” you agreed, your voice quiet but steady. “But it’s a start.”

His thumb brushed against your cheek one last time before he stepped back, the distance between you suddenly unbearable. And as you stood there, your breath catching in your throat, you realized just how deep you were in.

Join my Taglist!

@cakesandtom

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Requestion: masc!fem!Reader likes to wear chains especially short ones + Regina likes to pull reader close by her chains + reader gets turned on when Regina pulls on her chains = dom!regina and sub!reader smut please

A Little Something

|| Regina George x masc!fem!reader

|| Warnings; smut, swearing, degrading, teasing/mocking, chain pulling, brief mention of choking, dom!Regina + sub!reader, reader receiving, boob play, fingering, reader orgasm

|| Summary; Regina takes advantage of reader's chains...

Requests open! || keep in mind i have a lot of requests at the moment, it may take a while before i reach yours.

Started; March 9th

Finished; June 13th

(this is one of my old drafts if you can't tell 😅)

HAPPY PRIDE!!!

~~~

With the amount of times you'd been in here, you knew Regina's bedroom like the back of your hand. You could still see every detail even as your eyes closed. Soft moans echoed around the room, the feeling of Regina George on top of you... her sheets against your back. The thing about you is; you quite often wore chains of some sort around your neck. Usually short ones, because you knew how much your girlfriend loved to pull them.

Not that you minded. You loved when she got rough; forcing you to her by your chains. It was a kink you hadn't expressed to her, but you didn't need to. She knew you enjoyed it. The way she'd pull you in close and kiss you senseless.

"You love that, don't you? Such a little slut," the blonde mocked, her lips brushing against your ear. Teeth biting the lobe, you gasped and your hands found the sheets. Tightening their hold against them.

"Regina..." was all you could manage to say and the blonde loved it.

"So needy," Regina murmured, her tongue flicking out and tracing along the edge of your lobe. Her tone nothing but teasing and mocking," so desperate... you love it when I pull your fucking chains, don't you?"

Regina couldn't help but admire the way your body reacted to her words; the way you tightened, shivered and whined. The fact that you never resisted her, that you would just lay there and let her do as she wanted. Regina was obsessed with that shit. With a firm grip, she reached again for those chains and gave them a sharp tug. Loving the sound of your choked gasp," look at you... so pathetic, the way you whimper and wither. You fucking love it, you're practically dripping through your clothes. You're just so fucking pathetic."

It's not like she was wrong, either. She did have you in a complete mess for her. Your wetness had seeped through your clothing, your mouth was open with a little bit of drool at the corner, and your eyes were half lidded. Watching Regina with a lustful, desperate gaze," more... please." The control Regina had over you was unlike anything anyone ever had. It wasn't often you'd just submit to people the way you submitted to her.

"You want more, baby? You want me to take care of you?" Regina smirked, her eyes locked with yours as her free hand cupped your cheek. Her thumb brushing against your skin," you've been so good for me... I guess you deserve a little something, hm?" A low chuckle left the blonde. Regina pushed you down against the bed and straddled your waist. The grip she held on your chain loosened and her had began to make its way down the side of your body. Trailing lower, then lower still... feeling how you shivered underneath her fingers," God, you look pretty like this."

"Don't... don't tease me," you were barely managing to speak at this point. Feeling her fingers against your skin was just making your desire for her pool within your clothed regions. Of course, Regina knew this all too well. She enjoyed teasing you. Though, she was starting to feel pretty satisfied with your current state and decided to be at least a little nice.

Regina leaned forwards and placed a kiss to your neck, her hands found their way to the bottom of your shirt. Pulling it swiftly over your head and exposing your chest to her. She was quick with the bra clasp, her lips trailing down from your neck and to your hardened nipples. There, she sucked and tugged on them. Her eyes closed, listening to your moans as they got louder.

While her mouth worked, Regina's hand slipped into your pants. Playing with the wetness between her finger tips, feeling the sticky sensation. Her finger pressed against your clit, making small, circular motions.

You could feel your stomach tightening in knots, responding to her every touch. Regina knew just what buttons to push. Just where you needed her most.

Soon enough, she had that knot in your stomach exploding. Your release hitting her fingers in a way that caused her to moan against your nipple. Letting it make a small pop as she pulled back and let go. Looking into your eyes with a satisfied smirk.

You were breathless, trembling beneath her. Trying your best to collect yourself. You forced yourself into a sitting position so you could pull your girlfriend closer and kiss her deeply. Feeling how her lips moved in sync with yours. Given how tired you were, however, the kiss didn't last that long. You pulled away, heaving to catch your breath; leaning your head against Regina's chest. You could feel her laughing before you heard it.

"That spent, baby?" Regina teased, you rolled your eyes and could only groan in response. Though that answered her question for her.

[the-six-that-thrive-if]

THE SIX THAT THRIVE: FAQ

[FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS]  LAST UPDATED: MAY 05TH 2025 

☼ STORY CONTENT: 

RATING AND TUMBLR INTERACTION: 

All my IF blogs will be 18+ unless stated otherwise.   I get nsfw asks often and constant NSFW interaction.  

Which you may block NSFW tags. If you are under the age of 18, do not tell me nor brag. Keep that to yourself and please be safe. This is not a space for you, but I'm also not your mom. You will get blocked immediately if you tell me. 

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

IS TSTT A SOLO IF? 

NO. THERE WILL BE A TOTAL OF FOUR BOOKS. EACH THAT WILL BE CONNECTED TO THE LAST WITH A SYSTEM I AM STILL WORKING ON AND FIGURING OUT. 

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

HOW MANY CHAPTERS WILL THERE BE: 

GOAL IS 24 FOR BOOK ONE. THIS MAY CHANGE 

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

ARE THE SIX ACTS PERMANT? 

NOPE. EACH CHAPTER WILL HAVE ONLY THREE ACTS WITH ADDED SCENES UPON RELEASE. THE SIX ACTS ARE PLACEHOLDERS UNTIL I COMPLETE TSTT. 

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

ARE ALL THE SCENES SHOWN IN TSTT DEMO BE IT? 

NOPE. TSTT DEMO IS GIVING ROUGH DRAFTS OF EVERYTHING AND WILL HAVE ALOT MORE WRITING IN THE COMPLETED VERSION AND SCENES. THAT WAY ITLL BE A NEW EXPEREINCE ALL AROUND WITH GROWTH AND DEPTH.  

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

WILL THERE BE A KICKSTARTER? 

YES!! BUT I STILL HAVE TO PLAN EVERYTHING OUT BECAUSE THAT IS WAYS AWAY!!

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

HOW MANY NSFW SCENES WILL THERE BE?��

I DON'T KNOW. AT LEAST ONE PURE ARC. SO AT LEAST FOUR BEFORE THE FINAL DRAFT OF TSTT.

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

RO’S SEXUALITY: 

IN OTHER IFS, I WILL MAKE IT CLEAR ON THEIR SEXUALITIES FOR THE MAIN PART, BUT FOR TSTT, IT DOESNT MATTER, SO ASSUME PANSEXUAL/PANROMANTIC 

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

NSFW SCENES AND INTERACTION/ROMANCE: 

ROMANCE IS OPTIONAL SAME WITH NSFW SCENES. YOU CAN COMPLETELY REFUSE TO ENGAGE, READ THE SCENE, OR HAVE THE SCENE IMPLIED. 

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

THE ENDINGS: 

IN THIS IF THERE IS ONE ENDING, WITH DIFFERENT REACTIONS DEPENDING ON THE INTERACTIONS WITH THE CHARACTERS. TSTT HAS ONE MAIN STORY PLOT AND ENDING AND RELY MORESO ON THE DIFFERENT INTERACTIONS.  

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

HAREM ROUTE: 

EVERYONE WILL END UP WITH EVERYONE. THEY ALL HAVE CHEMISTRY.  

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

DIFFERENT UNIVERSES: 

TSTT, DSC, AND NBD TAKE PLACE WITHIN THE SAVE UNIVERSE. WITH NBD AND DSC HAVING ONE BOOK COMPARED TO TSTT. 

☼ GAME CONTENT/MECHANICS: 

ATTRACTION:  

ATTRACTION IS SIMPLY ACKNOWLEDGING CHARACTERS ARE ATTRACTIVE. RO’S ARE IMMEDIATELY ATTRACTED TO MC, THERE ARE DIFFERENT REACTIONS DEPENDING ON TRAITS AND APPEARANCES. [EX: THE DEMON AND SCARS]

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

PAYING FOR THE GAME? 

EVENTUALLY! PRICING I'M NOT SURE YET, BUT THERE WILL BE A FREE DEMO OF CHAPTERS 1 – 6.

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

CODE DIVING? 

SURE. IT’S SOMEWHAT STRAIGHTFORWARD WITH HOW I DO THINGS, SO I DONT MIND.

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

ASKING TWINE/SUGARCUBE QUESTIONS: 

FEEL FREE! I ALWAYS WANT SOMEONE TO ASK QUESTIONS AND I CAN HELP TO THE BEST OF MY ABILITIES. MY GOAL IN THE FUTURE IS TO CREATE A GUIDE TO HELP.

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

ERRORS AND BUGS: 

I TRY MY BEST TO FIND THEM, BUT I'M NOT PERFECT SO SOME WILL BE MISSED. YOU CAN SUBMIT ANY ERRORS YOU FIND HERE: TSTT BUGS/ERRORS 

DEAF FUNCTIONS: 

HAS NOT BEEN FULLY INTEGRATED DUE TO IT BEING ADDED LAST MINUTE AND ME CHANGING MECHANICS AROUND. IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS ON HOW YOU WOULD LIKE CERTAIN TRAITS TO APPEAR, SUBMIT YOUR IDEAS HERE: TSTT SUGGESTIONS

IT HAS NOT BEEN COMPLETELY INTEGRATED DUE TO IT BEING A SOMEWHAT LAST MINUTE DECISION, IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS ON HOW YOU WOULD LIKE CERTAIN TRAITS TO APPEAR, SUBMIT YOUR IDEAS HERE: TSTT SUGGESTIONS

 · · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

MENTAL DISABILITIES/ILLINESS FUNCTION/TRAITS: 

STAY UP TO DATE AND CONNECTION: 

· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·

EMAIL:  CVLUTOS@GMAIL.COM  ARTIST: VIOLETWISTER

PATREON: 18+  KO-FI: 18+  DISCORD: 18+ 

If you have any questions for the FAQ submit it here: FAQ Questions 

[yoichiin]

hiii!! this is for the matchup event! I really like sweet and warm scents like Bare Vanilla from victoria secret, like a warm pastry on a cozy cafeteria. Thank you so much :D

you’ve been matched with…yukimiya kenyu! your perfume has notes of whipped vanilla, cashmere, with base notes of apple blossom and bergamot. a warm, sweet scent that makes your teeth hurt just smelling it.

includes, a cafe date with yukimiya. fluff. 0.3k wc.

your eyes widen in amazement as you take in the scene before you, a display of luxurious sweets and desserts covering the table. the scent of vanilla and sugar tickles your nose, only serving your fervent hunger. across the table, yukimiya is snapping photos, elbows raised and capturing every angle. he’s so preoccupied, he doesn’t notice you’re staring.

“sorry, love,” he says, putting his phone down. “i don’t like when people do that either, but my agent has been really strict with my social media presence lately.”

he tilts his head, giving you a smile you can’t possibly stay mad at. you sigh defeatedly. if his modelling means you get to go to more places like this, you suppose you can’t complain.

“let’s eat, shall we?” he motions to the food, and you nod happily.

you dig into your pastry, letting out a delighted noise as the taste of vanilla, caramel, and nutmeg dance on your tongue like a warm winter’s fire. yukimiya watches you with a content smile. he points his fork towards your dish.

“may i?”

you nod, mouth still full. he takes a small piece, lifting the fork to his mouth and leaving a second to savor the taste. his face scrunches up, nose crinkling beneath his glasses.

“it’s too sweet.”

you laugh. “you sound like an old man when you say that.”

“maybe my tastes have just matured,” he hums, gesturing to his own dessert, and takes another bite, as if to wash down your sugary abomination. 

yukki moves it toward you, silently encouraging you to have a taste in return. you can see a slightly playful taunt in his expression, daring you to judge his tastes, but you know he’s too polite to say it aloud. 

you're about to pick up your utensil when an idea sparks.

suddenly, you take his wrist, lifting his fork to your mouth and eating the leftovers from his earlier bite, keeping firm eye contact with him as you lick it clean.

the pastry starts off sugary but fades into a slight bitterness. you can just barely pinpoint some caramelized apples, but by now, the dessert is the last thing on your mind. if not for the glorious red flush on yukki’s face, you might’ve been able to focus on the taste.

quick disclaimer, i am not doing these in order. i have rough drafts of each one and im doing in order of when the inspiration hits lmao. also to the anon who came a little too late, this can be for you too because i was getting a lot of vanilla scents <3

[luvrsux]

“just friends, right?”

chapter II ~ patience

☕️ ~ other chapters

Days pass since the last time Law was at your house. When he left, he left his scent behind. Your living room was filled with his pine cologne for days until you realized Law hadn’t reached out to you like he promised he would. It pained you, but you didn’t want to seem needy. Your head stung in pain. Probably sign to stop thinking about it.

“You okay, (F/N)?” You heard a medium toned voice say beside you. You were met with white hair and cyan eyes. You smiled bashfully while you made eye contact with Yamato, who you considered a good friend. He had a worrisome expression, despite having a smile. You also totally forgot you were in your art studio with him.

“Yeah, just a lot on my mind” You try to cover up your true feelings behind a curtain. Yamato saw right through you, unfortunately. Dealing with Ace and his baggage, it became natural to Yamato to see right through someone.

“C’mon, tell me what’s up” Yamato pats your shoulder to better encourage you to open up. You appreciated it. Yamato pulled a chair to sit beside you and try to be at eye level. Unfortunately for him, he was way too tall.

“What do you do when… You want to talk to someone but you don’t really know if they wanna talk to you?” You ask, obviously insinuating to none other than the raven boy that’s been hogging your mind.

“Is this about Traffy?” Yamato immediately caught you like a mouse in a mousetrap. He’s been hanging out with the Strawhats too much, you thought. You cringed and hid your face due to pure embarrassment. You heard Yamato’s hearty laugh.

“Hey, hey it’s alright!” Yamato saw your eyes peek through your fingers. He sighed, looking out the daybreak window. “If I were you, I’d reach out once and if he responds, he responds. If he doesn’t then I don’t think he’s worth your time (F/N).”

Yamato was more than right. It was no use fighting for Law when you aren’t even an item. You valued him as a person, as a friend better yet. You wondered if he felt the same. You also wondered why you cared so much. You shouldn’t, and it hurts.

“The thing is I don’t feel like I should feel this way. Law is a busy guy and I don’t want to drag him” You sat up straight and stared down at your palms. They had hints of color in them due to the paints you used.

“It’s not a crime to feel seen, (F/N). I feel like you have deep feelings for Traffy that you need to unravel” Yamato placed his hand on yours as a comforting gesture. It caused you to trail your eyes up to his and realize you wouldn’t know what to do without him. No wonder him and Ace have lasted so long, you thought.

“You don’t necessarily have to unravel them in front of him, I know the story. But eventually, you’ll have to come to terms with the fact you may not have let go of him yet. Quit trying to suppress it like it isn’t there” Yamato’s words made tears start to flow to your eyelids, but you refused. Barbed wire began to tighten around your neck and it caused you to swallow.

“I’ll definitely try, Yamato” You smile to reassure him that his words eased you.

But if anything, it only made you more scared. You were scared to be in that same position where he rejected you the first time. You were terrified that this time would be the time he doesn’t want anything to do with you. Why did you have to think this way, you thought. Your internal conflicts only kept going on longer and longer.

You turn in your seat to focus on your canvas. You had a rough draft going on but you were definitely not in a good headspace to keep going. As truthful as Yamato was, it still hurt more than anything. You just kept going, even despite everything. That’s what you have been doing already, right?

6:32 PM

You exit your studio and the sun has already pretty much set. Still nothing from Law. Usually he’d message you a few times everyday, but now nothing. Not even anything about Robin or school, his main sources of a conversation. Your hands were too cold to have your phone out like this, so you use it as a lame excuse to ignore your phone while your hands get stuffed into your coat.

You began to walk. Walking home has always been therapeutic but you never needed it more than now. The air frosts your lungs. Your body sends shivers. You longed for the warmth of your home.

And once you finally got there, it was silent. Your brain wasn’t, though. The conversation you had with Yamato ricocheted around your head. The piercing silence of your flat only made it worse. You needed something, anything. Your hands frantically strangled the TV remote to click on the first channel there was. Which was none other than the news channel.

“On other news, tomorrow night’s moon cycle is a full moon, so be on the lookout for that beautiful sight”

Those words finally eased your ear lobes from the piercing silence. While you hung up your coat, strung your scarf and kicked your shoes off, you pondered for a moment.

“Don’t full moons make you act differently?” You blurted to yourself. Your body reacted on its own. You looked back at the screen of the news reporter to briefly verify if she was really talking about a full moon.

It was some hoax you heard from your mother when you were younger, but you never stopped talking about it. I mean, that’s where the prefix of lunatic came from. Why was your brain acting so sporadic?

Maybe you just need dinner.

8:46 PM

After a hearty meal, your stress levels began to decline. The meal did hit the spot. You sat at your kitchen island, empty plate in front. You licked your lips while you mindlessly scrolled through whatever nonsense you came across on your phone. Nothing new or revolutionary, surely no Law to text you.

Knock knock knock!

“Seriously?” You grumble, snapping your head to the vibrating door. Why would anyone be here at this hour on a weekday?

You sluggishly lift yourself up from your lounging position in the kitchen to drag yourself to open the door. A food coma was for sure about to kick in sooner or later. Another knock began to echo before you could even put your hand on the handle. You grew annoyed. This person really needed your attention at almost 9 PM.

“Alright, alright!” You shout.

Your annoyed demeanor pretty much eviscerated at the sight of the boy you’ve been longing for. Your eyes widened and you couldn’t even think to analyze how or why he was here without saying a word to you for days. You blink.

Law looked as embarrassed as a kid that broke his mothers vase. He wore a gray sweatshirt and jeans, like he’d been at home all day. His iconic hat was nowhere to be found. If anything, his hair was messier than usual. He kept his eyes away from yours and quickly opened his mouth.

“Can I come in?”

His sheepish, low tone made your bones weak. You hum in agreement followed by a swift shift in your body to move aside. Law walked in. That same cologne smell pretty much kissed your face as he walked by. He quickly sat down on your couch that he found so welcoming and comfortable.

Although, he wasn’t in a relaxed position. His elbows rested on his legs and his hands tugged at his raven locks. You quickly assumed something was troubling him and didn’t hesitate to accompany him on the couch. His eyes finally met yours. That familiar feeling you two shared before.

“Are you okay, Law? Did something happen?” You quickly ask. Law expects those words to slip out of your mouth. You were always so sweet and caring to him. Maybe that’s why he was so abrupt about his arrival. He inhales for a moment. His arms depart from his hair and he throws his body back on the couch.

“Me and Robin broke up” He was straight forward, that’s for sure. You blinked, trying to process those 5 words he just uttered out his mouth. You didn’t know how to react, but judging by his nonchalant demeanor it didn’t seem like he needed much support.

“When? Why?” You finally asked. Law folded his lips and shrugged. Seemed like to you he didn’t seem all affected by the break up. That or he’s already over it.

“We broke up around last week,” He began. That explains the total radio silence, you thought to yourself. He inhaled. “I didn’t really talk to you because I guess I needed the alone time”

“We broke up because Robin felt like there wasn’t a spark. Like she could just feel there wasn’t much chemistry between us and that it was more like an experiment. I agreed and we went our separate ways”

Law continued and honestly you were far from surprised. He looked back at you with embarrassment for some reason. You weren’t going to judge, you made sure this was a safe space.

“I appreciate you coming to me. I did miss you” You smile, trying to ease him up a bit. He gave you a slight smirk at your comment, ready to tease you.

“Missed me?” He cooed. You nudged his shoulder to make him shut his mouth.

“Don’t make it weird!”

You both shared a fit of laughter and sighed. You analyzed him. He still seemed tense, like he felt bad for you. His mind traces back to the day he rejected you and his relationship with Robin. He knew it was messed up.

Meanwhile, you sat there and pondered. What happened that made Robin question that there was no chemistry. Have they ever been intimate? Knowing Law’s blatant awkwardness, that would’ve probably been a no. Your cheeks began to flare knowing what you were about to ask him.

“Why did Robin assume there was no chemistry? Did you do anything romantic with her?” You ask, trying to get better insight on the situation.

“I mean—“ He ran his hand behind his neck as a nervous stimulus. You pretty much got your answer. “We went to a cafe maybe once or twice but we never did anything beyond that”

Oh, Jesus Christ, he’s a total virgin.

“Have you even kissed her, Law?” You bluntly ask, giving him a sarcastic look. Did he seriously think it was going to work out with someone as gorgeous as Robin with 2 dates?

“Obviously!?” Law got all defensive and you could see a slight tint of pink on his tan skin. It made you giggle but that’s not what you meant.

“No, I mean kiss kiss her. Y’know like—?” You made insinuations with your hands but Law looked at you like you were speaking in poneglyphs. He eyed you up and down, making you groan at his actual ignorance.

“Have you ever made out with her?”

Law paused for a moment. His eyes slowly averted from you and his lips folded. He began to sulk. Are you kidding me…?

You’d think the man that studied the human body, both physically and psychologically would know how to please a woman and what would make her feel infatuated. Surprisingly enough, that didn’t apply to this guy.

“Law, please be serious with me right now” You saw right through him. His eyes rolled and he jolted up to sit straight. Your eyes were filled with pure disappointment.

“Listen, I never had the time to and I just—“ He’s making excuses. What a nervous mess. You sat there and snickered because who wouldn’t find this comical. Surely there’s no absolute way, not in a million years that Trafalgar Law doesn’t know how to make out with someone.

“I don’t know how”

Silence.

Silence before you couldn’t contain yourself and started laughing. Law’s face grew red and his eyebrows furrowed. He grabbed a hold of your shoulders to meet you face to face but you were too busy being hysterical at him. He was frantically telling you to shut up and to let him explain but you couldn’t care less.

“You’ve got to be serious! There’s no way!”

Your fit of giggles only made Law more embarrassed. His nervous state caused his lips to move on its own and his words were on impulse. Your laughing stopped once he said these very words;

“Unless you’re willing to teach me, you can shut up!”

You both paused. Law still had a firm grip on your shoulders and you two shared that same, non-awkward eye contact again. Your cheeks were just as bright as the building's lights outside. Law realized the statement that came out his mouth and he began to stammer.

If you don’t take a chance now, when will you?

“If you’re willing to let me, I don’t mind”

The fear of rejection crawled on your back like a centipede waiting to bite, but his face mere inches away from yours, his inked hands grasping your shoulders and those steel eyes piercing straight through you made you completely forget about the world around you. You decided to give it one more shot.

And Law couldn’t put his finger on as to why he was so drawn towards you, especially now that you made your offer. He didn’t want to say no. His body was screaming yes, and he wanted to know why. He cleared his throat and departed his hands away from your shoulders and adjusted in his seat. He pulled down the collar of his sweater due to his body temperature rising like a spacecraft.

He gave you one last glance before turning his head and humming. He hummed in agreement.

“It wouldn’t hurt to learn, I guess…”

He murmured those words and honestly you weren’t expecting that. Your heart was running races in your chest and so was your brain. You didn’t even know how to start, but then your brain flickered images of you actually kissing Law and you were certain you had a few seconds until you were on the floor. Your body temperature rose just like his. Your body moves instinctively to inch closer to him. The glance he gave to your lips to imagine what it was like gave you butterflies.

“First, lick your lips. Moisture is very important”

He does as he’s told. You reciprocate. You shift your sitting position to your knees to me more aligned with his face. He watched and he swore his heart was going to throb out his chest and onto you.

“Kiss me like you normally would, but leave your lips there and try to synchronize with me. Slowly, okay?” Your words ran deep and smooth and it almost made Law crazy. He nodded, too afraid to stammer if he spoke actual words.

Law places a hand on the side of your cheek to pull you in. Honestly, you were quite taken aback by the hand placement. It made you place a hand on the crook of his neck. He gave you one last glance before he placed his lips against yours. So soft.

You could explode in happiness if you didn't have the brain capacity to keep your composure. He was better at this than you thought. You gave him a slight “Mhm” that he was doing great and the vibrations shot through Law’s body.

You parted your lips together to begin synchronizing with his lips. The sound of lips snapping and clicking shouted throughout the living room and in your ears. You were so surprised at how he learned so fast. His mouth opened just enough for you to slip your tongue in. He grunted, surprising him by your bold move but he didn’t object. His tongue slithered against yours to dance together like long lost lovers.

You gave a small whimper of delight due to the contact of each other's tongues. Law’s lips were perfect with yours, making the previous intention of merely teaching you disappear from both of your minds as you kept going. His free hand pulled you closer by the hook of your back. You were pretty much pressed against him, only making him hungrier. His body collapsed and slouched on the arm of your couch. By now, you were on top of him, devouring his lips like you intended.

It was getting harder to breathe, so it began to turn into a passionate, breathy kiss. You felt the heat of his breath and yours made his hairs stick up. The hand on your back began to massage and trail along your body. When his hand got too low on your lower back, you realized how far this got. You parted your lips and caught your breath. The sweet feeling of fresh oxygen cycling through your lungs made you realize you were towering on top of Law. His eyes were wide and his cheeks were bright.

Your body slowly departed off of him and Law sat up. He, too, was panting like he had been underwater. He cleared his throat and adjusted his sweatshirt. The movement of your body made his sweatshirt rise up and you caught a glimpse of his V-line.

“So um—“ You stammered, fixing your shirt and hair. You blinked, realizing Law was way too nervous to make eye contact.

“Did you learn?” You finally ask. He paused.

“Yeah”

God, the silence was so deafening you might as well go crazy. You both completely avoided eye contact, as if one simple look could turn you both to stone. Beyond your field of vision, Law touched his lips. He still felt the tingling of your lips on his. It made his brain quiet and his body tranquil. You made him feel a way he’s never felt before. That sudden euphoria that he couldn’t wait to get again.

He blinked, realizing that he can’t just grab you and kiss you again. He licked his lips, hopefully cleansing the feeling away. You heard him shuffle.

“Sorry, did I make it awkward?” You finally say, desperate to hear a no. Law finally got up. A hand laid on his hip and the remaining one rested on his forehead.

“No, no. I—“ He couldn’t admit that he absolutely yearned for your lips again. They felt so unnaturally good. Too good. Did you play a spell on him? He thought.

“I really enjoyed it” He mumbled, too afraid to be open and honest. You blinked, completely taken aback. If you couldn’t tell by his hungry hands roaming around your body just a minute ago, then surely now it was obvious he grew obsessed with your kiss.

“Well, you learn from the best” You say proudly, standing up beside him. He gave you a look, his eyes said it all. You are the best. You blush, and he caught on.

“I dunno who enjoyed it more, you or me” He cooed, giving you a confident smirk. It sent shockwaves throughout your body. He glanced at your lips, hungry for another bite but he stood his ground. It was getting late.

“It’s late, I should be heading home” He finally said. The sudden swiftness of his movement made you get a whiff of his shampoo. You walk behind him steadily.

“Maybe now you won’t forget I exist. Did I enchant you, Traffy?” You tease, he scoffed at the name you used. A sudden chill went down his spine, remembering the days he spent at Luffy’s place with his friends.

“Stop hanging out with Strawhat-ya, I’m begging” He rolled his eyes, throwing his leather jacket on his body. You giggle, loving the way he reacts when you tease.

“You don’t think he’s funny?” You ask, expecting a no. He gave you one last sassy look before adjusting his jacket. You open your apartment door for Law and his hand grabs the door itself.

Then, your eyes meet yet again. This eye contact was beginning to be a drug to you, never letting go of this dopamine rush. You smile, glancing away due to embarrassment. Law glanced at your lips again and had to control his hormones. He smirked, knowing that’ll make you melt.

“See you, (F/N)-ya” He cooed. His voice melted like butter in your ears. You hum and wave him goodbye, biting your lower lip when you knew he wasn’t looking.

When the door clicked, you pulled your shirt over your mouth and squealed until your lungs give out. Your legs sprung on their own as you hopped and twirled around your flat. You kissed your crush and he loved it. It was almost like a dream come true, and you couldn’t wrap your head around it. You could die right now and be happy for all eternity.

But what were you and Law now?

Just friends don’t have a heavy make out session and act all flirtatious after. You two wouldn’t be absolutely craving each other tonight if you two were just friends.

Are you two just friends?

credits to the art and dividers, they r not mine!

© all rights reserved to luvrsux

tags: @flav1a0

[wipbigbang]

2024 WIP Big Bang Schedule & FAQ!

Schedule

All times are by 11:59pm PST. Convert time zones.

Sign-ups Begin- April 15th Sign-ups Close- May 21st Check In #1- May 22nd Check In #2- June 15th Snippets Due- July 1st Art Claims Begin- July 17th Check In #3- July 22nd Check In #4- August 6th Rough Drafts Due- August 15th Posting Claims Begin- August 23rd Posting Claims Ends- September 1st Final Drafts/Art Due- September 7th Posting Starts- September 8th

FAQ

What is the WIP Big Bang? Good question! This is a Big Bang with one goal in mind: to clean out your fanfic drafts folder. These are stories that were unfinished for whatever reason, that authors returned to and completed, and the art that goes with them!

Do I need a Livejournal/Dreamwidth/AO3/etc. account to participate? No! You don’t have to have an account on anything to participate, though you will need to have somewhere to post your finished work. Having one or more accounts will help for you to follow what is going on with the bang (we crosspost to Dreamwidth and Tumblr and heavily use our Discord server at the moment), but they are not required to participate. You can always leave comments anonymously or with an opensource ID.

How many fics can we sign up for? We absolutely don’t mind multiple sign-ups. I know one year someone submitted 50 fics to finish, and got at least half of them done. We just ask that when you sign up with more than one fic you give each fic a unique user ID (please do not use the same ID for all your fics...it’s important to have different IDs for the check-ins).

Will I get emails about the bang? We do send out some emails, mostly for snippets and art claims and to ensure communication between authors and artists, but please do NOT rely on getting an email to remind you of due dates. We currently do not keep an updated email list of participants, so we only send individual emails as needed rather than mass emails.

However, email is the fastest way to communicate with the mods. If you have any questions or are having trouble communicating with your artist/author, please do email us! We will do our best to respond quickly.

What do you mean by minimum word count to enter? This is a WIP Big Bang, therefore we ask you to have at least 500 words of your story drafted when you enter.

Can an outline count towards those first 500 words that are needed at sign up? We have admitted work on an outline before so yes, if your outline is fleshed out enough to cover a 7,500 word+ fic, we’ll allow it.

Are multi-chapter fics allowed? Yes, multi-chapter fics are allowed and even more so encouraged if your fic is lengthy.

What about fics that are already posted on ao3 in part? Do those qualify for the bang? It's okay if you have posted a few chapters of your fic already (you never know when the muse deserts you, after all), we just require you to refrain from posting more until posting begins here. All we ask is that you not post any public updates to the fic until September 1st (or August 1st with the mod’s okay). We don’t want you to lose kudos and comments so don’t worry about pulling the fic down, just hold off on updates for now.

Is there a minimum word count? 7,500 words for each finished fic, but the sky's the limit, right?

I see that the fic minimum is 7500 words and that published WIPs are acceptable - but what if the WIP I’m considering is already more than 7500 words? Is the expectation to add an additional 7500 to it? No. You can add as much or as little as you need to finish the story, though we do expect at least 1,000 or so new words if your WIP already meets the word count.

What happens if an author finishes the fic they signed up with but it’s less than 7,500 words? The intent was to go over the minimum but once they got into it the story was shorter than they thought and stretching it out would make it less good. Do they have to drop out at that point? By all means, we want your stories to feel as natural as possible, and if it’s under 7,500 words you may have two options:

1 - Drop the fic for the main BB event, post it now, and wait to post it to our AO3 collection in February when we run our International Fanworks Day celebration of finishing fics that are less than 7,500 words when finished. There’s no art for the fic, but bragging rights are posted to the communities for a week.

2 - If there are enough fics that fit that category, we can do a special day of posting the fics, but you’ll have to forgo art for the fic. I, as a mod, would probably pick November 30th for the posting day, as it’s the last day of posting for the bang and I don’t think anyone will mind more than one fic that day. You can post bragging rights to the community and share the fic with everyone.

Is there anything not allowed? As long as you wrote it and you want to finish it, you're welcome to participate. RPS/RPF is fine. Incest pairings are fine. Things like that I know have been hinted at in questions asked and as long as you tag for them, we’ll allow it. Also, canon settings with mostly OCs is allowed. We just ask that it be tagged properly with any content warnings you would deem fit and be given the appropriate rating for the level of sex/violence there is in the fic. Just bear in mind that while original work is allowed you may not get art for it.

I have a fic I wrote a few years ago, but only the first couple chapters are posted on AO3 because I was never happy with the rest of it and knew it needed major revision. Is that something I could use for WIP Big Bang? The entire fic has been posted, but only on one platform, and it would be rewritten for AO3 and WIPBB. I think revising a fic for posting would work, as long as you have at least 500 words done, will have 7,500 words at a minimum when it’s done, and are planning to add more to the fic. Simply rewriting what you have would be a gray area, but if you’re going to take stuff out and add new scenes, either in the old scenes place or on its own, you should be fine.

What's the etiquette around OC-centric stories? Ones that are set in a well known fandom and use several characters, but still lean a lot on original characters? Are they discouraged, or fine? Based on my own personal experience making art for a story that had a heavy OC presence, it’s not something we discourage at all, but be forewarned when it comes to the art accompanying your fic your artist may not be able to incorporate the OCs into your art. Not everyone makes art of a hand-drawn or digitally drawn nature, so it helps if you have people for face claims ahead of art submissions, and you and your artist communicate regularly. You can also end up with art not featuring the OCs at all, just the canon characters, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Your other options are to bring in an artist you trust with your vision of your OC or to make your own art (we do allow that, we just need to be told during the check-in before art that you’re bringing in your own artist if you go that route, or that you’re doing your own art…there will not be a need to sign up in the artist’s sign up, however), or to opt-out of art entirely. So there’s plenty of options to call on when it comes time for art.

What are 'check-ins’? These are a way for us to see what you've been up to and for you to make sure you're still on track. It will give you a little nudge/reminder if you need it, but they are not compulsory. Basically a form is posted that you fill out with your user ID (unique for each fic) and a checkbox to let us know you’re still participating, plus a section for any notes for the mods.

How are the check in IDs used? They are solely for the mods organizational purposes. Each ID being for a separate story allows us to keep all the information you submit during check-ins and for snippets in one line on our spreadsheet. You don’t have to share your check in IDs with anyone else if you don’t want to.

How much progress should authors be making between each checkpoint? (Percentage-wise from our estimated total wc, I guess?) Ideally, with each check-in, you should be at least 25% closer to finishing. The end word count only really matters in that the fic needs to be at least 7,500 words when done, so it’s more your progress towards finishing that should be measured, not so much the word count.

What are the snippets requirements? In order to allow the artists to make art for the story they claimed, we require you to supply three snippets from your fic, between 500 – 1500 words each. The snippets will be sent to the artist after they have claimed your story. They're to help the artist match your story for artwork the best way he or she possibly can. It’s helpful to choose scenes or parts of scenes that you feel best represent your fic, but don’t feel like they have to be perfect to be submitted. Along with the snippets, we will send your artist the basic fic info and your email, so the two of you can collaborate more if you would both like.

What are the rough drafts requirements? For the rough drafts, stories should be at least 80% complete. You will not have to turn them in to us, just assure us that you are at that point. Anything less is at the discretion of the mods and those authors should speak to one of the mods asap.

What is, and do I need, a beta? A beta is basically a person who goes over your work to make sure that there are no spelling/grammatical errors and they can even be of assistance in helping you with story lines, etc. It is highly recommended that a beta looks over your work before posting. If you are having trouble finding a beta, try this post.

Where can I post my fic/art? Stories and art can be posted to your own personal journal, Tumblr, ff-net, AO3, or wherever you like. For those of you with AO3 accounts, we will set up a collection that will go live on the day of the posting. If you don’t currently have an AO3 account but would like one, you can contact the mods for an invitation code to see if they have any available. You can also add yourself to the AO3 Invites Request queue.

What does posting look like? Do we have to post the whole thing on the day, or can we stretch it out between when posting starts and our date? I’ve had a few longfics get killed by big bangs forcing posting to happen on a given day, and would prefer to avoid that if possible. For most fics, posting to AO3/FF.net/other places will be allowed to start in September and you can stretch it out as many posts as you want as long as the complete fic is up by your posting date (and posting dates go from September 8th to November 15th with two weeks for emergency posting). However, you can send us an ask/e-mail about posting as early as August if you have an extremely long fic/something with a long posting schedule. Mostly what we want is the fic to be completely up on the website of your choice by your posting date, and I know some people don’t want to overwhelm their readers. So we want to work with writers to give them ample time to post the story up to their posting date.

Now, as for posting to the communities, you get to choose which day your link to the story and bragging rights are posted, and as I said, we have a range of dates from September 8th to November 15th with two to three stories posting a day. If for some reason you miss your posting date, you have until November 30th to post to the community, during the two weeks of emergency posting, with a possible extension after that due to the amount of participants needing to post later. So hopefully there should be plenty of time to get a longfic up and posted to the website of your choice and our BB.

Will the three snippets per story we have to send in be the ones we want the artist to make art for? Or can it just be random snippets and then later the artist and I can check together to see which scenes would work best for art? So ideally, you and the artist will be communicating once you’re each sent each other’s contact information, and you’ll give your artist a chance to read all that you’ve written at that point. That’s what happens in most cases. If your fic gets picked by an artist and they don’t work with you, then the snippets you sent will be what the artwork will be based on. It’s a good idea to know that, while most of the time the artists work closely with the authors, there are a few exceptions to that.

How do I know when to post? Posting will be tiered; you'll each get your own posting date that you and your artist will decide on together. There will probably be four fics, plus art, posting per day between September 8th and November 30th. The post with date claims will go up on August 23rd and you'll have to choose your date by September 1st.

Posting of chapters on AO3 or your own blog (or wherever you usually post) generally starts September 1st, but you can post earlier (as early as August 1st) if you let us know you have a long story. However, posting has to be finished by your chosen posting date to the comm. One of the things we're hoping to do with the posted dates is to give everybody on the comm a little bragging time in the spotlight. You know, "this story was incomplete for this long, but I finished this sucker." If you don't have time to post your bragging rights to the communities on your chosen posting date, you can queue up a post ahead of time and we can post it on the date you picked or you can email us your bragging rights and we can post by proxy for you. Either way works for us. Art will be due on the chosen posting date to the comm.

What am I posting to the Livejournal/Dreamwidth/Tumblr community if I’m posting the fic elsewhere? You’ll be posting what we call bragging rights. It’s a small form you fill out and post to the community with a link to your fic (we’ll enable moderated posting to the Tumblr, Livejournal and Dreamwidth communities for members on August 8th). We will post a template for posting artwork and stories to the comm closer to the posting date.

Is there a minimum/maximum requirement for my art? There is no strict minimum, but we do ask artists to remember that the authors are writing a minimum of 7,500 words and your artwork should reflect that. You can do anything you like, including banners, wallpapers, icons, mixes, vids, gif sets, picspams, etc. Suggested guidelines for art are 500x500px (or equivalent of smaller pieces like banner + spacers, cover + icons, etc.) for traditional art, digital art, and manips; 2 minutes for vids; 10 songs + cover art for mixes; and 6 images for gif sets and picspams. We also ask that when you are in contact with the author, you work with them to see if there is anything specific they would like (i.e. a wallpaper, book cover, etc.). The art is your work, but having ideas doesn't hurt!

What are 'art claims'? The claims are when anonymous summaries of the story go up for artists to choose from. Artists sign-ups and art claims are the same thing; we use one form for both things, and that way the authors don’t have to sign up for an event they may not end up participating in. It is based on a 'first come, first served' basis and artists may choose up to three potential stories (in case their first choice is unavailable). If there are more stories than artists, there will be a second round of claims wherein artists may choose a second story to work with. And on until all stories are claimed for art.

If a fic up for claiming is rated explicit (R, NC-17, etc.), please only claim the story if you are over 18 years of age. Some authors may be uncomfortable working with underage artists on explicit works. We do not verify ages in any way for the bang, so this is solely on the honor system.

What do I do if I have problems or concerns about my author/artist? Sometimes authors and artists do not get along and this may cause problems with working together. If this happens to be the case with you, please email the mods and we will try to do what we can so that everyone has a chance to have fun at WIP Big Bang!

If you have not heard from your author/artist in some time after trying to contact them, you can reach out to us via email and we will try to get in touch with them for you.

Can I get an extension? Community extensions may be given in the event that the majority of the authors/artists need one. They may also be given individually under certain circumstances, but this must be discussed with the mods and will only be a short extension for posting. If you are certain that you won’t be able to finish your story in time, please let us know by July 13th.

Can I swap out a fic if my muse abandons it again? When you sign up, you give us the information on the potential fic(s) you want to write. If, say, one fic isn’t working but one you didn’t sign up for is, you can switch them out while letting the mods know if you need to change a user ID you used. It is absolutely okay to switch fics all the way up until snippets are due. By then, we hope you’ll have however many fics you plan on doing to at least 80% completion since rough drafts are due not much later. Just drop an email to the mods at wipbigbang@gmail.com with the new information (title, fandom, etc) and if you want a new sign in ID or plan to use the same one for the fic you’re replacing it with.

Can I drop out? We have high hopes that everybody who signs up can actually finish the round and share in the joy of the reveal with us, but real life can unfortunately get in the way and we completely understand! If you feel like you just cannot finish in time and no amount of assistance from us can help you, just let us know by August 13th (if at all possible).

Is it possible to be banned? We do have a banned users list. We hope to use this to encourage participants who are having issues to communicate with the mods. We want to help you! The way the ban works is that participants, either authors and artists, will be banned for dropping out without notifying a mod. This means that anyone who has not posted or talked to a mod by the time the posting period ends will be banned. Dropping out is not in and of itself a banning offense, so please do not panic if you have to drop out! We understand that there are many reasons you may need to drop, and we want to work with you.

Bans will last one round or until the issue is resolved, whichever comes first. To resolve a ban, authors will have to finish and post the story they signed up with and artists will have to finish and post the art for the story they claimed. Three bans will result in a permanent ban from the bang.

Are we allowed to participate without joining the Discord? Absolutely! The Discord server is optional, as just another way to interact with your fellow writers and get updates on important dates. It’s not mandatory you join, however.

I was just wondering if there’s any way to enter the bang anonymously? Like would it be okay to put our work in an anonymous collection on ao3 or something? Unfortunately, I can’t think of a way for that to work. The collection that we use is moderated but it’s not anonymous, and there are the bragging posts that you post on your posting day, which you would have your username on whichever platform you use.

I was just wondering whether I'm sworn to secrecy on which fics I'll be finishing up, or if I can shout it out to the world? No one is sworn to secrecy once they’ve signed up (aside from posting new parts to fic that’s already up somewhere…we ask that you refrain from doing that until at least July 1st)! We will be running Word Wars, where you can add more to a fic in a certain amount of time, and Whine Bars, where you can complain or ask for help or whatever else you feel like talking about when it comes to struggling with a fic, all after sign-ups end on a weekly basis, plus there’s the Discord server for chatting with your fellow authors and artists.

I have a question/concern that’s not mentioned here. If you need help, you can always contact a mod and we will do our best to make sure that you get your story/art finished. The best and fastest method of contact is through our email, wipbigbang@gmail.com.