#anyways when you first commented on my fic i was like 'i know you!!!'

[koralira-kira]

CAUGHT IN 4K ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆k. bakugo⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

pairings : k. bakugo x reader

genre : crack, slice of life, secret established relationship

synopsis : For months, Y/N and Bakugo have vehemently denied any romantic involvement, brushing off their friends' relentless suspicions. But when the duo continuously ditches group plans at the exact same time, the squad smells something fishy. Determined to uncover the truth, Mina and the gang launch Operation: Busted Lovebirds, a full-blown spy mission complete with disguises, walkie-talkies, and the worst secret-agent skills imaginable.

Their investigation leads them on a wild chase through cafes, parks, and trains—culminating in what they believe is undeniable evidence of a secret relationship. But just when they think they’ve cracked the case, Y/N and Bakugo drop a bombshell: they knew they were being followed the whole time. Oh, and they’ve been dating for five whole months.

Cue the collective meltdown.

warnings : nothing (but lemme know if there's any)

wc : 896

notes : Doing another fic! (as if i don't have my finals tomorrow🤡) Anyways hope you enjoy this one LOL. This not rlly one of my best works cuz of the upcoming finals situation going on, but hey! at least i got to write this thought out. I'm rlly finna be busy around this week and the next fam, cuz school rlly be hurtin me rn (pray for me).

---

“We’re Not Dating!”

It had been months. MONTHS of relentless teasing from their so-called “friends.” Every time someone so much as breathed in Y/N and Bakugo’s direction, there’d be smirks, winks, and not-so-subtle comments.

“Come on, just admit it already!” Kaminari whined, flopping onto the common room couch.

“We ain’t got time for your shitty fantasies,” Bakugo snapped, arms crossed.

“Yeah, you guys are delusional,” Y/N added, rolling her eyes.

And yet, something wasn’t adding up. Because every single time there were group plans—arcade nights, mall hangouts, even a simple movie night—both Y/N and Bakugo would mysteriously back out.

“I got something important to do.”

“Same, can’t make it.”

It had become a pattern. And patterns? Patterns were SUSPICIOUS.

The Investigation Begins

Mina was the first to piece it together. “Guys, do you realize that every time we hang out, they suddenly have an ‘important thing’?”

"These two have been avoiding group plans at the exact same time for months. MONTHS!"

"Coincidence? I think the fuck NOT," Kaminari added, pointing accusingly at nothing in particular.

Sero furrowed his brows. “You’re right. It’s like, synchronized.”

Kirishima rubbed his chin dramatically. “Ain’t that kinda… odd?”

“We need to get to the bottom of this,” Uraraka said, slamming a hand on the table like they were in some FBI meeting.

Jirou smirked. “Oh yeah? And how do you propose we do that? Interrogate them?”

Mina’s grin was borderline evil. “No, Jirou. We follow them.”

Silence.

Then a chorus of “OOOHHHH” filled the room as everyone leaned in closer.

“That’s actually genius,” Kaminari said in awe.

“Of course it is,” Mina replied smugly. “We’re going undercover.”

A few minutes later, the friend groups were split into teams, armed with walkie-talkies (because, obviously, espionage is nothing without proper communication).

“We tail them the next time they ‘coincidentally’ ditch our plans,” Mina explained. “Everyone, get your disguises ready.”

And so, Operation: Busted Lovebirds was born.

It started with Y/N leaving the dorms. Hoodie up. Casual outfit. Very suspicious.

“Target has left the building,” Uraraka whispered into her walkie-talkie.

“Copy that. We have visual,” Jirou responded from a different location.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the campus, Bakugo was heading in the exact same direction—also in casual clothes.

“Bro, he’s going the same way,” Sero said, squinting through his sunglasses.

“They’re so busted,” Kirishima muttered.

And so the chase began.

The squad, dressed in the most unsubtle disguises imaginable (think sunglasses, hoodies, and even fake mustaches for some reason), followed Y/N and Bakugo through multiple stores, on and off buses, and even into random side streets.

The entire time, the walkie-talkies were alive with whispered updates:

"Suspect is currently looking at flowers. I repeat, flowers. Is this a date thing? Are we looking at romance??"

"Negative. Subject has walked past the flowers. I repeat, NO FLOWERS PURCHASED. Romance is still questionable."

The groups followed through alleyways, parks, and even boarded the same damn train just to keep up with the two. They were like a squad of extremely unskilled secret agents.

“Status update?”

“Target is stopping near a coffee shop.”

“Target is ORDERING COFFEE.”

“SHE PICKED A TABLE FOR TWO.”

“…DO YOU THINK IT’S A DATE?”

Mina glared at Kaminari. “No, she’s obviously planning to have a deep philosophical discussion with herself. OF COURSE IT’S A DATE.”

Fifteen minutes later, the bell above the coffee shop dinged.

And in walked Katsuki Bakugo.

Silence.

Then—

“TARGET TWO HAS ARRIVED.”

“HE’S SITTING ACROSS FROM HER.”

“HOLY SHIT.”

Phones were out. Pictures were taken. Evidence secured.

Following the Lovebirds

The “couple” continued their day, completely unaware that their friends were on their tails.

Coffee shop? Check.

Walk in the park? Check.

Mini shopping spree? Check.

Train ride back to the dorms? Check.

The spies had seen ENOUGH.

---

The next day at school, Y/N and Bakugo sat at their usual lunch table, completely unbothered.

Too unbothered.

The entire squad, however, was dying to spill the tea.

“So…” Mina started, barely containing her excitement.

“So?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“We know, you sneaky little bastards,” Kaminari said, pointing dramatically.

Y/N blinked. “Know what?”

“We followed you,” Jirou smirked, pulling out her phone. “Busted.”

The two glanced at each other, then at the group.

And smirked.

“Yeah, we saw you idiots,” Bakugo said nonchalantly, taking a sip of his drink.

Silence.

“EXCUSE ME?” Mina nearly choked.

“Yeah,” Y/N added. “Like, after the second train, it was obvious.”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING?!” Sero cried.

“Because it was funny watching you all stumble around like a bunch of morons,” Bakugo snorted.

Uraraka gasped. “So you mean to tell me we went through all that for nothing?!”

“Oh, it wasn’t for nothing.” Y/N smirked. “It was very entertaining.”

“But wait—how long have you guys actually been together?” Kirishima asked, eyes narrowed.

Bakugo leaned back with a cocky grin. “Five months.”

Five. Months.

Dead silence.

Then—

“FIVE MONTHS?!” Everyone collectively screamed.

“You guys are the worst,” Mina groaned. “We were out here thinking we cracked the case when you’ve been dating this whole time?!”

Bakugo just smirked, throwing an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “Better luck next time, dumbasses.”

And with that, Operation: Busted Lovebirds ended in absolute defeat.

---

fin

[scorpioriesling]

Can you write an eris smut fic with prompt 27?

The Right Swipe

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Modern!Eris x reader

Warning(s): smut, 18+, mdni

Summary: You finally decided to swipe right -- and thank God you did. That's all I'll say for now.

SR’s Note: Two posts in one day?? Wow, I must really love you guys. (; This uses prompt #27 from my request masterlist! I hope you enjoy; I actually had so much fun writing this one, LOL.

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @freakishfandomfiend (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

You hummed as you flitted about your room, preparing for your date tonight. Finally, after swiping left on hundreds of guys did you swipe right on one of them. And boy, was he worthy of a right swipe.

Stopping before the mirror, you inspected your outfit. Sure, it was windy tonight in the city, but you felt that the mini skirt was a must. You were dining at quite the upscale eatery anyway, and you needed to make a good first impression.

The buzzing of your cell phone halted your oogling. You picked it up, seeing your best friend's face filling the screen.

"Hey!"

"Hey! What's up?" You asked, staring at the grainy screen concealing your friend's face.

"Nothing much -- I was just going to see if you left for your date yet." Nesta wiggled her eyebrows, and you chuckled.

"Not yet, I'm almost done getting ready though." Nesta grinned.

"Let me see the outfit!"

You obliged, turning the camera to show your outfit off in the mirror. She clapped in approval, nodding her head.

"Gorgeous, darling -- simply stunning," she complimented. You curtsied playfully, and turned the camera back around to show your face. "What time were you getting back? I can wait up if you want."

You shrugged.

"Honestly, I'm not sure yet -- we're eating near Times Square, so it's not too far from the apartment," you huffed, working to slip on your shoes.

"Hopefully not too early," Nesta mused, and you barked out a laugh.

"Yeah, let's hope not." You tugged on the other shoe, and straightened your blouse.

"I have your location too -- remember, you shared it with me?" Nesta said seriously. "So if anything happens-"

"I know, I know; if he ends up beign an axe murderer, you'll show up and decapitate his weiner. I remember," you giggled, thinking of the prior conversation the two of you shared. She chuckled, but her expression remained serious.

"I wasn't joking either -- but, I hope you have a good time. I know the guy will, you're looking hot!" She winked, and you waved a hand at her. "Call me if you need me, okay? i'm just across the bridge in Brooklyn you know, I can be there in an instant."

Given the typical New York traffic, you knew that wasn't true -- but you flashed her a knowing look anyway.

"I will, I will -- talk to you later?"

"I'll talk to you later."

She hung up, and you turned to the mirror once more. You'd spent so much time fussing over your blouse, picking at it and tucking it in -- but as one shoulder hung over the curve of your arm, you decided it looked best this way. In an act of hope that this date would be successful, you opted for your glitter strap Victoria's Secret bra; with the shoulder exposed, it shone just perfect.

Hopefully, he'd take the bait.

･ﾟ: *✧

Your ponytail swung lightly in the breeze as you walked the few blocks toward the restaurant. You'd been to Times Square a million times, sure -- but as far as spending time there, with money you didn't have? That was a no.

The address he gave you to meet at approached on your phone screen, and you glanced around for any sight of the red hair you'd seen in his photos. There weren't any.

Sighing, you looked closer at the restaurant. When you peered through the dim windows, your breath hitched in your throat.

You knew Butter was an exclusive bar and dining scene -- but you hadn't realized how exclusive. Inside, expensive drinks were poured over ice, the bottles the came from returning to a wine racked wall made of solid gold. Low, glittering lights lit the tables, and every guest in there looked to own no less than a million bucks.

Shit.

You pulled out your phone to text, but the door opened and a thin man in a suit greeted you. He ushered you inside, and despite your pounding heart -- you obliged.

"Good evening, miss." He greeted, and you immediately tucked your phone away, not wanting to seem impolite.

"Hello," you said wearily. The man grinned at your response.

"Are you dining alone this evening, or waiting for guests?"

Your palms felt clammy as you fumbled with your purse, working to shove your phone inside.

"I... uh..."

Your spine straightened as a warm hand slid against the small of your back, and your chin whipped in the direction in which it came from.

And oh... my... God. The white button down, rolled up at the sleeves. His hair was perfectly styled, the flaming red a contrast to the dim lighting in the room. The black dress pants, the black leather belt...

Your mouth watered at the sight.

"She's with me, Aaron," his whiskey smooth tone nearly sent a shiver down your spine. "Two for Vanserra."

Aaron, apparently, nodded and gestured to the long bar sitting before the golden wall.

"Always a pleasure, Eris -- please, enjoy a few beverages from the bar as we finish preparing your table."

Eris nodded, and your skin felt electric with every touch point he had on you. He guided you toward the bar, his hand not leaving your back. He only retrtacted it to pull out a barstool for you -- and you graced him with a soft smile.

"Thank you," you said quietly as he sat beside you.

He chuckled, leaning his forearms against the bar's edge. His amber eyes met yours sidelong, and your skin flushed.

"Anytime, darling."

You were grateful he looked toward the wall of alochol, because your cheeks rapidly flushed.

The bartender approached the two of you, giving Eris a knowing look before sliding his gaze to you. He continued polishing a glass as he adressed the two of you.

"Mr. Vanserra, always a pleasure," he said warmly. Eris nodded back at him.

"Of course Landon, of course," his warm tone made you feel... at ease. Landon glanced to you, and Eris looked between the two of you.

"This is my date this evening -- Miss Y/N Y/L/N," he introduced, and you gave Landon a smile.

"Nice to meet you," you said, and Landon nodded.

"The pleasure is all mine, miss -- what will you be having this evening?"

Your mind raced as you decided what to drink, but Eris answered with practiced grace.

"My usual, please," he said. Landon nodded and looked to you.

"And, for you?"

You contemplated, finally settling on what sounded most appealing.

"A dirty martini please -- extra olives?"

Landon winked at you, uttering a "you got it" before heading off in search of the ingredients. You took a calming breath before turning to Eris, catching him as he was already staring at you.

"So..." you said nervously, deciding on a good place to start. You started with the most basic of questions, trying to make the conversation easy. "What do you, uh, do for work?"

Eris's left brow rose a millimeter, a small smirk finding its way onto his lips. He was quiet a moment before he answered, his warm, silky tone washing over you once more.

"I'm the head of an accounting firm," he responded, his eyes gazing lazily into yours. "Started, oh, five years ago?" He tilts his head in thought. "Yeah, about five years."

You nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

"And, you? What's brought you to the city?"

You chuckled, readjusting your position on the stool.

"How do you know I'm not from here?"

Your question must have caught him off cuard, because he let out a short huff of a laugh as his expression showed a knowing response.

You huffed, looking elsewhere before answering.

"I... I moved to the city last year, I uh... I got a job in fashion." You said the last part with less confidence, as usually when you told people you worked in fashion, you were not taken as seriously.

However, Eris seemed to lean forward in his seat.

"Tell me more about that."

･ﾟ: *✧

Three hours and just as many drinks later, you found yourself struggling to contain your laughter.

"Wait -- you're telling me you did all of that, in front of your entire family?" The tears pricked the back of your eyes you laughed so hard. Eris chuckled, leaning against the table as he nodded.

"I swear it! Literally the most embarassed I've ever felt," he laughed, his words coming out choppy. He'd had maybe one less whiskey than you did, but he still seemed to be enjoying himself.

The waiter made his way toward your corner table, carrying a small black booklet. When he approached the table, he set it down softly, looking between you and Eris.

"Greetings, again -- were you ready for the bill, or was there something else I could get for you?"

His question had you wiping the tears from your eyes, and sobering up rather quickly. You were conscious in ordering tonight, as the dining here was quite expensive; you didn't want to be embarassed if you couldn't cover your half of the bill.

"No, no we should be alright," Eris reigned in his chuckles, quickly and gracefully plucking the folded leather from the edge of the table. He effortlessly slid his card inside, and handed it back to the waiter. "You can charge 20% for the tip, too -- great service tonight."

The waiter nodded appreciatively, and your eyes widened as he walked off.

"Hey, I uh... I can cover at least my half," you offered, but Eris simply waved a hand.

"No worries -- I got it this time." He smiled, and in a rush of confidence, you blurted out the first thought that came to mind.

"Thank you, Eris... I'll get it next time."

A slow grin spread across his face at your words, and you found yourself blushing. He licked his lips in intrigue before the waiter approached once more, handing the receipt back to Eris.

"Thank you for dining with us this evening, and we hope you have a wonderful rest of your night."

Eris stood, shaking the waiters hand before moving to grip the back of your chair. He slid you out from under the table, and you scowled mentally at the way your heart fluttered. Nonetheless, his hand returned to your back as he led you from the restaurant.

Stepping out into the chilly night air, you blew out a breath you hadn't realized you had been holding. Eris sighed, looking up at the moon before fixing his gaze on you again. Neither of you spoke as moments passed between you, only the shared breaths and sounds of the city heard between you.

When you finally spoke, you both did at once.

"I don't want the night to end yet."

"I'm not ready to take you home."

You both laughed at the overlap, and you took a moment to process his words. I'm not ready to take you home yet.

Your heart fluttered once more.

"I... if you want to, we can, go for a walk?" You suggested. He smiled, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close enough that you could smell his expensive cologne.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea."

And with that, you were off. You turned corner after corner, no direction in mind or care that you were walking the city streets at nearly midnight. Eris was with you, and the way the conversation flowed so easily between the two of you... you felt safe.

The topic of conversation ranged so wide, there was no real way to limit what was on the table or off to discuss. At dinner, you'd gotten to know him a little better; his family, his job, what his friends were like -- his most embarassing moment. But out here, where the air was clearer and the options were limitless, you felt like you could talk with him for hours.

"So, what made you choose fashion?" He asked, his words only running together a little bit as the alcohol took more of an affect. You turned the corner, passing Macy's before you answered.

"Well, as a girl I loved the aesthetics, how you could do so many things with only raw materials; then, I took up designing, and got my degree in fashion technology." You explained. He looked to you in amusement, and you grinned. "Now, I'm here."

His eyes strayed from your face only for a moment, fixating on the glittery strap across your shoulder. He looked to you again, pausing in front of the Van Leeuwen's ice cream shop as he took your hand in his.

"My apartment is just around the corner," he said softly, gazing into your eyes with sincerity. Your heart throbbed; you didn't want him to go, not just yet. Despite his rich-boy first impression, you were quite enjoying every moment of the date with him.

"Oh," is all you could think to say. His bottom lip disappeared between his teeth, as he inched closer to your face.

"I... usually, I don't bring anyone to my apartment. Only my family, my friends," he explained. "And, I definately don't want to give you the wrong impression... blow this whole thing up, I mean." he continues. You nod silently, your lips mere inches from eachother.

"It's been such a great night, but... I just don't think I'm ready to let you go just yet," he admits shyly, the rosiness on his cheeks so at odds with his outward appearance. You can't help but to grin, your hand brushing the exposed skin of his forearm from his rolled up sleeves.

Your gaze found his once more, as you whispered back.

"I don't want to go, either."

With that, his fingers closed around yours as his lips pressed against your own.

･ﾟ: *✧

You barely registered how many floors the elevator passed as Eris pressed you against the mirrored wall, his lips devouring your own with a certain sense of hunger. The soft dings during your ascent were lost as you threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him back to you over, and over, and over again.

It was only a few minutes more before Eris pulled away, glancing toward the digital number and sighing. You couldn't help but giggle, taking in the 28 on the wall before the doors slid open and you followed him out. His hand held yours firmly as he led you down the hallway. Glancing around, you didn't notice any other entrances besides the one at the end; and your breaths quickened.

"What floor is this again?" You asked, out of breath. Eris quickly fished his keys from his pocket, flicking through them and shoving one into the door lock.

"Twenty eight," he said, just as breathless.

"And... how many floors are in this building?" You asked. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, turning to you with a devilish smirk.

"Twenty eight."

He strode in, tugging you right along with him. Your eyes widened at the expensive apartment, the vast marble countertops, the winding staircase, the rows upon rows of bookshelves...

"Eris," you breathed. He stepped behind you, locking the door and then wrapping his arms around your waist. "You... you're... this is the penthouse," you said, almost in realization.

Goosebumps spread across your skin as his soft lips met the column of your neck, kissing softly up to your ear.

"Mhmm," he purred, softly biting on the lobe. Your breath hitched as he spoke softly into your ear.

"That's not really what you want to ask me though, is it," he teased, his fingers brushing against the hem of your skirt. Your thighs squeezed together, the heat radiating off of him getting you hot.

"I..." you trailed off, almost too lost in the moment to think straight. "W-where... is your bed?"

He chuckled darkly behind you, kissing your neck once more before turning you around and lifting you into his arms. Your legs wound around his waist as he took a step toward the hallway, his hands squeezing your ass as he walked.

"Good girl."

･ﾟ: *✧

The mattress dipped as Eris set you atop it, smirking down at you as he made quick work of removing his shirt. You stared up at him, over the rippling muscles in his stomach, the veins cording his forearms. He was handsome, sure -- but like this, he was devastating.

"You seem to know a lot about fashion," he said, his tone low. His fingers slid beneath the gemstone band of your bra, rubbing over the strap in admiration. “But, do you realize that I can see your bra through that blouse?”

You giggled, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth.

"Hmm, no, I guess I didn't," you played dumb. He shook his head slowly, his fingers tracing over the curve of your breasts and hooking under the waistband of your skirt. He pulled it over your thighs, your knees, and all the way off. He blew out a long breath as he shamelessly oogled you, admiring the matching panties you adorned.

"Tsk tsk tsk," he tutted, his thumb stroking over your clothed clit. "I guess you also didn't realize that bad girls, get punished."

Your walls fluttered at his words.

He sank to his knees before you, his head settling just between your legs. He hooked two fingers around the lace of your panties, bringing them to the side before brushing his forefinger over your folds. You sucked in a breath as you gazed down at him, his eyes searching yours for permission.

"The moment you want me to stop -- I'll stop."

You nod in understanding, and he leans in. His mouth brushes along the inside of your thigh, soft kisses peppering your thighs. His fingers rub against your clit, the mix of sensations pulling your insides into a knot.

"Mmm," you hummed, lying flat on the bed as his lips inched closer to your core. His tongue slid through your folds and you sighed, one of your hands reaching down to thread through his auburn locks. He continued licking and tasting every inch of your pussy, soft groans vibrating against it as he groaned in pleasure. Your core tightened, especially when he inserted two fingers into your throbing hole.

"Oh...Eris, oh-" You sucked in a breath, your walls clenching around his fingers as he pumped them in and out. His lips sucked and played with your clit, and you squirmed against the feeling of his mouth and fingers. Just as you felt the knot tying tighter in your stomach... he stopped.

He pulled his fingers from you, and moved to stand between your knees instead. Your brows knit in frustration, and he licked his lips as he gazed down at you.

"Be a good girl for me -- and I'll let you cum," he declared. You raised an eyebrow, inching back on the bed as he slid his belt from his hips.

"Fuck me good, Eris, and I'll do just that."

A low chuckle sounded in his chest as he leaned forward, gripping either side of your blouse and yanking. Buttons flew about, and you gasped in horror.

"Eris! That was-"

"I'll buy you another one," he growled, moving to hover over you. His fingers slid the glittery straps over your shoulders -- but he didn't fully take your bra off. Instead, he undid his pants and finally freed his aching cock; his huge. Cock.

"Take off your underwear." He demanded. You listened, sliding the lacy thing down your legs and lying flat on your back again. He smirked, rubbing his hand over his cock as he positioned it before your entrance.

"Hmm, she listens," he teases, and you bite your bottom lip.

"Beautiful, funny, interesting... and a good listener? What more could I wish for?"

You blush at his compliments, momentarily forgetting how close he was to driving his cock inside of you. It wasn't long though before the stretch happened, and you adjusted to his size as he continued sliding in.

"Oh.... Eris, oh God," you panted, every tantalizing inch more pleasureable. When he finally reached the hilt, he pulled out -- only to slide in once more.

You groaned in protest, wanting him to fuck you faster; instead, he took both wrists in one hand, holding them above your head.

"Hold still for me, baby."

He slid out, and shoved his cock back in. You squeaked at the sudden change of pace, reveling in the feeling coming from him fucking you hard. Your mouth fell open as you gazed up at him, his concentrated expression focused on yours as he drove his length in over, and over, and over.

"Eris," you breathed, your eyes rolling back in your head. He continued pounding into you, only slowing as your pussy clenched around him once more.

"No no no," you groaned, and he leaned in to kiss your lips at once. His cock slid from you, and his hand released your wrists. You ran your hands through his hair, your tongue slipping in only once before he stood again.

"Flip over for me," he said, his hand fisting his cock again as his eyes roamed the expanse of your body. You immediately slid onto your stomach, your hair fanning across your back as you lifted your hips. You heard his growl of approval behind you, and you spread your knees to better accomodate the new position.

His hands braced your hips instantly, his hard length pressing against your ass. You wiggled your hips against him -- only to soon be met with a spank against your right buttcheek.

You gasped, and Eris pressed the tip of his cock against your hole once more.

"Don't do that," he warned. "Or else I'll cum."

He drove his cock in, not wasting any time this round as he set a punishing pace. His right hand left your hip to wrap around the base of your ponytail, causing the arch in your back to accentuate as he rammed his cock in more forcefully.

"So gorgeous like this," he praised, his breaths ragged. Your ass bounced with every thrust of his cock, and though you couldn't see it, he was having a hard time prying his gaze away from the sight.

"Yes, yes, yes," every snap of his hips illicited a gasp from you, especially as he fucked into you at a new angle. He drew your back up to his chest, his arm wrapping around your ribs to grab at your breast.

"You wanna cum, baby?" He asked nicely. You huffed in response, the way his fingers pinched at your nipple through the lace of your bra. the friction caused you to shake, the sensations rolling through you while you struggled to keep your orgasm at bay.

"Please," you whispered. Eris groaned low beside your ear, his lips attaching to your neck once more before leaving a playful bite.

You cried out in pleasure, the tidal wave finally overflowing inside of you. Wet, clear cum dripped down your thighs as Eris drove his cock deep into your pussy a final time, feeling every clench your walls gave him. He released every ounce of cum deep within your throbbing core, his arms holding you close to him as the both of you chased out your highs together.

When he finally pulled out, you sighed, lying down on his silky sheets once more. He retrieved a washcloth, and delicately wiped you off before cleaning up himself and tossing it aside. Sliding his own underwear back on, he lied down beside you.

You turned your head, searching his returning gaze for an answer. He offered a small smile as he leaned in, brushing a stray hair from your forehead.

"I'm not sure if I'll ever be ready to let you go."

･ﾟ: *✧

[sylvieisoffline]

Steamy Interrogation

word count: 3k words

tags: 🔞 Explicit sexual content / NSFW (18+) MDNI! | Slight Gunplay (used as a prop)| Dubcon | Improper Use of Evol | Power Imbalance | Mild Objectification | Overstimulation

Please only consume what you can handle.

note: Aaaand I'm back with another Sylus fic! I swear I have the other LIs in my drafts, it's just that I'm so inspired doing Sylus' ones first haha. Have y'all seen Magnum Opus? It's soooo good and I'm so satisfied with how they gave us a peek into sylusmc's dynamic in a free 5-Star Card. Hope you enjoy this one and please let me know in the comments what you'd like to read from me next. divider by: @cafekitsune

You text Kieran after a particularly arduous mission, asking if you could use the hot tub on their penthouse again. You were already in front of the unit but insisted on waiting for his reply before you go in.

It had been a sort of an after-mission ritual. When after one mission had you very sore and your gym buddy / best friend Kieran started offering access to one of his brother's places. You were reluctant at first, initially overcome with embarrassment with the idea of taking baths on another person's place. Someone you haven't met moreso.

"My brother doesn't stay there anyway. He just bought the place 'cause it looked nice and wanted to have someplace to stay whenever he's here in Linkon—which he rarely does now by the way. Even Luke is sulking with how busy he's become that he doesn't even visit now."

You agreed then, asking him, like, ten more times after that even if he kept reassuring you that it was fine.

You were pulled back to reality when your phone pinged with a new notification.

“Sure, left the doors open. Make yourself at home ;)”

You thanked him, entering the unit and depositing your stuff on one of the couches. The place is quiet—sunlight slicing through the tall glass windows, steam already curling from the water’s surface. You strip without much thought and slip into the heat, letting it swallow the tension in your shoulders. After a while, you climb out and sit at the edge, towel draped lazily across your lap as you dry your hair.

That’s when you hear the bathroom door open.

Heavy, deliberate steps echo into the space, followed by the unmistakable sound of a safety catch clicking off.

“Don’t move.”

You freeze.

Your breath catches as you look up—and see him.

Not Kieran.

Someone else. Taller. Sharper.

Ruby eyes locked on you, gun aimed steady and unshaking.

“Who the hell are you?” “I—I thought this place was empty,” you stammer, arms instinctively tightening around your towel. “Hands where I can see them,” he says coldly.

You raise your arms slowly. The towel lifts with you, but slips slightly—your bare body catching in the low light.

His right eye glows as he's scrutinizing but his expression doesn’t change. You can't help but marvel at the sight.

You momentarily hope that he doesn't sense the ugly feeling other than fear simmering in your system after being entranced in his eyes like that.

“Drop it.” “What?” “The towel.”

You hesitate. But he doesn’t lower the gun.

Your fingers loosen, the towel falls in a soft heap by your feet. You stand there, completely bare under his gaze.

“Turn around,” he commands.

You swallow hard and obey.

Behind you, the silence stretches—then breaks.

You hear the rustling of clothes. Heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled. Something heavy hits the floor as goosebumps crawl through your skin.

You hear footsteps again—bare this time. He comes closer.

The cold press of the barrel nudges the small of your back.

“Move.”

You step forward, slowly, heart racing, body burning with both dread and something else.

He deliberately walks behind you, still holding the gun to the small of your back while nearing the tub. You hesitantly dip yourself back in the bubbling water and hear him follow suit.

The soft click of metal resounds in the bathroom as he sets the gun down on the ledge. Then, you hear something unfamiliar—an electric hum, faint and low. A red current crawls up your limbs before you can react.

You gasp.

Your wrists are yanked back behind you—locked in place. Your ankles drawn together, suspended in a precise tension as your body floats slightly above the water’s surface.

“What—what is this—?” “It's my evol, miss.” he murmurs, voice low and unreadable.

You struggle, but his Evol holds firm.

Then suddenly—he’s behind you.

You feel him.

The weight of his chest just barely grazing your back, his breath curling against your ear, and lower still—the unmistakable, thick heat resting against the dip of your ass, barely sheathed by the water. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t truly touched you, but your body reacts anyway—muscles twitching, skin hypersensitive, breath stuttering.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says, and this time, his hand grips your jaw, tilting your head just enough to expose your throat. “Let me ask again—why are you here?”

“I—I didn’t know—Kieran said—”

The second his name leaves your lips, the man scoffs.

“Kieran.” His voice dips, a bitter curl at the edge. “Of course.”

The tension in the air shifts—something sharper than suspicion settling between you.

He clicks his tongue, almost amused. His hand leaves your jaw, his breath brushing your neck as he trails his lips along your skin—just barely grazing, barely touching. Then, he parts his lips and nips.

A sharp little bite just beneath your ear.

You gasp, your hips twitching again despite how sensitive you already are.

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” He breaths,“Why you’re shaking.”

Another nip—this time lower, right at the curve of your throat, then down along your collarbone. Each bite is purposeful, not deep enough to bruise but firm enough to sting just slightly, a wicked contrast to the warm water sloshing around your body.

His hands slide up, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing lightly over your nipples before he skirts around to let his mouth follow. His teeth scrape one, then he sucks it into his mouth with slow, deliberate pressure.

You arch into him with a choked whimper, the mix of pain and heat making your thighs tense under the surface.

“Why you’re so fucking wet.”

Heat sears through you, your body betraying you with another twitch. Your lips part to deny it, but he’s already moved.

His tongue circles your nipple again, slow and wet, before he switches to the other. His Evol tugs your arms tighter behind your back, just enough to make your chest arch out toward him—putting everything on display, just how he wants it.

“Look at you,” he purrs, mouth trailing back up to your throat. “Bound, dripping, squirming…All from a little teasing.”

Another sharp bite at the side of your neck makes you moan, your head falling against his shoulder. He moves back to the spot behind you as he repositions your body to not sink further into the tub. He chuckles low in his chest, the water rippling as his hand disappears beneath the surface, his fingers ghosting over your folds—barely a touch, but enough to make you squirm.

One slow stroke.

Another.

You gasp, your knees buckling in the water, but the Evol keeps you suspended, helpless.

“Sensitive,” he notes, fingers teasing your bud. “How convenient.”

You barely register the meaning before his fingers press more firmly against you, slipping between your folds. You jolt. Your Evol-bound wrists twitch, but the restraints hold firm. His thumb brushes your clit, expertly timed with another push—your body jerking as sparks shoot up your spine. You cry out, unable to contain the sound this time, trembling violently in his grip.

“Interesting,” he muses, stroking once. Twice. A slow, torturous pace. “You’re not denying it.”

A humiliated moan leaves your throat, and he chuckles—a deep, quiet sound that makes your stomach twist.

“Too easy,” he murmurs. “Is that all it takes?”

A slow drag of his fingers up and down. Dipping inside, teasing at your entrance but not pushing in anymore. His thumb brushes your clit in the lightest touch, barely a graze, but it still sends a violent tremor through you.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle a moan.

“Don’t be shy now.” His free hand grips your chin, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “I want to hear you.”

He presses his thumb down fully this time, circling once—slow, precise, devastating. You scream, hips jerking into his touch, body desperate for friction.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, dragging his lips against the shell of your ear. “So desperate. Maybe I should just leave you like this. Struggling. Needy.”

The thought makes you whine. Your fingers flex uselessly, your ankles twitching against the unrelenting grip of his Evol.

“Or maybe,” he breathes, “I should push you a little further.”

You barely have time to process the words before he thrusts two fingers inside you.

A cry rips from your throat, your body clenching down instinctively around the sudden stretch.

He hums. “Tight.” Another stroke, deeper this time, his fingers curling just right. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

You shake your head desperately. “N-no—”

“Liar.”

A sharp thrust. Another. His pace is still measured, still controlled, but every movement is meant to unravel you, to keep you right at the edge.

And it’s working.

Your thighs tremble, the pressure in your core winding tight, pleasure building so fast it’s nearly unbearable. Your breathing turns ragged, broken moans slipping past your lips.

“You gonna cum already?” he taunts, his fingers pressing deep, thumb rolling slow, teasing circles against your clit. “So quick. Is that all it takes?”

You shake your head again, but your body betrays you—the telltale tension coiling impossibly tight.

“Come for me.” His voice drops to a whisper, dark and commanding.

“Now.”

And you do.

Your body jerks violently against the restraints, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you convulse around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop.

His fingers keep moving, prolonging every aftershock, pushing you straight into overstimulation. Your legs shake, another cry spilling from your lips.

"S-sir, 's too much. Pleas—"

“Too much?” he purrs, amused. “You sure?”

He finally withdraws his fingers—only to drag them up, pressing them against your lips.

“Open.”

You hesitate, but the look in his eyes leaves no room for refusal. You part your lips, your own taste spreading over your tongue as he pushes his fingers in.

“Good girl.”

Then—he shifts.

The water moves as he steps even closer, his Evol releasing your legs just enough for you to feel him lining up against you. You choke back a sob, realization dawning through the pleasure-drunk haze.

“You already took my fingers so well,” he breathes, his cock pressing against your entrance now, thick and hard. “Let’s see how much more you can handle."

When he finally presses himself against you again—thick, hard, ready—you’re already dripping around nothing.

“You’re going to take every inch,” he says lowly. “And you’re going to thank me for it.”

He pushes in slowly, deliberately. You dig your nails into your palms as you struggle to accomodate his girth, each inch more unbearable than the last. You moan, helpless under the flood of sensation.

Your entire body arches—mouth falling open in a silent scream as your walls stretch around him, the sudden intrusion overwhelming. He’s thick, hard, relentless from the first stroke, and your Evol-bound body can do nothing but take it.

Then he begins to move.

“Fuck—” His voice finally drops from its usual cool tone, his grip tightening on your waist. “So fucking tight.” he growls into your shoulder. “You’re taking me so well for someone who wasn’t expecting company.”

Slow at first—just enough for you to feel every ridge, every pulse. Then faster, deeper, brutal. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air again, water splashing around your bodies. Your voice is a blur of moans and gasps, lost in the sound of him fucking you like he owns you. Every thrust is deep, purposeful—like he’s trying to brand his shape inside you.

“That’s it,” he growls, hips snapping against yours. “Take it.”

Your mind is blank, fogged with the blinding edge of overstimulation. Pleasure coils violently in your belly—shame and ecstasy twined too tightly to separate. Your climax crashes over you before you can stop it, hips jerking in the water as you sob through it, Evol still locking you in place.

But he doesn’t stop.

If anything, he thrusts harder, riding out your orgasm only to build another. His hands grip your hips now, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he pistons into you, his pace brutal and fast.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Let go. Come for me again."

Your body locks around him, shaking with every thrust as he fucks you hard, water splashing around both of you as the pace builds again. Each slap of skin sends sparks through your body, and your climax slams into you harder than the first—violent, uncontrollable, teeth letting go of your lip as you scream.

But the man doesn’t let go. Not yet.

His grip is bruising on your waist as he thrusts through your orgasm, chasing his own release, panting now—low, guttural noises ripping from his throat until finally he drives into you one last time and groans, spilling into you, body tight with tension.

Your Evol restraints dissolve, and you slump forward, boneless and shaking. He catches you, pulls you against him, your bodies still half-submerged in the water.

But he’s not done.

You barely register movement until he lifts you—just enough to sit you on the edge of the tub, legs spread, dripping, glistening in the soft steam-lit glow.

“Don’t move.”

His tone is lower now, huskier. Almost reverent.

He kneels in the water between your thighs, hands parting you again, spreading you wide for him. You flinch from the contact, still sensitive—but that only makes him smirk.

“So soft,” he murmurs, fingers stroking your swollen folds before his tongue finally presses flat against you.

Your head drops back with a cry, the sudden rush of wet heat too much, too sharp. He licks slow, dragging the flat of his tongue up and over your clit in lazy, deliberate strokes.

You buck against him, fingers digging into the tiled edge of the tub, helpless to the fire blooming again in your core.

“Still sweet,” he mutters between licks. “Still twitching for me.”

His tongue circles your clit again, over and over, switching between soft teases and sudden hard flicks that make your thighs jerk and close around his head—until his Evol restrains you again, keeping your legs spread wide open for him.

He moans into you at the same time he presses two fingers back inside, tongue working in perfect rhythm, dragging you toward the edge again.

“Come on,” he growls against you. “Give it to me. Again.”

You don’t stand a chance.

You cum again, thighs shaking violently, your cries echoing in the steamy air, body collapsing into shudders as he licks you through every aftershock—until you’re a wrecked, panting mess above him, still twitching from the overstimulation.

Your body gives out the moment it’s over.

Every last drop of strength drains from your limbs—your mission fatigue, the emotional whiplash of being interrogated at gunpoint, the overwhelming pleasure wrung out of you in waves—it all crashes down at once.

You collapse into his arms.

His hands shift under your legs and behind your back, lifting you gently from the tub. You hear water dripping off you both as he carries you across the marble floor, steps unhurried, expression unreadable—but his hold is firm. Protective. Possessive.

He sets you down on a soft surface, kneeling beside you. He begins to wipe you down with a patience that doesn’t quite match his earlier ruthlessness. You flinch once, still sensitive, and his touch instantly softens.

He doesn’t say anything. But his eyes linger on every part of you he touches, watching the way your body reacts—memorizing you all over again, even now.

When he’s done, he scoops you up again, walks you into the bedroom, and lowers you onto his bed.

His sheets smell like him—amber, leather, gunmetal.

You barely register the soft rustle of fabric as he dresses you in one of his button-downs, sleeves swallowing your arms. He tucks the hem under your thighs and smooths it out over your belly. It’s oversized, but warm. Familiar.

He pulls the covers over you and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering a moment.

He then leaves the room, shutting the door with a soft click.

In the living room, Sylus towels off, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a loose black shirt. His fingers run through his wet hair before he picks up his phone and dials.

The line rings once.

“What?” Kieran’s voice comes through groggy and irritable. “It’s late, man.”

“You didn’t think to tell me you've already met my Beloved?” Sylus says flatly.

There’s a pause. Then an incredulous laugh.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Sylus’ jaw clenches.

“The woman you’ve been letting use the penthouse. The one you’ve been hiding from me.”

“What? I wasn’t hiding—wait.” There’s a beat of silence. “You met her?”

“I did more than just meet her.”

“Sylus,” Kieran says, voice rising with panic. “What did you do?”

Sylus groans and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“What didn’t we do?”

There’s a choked sound on the other end of the line.

“Are you fucking serious?! You better not have hurt her or els—”

“Calm down,” Sylus cuts in, voice cool again. “If anyone’s ass needs to get handed back to them, it's yours—for letting strangers use my property without telling me.”

“She’s not a stranger,” Kieran snaps. “She’s the only one I’ve let use it. You’re lucky it was her and not, I don’t know, someone actually dangerous.”

“Hmph.” A rare hint of amusement glints in Sylus’ tone. “Then you’ve made your one good decision today.”

“Sylus—seriously, just…Be gentle with her, okay?”

“I always am,” he replies smoothly, ending the call before Kieran can protest further.

He returns to the bedroom quietly.

The lights are dim now, your breathing soft and even beneath the covers. He slips in behind you, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest.

His nose brushes your slightly damp hair. He inhales deeply—like he’s grounding himself in the scent of you, the warmth of you in his bed.

You shift in your sleep, instinctively curling toward him. He smiles against your temple and presses a soft kiss there.

“We’re finally reunited,” he whispers. “My Beloved Sorceress.”

And he holds you tighter—like he never intends to let you go again.

© sylvieisoffline's original work | all rights reserved | translation, plagiarization, and copying is strictly prohibited

[love-quinn]

— DEGREES OF SEPARATION

summary — they say each person is only six degrees of separation away from any other person. you’ve just dumped patrick and unbeknownst to you, he’s a lot closer to your new boyfriend than six degrees.

warnings — told mostly from patrick's pov, sex is explicitly mentioned (no smut is written), swearing, patrick being a cocky bastard, mentions of male masturbation (in both the contexts of pat and art), implied that patrick does not give head 16+

pairing — art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader (formerly), canon compliant artrick

pronouns — she/her, reader is referred to as a “girlfriend”

word count — 2.7k

note — i have truly the most amount of art donaldson fics in my drafts, i'm slowly getting through and trying to write them all. this was meant to be a silly little thing but i accidentally made it serious my bad. also lowkey reader isn't in this much, also i switch tenses like nobody's business.

Patrick has no idea what it is about you, but he’s starting to hate you a little bit. 

You were nowhere near the first girl he's dated, you weren’t even his longest relationship. Sure, he prefers not to bother himself with actual relationships, he likes the casualty of just hooking up with someone just fine. Having to be a boyfriend requires a lot of mental energy that Patrick typically reserves for tennis and chain smoking.

He didn’t mind putting in the effort when the two of you were together. You were pretty low-maintenance, he’d go up to Stanford every few months anyway, at least when he was dating you he didn’t have to sleep on the floor. He got to see his best friend, play tennis with someone competent, get some ass and all he had to do was call you once every few days. He didn’t even mind it, he liked talking to you.

Then, of course, you’d dumped him and now he was right back where he started.

He had been at your dorm, he’d spent the last few hours with you between his legs and then he’d gotten a text from Art asking if he’d wanted to hang out. Patrick wasn’t exactly going to say no, Art didn’t even really know he was seeing something. That had apparently pissed you off enough that you’d let him go without even making a comment about how you hadn’t had a turn yet. You’d messaged him an hour later telling him that you didn’t want to see him anymore and that you were keeping the half ounce he’d left in your room in his haste to leave.

It was fine. He got to regale Art with stories of the two of you, not bothering to mention that you were the same girl as six months earlier and that you had been the only girl in that time. 

He almost felt like he had to share every detail of the more intimate parts of your relationship with Art. Art wasn’t fucking anyone, at least not with the regularity that Patrick was (even when the two of you were long distance), he was probably getting some sort of a kick out of hearing about it anyway.

Now, four months later, and things have been flipped on their head.

Patrick isn’t adverse to change; if anything, he thrives in the chaos of change. If things are always changing then Patrick always has a way to have the upper hand. He doesn’t quite feel like he has the upper hand anymore.

He’s on Art’s bed, trying to roll himself a cigarette without getting too much tobacco on Art’s sheets. Art’s at practice, he doesn’t even know that Patrick is here, that he’s used the spare key attached to his keyring to get in, but he’s not going to give a shit. The window’s shaky, but Patrick’s able to shove it open. 

When Art comes in, Patrick’s shoved half the shit off his desk to make enough room to perch on it so he can stick his hand out in the air. Art doesn’t even give it a second glance. “I wouldn’t sit there.”

“I’m sure your textbooks will live,” Patrick waves him off. He picked that side because it had the least amount of dust on it.

Art dumps his stuff on the floor, shaking out his duvet from Patrick’s mess. “I didn’t get the chance to…” he struggles to hold back a smirk as he deliberately avoids looking at his friend’s face; he wants to seem as nonchalant as Patrick always does. “Disinfect it.” He settles.

Patrick hops off the desk, scrubbing the backs of his thighs. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Art looks sufficiently pleased with himself. “Okay, you can’t talk. I was in a hurry.”

Patrick was thoroughly enjoying grilling his best friend. “You have a bed right there. You couldn’t do it there?”

Art didn’t say anything. Patrick dropped his cigarette out the open window from laughing so hard. 

It takes less than a week for Patrick to realise that Art has a girlfriend and that the event back in his dorm wasn’t a one time thing. It was to be expected, Art did always have a harder time letting go than Patrick did. Patrick doesn’t even have to open his mouth before Art is shutting down the unasked question they’re both thinking; no, you cannot meet her.

It doesn’t matter that Art’s hiding you from him though, because he posts about you constantly. Patrick doesn’t use FaceBook a whole lot, and neither did Art really. But Art decides that there’s something about you that decides he needs to take photos of you.  He even considers buying a fancy digital camera but he doesn’t quite have a hundred bucks to drop on one. He settles for his phone camera, which takes blurry but glowing pictures of you in any scenario you let him; photos of you hunched over a spiral notebook with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, of you mid-sip with a smoothie in your hand. Then, as part of Art’s cover photo, a photo of you in a sundress that would’ve undoubtedly had Patrick excusing himself multiple times to the closest bathroom if he’d had the pleasure of seeing it in person. 

Patrick’s scrolling absent-mindedly as he stands outside of Art’s lecture hall when he first sees it. There’s an entire folder on his Facebook dedicated just to you, and he spends the remaining forty minutes of Art’s lecture going through each and every one.

Art finally comes down the stairs and sees Patrick, head between his knees on a metal bench trying to avoid the glare from the sun. “We going?”

Patrick looks up so fast he hears something in his neck align itself. “Yeah.” They had plans to hit the court after Art’s last class. “Just let me go piss first.” Patrick shoves his phone in his pocket and ducks off to the nearest bathroom.

While he’s in there, Art decides to give you a call. He apologised profusely when he brought up Patrick’s arrival earlier in the week. His nose had found your jawline and he’d kissed along the sharp line. “My friend’s coming to visit, I never see him, so I’m probably gonna spend the week with him if that’s okay?”

You’d nodded, palm of your hand on the top of his head, twirling a select few of his curls around your fingers. “Of course, honey.”

He’d pressed a kiss right under your jawline. “Jus’ don’t want you to think I’m trying to leave you for him.”

You hummed and he felt it deep in his chest. “I appreciate that,” you said honestly. Your mind flashed back to texts from Patrick; sorry, not coming. going out. tomorrow? It had honestly been easier to get ahold of Patrick when he wasn’t on your college campus. “You have your own life, though. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Art looked up at you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Not worried,” he corrected gently. “Just thinking of you. Want to make sure we’re on the same page. He’s really important to me but also…” he trailed off.  “He’s my best friend. He’s also a massive asshole. So, I guess I wanted to kind of just… lay it out there,” he laughed. That was the thing about Art. Things that were weighing heavily on his chest would sometimes bubble up with so much force they would bring something else with them. Most of the time, it was laughter. “That I don’t want him to ruin the way you think of me, so I am going to be spending most of this week keeping him away from you.”

You’d laughed at the time and then leaned down and let him kiss you. You’d let him do more than that, too, but then you’d had to run to make it to your afternoon lecture on time. 

You don’t answer but he does get a text a few minutes later, got an essay, want to get a head start. love u, which he sends a heart back to. 

When Patrick gets back from the bathroom, he finds Art smiling down at his phone. “That your girlfriend?” he asks, leaning over to try and see Art’s text history. Art pulls his phone away.

“Stop,” he pushes him. 

Patrick blows out a puff of air, bumping into Art as the two of them walk side by side. “I just don’t get why you won’t let me see her,” he says casually, as if he doesn’t have every inch of your body completely memorised. “I want to see what she looks like.”

“I don’t want you picturing her,” Art says. “You’re not allowed to see her. You’re not allowed to imagine her, and no, you’re not allowed to meet her.”

Art wasn’t the boss of him. Fuck Art. If Patrick wants to imagine you then who is Art to stop him?

Over the next week, Art does his due diligence in not revealing a single important thing about you to Patrick, and it’s driving him crazy. It’s not like Patrick doesn’t know this information, it’s not like Patrick needs to see a photo of you to remember the way your mouth tilts up when he says something stupid. He wants Art to be the one to show you. He wants to see you through Art’s eyes.

He sees traces of you through Art’s spaces. There’s a sticker on his water bottle that he knows was a gift from you. A pink spiral notebook is nestled amongst Art’s books for his classes. There’s clean bedsheets. That’s enough to know that Art has an external influence. 

He doesn’t like this. He’s never been in this situation before. He’s always felt ahead of Art, better at tennis, better with girls. He’s not stupid, he knows how Art would always listen to Patrick’s stories, rapt with attention, half-hard down the phone line. He liked that. He was the one in control.

He liked being that way with you too. You’re soft, you’re sweet, you’re sunshine incarnate and he wanted to ruin you. Ruin you for anyone else, to be the only guy who’s ever been in your bed. Doesn’t even matter that he wasn’t your first. He liked that you don’t play tennis, or that you don’t care when he calls you. He liked you, and he couldn’t have you.

Why the fuck was Art allowed to? 

It’s gnawing at him. For the first time in the six or so years they’ve known each other, slept beside each other, been alive together, Art has something that Patrick wants. And he doesn’t even give a shit. 

It’s the way that Art doesn’t even have to try. You’ve blocked him on FaceBook, but Art posts you often. You like it – being admired. It wasn’t something you got from your last boyfriend. There were a lot of things you didn’t get from Patrick. Good morning texts, soft compliments, his hands exactly where you liked them. 

With Art it’s like everything fell so completely into place. 

The game goes by quickly; Patrick’s not feeling it. He lets Art win. They go back to Art’s dorm as it’s getting dark and Patrick is sitting again on Art’s desk, pointedly not thinking about the image of Art on his knees with you sitting prettily amongst Art’s things. 

Patrick’s smoking, barely trying to get the smoke out the window, blowing it out in lazy sighs. The tension in the air is so thick Art has to wade through it to reach his friend. Patrick tries to think of something to say that isn’t accusatory, but it’s hard when he’s sitting where you once sat. 

Patrick’s never been a yeller, especially not with Art. He’s never had to be. Art’s easy. But now, swirled in bitterness and smoke, he wants to start. To ask him how it feels to have everything he wants and to have it so well. The girl, the ease, the warmth. The love Patrick never realised he wanted. 

“What’s wrong?” Art dumps his stuff on the floor but he has the good graces to do it in a corner where it won’t be in the way. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not,” Patrick snaps, sniffing. He feels like he’s going to explode. 

Art rolls his eyes. He doesn’t take it to heart but he doesn’t let Patrick get away with either. “Either stop sulking or tell me what’s wrong.”

“Why the hell won’t you let me meet her?”

Patrick realises, with humiliating force, that he wants Art to introduce you because he knows you’ll never let him in the same room as you otherwise. This is his only shot. 

Art’s tone flips from casual to cautious. “What?”

“What, for the first time in our lives, you have a girlfriend I haven’t met?” Patrick drops his still-lit cigarette out the window, not bothering to look as it falls down six floors. “You don’t expect me to think that’s weird? You won’t even show me a picture.”

Art watches him the whole time. When he finally speaks, Patrick doesn’t expect him to sound so annoyed. His voice is low, monotone, and unfamiliar. “Because I’m not using her to make you feel better. She’s not a fucking trophy for you to look at whenever you want. I know you Patrick. You want to look at her so you can count all the ways that you could have done better. Because you can’t handle me having something just for myself.” Art got really close. “I’m not sharing.”

Something shifts between them in a way Patrick dreads. Art’s right, of course. Patrick, even now, has never viewed you as anything more than something to have. And right when Patrick needed it the most, he just let Art win 

It’s not about ego, not anymore. He doesn’t want to control you. Make you miserable as long as you’re his. You’re the first person in his life that Patrick wants to give everything to, To wake up beside, to share smiles with, to have the liberty of thinking about every second that he damn well wants to. 

“It’s not that serious,” he says placatingly. He knows how to appease Art, how to flip his anger into amusement. “Come on, there’s a couple hundred girls at this school, she’s just one of ‘em.” His chest hurts. 

“That’s the thing, Patrick.” Art rubs his temples. “She’s not. And I’m not going to let you in my head, fucking me up, fucking us up, for whatever reason you want to. I love you, man.” He steps forward, putting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. He rubs a comforting line along the curve of Patrick’s neckline. “But this one’s different. She’s mine.”

Patrick wonders what it’s like for you; to date Art so soon after being with him. They’re pretty similar - do you hate that? Two sides of the same coin, two sides of the same dorm room. Fire and ice. Which is which?

When you see Art’s MRTA shirt do you think of Patrick’s hat with the same emblem? When Art took you to see The Devil Wears Prada did it end with you on his lap in the back of the theatre the same way it did when you’d gone to see the new X-Men? When he kissed you did he taste like the cigarettes you hated so much? Did you mind it, coming from Art?

“I’m happy for you, Art,” Patrick says instead. Art has everything Patrick’s ever wanted, and of course he’s happy for him. But for the first time, Patrick feels like he’s lost something. Something that he maybe didn’t realise he wanted until it was gone. He can’t tell what he’s missing more. You or Art.

At least Art can bear to be in the same room as him. And if Art’s as serious as he seems to be, eventually you’ll have to as well. It’s not much, but he’ll take what he can get. 

[shiny-jr]

Heya sorry to disturb ya but talking about AI, how to notice if the writing are ai or not? Imma reader so yeah :P

Sure! I'm really glad that the whole AI discussion seems to actually be making a sort of change here. I sorta expected for my words to fall on deaf ears, but that is not the case. So that makes me really happy!

Anyways, just to make this extra thorough, I consulted with the council (my writing mutuals) to ask their opinions on the best way to tell between AI writing and real writing. To some it may come across as an easy difference to spot, but to others it may not be so obvious. So I hope this does help you and others pick apart the AI from the real work!

AI Art

Red flag number one. To me, this is the most obvious sign. As AI art is a bit more obvious to see. There's usually inconsistencies in lighting, awkward lines, too shiny, oversaturated, etc. If you see someone use AI art as a cover for their story or within the chapters, the user is likely using AI in other ways too. If they're okay with using AI in art, they're probably okay with using AI in writing. Which isn't okay.

2. Pacing

This is also a big one. Writers are busy, we got lives and things to do, believe it or not. So if you see a story or account that's just pumping out heaps of content in a small amount of time, that is highly suspicious.

Of course there's people who can write a lot in a short amount of time or who have the time to write frequently, but I can tell you, if you see a story less than a year old that has HUNDREDS of pages of content, something about that is off. Usually, not all the time, it's AI. Because it's very quick for people to just type prompts and get the AI to make tons of content in a small amount of time when real work actually takes a lot of time.

Just check out the frequency of updates and the amount that is being given with each update, and you can probably make logical conclusions from there.

3. Author Notes/Comments

This is a hit or miss, but I've noticed a pattern here. From the AI fics that I've seen, I assume that most of them are written by users who did not have English as their first language. How can I tell? Their words.

These users might leave a note or a comment, and sometimes it's hardly readable, other times it is readable but there's a lot of mistakes in basic words, and on occasion their English is good but there's still flaws. Yet somehow, they can write pages and pages of a story with perfect English? Yeah, that don't make sense.

4. Writing Style

This is a lengthy one, as there's a lot of telltale signs in the writing itself that can reveal whether or not it's written by AI. I'll be breaking this down into more parts, just because there's a lot here.

Definitions - For this one, I'll give an example, without going into specifics of titles or anything. However, I saw a story recently, where something happened. And the line essentially went "And the crowd gasped– a collective intake of breath." See what's wrong with this line? Why are we, the readers, being told the definition of a gasp? People should know what that is. There's no reason for that to be there. So if a written portion includes a word, then defines what that word is, something is wrong.

Emotion - AI work is very stiff, robotic. It does not portray emotion well, if at all. As I mentioned once before, there's no passion in it. Any emotional scenes AI does write, feels very stale and lifeless. It doesn't invoke emotion as it should.

Characterization - This one is iffy. AI work tends to get characters wrong, like they'll make dialogue for a character but that character would never say that. Or they'll make a character do something but the character would never do that. Things like that. It's because AI doesn't truly grasp characters. The most it'll do is if given a set of character traits, it'll try to emulate that character solely based off the given traits, but often come up with multiple flaws and just totally get the character wrong. However, I say that is iffy because people do write characters differently. Sometimes, people totally write a character wrong and it's not AI.

Vocabulary - Another iffy one, but in all the AI works I've seen, they tend to try to use a high level vocabulary. Iffy because some real writers do write very eloquently with high vocabulary, but usually with AI, it sounds like an essay. You can also include excessive descriptions on this, especially descriptions that don't matter and have no real importance to the story. AI does that a lot.

Tone Shifts - AI doesn't have good memory, for the most part, so they can change tones of the story very quickly that it might seem jarring and out of place. If you look closely, this'll reveal if it's AI or not, especially is the tone shift is accidental and caused by the AI messing up. This can included repeated phrases, which also might seem out of place. It can especially be seen in chapter stories, as one chapter might read or feel a certain way and the next chapter reads completely different. There's no consistency.

Focus - AI tends to focus on tell. Tell and not show, when most writers try to focus on show don't tell. Here's an example, since this one might be hard to conceptualize. AI might write something like "He looked around suspiciously" versus a person who might write "He avoided eye contact, glancing around at anything else but you." See the difference? The first example is tell, the second example is show don't tell.

Long sentences - I have yet to have seen an AI fic with short sentences. All AI fics I've seen thus far have the tendency to write in long sentences.

Okay, I think I covered the basics of everything that was mentioned. At least, that's all that was brought up and could be thought of. I sincerely hope this helps, y'all. Remember, support real writers, not AI users ✨

[whoevenheckinknows]

Mine (DickJay Week 2025 Day 2)

Fandom: Batman All Media Types

Rating: M

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Dick Grayson x Jason Todd,

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd,

Tags: DickJay week 2025, Dickjay week day 2, possessive dick grayson, Dick Grayson was a good brother for all the Robins… except for Jason, protective dick grayson, unresolved sexual tension, I'm not really sure how to tag this, no beta we die like Jason Todd, Do not post to other sites, Cross-Posted on my other social medias, POV Third Person

Summary Jason knows he's the outcast of the family. He knows that, even without being forced to watch Dick treat his other brothers with more love and care than he ever showed Jason. And yet Dick has the audacity to get upset when Jason lays it all out for him to understand.

Or: There is a fine line between possessive and protective. Dick has trouble staying on one side.

AN: This fic ended up a lot different than I planned when I first started. I hope y'all enjoy anyway.

17: Medieval/Historical AU|Possessive Dick Grayson|Humiliation/Degradation Kink|Dick Grayson was a good brother for all the Robins… except for Jason

~~~

Jason hates dinner at the manor. He hates the reminder that no matter what he does, he'll always be the outsider of the family. The black sheep. The unwanted brother. They all make him well aware of that fact.

Especially Dick.

Jason watches from across the room as Dick fusses over the two youngest boys. Jason's Replacement and the Blood Son. Dick never fussed over him like that. Even when Jason was younger, Dick only tolerated his existence. And that's when he wasn't being actively hostile. Jason will give him credit for being less aggressive towards the end of Jason's time as Robin, but he was never like how he is now with his other brothers. And most of the time they don't even appreciate it.

Dick notices Jason staring at him and gives him a smile. Jason glares before looking away. Fucking prick.

(He doesn't notice Dick frown at the action.)

~~~

"Fuckin hell, Dickwing!" Jason yells in his com, making sure he's heard over the sounds of gunfire. He spins around and slams the butt of his gun into one of the goons. "Why are you here?"

"Don't be like that, Little Wing! It looked like you could use a little help cleaning up around here." And fuck does Jason want to punch that smug sounding mouth. If only friendly fire was an option right now.

"I was doing just fine, thanks." Jason snarls. He shoots at someone sneaking behind Nightwing, hitting them in the shoulder. "And I especially don't need help from you."

"Aw, you make it sound like you don't like me." Jason can see his smirk in his peripherals.

"That's cause I don't, Dickhead." It's Jason's turn to smirk as he sees that condescending smile fall slightly. It's only for a moment, before a Nightwing Smile (TM) reappears, but Jason saw it nonetheless.

They spend the rest of the fight in silence, quickly taking out the rest of the goons. Jason doesn't comment on Nightwing's brutality after their small conversation, just as Nightwing doesn't comment on the fact that Jason's not using rubber bullets.

Soon all the men are down for the count, and Jason grapples to the roof of a nearby building. Sure, he didn't use rubber bullets, but at least he didn't kill the fuckers. Instead, he waits for the police to show up, like a good little Bat.

He hears the sound of someone grappling beside him and holds in a groan of frustration. "Go the fuck away. The issue is solved now, though I didn't need your help to begin with. So you can get your ass out of here before I shoot it instead."

"Jay-"

"No names in the field, asshole."

Nightwing sighs. "Hood. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm dandy. Never been better." Jason sees the reflection of red and blue lights on the alley walls, and knows that's his cue to leave. He pulls out his grapple and turns towards Nightwing for one final remark. "Besides, don't you have better brothers to fuss over?"

Jason chuckles humorlessly to himself at the sound of choking as he grapples away.

~~~

Dick tracks him down to his safehouse later that night. Jason doesn't hear him come through the window over the sound of his shower, but stepping out of the bathroom he knows something is off. He tightens the towel around his waist, allowing the one used to dry his hair to rest on his shoulders.

Grabbing the gun he keeps behind the mirror, Jason tiptoes down the hallway. Most of the apartment is open floor, with only the bedroom and bathroom hidden behind doors. He can see right away that whatever's wrong isn't in the main room. Jason continues towards his bedroom, where the door is firmly shut. He knows he left it cracked before his shower.

He bursts through the door and points his gun inside. Even after identifying the person sitting on the foot of his bed just a few feet away, he doesn't lower his gun.

"What the fuck, Dick?"

"Is that any way to greet your older brother?" Dick replies cheekily.

Jason scowls.

"Fuck off. You lost your right to call yourself that long before I died. Don't think just cause I'm playin' nice with you Bats that I'm part of your fuckin' family."

"Of course you're part of the family, Jay!"

"Ya sure don't fucking act like it." Jason lowers his gun, but doesn't put it away.

Dick looks stricken, and Jason can't help his satisfaction at having put that look on his face. 'Bout time Old Dickie faced the consequences of his actions.

"Wha-what do you mean? Did I do something to make you feel unwelcome?"

Jason doesn't stop the loud disbelieving scoff that escapes his throat.

"'Did I do something to make you feel unwelcome?' You tell me, Dick." Jason places his gun down on the table by the door and starts stalking his way closer to Dick.

"Did being used as a outlet for your anger as a kid make me feel unwelcome?"

A step.

"Did coming back to see that I've been replaced as both Robin and a brother make me feel unwanted."

Another.

"Did seeing how easily Demon Brat integrated into the family despite all he's done make me feel as if you weren't even trying with me?"

A step, and a finger shoved into the now-in-reach chest.

"How could watching you be a better brother to them then you ever were to me possibly make me feel like I was never actually your brother?"

With each step, each barbed remark, Dick's face falls more and more until he looks close to tears. Serves him fucking right.

"Jay…"

"Get out."

"Wh-what?"

Jason moves his hand so that his finger is now pointing towards the window.

"Get. The Fuck. Out. Before I make you."

"Jason-"

"Fucking hell Dick, you have no right to be here in the first place. So fucking leave already." Jason's pretty sure he's yelling at this point, but he doesn't care as anger fills his veins. Dick stands up so that they're chest to chest at the foot of the bed.

"If you let me talk-"

"Oh no you don't. You're not talking circles around me. Actions speak louder than words, Dickhead. And your actions are fucking screaming that you don't want me. And I don't want you here either." Jason can see Dick's own anger flaring as he keeps getting cut off. Golden boy fucking deserves it.

"Ja-"

"You don't want me, you never have. And I don't want to be a part of your perfect fucking family anywa-"

"Dammit Jay, I want you too much!" Dick roars. Jason's eyes widen, and his shock leaves him defenseless for just a moment. Dick uses it to his advantage.

Wrapping a leg around one of Jason's, Dick twists around and shoves him onto the bed. Not giving any time to recover, Dick pins his arms down and uses a knee to push Jason's bare shoulder blades into the mattress.

"What the fuck? Get off of me!"

"Not until you actually fucking listen." Dick must be getting real pissed if he's cursing. Fucking good.

"Listen to what?" Jason spits out into the sheets under him. "Listen to you spin your lies and make yourself out to be the good guy, like you always do? The victim of mean old Jason, who's always the bad guy. Seriously, Dick. At least make your lies believable. What the fuck does 'I want you too much' even mean?"

Dick's responds by pushing his knee harder into Jason's shoulder blades, causing his face to push further into the mattress.

Jason groans in pain, muffled only slightly by the sheets in his mouth.

"Maybe if you stop fucking interrupting me and listen, I'll explain."

"Fuck you."

"In this position, it'd be the other way around don't you think?"

The comment is not what he expected, and Jason is left speechless.

"Huh. Well that's one way to shut you up. I'll have to keep that in mind" Dick chuckles darkly, leaning down to almost whisper the words into Jason's ear. Shit he's really pissed. Jason's earlier satisfaction slowly fades as he realizes the position he's in, pinned down with no chance of escape. Who knows what Dick will do now?

"Now, are you going to let me speak, or am I going to have to gag you as well?"

Jason growls, but lets him continue. Dick leans away from his ear.

"Good. To start, you're absolutely right. I took some of my anger at Bruce out on you. That was wrong of me, Jay, and for that I'm sorry. But!" Dick cuts off the response Jason tries to get out. "It's not because I hated you, or didn't think of you as my brother. In fact, it's the opposite."

"Robin was mine. My name, my outfit, my legacy. In my head, that meant that as Robin, you were mine." Jason makes a noise but Dick ignores him. "I'm a possessive man, Jason. I keep what I consider mine close to me, and don't let go. And that scared me. Here's this kid that Bruce took in and gave Robin, and I wanted to take him, keep him all for myself."

"So instead, I pushed you away. Kept you at arms length. Didn't let you get close enough for me to nab. And in the end, you died. And I thought, if I didn't push you away, could I have prevented that?"

"Don't get a complex about it, Dickhead. None of that was your fault." Jason grumbles out as Dick takes a breath.

"A little late for that now." Jason scoffs as Dick goes on. "I fucked up, pushing you away. I know that. So when Tim forced his way into our lives as Robin, I promised to do better. Robin was still mine, but I learned to turn my possessiveness into protectiveness. Probably coddled Tim too much, and Damian after him."

"So why ain't you mother-henning me like you do them, huh?" Jason snarks. Dick pushes harder for a moment.

"If you shut up and stop interrupting, I can finish explaining. When you returned, Jay, I was ecstatic. The one I pushed away came back and I could do better! I wanted to protect you this time. Except. I wasn't able to stop being so possessive of you. You were my first Robin. You were mine. You are mine. And Jason?" Here, Dick leans closer once more to whisper into Jason's ear. "I don't like when my things avoid me."

A shiver runs down Jason's spine at the chilling tone. What… the actual fuck.

"Every time you turn away from me? Push me aside? Refuse my help? That possessive part of me flares up just a little bit more. And tonight was the last straw. I've already lost you once, Jay. I'm going to do my damnedest to make sure I don't lose you again."

Every word out of Dick's mouth tickles Jason's ear, his lips just barely brushing his earlobe as he talks. His breath is warm. Really, his whole body is warm. Jason's body is slowly warming up in response.

Jason hates how all of this is making him feel. He wants to fight it all; to thrash and bite and scream and tell Dick he doesn't belong to anybody. That anyone who tries to claim otherwise is gonna get a bullet straight through their fucking head. But his body's decided without his input that he needs to stay right here, with this man pinning him down so securely. Unconsciously, Jason relaxes into the feeling of belonging it brings him, despite his brain being a constant scream of what the fuck.

The only sound in the room is their breathing, heavy and labored from their yelling. Jason knows he should respond, but what is he supposed to say? What the fuck is anyone supposed to do in this situation.

Jason decides to do what he does best and responds with anger, despite his relaxing body language suggesting otherswise. "So what, Dickface? Ya gonna keep me here forever? Force me to be your perfect little brother, caged away where nothing can hurt me?"

"Oh God no, Jay. That would be just as bad as letting you die again." Jason's faux anger immediately fades to shock, and it must show in his body language because Dick sighs. He takes the weight off of his knee and lets go of Jason's arms. For a moment, Jason thinks he's gonna let him up. That thought is crushed, along with the rest of Jason's body, as Dick flops on top of him.

Shit, if Jason thought Dick was warm before, it's nothing compared to the feeling of Dick completely covering Jason's bare back.

Jason tries to ignore it as he prompts Dick to continue. "So…?"

"So, I don't know, Jay. I've been trying to answer that same exact question since the moment we fucking met. You're mine, but what does that mean? I don't want you to be unhappy. I really don't. And I know stiffling you would do that. But… I don't want you to fly away from me for good either. I just…" Jason feels something warm and wet hit the back of his neck and he realizes with a start that Dick is crying. Dick shoves his face in Jason's hair to try and hide it. "I want you so bad. But I don't know how I want you. I'll take whatever you give me at this point though. Just.. please. Don't push me away anymore ."

Jason sighs quietly as Dick continues to hide his tears in Jason's neck. He reaches one of his arms back to thread his fingers soothingly through Dick's hair in response. He waits until Dick's cries trail off before speaking.

"Dick, let me up." He feels Dick wrap his arms tightly around him in protest. "I promise I'm not gonna leave. I just think this is a conversation I should be having with you, not my mattress."

Dick chuckles wetly as he rolls off Jason, the mattress bouncing slightly as he falls beside him. Jason has to hold back a whine at the chill that hits his back as soon as Dick moves. He turns to face Dick, taking the time to look over his red eyes and disheveled hair. He sighs again.

"C'mere." Jason grumbles, holding his arms open. A teary smile appears on Dick's face before he moves closer, shoving his face into the front of Jason's neck and wrapping his arms tightly around his waist once more. Jason wraps his own arms around Dick, albeit not as tightly. He places his chin on top of Dick's hair.

"So what now?" Jason breaks the silence after a while.

"I already said, I don't-"

"Yeah yeah, you don't know, haven't since we met, yadda yadda." Jason runs his fingers through Dick's hair to dissuade a response. "But that was before, when you decided that me 'belonging to you' meant I had no say in whatever the fuck you did. But now I know what you're thinking. And yeah, I know I can't stop your possessiveness if I wanted to. But I can at least help you figure things out. We'll figure it out together."

"Together." Dick's whisper into his neck causes another shiver to go down his spine. Jason responds by hugging him tighter to his chest.

End notes: Me: man I really want to write angry and possessive Dick fucking Jason after pinning him onto a bed

Dick: gets emotional and starts crying

Me: Oh shit, what the hell, geezus christ, what the fuck am i suppose to do now

If y'all want a smuty second part, let me know and I'll see what I can do. Feel free to let me know if there's any mistakes in the comments.

Come talk to me elsewhere

AO3 Tumblr Twitter Bluesky

[ghostie-gengar]

Hello, hello!

This isn't really an ask, but I just wanted to say that I'm really enjoying Unova Under Siege! Your writing flows really well, and I'm quite curious about Grimsley’s involvement (and Colress', for that matter).

I'm also wondering where you'll take the Grimsley/Colress pairing (since it's in the tags), but I should just be patient and wait. XD

My rambling aside, you probably know me better as the person who chatters in the comment section of the fic.

I guess you could say this "ask" is my rather unorthodox way of saying 'hello'!

omg hello thank you!!! :) i believe i recognize you from a grimsley/colress fic i read where grims was a vampire (which i adored btw)

anyways yes colress and grimley are a thing in unova under siege! but i do want to apologize to the falsepretenses truthers because they don't get a happy ending :( (the antigrav nation gets crumbs though sorrynotsorry) BUT in the meantime most of grimsley and colress' interactions are sweet little couple things mixed with the deadly mischief that comes with being in team plasma

anyways hello and thank you for the ask! here's a very quick and very shitty drawing of grimsley and colress

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a series of drawings featuring Riz Gukgak from D20 Fantasy High. In the first, Pok holds Riz's shoulders in heaven as says, smiling, when you work until the dead of night, your friends know you do it because you love them. In the second, Riz is having a group hug with his party and the text reads, but is it really love that drives you, Riz Gukgak... In the next, a desperate, pleading Riz clutches the shoulder of an indifferent, faceless person and the text continues, ...or is it fear? In the fourth, Riz is younger and digging through crystals with bleeding hands; the text reads, what use are you when you can no longer dig. In the fifth, Kalina, shrouded in darkness with only her eyes glowing, reaches towards the camera with a smile; the text reads, when you're too scared to think. Sixth, Riz is filling out Fig and Kristen's papers under the light of a lamp, serious and tired; the text reads, when you're too tired to work. Seventh, Riz is lying in bed, eyes hidden behind hair, hand on his father's picture; the text reads, too sad to keep the mood up. Eighth, Baron stares into the camera; the text reads, too lonely, too insecure, too weird. Ninth, Baron is holding a defeated Riz by the throat; the text reads, to keep moving? Tenth, Riz is standing in the distance, holding his briefcase, and behind him is a football/soccer ball; the text reads, what use is a ball that can no longer roll? The last drawing just says none in brackets on a dark background. End ID]

[nekrosmos]

Hey, bud. Try not to get down on your art. It's beautiful. With "interactions", there really is no predicting it. I can spend hours on a fic and it'll get no attention at all, and then rattle off a sleepy "lol my partner is an idiot"-based post and it'll crowd my notifications. Your work is loved and appreciated by your lil community, as are you.

Jack !!! I knooooow, you're absolutely right, the internet works in mysterious ways and focusing on interactions is dumb but man is my brain struggling to understand that. The worst part is when I start doubting a piece that I love because it's not getting a lot of attention, like yikes. Brb gonna go fight my brain in an empty parking lot until it gets the message or something

But for real I truly appreciate the reassurance and how genuinely supportive everyone is in this community. Thank you bud <3

[eebie]

i will always be a little smug about being all over spot before the movie even came out Before the trailers even dropped When he was just a teaser poster and an actor namedrop… spot superfans rise….

[tavina-writes]

Yes it's a response to your last poll reblogged... I try to not care about kudos and comments but it's hard

AH

sorry nonny my reading comprehension rn is like -50% due to being distracted at all times by the show dropping tomorrow morning, but like, I think it's a matter of like, not necessarily not caring about kudos and comments and such because like, these are nice things to have! We are wired to like it when people go "I LIKE THIS!" about stuff that we make. Why would a person stop caring about that? That seems counter intuitive to me.

But more like, getting stuck on a toxic spiral of "I am creating this so someone will tell me that they like it" -> "I am sad because no one has told me they like it yet" is perhaps, not the greatest use of emotional bandwidth or time.

Also I've seen this happen and like, there comes a point in this spiral where even the biggest numbers imaginable will not fulfill a person who's stuck in this spiral. Think thousands of comments, four or five digit kudos counts, dozens of comments per chapter. None of it actually fulfilled them. They spent so much time obsessing over when to drop a chapter to get the maximum amount of "engagement" that it really sucked all the joy out of like, even getting comments at all. Or writing. Which sucked!

I'm a big proponent of hoarding those good feelings you have about your own work whenever you can, and not letting those good feelings be dictated by stuff you can't control, like other people reacting to it in some way, which is yes, easier said than done.

Overall, sending you a hug Nonny, because I think we all get this way sometimes.

[vivi-scera]

girl what yoshiden fic is your favorite? i need recs.

anon you're lucky i'm in a magnanimous nicey mood, i was gonna gatekeep this fic till the end of time but here. i think there was a point in time where i would read this every single day just to study the writing... definitely one of the strangest things i've ever read. it feels exactly like a fever dream. the deep mundane insanity of an all-consuming crush... the author is so amazingly skilled and they have a few other fics i absolutely adore including this other yoshiden fic which is really more of a denji character study than it is a ship fic.

i've read other things in their tag and enjoyed them enough though not enough to recommend. once i'm in a yoshiden mood again i'll go through more of the tag. if you happen to read doujin, i highly suggest you read this one. though fair warning i'm super into eroguro type manga/doujin so if you get squicked out easily i'd skip it <3

[miabrown007]

a minute of silence to my skills to estimate how long a project is ever going to take

[bejeweledmp3]

tell me why i'm considering opening the doc and writing fanfiction during my lunch break. ON MY PHONE

[amiharana]

7, 22, 27, and 38 for the writing ask game, if you don't mind! :D

(ask game from here)

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

best part about writing is i can just write the most self-indulgent shit ever and then i read it back later and i'm like hell yeah this is exactly what i'm looking for! i'm not kidding i frequently go back through all my documents rereading all the concepting i wrote like it's a little bedtime story. no one can scratch my brainworms better than me fr! ☝️😀

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

mm i'm fairly okay about the organization of my writing stuff. after i got my first laptop, all of my writing has been on computers and kept in my google drive. i'm actually considering making another account to transfer all my stuff over so my personal google acc has more space kasjdfkjsdj

i love making so many folders and color coding in there though. i'm planning on retitling all my fic document stuff in a certain way to make it easier to find them, but i don't know what way works for me yet. there a quite a few documents that are out of place because it's either there's not enough of the same-fandom documents to make a folder or i just don't know how i wanna organize it yet. reorganizing is a process i have not had a time for recently hehe

if you're talking about actual writing, i have a couple fics where i make a separate document for the outline i wrote and switch between the outline and the draft, e.g. my docs "[revalink] crystal snow draft" vs "[revalink] crystal snow outline". usually i do this because the way i wrote it in the outline conveys the exact emotion or image i want and use that as a reference while i write the draft. also it's just fun to see my own brain on display! otherwise i keep one huge document for each ship where i braindump my ideas onto, e.g. my doc "_revalink concept reservoir" and then just add headers/outline in the document. the revalink concept document is currently 80 pages long LMFAOKDJFDJK but it's a bit messy at the moment bc i've been copy pasting a lot of stuff in there

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

hmm of the fics i've properly finished and uploaded, i don't think i've ever actually been stressed writing a character KDFHKDJFD i've mostly written soft cute self-indulgent stuff so it's not too difficult to write them being soft.

i guess what i'll say instead is i actually had a difficult time in general writing the 'like crazy' fic. most of the premise and style of the fic was something i had a hard time conveying, particularly writing link's character in that first half. i try to get in the heads of my characters when i write and figure out what they would do and why they would do it based on what i know about their character. and it was just. really hard to write link in the self-indulgence of what the vibes/lyrical meaning of the song 'like crazy' was while also keeping him within the boundaries of the character i perceive him as.

if anyone else reading this has some time to spare, you can read 'like crazy' here or the link pinned on my blog! it was my revalink week d7 fic hehe 🤍

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

i wish i could tell you something outright insane or outlandish but i can't 😔 my writing process just consists of me laying in bed with my laptop and youtube on my switch hooked to the tv playing videos while i stare at a google doc for a couple minutes until the words come to me, rinse and repeat for as many days as needed until the fic is edited and finalized.

maybe the weirdest thing i've done while writing was either laying down on my side in bed like. semi-fetal position but arranging myself in a way where i could still type on my laptop, or when i got up to lay down and cuddle on the floor of my room with my dog for a little bit to take a break from writing. sorry for the boring answer 🙏

[cherry-chaos-cola]

as much as it's fun to write and I'm fairly good at it I kind of hate the way when I add any comedy into fic that's the only thing readers focus on :/