#because I'm working on writing/revising it again

[traegorn]

Can You Give Me Any Advice How To Write Better In General? In The Sense Of Motivation. I'm Tired of Getting Halfway Through Writing Something And Then Running Out Of Steam.

Make yourself do it.

That's... that's it. Fight through it and write the bad version of it. You'll either pick up steam again or you won't... but you'll have a draft in the end.

You can't edit and revise something that doesn't exist.

Writing is work sometimes, and the only way to finish something is to finish it. That's just sort of the way of things.

Also because you capitalized every word, that this whole ask feels like the title of the weirdest manga ever.

[candyriku]

Working on my ice skating AU, here's a lil preview (this is like the start of chapter 2). I know it's sacrilege to have Sora and Riku be estranged in any way, but in this AU they ARE, okay. I felt like writing about them being messy and emotionally damaged people so here is Riku being messy (and plenty of Sora being messy will follow) :-)

“Are you serious?” Riku demands, his voice coming across more aggressively than he means it. “Skate with him?”

Aqua looks from Riku to Sora and frowns. “Do you know him? Is there some kind of issue?”

Does he know Sora? Of course he does. They were childhood friends, then something more, then nothing at all. But he can’t tell Aqua that, nor does he want to relive the last time he saw Sora, his trembling hands in his hair, their lips brushing together before Sora made a hasty retreat and disappeared from his life entirely. 

Sora’s eyes haven’t left his shoes. “It’s okay if you don’t want to…” he ventures, and somehow this makes Riku feel even worse. Sora is giving him an out, and he can't stand it. He wants to hate Sora for it, but it feels more and more like he hates himself. He should have never kissed Sora in the first place. He deserves the two years of silence he’s endured ever since.

“Look, Riku, I’ll say it one last time in case it’s not getting through that thick skull of yours. Either skate pairs, ice dance - which also requires a partner, or drop the sport entirely. If you want to do anything outside of those three options, I won’t coach you. And although it’s your decision, if you keep skating solo, I hope you know you're digging your own grave.”

“Fine,” Riku snaps, looking away from Sora. “I’ll try skating with him. But we both know he’ll only slow me down. This will end my career and yours.” He’s being unfair and he knows it, but the idea of Aqua deciding his future for him feels unbearable. Shouldn’t it be up to him? Yes, he’s injured, but injuries heal. He shouldn’t have to adjust his entire life because of one tiny stress fracture. 

“Sora won’t slow you down. He’s just as skilled as you are.” Aqua says firmly, crossing her arms.

Riku wants to argue, but he’s spent most of his life in the same rink as Sora and knows it’s true. Still, skating solo is something Riku doesn’t want taken from him. It’s his escape, his time for himself, his form of self-expression. Having another person - even if it’s Sora - encroach on that feels wrong. Figure skating is a sport about the performer and the performer alone. It’s his own personal artform. To share it is to lose his identity as a skater altogether. 

“I don’t skate with social media showboats” he spits. This, too, is unfair, and he only knows of Sora’s popularity online because he’s pathetically kept up with him after Sora moved away, forever watching videos of him skate with a mixture of longing and nausea. Sora skates expressively, beautifully, in a way Riku himself can’t quite replicate, because Sora has always been the better of the two of them when it comes to self-expression. Riku is just a miserable person pretending to be something he’s not. At least Sora is authentically himself all the time, even online. 

Everything in Riku’s brain tells him to stop making such a scene and just accept this new paradigm. But his heart aches with loss - loss of his solo career, loss of his dignity, loss of his autonomy, loss of this world he’s built for himself where he can pretend he never fell disastrously in love with his childhood best friend. He freezes when he sees the expression on Sora’s face. 

“I just post for fun,” Sora says softly, biting his lip. “I’ll stop posting while we're training, if that'll make you feel-”

“It’s fine,” Riku says. “Do what you want. It doesn’t concern me.”

[kiyaar]

.

[imsobadatnicknames2]

How can you consider yourself any sort of leftist when you defend AI art bullshit? You literally simp for AI techbros and have the gall to pretend you're against big corporations?? Get fucked

I don't "defend" AI art. I think a particular old post of mine that a lot of people tend to read in bad faith must be making the rounds again lmao.

Took me a good while to reply to this because you know what? I decided to make something positive out of this and use this as an opportunity to outline what I ACTUALLY believe about AI art. If anyone seeing this decides to read it in good or bad faith... Welp, your choice I guess.

I have several criticisms of the way the proliferation of AI art generators and LLMs is making a lot of things worse. Some of these are things I have voiced in the past, some of these are things I haven't until now:

Most image and text AI generators are fine-tuned to produce nothing but the most agreeable, generically pretty content slop, pretty much immediately squandering their potential to be used as genuinely interesting artistic tools with anything to offer in terms of a unique aesthetic experience (AI video still manages to look bizarre and interesting but it's getting there too)

In the entertainment industry and a lot of other fields, AI image generation is getting incorporated into production pipelines in ways that lead to the immiseration of working artists, being used to justify either lower wages or straight-up layoffs, and this is something that needs to be fought against. That's why I unconditionally supported the SAG-AFTRA strikes last year and will unconditionally support any collective action to address AI art as a concrete labor issue

In most fields where it's being integrated, AI art is vastly inferior to human artists in any use case where you need anything other than to make a superficially pretty picture really fast. If you need to do anything like ask for revisions or minor corrections, give very specific descriptions of how objects and people are interacting with each other, or just like. generate several pictures of the same thing and have them stay consistent with each other, you NEED human artists and it's preposterous to think they can be replaced by AI.

There is a lot of art on the internet that consists of the most generically pretty, cookie-cutter anime waifu-adjacent slop that has zero artistic or emotional value to either the people seeing it or the person churning it out, and while this certainly was A Thing before the advent of AI art generators, generative AI has made it extremely easy to become the kind of person who churns it out and floods online art spaces with it.

Similarly, LLMs make it extremely easy to generate massive volumes of texts, pages, articles, listicles and what have you that are generic vapid SEO-friendly pap at best and bizzarre nonsense misinformation at worst, drowning useful information in a sea of vapid noise and rendering internet searches increasingly useless.

The way LLMs are being incorporated into customer service and similar services not only, again, encourages further immiseration of customer service workers, but it's also completely useless for most customers.

A very annoyingly vocal part the population of AI art enthusiasts, fanatics and promoters do tend to talk about it in a way that directly or indirectly demeans the merit and skill of human artists and implies that they think of anyone who sees anything worthwile in the process of creation itself rather than the end product as stupid or deluded.

So you can probably tell by now that I don't hold AI art or writing in very high regard. However (and here's the part that'll get me called an AI techbro, or get people telling me that I'm just jealous of REAL artists because I lack the drive to create art of my own, or whatever else) I do have some criticisms of the way people have been responding to it, and have voiced such criticisms in the past.

I think a lot of the opposition to AI art has critstallized around unexamined gut reactions, whipping up a moral panic, and pressure to outwardly display an acceptable level of disdain for it. And in particular I think this climate has made a lot of people very prone to either uncritically entertain and adopt regressive ideas about Intellectual Propety, OR reveal previously held regressive ideas about Intellectual Property that are now suddenly more socially acceptable to express:

(I wanna preface this section by stating that I'm a staunch intellectual property abolitionist for the same reason I'm a private property abolitionist. If you think the existence of intellectual property is a good thing, a lot of my ideas about a lot of stuff are gonna be unpalatable to you. Not much I can do about it.)

A lot of people are suddenly throwing their support behind any proposal that promises stricter copyright regulations to combat AI art, when a lot of these also have the potential to severely udnermine fair use laws and fuck over a lot of independent artist for the benefit of big companies.

It was very worrying to see a lot of fanfic authors in particular clap for the George R R Martin OpenAI lawsuit because well... a lot of them don't realize that fanfic is a hobby that's in a position that's VERY legally precarious at best, that legally speaking using someone else's characters in your fanfic is as much of a violation of copyright law as straight up stealing entire passages, and that any regulation that can be used against the latter can be extended against the former.

Similarly, a lot of artists were cheering for the lawsuit against AI art models trained to mimic the style of specific artists. Which I agree is an extremely scummy thing to do (just like a human artist making a living from ripping off someone else's work is also extremely scummy), but I don't think every scummy act necessarily needs to be punishable by law, and some of them would in fact leave people worse off if they were. All this to say: If you are an artist, and ESPECIALLY a fan artist, trust me. You DON'T wanna live in a world where there's precedent for people's artstyles to be considered intellectual property in any legally enforceable way. I know you wanna hurt AI art people but this is one avenue that's not worth it.

Especially worrying to me as an indie musician has been to see people mention the strict copyright laws of the music industry as a positive thing that they wanna emulate. "this would never happen in the music industry because they value their artists copyright" idk maybe this is a the grass is greener type of situation but I'm telling you, you DON'T wanna live in a world where copyright law in the visual arts world works the way it does in the music industry. It's not worth it.

I've seen at least one person compare AI art model training to music sampling and say "there's a reason why they cracked down on sampling" as if the death of sampling due to stricter copyright laws was a good thing and not literally one of the worst things to happen in the history of music which nearly destroyed several primarily black music genres. Of course this is anecdotal because it's just One Guy I Saw Once, but you can see what I mean about how uncritical support for copyright law as a tool against AI can lead people to adopt increasingly regressive ideas about copyright.

Similarly, I've seen at least one person go "you know what? Collages should be considered art theft too, fuck you" over an argument where someone else compared AI art to collages. Again, same point as above.

Similarly, I take issue with the way a lot of people seem EXTREMELY personally invested in proving AI art is Not Real Art. I not only find this discussion unproductive, but also similarly dangerously prone to validating very reactionary ideas about The Nature Of Art that shouldn't really be entertained. Also it's a discussion rife with intellectual dishonesty and unevenly applied definition and standards.

When a lot of people present the argument of AI art not being art because the definition of art is this and that, they try to pretend that this is the definition of art the've always operated under and believed in, even when a lot of the time it's blatantly obvious that they're constructing their definition on the spot and deliberately trying to do so in such a way that it doesn't include AI art.

They never succeed at it, btw. I've seen several dozen different "AI art isn't art because art is [definition]". I've seen exactly zero of those where trying to seriously apply that definition in any context outside of trying to prove AI art isn't art doesn't end up in it accidentally excluding one or more non-AI artforms, usually reflecting the author's blindspots with regard to the different forms of artistic expression.

(However, this is moot because, again, these are rarely definitions that these people actually believe in or adhere to outside of trying to win "Is AI art real art?" discussions.)

Especially worrying when the definition they construct is built around stuff like Effort or Skill or Dedication or The Divine Human Spirit. You would not be happy about the kinds of art that have traditionally been excluded from Real Art using similar definitions.

Seriously when everyone was celebrating that the Catholic Church came out to say AI art isn't real art and sharing it as if it was validating and not Extremely Worrying that the arguments they'd been using against AI art sounded nearly identical to things TradCaths believe I was like. Well alright :T You can make all the "I never thought I'd die fighting side by side with a catholic" legolas and gimli memes you want, but it won't change the fact that the argument being made by the catholic church was a profoundly conservative one and nearly identical to arguments used to dismiss the artistic merit of certain forms of "degenerate" art and everyone was just uncritically sharing it, completely unconcerned with what kind of worldview they were lending validity to by sharing it.

Remember when the discourse about the Gay Sex cats pic was going on? One of the things I remember the most from that time was when someone went "Tell me a definition of art that excludes this picture without also excluding Fountain by Duchamp" and how just. Literally no one was able to do it. A LOT of people tried to argue some variation of "Well, Fountain is art and this image isn't because what turns fountain into art is Intent. Duchamp's choice to show a urinal at an art gallery as if it was art confers it an element of artistic intent that this image lacks" when like. Didn't by that same logic OP's choice to post the image on tumblr as if it was art also confer it artistic intent in the same way? Didn't that argument actually kinda end up accidentally validating the artistic status of every piece of AI art ever posted on social media? That moment it clicked for me that a lot of these definitions require applying certain concepts extremely selectively in order to make sense for the people using them.

A lot of people also try to argue it isn't Real Art based on the fact that most AI art is vapid but like. If being vapid definitionally excludes something from being art you're going to have to exclude a whooole lot of stuff along with it. AI art is vapid. A lot of art is too, I don't think this argument works either.

Like, look, I'm not really invested in trying to argue in favor of The Artistic Merits of AI art but I also find it extremely hard to ignore how trying to categorically define AI art as Not Real Art not only is unproductive but also requires either a) applying certain parts of your definition of art extremely selectively, b) constructing a definition of art so convoluted and full of weird caveats as to be functionally useless, or c) validating extremely reactionary conservative ideas about what Real Art is.

Some stray thoughts that don't fit any of the above sections.

I've occassionally seen people respond to AI art being used for shitposts like "A lot of people have affordable commissions, you could have paid someone like $30 to draw this for you instead of using the plagiarism algorithm and exploiting the work of real artists" and sorry but if you consider paying an artist a rate that amounts to like $5 for several hours of work a LESS exploitative alternative I think you've got something fucked up going on with your priorities.

Also it's kinda funny when people comment on the aforementioned shitposts with some variation of "see, the usage of AI art robs it of all humor because the thing that makes shitposts funny is when you consider the fact that someone would spend so much time and effort in something so stupid" because like. Yeah that is part of the humor SOMETIMES but also people share and laugh at low effort shitposts all the time. Again you're constructing a definition that you don't actually believe in anywhere outside of this type of conversations. Just say you don't like that it's AI art because you think it's morally wrong and stop being disingenuous.

So yeah, this is pretty much everything I believe about the topic.

I don't "defend" AI art, but my opposition to it is firmly rooted in my principles, and that means I refuse to uncritically accept any anti-AI art argument that goes against those same principles.

If you think not accepting and parroting every Anti-AI art argument I encounter because some of them are ideologically rooted in things I disagree with makes me indistinguishable from "AI techbros" you're working under a fucked up dichotomy.

[hedgehog-moss]

The librarian showed me an art book today like "you'll love this one, it's all paintings of flowers and snow and pomegranate seeds from up close, and other stuff you're into"—and when I finished leafing through the book she told me it was by a quadriplegic artist who paints by holding a brush in his mouth. Which made me go back to the start to stare at some paintings again like "wait, even this one??" It was really cool and made me want to try mouth-drawing, in a spirit of better appreciating the skill that went into these paintings. I took a pen and said I was going to draw Pandolf, and the librarian tilted her head in a politely sceptical way, like "I think I'll be the judge of whether what you draw is Pandolf or not." (Note: I'm not very good at drawing. This is how I usually draw Pandolf.)

Turns out that making tiny drawing- or writing- motions with your face requires a kind of coordination that you never usually need, it's hard to not straight-up send your pen in the wrong direction! My first attempt was a confused squiggle because the too-small scale I chose required more precise movements than I could manage. The librarian gave it a 0/10. My 2nd attempt, with a more manageable scale, was mostly just 3 triangles and a bushy tail—which, honestly, is what Pandolf consists of and it was fairly recognisable and got an honourable 6.5/10 and I should have stopped there. But no, I had to try again, with a bigger, more ambitious drawing involving a body, paws, whiskers—and the longer pen strokes were impossible to keep straight and looked terribly shaky. My 3rd drawing got a 3/10.

But since terrible art can be salvaged with self-important interpretation, I announced that, combined, my second and third drawings represent the ghost of Pandolf's ferocious wolf ancestor looking down at this fluffy and soft-hearted descendant of his with mystified consternation from wolf heaven.

The librarian was impressed by the profound spiritual evolution of my work and revised her final grade to 7/10 :)

[ahungeringknife]

Just in case anyone was confused or concerned.

Drafting is a skill. And it's a skill you can learn. If you ever look at your first draft and go 'actually this is good' do not immediately go 'no it's can't be good it's a first draft'. If you've been writing for a while (like years) writing a draft that is perfectly serviceable and only needs some editing without a ton of cutting is like... fine.

I spend a lot of my time 'writing' and 'rewriting' drafts 6-10 times in my head and when they finally come out as my 'first draft' (or a second in some cases) it's already been through 2-8 revisions. The work has been done and the words I'm writing are the culmination of those revisions. I just didn't write it down.

Not all revisions have to take place in meat space or as text on a screen. Revisions happen as you play out scenarios over and over again in day dreams or bed time stories. Your first draft is not something that Must be conquered and tamed into something presentable. Sometimes you nail it because you've spent all the revision time already.

This is not something that comes to everyone. But it is something you can get good at. You do not have to agonize over a 5th rewrite if the first time you've put words to paper is already the 6th revision that's gotten better every time. There's a lotta 'you gotta suffer to make a book good' in writeblr I just don't agree with. You can just nail it the "First Time". Not every time. But you can.

[aberooski]

Literally as I am revising and updating the original chapters of Sons of The Stars, people are reading the fic like at the parts I'm updating 😭 let me just say if you have read the pre-revised chapters may God have mercy on your soul because the revised versions are so much better and cleaner I cannot wait until I've finished revising the whole thing 😭

[vandalizingyourschool]

im bored im making a note game

10 notes: i finish all the revision i was supposed to do last week without getting distracted (still doing this shit wtf)

30 notes: i will finish reading Coraline (i've been putting it off for the past month, even though i really wanna read it)

50 notes: i will stop procrastinating making my noah finnce community (JOIN)

100 notes: i will try working out for a week and see how it goes (i tried.... but i forgot that you need to stretch before and now i cant feel my legs hehe)

150 notes (lmao not gonna happen): i will workout (consistently i swear) for a month

300 notes: not gonna happen but i will start doing graffiti again

500 notes (wtf): i will end my break from roleplaying nick

700 notes (where am i going with this): i start writing…?

1000 notes: i start playing the guitar now even though i want to do it after exams

tagging some ppl ig: @savi-of-ithaca @aled4laide @rivenantiqnerd @heybuddythatsnotok @helphowdoiusethis @nellzzzzzsblogg @linnyunicornlover @unhinged-as-hell @aloserwholikesheartstopper @is-it-funny-because-its-true @amarawisbey

no more than 3 notes alright guys (I'm looking at you savi)

[tea-cat-arts]

Ranking mxtx couples by whether or not I think they'd be good parents

(I'm 90% sure I'm forgetting someone)

Yep, next question (S)-

Wangxian: tried and tested good dads. I wish them luck with the whole “trying to get wwx pregnant” thing 

They have some shit to work through, but after that I think they'd be fine (A)-

Ling Wen/ Bai Jin: if we're just going off the original publication, I would put them in a much lower tier, but since the revised edition added that thing about them raising orphans together and said orphans turning out alright before unfortunate circumstances, I'm putting them up here. I think they'll be alright once they work through the miscommunication

Xiao Xingchen/ Song Lan: They obviously have a lot of trauma they're working through, but I'd like to think they and A-Qing will be a loving family in the long run 

One of them would be a good parent, the other wouldn't be a bad parent (B)-

Jiang Yanli/ Jin Zixuan: there's no canon reason for me putting them this low. Jin Zixuan just gives off a mediocre parent vibe to me (and we all know Jiang Yanli is the best)

Yushipei: Yushi Huang has good mom energy, and Pei Ming has been shown to be a not terrible mentor. I'd want the misogyny fully beaten out of him with a mace before I'd think he should have kids of his own though 

Lang Qianqiu/ Little Guy: at the very least, they're making sure Guzi is fed, clothed, washed, vaccinated, and has access to education. Neither of them know what they're doing, but I think Little Guy is good at faking it. I wish them luck in their upcoming custody battle  

You know what, surprise me/ I'll hear you out (C)-

Bingqiu: My first instinct is “no, do not bring kids into this,” but then I remembered tharnShen Qingqiu has a surprisingly decent track record? Like, Ning Yingying and Ming Fan both turned out a lot more health than they did in the original novel, and though I wouldn't call him in a good place, Binghe is doing a lot better than Bingge. The wild card for me here is Luo Binghe because I have no idea how he'd be with kids

Quanyin: Yin Yu had a decent track record until he was pushed into snapping. I think rn, he needs a couple centuries of being a babygirl before he's ready to parent again. No idea how Quan Yizhen would do though 

Born to “dual income, no kids, rich uncles/aunts” (D)-

Fengqing: Feng Xin is canonically a bad dad. I know he's working on it, but it is what it is. Mu Qing has been shown to be decent with kids, but I think he’d have a melt down if he had to deal with the mess constantly. 

Hualian: I mean, Xie Lian has raised three kids at this point and one of them became a god, another became state preceptor and then sorta complicit in a genocide, and one became god AND committed genocide + he babysat a ghost king for months and didn't even realize that's what he was because it was a miracle if he remembered to feed him… so, a mixed bag. Hua Cheng may be schrodinger’s child hater, but I'm intrigued by the idea of him raising kids just because I want to know how his own childhood would influence his parenting abilities. They should probably just stick to babysitting for now though 

Mingling: Liu Mingyan is too busy writing gay porn to be dealing with kids, and I just can't imagine Sha Hualing as a mom

Please don't bring a kid into this mess (F)-

Beefleaf: Do I need to explain this one?

Mobeishang: Shang Qinghua should not be put in any position where he has to teach someone about consent (Binghe’s early attempts at flirting being a prime example of why that's a bad idea). I also think Mobei Jun is still working on the whole “why hitting people is not cool” thing. 

QiJiu: I think the original timeline is a prime example of how they're just not in a place to be raising kids 

Jun Wu/ Mei Nianqing: Xie Lian would like a refund on his adopted father figures. They had one kid and he only made it to age 20 because he was cursed to not die

[ohcorny]

so! it's been a year since i put never satisfied on hiatus, and 9 years since i started posting it, and rather than make you read everything if all you want to know is "when's it coming back?" the answer is still: don't know! but the answer has also shifted closer to "it isn't" the longer i've spent on break, and i think it's worth being up front about that.

i talked about it a little here a few weeks ago, but the long and short of it is that between taking on better paying work, writing better stories, and looking back at what i'd already done for never satisfied... i just don't think i want to continue it? the year off has been incredibly good for my mental health, and i can't see myself wanting to go back after the two-three years still ahead of me on my current project. that's not to say i never want to return to the characters or the concept, but if i did, i imagine it would be with something completely new, in a different form. after all, i started this comic when i was 21 years old, a lesbian, and a sophomore in college. i am now just shy of 30, a bi man, and overall a completely different person than i was, back when i was writing without a plan and putting all of my insecurities into the comic--insecurities i don't identify with anymore. lord i'm closer to rothart's age than i am to lucy's. hate that

anyway. you have all been extraordinarily kind for following never satisfied for as long as you have, for supporting it as much as you have, and being as patient as you have. whatever form never satisfied takes in the future (god willing, with a more cohesive story structure and A PLAN FOR THE ENDING, WHICH BY THE WAY I NEVER, EVER HAD) i hope to see you there!

in the meantime, as an update on where i'm at with the thing that made me stop working on NS: i finished it! all the pages for Hunger's Bite (if you remember it with a different title: no you don't) have been turned in and now it's just revisions and covers and then........ waiting a year until it can come out. because that's how it is in traditionally published graphic novels! nothing releases for a full year after you finished it! and you're even getting it earlier than was originally planned, because i'm a creature and finished it like three months ahead of schedule. i've also already started thumbnailing the sequel book which i can't talk about whatsoever and will now be working on that for the next two years and then HOPEFULLY the first book will have done well enough that i can sell a third! so you better buy it when it comes out next february!!!!!!

to ease you all into it, i wanted to do a little crossover to introduce the main characters. we have emery, whose design is fully and unintentionally just Seiji Again down to his color palette (but seiji would bully him if they met. like so hard. he's a wimp). then we have neeta, a girl who dreams of travel and cares deeply about worker's rights, and wick, a vampire agent investigating the mysterious and sinister new owner of the 1910s ocean liner emery and neeta call home. he's also gay. but sorry lucy, you aren't his type. you're not mean enough.

the best place to keep up with me these days is probably here, as this first book gets closer to release, i will probably be posting about it a lot. and i will certainly post about it here when there's an official release date and cover reveal! i hope you'll go read it. i really think if you liked never satisfied and its themes, you'll like hunger's bite!

thank you again for reading!!

[buckysdollbarnes]

you are in love series - part one

one look, dark room

PAIRING: tfawts!bucky x grad student!reader

Summary: Moving to NYC to go to grad school, your friend's dad has a connection with the owner of a rental building in Brooklyn where you can live on your own, for cheaper than you could get anywhere else. On a student's budget, you strive to still make your place your own by thrifting as much decor as possible. Meeting your quiet and somewhat secretive neighbor, James, you gain some free labor to help you move the random stuff you buy, and with that he may be growing to love parts of the modern world he has been missing. With you in a big, new city feeling alone for the first time and Bucky wanting to make a connection with someone other than Sam and his therapist, maybe online marketplaces and a turntable will bring you both what you need most.

warnings: mild language

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is my first time EVER writing fiction, usually I only ever write academic papers so this is fun. :) I read over and revised this chapter so many times, so I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed and I'm excited to start on the next chapter.

a/n: also!! sorry for it being so long genuinely just so much had to happen in this chapter for it to be set up the way I wanted, which I think I did well enough. lmk what you think <3

Why did I think carrying this by myself was a good idea? It might be cute and a great deal, but I don’t think I'll be able to feel my arms tomorrow. I might need to hit the gym again before I find more bargains like this. Hell, maybe I'll even invest in a neck towel, because this heat is unbearable. I’ve been searching for some larger pieces to fill my apartment, and this vintage bar cart should fit perfectly. Just five more blocks to go.

Moving here alone has certainly come with its challenges: being on my own in such a big city, dealing with a lot of stress, and managing on a tight budget. But I’m determined to make it work though and prove everyone wrong. Growing up, you see so many romcoms where the heroine leaves everything behind to chase her dreams in NYC, landing a job at a magazine or fashion house, living in a gorgeous high-rise, and meeting the perfect guy. It’s a beautiful fantasy really, but the reality is much tougher. New York isn’t a movie set; it’s a real city with real people, and you have to work just as hard, if not harder, to be here. I know that, but it feels like a majority of my people back home DON’T know that I know that.

I came here for school. In about two months, I’ll be starting my Master’s program at NYU. I don’t think I’ve ever been as proud as when I received my acceptance email. I worked my ass off in undergrad to earn strong recommendations and good academic standing, and seeing it all come together was a huge relief—until the reality of the cost hit me.

Luckily, a friend's dad has a connection with a landlord in Brooklyn and got me a good deal on a place of my own. It’s incredible not to have a roommate in this market, especially in a place where your bed doesn’t touch your stove, though it can be a bit lonely.

Finally, reaching the stoop, out of breath, you set the cart down on the pavement. Wiping your brow, you notice the street is unusually quiet for this time of day. The city never truly sleeps, but the residential streets seem to take occasional naps. A little breath of air somewhere where it feels like oxygen is running out sometimes. Light filters through the trees, momentarily blinding you, and you turn back toward the building.

“How on earth am I going to get this up to my floor?”

Carrying it down the street was one thing, but hauling it up the stairs is a whole different challenge. Plus, who knows when the building's maintenance has last been here, the steps might not hold up under the cart’s weight. They usually feel like they could give away holding one person.

Deciding that falling to your death and being crushed isn’t really how you want to go, you open the double doors and drag the cart into the lobby, using the wheels on one side. Passing the main desk where the worker, who looks completely uninterested, engrossed in a crossword puzzle, you make your way to the end of the hall and start pulling the cart backwards up the incline of the stairwell.

“Nah, I can’t,” you say aloud, after struggling up two floors, letting the cart rest on the landing. There’s still three more floors to go, but your body is clearly telling you the cart belongs right here. Maybe the universe wants it to stay here—who knows, maybe the entire second floor needs a communal bar more than you do.

“Excuse me,” a quiet but rough male voice comes from behind me. You turn around to see him—a guy you’ve seen around your floor a few times, though you’ve never talked. One of the neighbors. You quickly realize you’re blocking the entire staircase.

“Sorry! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I’ll move this um — just give me a second.”

You shove the cart closer to the wall to make some space for him to pass, but he stays put, his gloved hands in his pockets. He’s definitely handsome—tall and solid, but not intimidating. His furrowed brow and tight-lipped expression don’t exactly scream “welcome,” but he’s still got a certain charm.

He shifts a bit, clearly wanting to say something but hesitating. Feeling a bit awkward under his gaze, you decide to try talking to him again.

“You can just squeeze by if you want. It’s just really heavy, so I’m taking a quick break before I try lifting it up again.”

After a moment, he seems to make up his mind and asks, “Do you need help?”

Looking back at him, you consider saying no. You pride yourself on being independent and capable, and part of you wants to insist you can handle it. But then you think about the struggle of getting the cart up the last two flights of stairs—only this time, it's three—and decide against it.

“You wouldn’t mind? You’re headed down, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

He gives a little smirk that makes you feel a bit dizzy.

“Well, I’m already here so.”

You nod slowly, a small smile appearing on your face.

“Sure, you can take this end, and I’ll get this o—” you start to say, but before you can finish, he’s already in front of you, lifting the cart with ease and starting up the stairs without breaking a sweat.

“Hey! Be careful, uh—,” you pause, realizing you don’t know his name.

He picks up on your hesitation and hesitates himself, considering whether to give his name. He’s wary of how others might perceive him, potentially recognizing his name from past news broadcasts or papers, still dealing with the shadows of his past despite his efforts to make amends. Not wanting to be dishonest, he chooses the safe option.

“James.”

“Be careful, James. I don’t want you tripping and falling on my account.”

“Won’t happen, doll.”

“What-,” you start, caught off guard by the pet name, “what if it does?”

“It won’t, see?” With the last few steps, you and James arrive at your floor. “Already here.”

He must have seen you around before too, to know where you live.

He gives you a quick look and then carries the cart to your door.

“This is yours, right?” He turns and looks at you expectantly. You rush over, fumbling for your keys to unlock the door. If he’s willing to move it all the way, who are you to turn him down?

You lead James into your apartment, wondering if it looks anything like his. The layout can’t be that different; it’s not exactly a luxury building.

He strolls further into the room.

“You can set it right here,” you say quickly. “Thank you for bringing it up for me. I was honestly thinking about giving up when you showed up.”

Setting the cart where you indicated, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and gives you a look that feels intense.

“It’s no problem.”

His gaze wanders around your apartment, taking in the mix of vintage furniture and eclectic decor. On a student’s budget, you’ve filled your space with secondhand finds. It’s more affordable and personal that way. The place might not be filled with new things, but it’s entirely curated by you. Finding beauty in the mix of old and new is something you do well, and now, thanks to James, you have one more piece to add.

James’s eyes land on your turntable setup. He seems intrigued by your collection of records but doesn’t say anything, turning his attention back to you.

“I have to go.”

Your eyebrows lift at his abruptness. Sensing your surprise, he quickly adds, “I’ve got an appointment.”

You nod vigorously, urging him to go and thanking him again for his kindness. Feeling a bit sad that this chance encounter with your new neighbor is ending so quickly, you call out as he heads for the door.

“I’ll see you around then? Since you live here too.”

He turns on his heel, giving you one last smirk.

“Yeah, you’ll see me.”

As he heads down the stairs, you shut your door and lock it behind you. Wandering over to where James’s gaze lingered, you pull an album from the shelf, lift the acrylic cover on your turntable, and set the record down. You close the cover, push play, and let the needle softly drop onto the vinyl. As the music starts, your mind drifts back to James.

Embarrassingly, you find yourself hoping this isn’t a one-time encounter. You don’t know much about him beyond his name, but there’s something about him that makes you want to see him again.

“Two hundred bucks for this is crazy,” you mutter to yourself, staring in disbelief at the sofa you’re eyeing on Facebook Marketplace.

“People are practically giving this stuff away.”

Not wanting to miss out on such a good deal, you message the seller to check if it’s still available.

Since you got the bar cart about a week and a half ago, you haven’t picked up anything else. With the July heat blasting, just thinking about moving a sofa in this weather makes you want to rip off your skin to cool down.

You can’t help but think of James, who you’ve seen briefly in the hallway since your last encounter. He just nodded as he passed by, and that was it.

Your phone dings, snapping you out of your thoughts. The seller confirms the sofa is still available and offers to deliver it since they have a truck.

Excited, you reply with a yes, and they let you know they’ll head your way soon.

You get up to rearrange your furniture, making space for the new sofa. You don’t have much to move since you’ve been slowly collecting things. As you shift the pieces around, your turntable stops, signaling it’s time to flip the record. After you do, you take a moment to picture how the sofa will fit in the space.

Then it hits you—moving a sofa is way heavier than the bar cart. If you struggled with that, how on earth will you manage this?

“Independent woman, my ass.”

With the delivery imminent, you decide on the only solution you can think of. Without hesitation, you head to the apartment across the hall and knock softly on the door. You wait, hoping James will answer. After a moment of shuffling and then silence, you start to wonder if you should just try something else.

Just then, the door cracks open, revealing half of James’s face. He looks curious but not annoyed—no one usually visits him.

“Hey! James! Great to see you again! I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I was wondering if you could help me out a bit? I just bought a sofa from this marketplace deal, and the seller’s coming to drop it off right now. He said he’d deliver it, but didn’t offer to help get it up to my apartment. I realized a sofa is way heavier than a bar cart, and you saw me struggle with that, so I was kinda sorta hoping you could help me bring it up here?”

After your rambling, you offer him a hopeful smile, waiting for his response.

A few moments of silence later, that smirk you’ve been missing appears on his face. Opening the door wider, he comments with a grin.

“You bought another thing you knew you couldn’t get up the stairs?”

“I honestly didn’t think it through. The deal was too good to pass up. I’m really sorry for bothering you. I can try to find someone else if you’re busy.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, doll.”

The smile that blooms on your face is unavoidable.

As the delivery guy drives away, James shows you where to grab the sofa and effortlessly lifts the other end. He encourages you to take the lead, making sure the weight is on him as you both navigate the stairs. With minimal effort, you get the sofa up to your place.

After some awkward maneuvering, you finally get the sofa into your apartment through the thin door and set it down. You put your hands on your hips and exhale deeply, only to find James already looking at you with that same intense gaze from before. It makes you a little nervous.

You can’t help but feel grateful—there’s no way you would have managed this on your own.

“I could have handled the bar cart,” you say, nodding toward the cart now adorned with bottles in the corner, “but this? No chance. Thanks so much for your help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “I wasn’t busy.”

As you look at him, you start to feel like you know him from somewhere beyond being just a neighbor. Maybe you’ve seen him around the city before you moved?

Brushing off the thought, you offer, “You’ve helped me out twice now, and it doesn’t feel right not to return the favor. If your whole evening consists of not being busy, why not stay for dinner? I promise I’ll cook something totally good and not poisonous.”

James looks surprised by your offer but quickly hides it.

“You don’t need to do that. You don’t owe me anything,” he says, not wanting you to feel obligated or uncomfortable. He worries that his presence might not be enjoyable.

He wishes he could be as charming as he was back in the 40s. Being friendly used to come easily, and if he were still the same person he was at 26, he wouldn’t have left so quickly after helping you on the stairs the first time. He wouldn’t have had a therapists appointment to go to and he wouldn’t have a hidden arm made of metal. He’d have asked you to dinner or for you to let him take you dancing instead in return for his brawn. Now, he struggles to make new connections beyond a few familiar faces, like Sam, and asking someone for a dance feels out of reach.

“No, no! Stay, I insist! It gets kind of lonely around here, doesn’t it? Why not have a friend dinner?” you press, hoping he’ll take you up on the offer.

Seeing your sincerity, though still feeling a bit miffed, he finally agrees.

“Yeah, sure. I can stay.”

James settles onto the sofa while you work in the kitchen. You’ve decided on making some stuffed ravioli and garlic bread—easy, delicious, hard to mess up.

Before getting into cooking, you switch out the record, letting new music drift softly through the space. Unbeknownst to you, James watches closely, paying attention to how you handle the records and the turntable. The care you take when putting a record back in its slip, taking a new one out of its dust cover, and gently putting it on.

Seeing you focused on cooking, James gets up and strolls over to your setup. He runs his fingers lightly across the spines of the record sleeves, feeling a surprising sense of comfort. He hadn’t realized people still used record players so often.

The setup looks quite familiar to him, with many aspects reminiscent of the record players he used back in his earlier days. In his life before this one.

As you finish preparing the pasta and pull the bread from the oven, you call out, “Hey, food’s ready!”

You glance back to see James hovering by the turntable. He quickly moves to the table and sits down.

Over dinner, the conversation flows comfortably. James seems to be relaxing a bit, his initial reserve fading. He’s still somewhat guarded, but what he does share is genuinely interesting. You sense that opening up is challenging for him, so you respect his pace and take whatever he is willing to give. Laughing with each other a few times and getting through some odd topics, he mentions that he hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in quite a while and thanks you with a smile.

After a pleasant dinner, you decide to bring up something you’d been curious about.

“You like records?”

Caught off guard by the question, James tries to answer without revealing too much about himself. It feels strange to be here, knowing you don’t really know who he is, but he worries that being too open might scare you away. He decides to keep his secrets for now, selfishly hoping to get to know you better before revealing more.

“Yeah, I used to have quite a few records as a kid. My ma would play them too, especially when she was cooking, just like you. I didn’t realize they were still so popular.”

Excited by this glimpse into his past, you push further.

“Oh, there’s definitely a huge market for vinyl. Lots of people who think it makes them superior, but also a lot who just love the physical aspect of it.”

“So which one are you?” he asks.

You laugh and reply, “Maybe a bit of both.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes, catching his rare smile.

“But really, I just like having it. There’s something different about the listening experience. It requires more effort than just hitting play on a playlist. It’s about choosing a full album and actually sitting down to listen. That feels more intentional to me, and that’s why I do it.”

James seems to ponder your answer, his expression softer than before. He then turns his gaze back to the turntable.

“So, since you mentioned you had records as a kid, do you not have any now?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

“Haven’t had any for a long time. Talking about it makes me miss them. Everything these days feels so complicated. I like simple things like that.”

Watching him as he looks away, you hesitate but notice the nostalgic shine in his eyes. You sense he might appreciate physical music even more than you do.

“If you ever get any and don’t have a place to play them, you’re welcome to use mine.”

He turns to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I mean, I know it’s not the most convenient offer, but it’s there. One record lover to another,” you add with a smile.

He returns your smile, saying, “Okay… thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, Doll.”

That night, Bucky lies on his makeshift bed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the events of the day. You knocking on his door for help with the couch, inviting him over for dinner, and all the easygoing conversation you shared. It was such a stark contrast to his usual rigidity. He'd let his guard down just a little—letting himself smile or flirt ever so slightly.

He wishes he were better at this. It used to come so naturally. Hell, before he left for war, he’d gone dancing with both his own date and Steve’s at the same time. Now, he finds himself listening to you talk while struggling to share anything of his own.

He doesn’t want to pass up your invitation, especially since you’re inviting him into your space again. Clearly, his reserve hasn’t put you off too much.

“What would I even bring?” he wonders aloud.

All he’s ever listened to is 40’s music and big band. He doubts that’s readily available these days.

Rolling onto his side, he grabs the cell phone Steve had insisted he get before he went back in time to live his real life, without Bucky.

“You can do anything on here, Buck!”

Scrolling through the three contacts he has, he taps on the name of the guy who’s been trying to reach him for weeks.

“So, is there a valid reason why you haven’t picked up my damn calls?” Sam’s voice comes through.

“Sam, hi.”

“Did you finally learn how to click the screen? Is that why I’m hearing from you now, old man?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t like the thing. Too confusing,” Bucky says, grimacing as he fiddles with the phone.

“Okay, okay, what’s going on, man? You doing alright?”

“I’m fine. I just have a question and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t harass me about it.”

“Is it about wizards?”

“What?”

“Wizards. Is the question about wizards?”

“No, what the hell. Look, I had dinner with one of my neighbors tonight—”

“Was it a girl?”

“Does it matter?”

“Hell yes, it matters. And from that response, I KNOW it was a girl, so—”

“It doesn’t matter. She has a record player, which I didn’t know people still used, and she offered to let me use it, but I don’t have anything to play on it.”

“I’m not getting the problem.”

“I only like the stuff from the 40’s and—”

“Did you listen to that Marvin Gaye playlist I sent you?”

“Not interested.”

“C’mon, man, it’s good stuff. Give it a listen.”

“Not feeling it.”

“Alright, your loss, I guess. Still not seeing the problem though.”

“What do I bring? I can’t just bring around the stuff I know because where would I even get it?”

“Whoa, man, what do you mean, where would you get it? Just go to a record store and hit up the vintage section or something.”

Bucky pauses, mulling over Sam’s words.

“They have that?”

“Duh. You know, you could answer these questions a lot easier if you just looked them up on your phone—”

“Thanks, Sam. Talk to you later.”

Lying back down, Bucky decides that the next time he’s out to see his therapist, he’ll first stop by a record store to find something to bring over to your place.

Your easygoing presence was so comforting, and he found himself longing for it as he drifted off to sleep. He’d see you again soon enough.

Later in the week, as you wind down from a busy day, you focus on making your space as calming as possible.

You light some candles and turn on an orange floor lamp, the soft glow wrapping around you and setting the perfect mood to sink into your sofa with the book you’ve been neglecting.

You’ve just started settling into your reading when you’re jolted out of your half-nap by the sound of someone knocking on your door.

You get up and peer through the peephole, and there’s your dinner guest from earlier in the week.

Opening the door with a smile, you greet him.

“Hey James, unexpected visit! What’s up?”

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he speaks. You glance down and realize your outfit—shorts that really lived up to their name and a tank top—might not be the most guest-appropriate.

Brushing off your embarrassment, you look back up at him.

“I’ve got something I’d like to play, if that’s alright?”

Bucky’s mind races. Standing at your door, he worries maybe you only offered your place to be nice, and now he’s making a fool of himself. Of course, you didn’t want him there—he could barely talk.

Just as he’s about to get lost in his own head, your bright smile pulls him out of it.

“Oh my gosh, please, come in. What do you have?”

His doubt fades away as he sees your genuine excitement.

“Brought some Sinatra. Not sure if you’re into that, but I used to like his stuff when I was younger.”

You spin around abruptly, staring at him in disbelief.

“There’s no way you think I don’t know who Frank Sinatra is…”

Bucky stumbles over his words.

“Well, I mean, it’s not exactly new stuff so—”

“You think I wouldn’t know ‘Fly Me to the Moon’? ‘Singin’ in the Rain’? ‘New York, New York’? I mean, I even moved to New York—I had to get the romanticism from somewhere.”

“What are those?”

You pause, confused.

“Like, the most iconic Frank Sinatra songs. You are talking about Frank Sinatra, right? Not some other Sinatra I’ve never heard of?”

“No, you’re right, it’s Frank.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I guess I don’t know those ones.” He admits.

“So, what era are we talking about?” You ask, reaching for the record.

As you grasp the sleeve, you notice a glint of light catching James’s bare hand. Realizing he’s not wearing gloves, confusion sets in before it clicks. You HAD seen James before.

Looking up at him, he seems frozen, obviously panicking. He planned to tell you eventually, but not like this. Not when you weren’t close enough yet.

He thought there is no way you are going to want anything to do with him now.

You thought there is no way was there's an actual Avenger in your apartment right now.

You’re frozen, just like him, but more in shock rather than fear.

“Do you… usually go by James?” you ask cautiously.

Hesitating, he shakes his head.

“What do you usually go by then?”

Bucky feels anxiety creeping up his back. You’re both still holding the record, and he can’t tell if you’re scared or just surprised.

“Bucky.”

You stay silent for a moment while Bucky’s nerves are on edge.

“So… metal hand…”

Clenching his jaw, he replies, “Arm.”

“You’re that Bucky.”

“Yes.”

After a long pause, you start again.

“You’re an Avenger and you didn’t tell me?”

Bucky hesitates, his discomfort visible. “I’m— I’m not an Avenger.”

“What do you mean? You’re totally an Avenger! Why wouldn’t you tell me? How did I not recognize you before?” you ask, laughing in disbelief.

Bucky’s taken aback. You really thought he was an Avenger? You’re not scared of him at all, which surprises him. You must not know much about his past if you’re still standing this close.

“No wonder you don’t know ‘New York, New York,’” you say, almost to yourself. “It’s from after your time! This is crazy, I—”

You’re interrupted by his response.

“Are you not scared?”

“Of course not.”

Bucky closes in on himself, panic evident. “If you really knew me, you’d want nothing to do with me. I’ve—”

“I might not know the version of you you’re talking about, but I’ve met James, who helped me not once, but twice  carry stuff he definitely didn’t have to up the stairs, stayed for dinner, has been very polite to me, and has given me zero reasons to be scared of him.”

He looks at you, his piercing blue eyes revealing an internal struggle. That one look holds more weight than his words. You can see the battle within him, torn between his past and the present moment.

“Listen,” you say, finally letting go of the record, “if you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. But I’m not scared of you, and I actually like your company. So, regardless of whether you’re James, Bucky, or whoever, you’re still welcome here.”

You pause, adding, “And we can still play this if you’d like.”

Bucky struggles with his inner turmoil. The idea that you know who he is but still want him around is foreign to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of the kindness you’re offering, but it’s been so long since he’s received such warmth that it’s almost impossible to turn it down.

He’s not comfortable with his identity or his past, but in this moment, he wants to push it aside. If you don’t care, maybe he can allow himself not to care, even if just for a bit. Maybe he can prove something to himself, or even his therapist.

Handing you the record, he relaxes his face slightly. You’ve always thought him handsome, but in the dim light of the dark room, he looks almost ethereal.

You’re hoping he believes you because your excitement for his company tonight feels more significant than it probably should, but you’re okay with that.

“I’m Bucky.”

You smile warmly at this change. “Alright, Bucky. What do you want to do?”

He gazes at you deeply, his look sending a shiver down your spine and warming your chest. “Play it.”

a/n: well, hope this was alright. as I mentioned before, ive never wrote fiction before, but ive definitely read enough to get the gist.

[2n1ghts]

❝let me take care of you, baby.❞ ❥︎ collegebf!eren x reader

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

synopsis: it was nearing finals, and you avoided your boyfriend— eren—like the plague. and boy, was he was worried for you. your normally cheerful demeanor dwindled to something snarky, something avoidant. all you did nowadays was study till your brain rotted, and it made you a bitter person. he was waiting for the day you'd collapse, and the moment you did, it was worse than he expected. good thing he was there to take care of you. to pamper you because you were his baby.

*contains suggestive content!! advise against reading if you're under 17. minors will be blocked, so please dni if you're one!

key: e/c -> eye color

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

hey y'all!! 💌

again, not sure how the whole tumblr thing works. i'm experimenting and trying out writing for fun, so please be kind. i was pretty out of it when i wrote this, so ignore any typos or inconsistencies. also, bear with our y/n. she's crafted this way for a reason.

it's my first time writing a short fic/drabble, and i did this as more of an experiment. i welcome feedback but please be kind with your words. i am just learning and finding out what works for me.

anyways, hope you enjoy lovelies!

best,

~ nene

The past few weeks had been a living hell.

Not because of the finals nearing round the corner, or because of the two hours of sleep you were getting per night; not because of the crude professors who made it their life mission to assign a million projects when the quarter was about to end; not because of your parents who did not give two shits about your mental health.

It was the distance you were maintaining with Eren that made it the hardest.

He was worried for you. You could tell by the way his eyebrows would furrow when you would decline yet another plea to relax, or the way his eyes conceringly flitted to your scrunched posture whenever you'd cuss at yourself, or the way he would gently, tenderly... remove your hands that tended to roughly rake through your hair when anxious.

Your breaking point was nearing, and he was holding himself back from embracing you right then and there. He was not one to interfere, but he wanted to take care of you, to ease the burden off your shoulders and reassure you that your studying would amount to great achievements. But he didn't know how to reach you. You were so caught up in your bubble of self-sabotage and pressure that you shut the rest of the world out, including him.

But he didn't want to be "the rest of the world." He would wallow in your bubble too, only if you'd let him in.

"Fucking deratives will be the end of me," he heard you seethe from your position on his gaming chair. The both of you were currently cooped up in his room, with him scrolling through TikTok and occasionally glancing at you while you revised and revised till your eyes were sore.

Eren's roommate flew out, which left the place to himself. He lured you here stating it would be better to study at his place with "no distractions" compared to your apartment with Hitch, who was quite the gossip and hinderance.

As you highlighted yet another section, you felt his eyes raking down your figure.

You were engulfed in his oversized grey hoodie, wearing nothing but a flimsy cotton bra and matching underwear underneath. Your hair was messily thrown up in a bun, a few strands tickling your forehead here and there, to which you frustratedly blew from your periphery. Lilac crescents embedded themselves into your under-eyes, followed with bags entailing sleep deprivation. One bare leg was propped up as you rested your chin on your knee and swung the other absentmindedly.

If you didn't stop studying now, you'd collapse from exhaustion. Three hours had passed by nonstop. You hadn't even drank water.

"Y/n," he called out gently.

You ignored him, but he knew you heard him because of that cute forehead scrunch you just did.

"Y/n," he called, this time a bit louder. Once again, that damn scrunch, but no verbal acknowledgement.

"Y/n!" he tried for the third time. You furrowed your eyebrows, scowling. Your slender finger pressed into your plump lips, a gesture made to silence him.

Leaving his position on the bed, he strided over to you. He got onto his knees and gently took ahold of your meandering hands. The callus of his fingers felt textured against your knuckles.

"Why are you ignoring me, babe?"

"I'm not ignoring you," you replied, trying to refocus your attention on your migraine-inducing Calculus textbook. He tried not to flinch at you shutting him out for the nth time this week.

It hurt him whenever you tried drowning him out like he was a petty distraction.

Because he wasn't to be discarded. He was your boyfriend, and he promised to always be there for you, so why wouldn't you just confide in him?

"I called for you three times, Y/n," he stated calmly. Letting go of one of your hands, he gently drew circles on your knee with the pad of his thumb, hoping it'd soothe your nerves. Goosebumps littered your skin at the gesture.

"Can't you see I'm studying, Ren? I can't talk right now." Overstimulated and tired, you weren't in the mood to converse. In fact, you weren't in the mood to do anything. All you wanted to do was collapse onto your sheets and fall into a hundred-year slumber, but unfortunately, finals exist to give you enough of a reality check.

"You are working so hard, so take a break, please," he pleaded yet again.

He'd beg if it meant you'd prioritize your health. He cared more about you than his ego. That's why he always rebounded with a gentle demeanor, even if you were rude and snarky. He knew your brash attitude wasn't your fault. You just didn't function well under stress.

The unfiltered truth was, you weren't used to the princess treatment Eren offered. As a child, you had gotten used to your parents' nagging. Sleepless nights became routine if it meant you'd score straight A's. It had been like this all throughout high school.

Until you met Eren.

He prioritized you first, always, and taught you to do the same. It was sort of... a culture shock to you, a difficult adjustment. You needed time getting accustomed to this novel way of thinking, and luckily Eren was understanding.

Couldn't say your self-sabotage wasn't eating away at him, though.

"And you need to take a break from badgering me. I'm perfectly fine," you snarked. Your eyes broke contact with his, gaze landing once again on the textbook to your left.

Angling your chair, you turned your body away from him, trying to focus on the task at hand. You couldn't bear to look at him because you knew he was right. If you gave in, you would stop studying. If you stopped studying, you'd catastrophically fail, which could not happen.

With a frustrated sigh, Eren swiftly snagged your textbook and threw it behind him. It collided with the mattress with a large 'thud.' You gasped as he grabbed the edge of your chair, turning it towards him.

"You're not getting that textbook until you eat and drink something," he asserted, a layer of seriousness washing over his green eyes.

"What the hell, Eren? Give it back!" You shrieked.

"You heard the conditions."

"Eren, this is serious. I don't have time to play games right now. Please... give it back."

"Who said I'm playing games, Y/n? The only reason I'm doing this is because you're being negligent towards yourself."

"Okay, well that's my problem. Who are you to interfere?" You countered.

"Hey, I'm not trying to be your mom or anything. As your boyfriend, I care about you. It's just a glass of water and a snack, Y/n. Do it for yourself. You deserve a break."

You started panicking. An uneasy feeling sprawled up your stomach as your hands got clammy. "No! You don't understand."

"Then enlighten me, babe. I'm right here."

Rolling your eyes, you stood up from the chair, trying not to cringe at the weird noise emitted from the leather upon loss of contact with your skin. You reached forward to grab your textbook off the mattress, but Eren was faster. He took ahold of your wrist and lowered it.

You grunted in frustration. "I—I need to study, Ren. Badly. My career and future depend on it. These are hard subjects. I need hours and hours of studying to ace these exams. You don't get it."

He doesn't reply, continuing to look at you sternly and not budging. Your nerves were skyrocketing. What was his deal? This wasn't the time to be testing your patience. Plus, if he really cared, he'd understand your desperation.

"Okay, whatever sick fun you're trying to derive out of this isn't cool," you deadpanned.

You tried pulling your wrist out of his grip, but he required little to no effort to keep you at bay, simply planting his feet further into the ground when you tried shoving him. Your e/c-eyed stare pierced him like daggers, but his resolve was impenetrable.

God, what a stubborn fuck.

You continued wriggling and squirming to no avail. Your bottom lip began trembling. Liquid pooled at your lashline, threatening to moisten your cheeks with its salty trail.

You broke.

Sniffling, you shoved him repeatedly in the chest. "I hate you. I hate this. I fucking hate college and hate my parents and hate finals and hate this fucked up system that does nothing but capitalize on our stress and hate motherfucking Calculus and professor Ackerman and—"

Moist lips enclosed your own, trapping them tantalizingly. The kiss was brief and sweet. He used it as a way to tranquilize you, gently trapping both of your wrists with his one hand.

"Shh, just let me take care of you, baby," he rasped as he tenderly interlocked his arms under your legs, lifting and placing you on the bed. The mattress felt soft against your spine.

If pamper had a textbook definition, Eren's face would definitely appear in the margin.

[randomhealer]

types of kisses

something cute, improvised (very improvised), no revision, I'm doing this without glasses and I'm very sleepy, sorry for disappearing and I wanted to add other characters but I'm dying now, anyway I tried my best today to write this, my mind isn't working very well...sorruh

Pomefiore + Savanaclaw

✦ Pomefiore

Epel definitely gives you soft kisses in the presence of others, he really likes giving kisses just as he loves receiving them, he can give you soft and affectionate kisses when you are around someone especially other pomefiore students but when you two are alone he loves Long, heavy and messy kisses, it's a real achievement for Epel to see you breathing heavily and your lips swollen beneath him, he also loves biting your lower lip just to tease you. a session of small kisses at the end of class always ends up turning into a little messy and carefree make-out session with you and Epel which always results in both of them having a flushed face and irregular breathing, messy hair and slightly wrinkled clothes.

Vil always asks you to help him test new lipsticks, and how do you help him with that? well...you stay there and serve as a guinea pig while he kisses your face with every new lipstick he tries. Now...does he use you as an excuse to test which lipstick transfers or doesn't or does he use the lipstick excuse just so he can kiss your cute little face? who knows... but he loves kissing your cheek because he thinks it's soft and if you've been using any of his skin products you'll be even happier, You are his favorite guinea pig because he loves seeing your eager little face when he approaches to kiss your face again, and he loves your flushed face even more after he pulls away, at the end of it all when he is done and your face is dirty. with some kiss marks from different lipsticks he will give you a light kiss on the lips as a good job.

Rook loves kissing you randomly at any place, time, time- in short he loves stealing kisses from you at any time, it's a blessing and a misfortune for you, it's as if he watches you 24 hours a day (and he does that but that's a topic for another day) just to give you a kiss when you're unprepared, does he also give you a kiss at all times at any event, before classes? after classes? after the break? when he randomly sees you around? entering your dorm without you noticing? yes he will kiss you or steal a kiss from you, He also loves letting you curl up in his arms so he can finally claim your sweet lips properly.

★ Savanaclaw

When you give Leona little kisses he thinks it's cute and/or maybe even a little funny how you give him affection...it's like a little mouse taking care of a big lion...Leona prefers to kiss you hard and take the opportunity to bite you here and there, not just your lips but your neck too, you can literally become his little biting toy during this time, he's not content with just your lips he kisses your neck and chest too, making sure to leave bite marks where he kisses, Leona just like Epel likes to see you with your lips swollen and your face flushed and messy beneath him, he finds this the most fascinating thing he has see.

Jack and you are a cute dynamic, Jack loves your kisses because for him it's like a reward and a form of love, as he makes a promise to run several kilometers so that when he reaches the end he receives a kiss from you as a reward, he loves being together. cuddle with you and snuggle into you and tuck his face into your neck as he kisses your neck and you rub his ears, you can see his tail wagging behind him excitedly, He might end up being too happy and reflexively end up biting you (he'll apologize for that, okay) You are the reason he trains for two extra hours, in fact there is nothing better for a well-trained dog than a good treat.

Ruggie loves it when you give him tender kisses whether wet or not he likes it anyway, he just melts like butter when you kiss his ears or his face, pick him up, squeeze his cheeks and fill his face with your kisses okay ? Is this his biggest request, or when you let him rest on your chest while you caress him and kiss him? This is his paradise, he will steal kisses from you during the day because well...it's his right...he will remind you (and demand) affection and kisses at the end of the day.

[writingquestionsanswered]

I'm tired of my ideas always being big. It's overwhelming. I like seeing others' WIPs and ideas because they're just so simple... Like, that comic about a mermaid living in the ocean in our modern time and dealing with plastic trash. So simple and my own brain is bursting with ideas. But my own WIPs... they just start huge. I'd like something smaller... but I don't know how.

Stories Always Get Too Big

Stories can get out of hand quickly when they sprout too many independent threads. There are three primary culprits that serve as sparks that create these threads:

1 - Setting 2 - Non-Protagonist Characters/Relationships 3 - Back Story

The thing to remember, though, is that no matter how interesting your setting is, no matter how compelling your other characters are, and how fascinating the back story is, those things are not your plot.

Plot is the sequence of events through which the protagonist (and potentially other main characters) attempt to resolve the story's conflict by overcoming obstacles and setbacks in pursuit of a goal.

In other words, focus on this:

the protagonist > their normal world > the event that introduces a problem they must resolve > the goal they formulate in order to resolve that problem > the events that occur as a result of their pursuit of this goal > their attempts to overcome obstacles and setbacks encountered along the way > their attempt to solve the problem once and for all > failure or success > life in a changed situation/world

Anything else doesn't need to be there unless it is critical in order for one of the above steps to make sense.

So, let's take your mermaid example... though I haven't read that comic so I'm winging it here:

the protagonist = mermaid normal world = doing mermaid stuff inciting incident = finding plastic trash in the water goal = clean up/find the culprit and teach them to do better events = cleaning up, learning about humans, tracking down culprit climax = mermaid appeals to humans to do better finale = mermaid is living in a cleaner ocean

Now, let's say your brain starts to go off on a tangent about a deep oceanic rift and an evil merman wizard who lives there... stop right there. It's a fun idea, but what does it have to do with this story? How does it relate to the trash, clean-up, finding the culprit, or appeal to humans to do better? It doesn't. Theoretically, you could make it make sense... like, maybe the merman wizard likes the trash and wants the ocean to be dirty and gross, so maybe he is opposing the mermaid's attempts to clean up and to appeal to the humans. Okay, that works, so you can keep it. But, let's say you also have this idea about these creatures that live around the hydrothermal vents, and the mermaid meets and falls in love with a scientist who's studying them. Okay, again, interesting idea, but this one is much harder to fit in with the rest of the story. Sure, you could say the scientist is studying marine pollution instead... that brings it back around to the main conflict, but still, what does this relationship add to the story? How does it help or harm the mermaid's mission? How does it help to explore the story's themes or help deliver the message? It doesn't really sound like it does, so this would be an example of a thread you can probably snip.

And the thing is, it would be okay to follow a thread like that while you're plotting or writing your first draft, just to see where it goes and see if you can make it work. Part of why we edit and revise is to snip out the threads and elements that aren't pulling their weight. But learning how to curb them as they occur to you will help save you work later on down the line. Try writing those ideas down in an ideas document, and maybe those can be worked into different stories, a sequel, or a companion story.

One final note: I am very much aware that there are some epic writers out there who let wild tangles of threads sprout as they write, and they follow them all without abandon, relevant or not. That's okay, too. These are writers for whom that works, who don't feel overwhelmed by all of those threads, who want to write something bigger and more unwieldy. Maybe in time as you get accustomed to writing smaller, tidier stories, you embrace the bigger stories your brain wants to tell. Or maybe you don't. Whatever works best for you is all that matters. :)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[lexirosewrites]

This is for Slick Sunday!!!

So. I was watching this voice over of some random Tumblr post about how Vampires are to carpenters what furries are for artists(allegedly), bc they can make the ideal coffin for each individual and things like that, and like??? I got inspired. So this is what I have:

Totally established ABO situation, where Steve is an unusual Omega, simply for the fact that after his family disowned him he became a carpenter and if being a jock had given him some muscles, being a carpenter made him ripped.

But no one wants an Omega like that, no matter how sweet he is whether in scent or personality, it also doesn't help that Steve has a shit taste in Alphas.

Anyways, enter Eddie, a Vampire (whether he has a designation and/or what it is up in the air (although I prefer him as an Alpha)) who's looking for a new coffin for his Uncle Wayne, an incredibly old vampire (probably a beta) who met him when he was young and adopted Eddie before turning him at the age of 25 (Eddie was dying, and there wasn't a cure for him yet, but that was Wayne's kid, he couldn't let him die so young), because his Uncle's coffin is like, old, Eddie asked and the thing is a certified antique, it's at least a 100 years old and almost falling apart no matter how much care Wayne puts into it.

So Eddie finds out about this carpenter, the guy has never worked for vampires before, but Robin (a local witch and another Omega) recommended him so strongly Eddie agreed to check him out.

Eddie gets immediately infatuated with Steve, the guy is handsome, with a sweet personality, and a body Eddie just wants to sink his teeth into...

So they get talking about the request, and it ends up being a long collaboration, since Eddie didn't actually go prepared for the appointment, so he keeps visiting Steve to make adjustments to the coffin's design and stuff like that.

And if he also uses that time to get to know Steve better and maybe flirt a little? It's nobody's business.

(and maybe Steve also answers sometimes, with

So anyways, Steve finishes the task and is sad he won't see Eddie again, won't get to bask into his amazingly comforting scent again, thinking that the guy probably will leave him behind like so many other commissioners before him who came by, sweet talked him, that even got him into bed one time, and then left once their product was finished, only to never return.

So When Eddie comes to pick up the finished coffin he finds an incredibly sad Omega , and of course he immediately asks what's wrong, does Steve feel bad, should he call Robin? But Steve is so overwhelmed by this simple show of care that he confesses on the spot.

And Eddie is obviously overjoyed by this, corresponding to Steve in that exact moment, zero doubts in his mind that he'll be with Steve for as long as Steve wants him.

Plus: Steve finds out a week into dating that Eddie is a vampire and is very offended that his boyfriend (soon to be mate) tried to hide something so important from him, meanwhile Eddie is like "Babe. Baby. Sweetheart. I literally asked for a bed coffin, I told you my uncle was more than a hundred years old, I once got into your workshop fully bloodstained, fangs out, because I was running late and my last feeding was rough"

"I thought that was paint from those minis you told me you were working on!"

And then they recreate the twilight meme for the funsies.

(and maybe a long time from now they'll be mates, and Steve will turn into a vampire after being Eddie's part-time bloodbag for years, and they'll have a coven full of kids, some theirs, some adopted, but all of them wholly loved and cherished)

And that's all I have in me rn, I really hope you enjoy Lexi, happy day!

(also, fun fact, halfway through writing this I got so distracted by the romance that I forgot about the ABO part of things, and then I tried to revise it, but I'm not sure I did a good job, this could probably be way more abo than it is, lmaoo)

hehe monsterfucker steve is very dear to me, especially when he’s an omega and willing to submit to an alpha as their prey in more way than one💕

[quaintii]

The CEO

A/N: the strip club scene from the movie, "Alice" and my dirty fantasies made me write this. I stood up for 4 hours revising this over and over so if there's mistakes, pls comment 😭 Hella long too 😭 word count is prob 4k?

Contents and warnings: breeding kink, hair pulling, choking, spanking, blackmail, remote-controlled vibrator, workplace setting, very very filthy smut <3

HEADER CREDITS ARE @mmadeinheavenn

Summary: You worked as a secretary to your CEO for a couple of months now and he was very cold to you and everyone else. You have a secret: you work as a stripper in a prestigious strip club.

You work at Alchemax main building, you're a main secretary for Miguel O'Hara, the CEO in charge. You always greet him with a happy energy every morning, though he doesn't bother to return it back. You find him very cold. You try refusing that you didn't want to take a bite out of him or for him to break you because of his tone and stern glare whenever his eyes would meet yours. The tension between you two was thick. But you ignored it. You still kept your composure whatsoever whenever you would glance at him being furious, he would lash out his anger back at you whenever a meeting didn't go through. Deep down, you enjoyed the degradation, rushing hot blood to your cunt, pulsing."Ms. L/N, seriously you have to keep up with the latest specific studies, you can't keep coming in here turning in reports that were beyond due! Are you sure you're staying focused on this job, Ms? I will have to fire you if you dare make me lose another opportunity for growth of this company." He said with an angry sigh. "Sorry, Mr. O'Hara, I've just been busy with personal issues lately and I don't mean to push aside my work, ever! I'll make sure to meet your expectations next time." You say with confidence. "Okay, one last try. Or you're fired. Get out of my office."

He said while keeping his eyes on his computer. You nod and excuse yourself, walking towards the door, he turns his eyes to your body. Eyeing you up and down. He once again sighed angrily. He wanted you badly even since you first walked through that door. He would jerk himself in the middle of the night, wanting to thrust inside your pretty cunt til you were cock-drunk. Wanting to feel your hot walls wrapping around his cock, sucking him in like a vacuum. Begging for more. He couldn't stop thinking of you. On the other hand, you still push through his grumpy side, just for the money. Besides working this job, you have a small side hustle to gain more money. You wouldn't say you're greedy, you're just meeting your own needs. You thought to yourself if you possibly had an exhibitionism kink…probably.

At midnight, you work at a high prestige strip club, teasing men with your lascivious body. You wore almost nude outfits, begging to be ripped off your brown skin. Tonight you were by far exhausted from the calculations from work, and working as a stripper helped you ease down. You would keep your identity hidden with a wig and do your makeup a different way. You placed on your blonde wig in the dressing room, you wore some black and red lingerie that was decorated with soft silky satin finishes. It was completely exposing, besides your nipples - which had nipple covers on them, hearts to be exact. One of your companions on stage came up to you, "Hey girl, guess who we have today?" "What? Those musty middle-aged men again?" You laugh off. "No..we have a vip here. He seems really hot." She giggled. "Penny, you know that VIPs wear masks right? How could one be hot while wearing a masquerade mask? I'm pretty sure you're just bluffing, don't be a tease, babe." You said while sighing. "Whatever you say, just giving a heads up that I'm going to take him tonight." She said with a squeal.

You were waiting in line for your turn to perform, though things changed as your boss said you had a pole stage all to yourself. "You're one of my favorites and I think you'll lure in the VIP, this is very big for this company, so do well." He said and walked off. Only the best could perform on this stage, as a teen you practiced a lot of flexibility and dancing. Who would've known it'd taken you here, at this moment. As you walk past the curtains, you lean by the walls, posing yourself. You walk slowly to the spotlight by the pole and do some spins and a split, opening your legs to your clothed cunt towards the audience.

Lots of woahs echo in your ears, afterall you were the best one here. You tried to remember what the chick from earlier said, you kept trying to find a man with a masquerade mask but you couldn't. Until you faced your eyes towards the low, lighted bar. He was focusing on your body and face. You sneakily changed your position to face him, swaying your hips to the song, seductively going lower and lower. You raise yourself by your legs hanging on the pole, doing some twists. The man takes a sip of some alcohol then signaling you to come towards where he was. You finished off your show and a lot of groans were heard. As you approached the man in the mask, everyone's eyes were on you. You finally see this man's figure and he was towering. You almost stumbled back because he seemed so frightening. He grabbed your wrist harshly and headed towards the vip lounge rooms. To the last row at the very end is where you were taken. "Quítate la ropa," he said with a grating tone. (Take off your clothes.)

You disobeyed him as it did seem too fast for you, so you did a little teasing. You faced your ass upfront to his crotch. Straddling him slowly with your hips. You heard light groans but nothing more than that. You figured out a way for him to get more pleased. You started giving him a lap dance. Moving your ass upfront to his face. Arching your back on the table that you laid on top. You would move your hips to the side, still teasing, but you stopped as soon as you heard a rough voice whispering in your ear, "No me hagas eso muñeca, yo no la haría si era tu. Quiero ver tu coño." (Don't do that to me doll, I wouldn't do that if I were you. I want to see your cunt.) He said while nibbling your ear. Shivers were sent down to your spine, doing so, you removed your panties and spread your legs at him. "Feliz?" (Happy?) You said in a low tone. "No, quiero que volteretas tu coño y culo a mi, corazón." (No, I want you to turn around and face your pussy and ass towards me, love.) He said with a grinning smile.

Those nicknames drove you wet to your core a bit, so you decided to push his limit. "Y que me pasó si no lo hago casó?" (And what will happen if I don't listen?) You said giggling. You suddenly gasp as you keep his bodyweight laying down on yours onto the satin sofa, feeling his crotch, a huge bulge against your ass. "No te va gustar mucho, amor." He rubbed his hips against yourself, you pushing your ass to his hips, hoping to relieve some friction on your cunt. He moved himself and slapped your ass harshly. You yelp out a moan. "¿Quién te dijo que puedes hacer eso? Yo soy quien mando, cariño. Te gusta eso?" (Who said you could do that? I'm the one in charge here, love. You like that?) He said while snickering softly.

You turn your head around and nod slowly. You bite your swollen lip, your cunt now dripping in slicked wetness. The mysterious man then placed a finger, moving them to your clit. You moan in relief. "F-fuck, please fuck me sir, please…" "Look how wet you are for me..you're such a dirty slut." He said while landing another slap on your ass, making you jerk forward and whimper. "Turn around for me." You do as he said, biting your lips, hoping for something exciting. That is until you notice his mask is off, and your blood runs cold. Your face burns up with embarrassment and you covered your cunt with your hands. "Mr.O'Hara, I didn't know it was you, how did you even find me here, I-i." He placed a finger on your lips, quickly shutting you up. "I know everything about you. Here, take this and wear it tomorrow for the presentation. If you don't, I'll have to fire you for moral turpitude. Looking like dirty, fucking, slut at night and working at my office in day like a good girl." He said, whispering into your ears.

His hot breath and voice once again sparked fire down your core. He quickly left you alone in the lounge room, leaving you to your own rapid thoughts. You couldn't stop hyperventilating from what just happened, you can't afford to get fired! Your whole record would be ruined for doing something so indecent. You couldn't hate yourself more than right now. Round the corner, a red box catches your eyes. You proceed to open it and it's a remote controlled vibrator, though the remote, you assumed, he had. You placed the pieces together and realized you had to wear this to the next presentation meeting. You couldn't let your record get ruined, let alone knowing your boss telling others of what you do at night. You had to face it and put up with it.

The next day, you kept staring at the vibrator. You were nervous, sweat droplets spreading across your face. What if it falls off during the presentation? What if someone could hear the vibrations? You kept wondering about so many endless scenarios about the 'What if.' You took a deep sigh and placed it in your cunt. It was cold against your warm pussy. It felt quite uncomfortable. As you walked to Mr. O'Hara's office, you couldn't gather the courage to even knock on his door nor look at his face after last night. But you did so anyway. "Here are the reports for today, Mr. O'Hara. I made sure they're all good for the presentation soon." You said timidly. "Perfect, thank you Ms. L/N, I hope you remember what I told you last night. Let's see how well you do today, if you fail I'll just have to fire you." He said with a cold tone but with a hint of amusement. You audibly gasped and faced him. His eyes already magnetized onto yours, eyeing you up and down.

You felt yourself getting aroused again, his sculpted features drew you in further. Your mind brings back how his crotch felt against your hips, he was rock hard and it felt heavenly. "I-I made s-sure of that, Mr. O'Hara." You kept stumbling over your words, causing you to scream inside. "Great, you can head out now." He said while grinning. Still eyeing you. You excuse yourself and quickly get out of there, you felt like there was no air in your lungs, you placed your palms on your face wondering how bad this could possibly go. You cursed under your breath.

The presentation was starting, Mr. O'Hara was doing the first couple of slides then you had the rest to yourself. Unfortunately, the presentation was 10 slides long. Many prestigious men entered the room, greeting one another. You sit by Mr. O'Hara's chair, his chair being right in the middle in the very back, facing the board. About 20 minutes pass, and it's your turn to present. "Welcome to Alchemax, I would like to provide you guys with an amazing proposal that would benefit both sides of our companies." You said while switching your eyes with the representatives and Miguel. You see something shift in his suit, and you jolt as you feel the vibrations on. You almost stumble on the floor by the unexpected vibrations. "Sorry about that, probably something I ate this morning. Stomach ache!" You say trying to brush off your jolting. You start with your first slide, glaring at Miguel whenever he would turn on and off the vibrating.

Your cunt was dripping wet. You wanted more vibrations even if you were to embarrass yourself right now and risk your job. You tried your best to pay no attention to how Miguel's eyes would light up dark red, giving you an erotic stare. As if he was unclothing you with his eyes. Watching you break all over something small, he wondered how badly you'd break around his cock, using your body like a a slut you are. As you kept speaking, the vibrations kept increasing which caused you to stutter multiple times. "Excuse me miss, is something ok?" Asked a representative. "Oh I'm sure it's just nothing, don't worry." You smile softly. You then glare at Miguel, for embarrassing you during your big project. But deep down, you enjoyed it. You coughed and continued your presentation. The vibrator started fastening more, your clit becoming sensitive as time went by. It felt like the slided wouldn't come to an end, you felt wobbly to your knees.

You tried your best to not fall and keep your professional composure. Small tears streaked down your cheeks, you had hoped they were unnoticed. You felt like coming until it finally stopped. You let out a small growl, staring at Miguel in dissatisfaction. You were finally done with your presentation which felt like ages. The moment you sat down, Miguel increased it to it's highest speed. You jolted, your nerves and blood rushing through your system. You let out a stifled moan, and proceeded to play it out as a cough. Now that you're sitting, the vibrator is hitting your clit even harder. You felt like the pleasure was going to leave you unconscious because it just felt so good. You had half-lidded eyes looking at Miguel, begging for him to stop but he just smirked at you. You bit the inside of your cheeks, drawing out blood, you kept holding in your moans and breathing heavily.

You felt like your eyes were rolling back to your head. You just rested your head on the chair's head support. Your throat felt like it was about to let out a loud moan and you choked on your saliva. You couldn't hold it in anymore, so you hurriedly left the room and ran to the bathroom. Miguel still kept the vibrator on it's highest setting which made you stumble on the way onto the floor the moment you made it to the bathroom. You placed your arms on the sink, holding yourself up as you felt your cunt pulsing and spasming around the device, finally letting out your moans. Your legs were wobbly and you finally came.

Your breathing became unstable-like, you tried your best to regulate it back. You started at yourself in the mirror, how could you do something so foolish and be caught up in this situation? You pulled off the device and flushed it down the toilet. You finally thought it was over and you could keep your job. That is until you open the door, Miguel immediately barging in and grabbing your waist towards his chest. He closed the door behind him. "God you should've seen how you looked squirming, princess. You looked adorable, you're such a good girl y'know? You should be rewarded." "Miguel, please let this be over…" You gave out more moans as he massaged your breasts. "Todavía no, cariño. Te quiero conmigo, quiero usar tu cuerpo y saber tu precioso coño.." (Not yet love, I want to be with you, use your body and taste your pretty pussy.)

He gruffed as he sucked onto your neck. "Mhmmf.. M-miguel, please…" You whimpered out. "Be a good slut for me, do that for me." He grabbed a hold of your throat, lifting towards his face. His eyes lit up with lust. Your brain was starting to fog up. "Si..Miguel..mmhgfm fuck, please fuck me Miguel." You say with a strained voice as his fingers grip your throat tighter. "Tenga cuidado con lo que pides, amor. Porque ya no puedo detenerme más." (Be careful with what you ask for, love. Because I would be able to hold myself back anymore.) You jumped and wrapped you legs around his waist and hips, his arms holding you up as you wrap your hands around his neck.

The both of you kiss hungrily each other, as if your life depended on it. Both of your lips finally left go to breathe. You stare at his lips and eyes with your lust filled, low lidded eyes. "Miguel, put your cock inside of me, p-please.." You whimper and suck on his neck. He leans his head back and he groans which makes your cunt pulse. "Sé una buena chica para mí, cariño. Quiero que me la chupes. Dios, tengo tantas ganas de cogerte ahora mismo. Mira lo que me haces muñeca.." (Be a good girl for me, baby. I want you to blow me. God, I want to fuck you so bad right now. Look what you do to me doll…) You obey and go on your knees. You lower his zipper and his boxers.

His cock springs out, the base is dark brown while his tip is a pinkish brown. It was leaking with pre-cum, begging to be sucked on. You kitten-licked the tip - teasingly by giving it small kisses on the head. Miguel looks down at you, he could barely control himself to the point he wants to throat fuck you til you can't breathe. You then take half of him in your warm mouth, swirling your tongue around his length. He grabs ahold of your head and leans back on a wall, keeping himself standing. "Mierda.. tu boca.." (Fuck.. your mouth.) He cursed under his breath. You hollow your cheeks and you take more of him as your throat relaxes. He reluctantly bucked his hips, causing you to choke. You loved how his cock tasted, how it felt full in your mouth. You started fastening and Miguel lost full control.

He grabbed your hair and bucked his hips harshly. Hid hips spasming."F-fuck your mouth feels like heaven, amor. Fuck you're taking me so well…such a dirty slut." He moaned. You looked up at him with teary eyes, the sound of sucking echoed. You were squirming and pressuring your thighs together. When you moaned, he loved how tight your throat would get. You felt that he was about to come so you hollow your cheeks even more. He looked down at you, and he finally pumped his semen down your throat, it felt hot and bittersweet. You finally detach your mouth from his dick but licking all of him clean.

It caused something in Miguel to completely break. He grabbed you up and removed your skirt and panties. He bent your back, you arched it even further as he slapped your ass harshly, making you jerk forward. He placed you In Front of a tall mirror. "I want you to look how I fuck you..how good I fucking make you feel. No one will ever make you feel this good. Your pussy is fucking mine." He says while biting on your shoulders with his fangs. He removed all of his clothes and removed your top. "Look at your fucking tits, all of me. Mierda..." He drew out blood and sucked it dry. He lines up his dick In Front of your cunt, teasing it. You couldn't wait anymore, you were too desperate for him to pound you without mercy. Making a complete mess of you til you couldn't walk.

He pinched your perked nipples, making you shiver and bite down on your swollen lip. You look at the mirror, he keeps eyeing you, he would never remove his eyes off of your body. He slapped your ass and moved his mouth to your breasts. Sucked them like it was the last time with you. You let out loud moans."M-miguel please, I want your fucking cock inside of me..please I want you inside of me so bad. P-please..f-fuck." You whimper. He smirked devilishly. "Where do you want me, cariño.." He huffed out. "Inside of my fucking pu-." You were interrupted as he slams his cock inside of you, keeping a steady pace, your throat chokes continuously on your moans, it felt so fucking good. All of the air in your lungs left, you felt him touching your insides. Your cunt pulsing and squeezing him while he pulled out and thrusted into you even harder. You placed your hands onto the mirror, gasping and moaning.

Chanting Miguel's name incoherently like a prayer. You wanted him to ruin you, you wanted to be his cum dumpster. "F-fuck mmhfm m-miguel please stop..s'too much. Fuck..aughmmhffm…" You moaned out in gasps. "Look how slutty you look, taking in my cock so good like a good slut. Such a good girl, your pussy keeps sucking me in princessa..f-fuck.." He moans. He grabs your throat, making you face yourself In Front of the mirror. Your mouth was agape, eyes rolled back to your skull, making erotic sounds that caused Miguel's cock to harden even more. Both of your bodies were sweating and heaving, making the room atmosphere thicken. You were so cock-drunk, your brain couldn't form coherent thoughts, let alone words.

The only thing you could think was his dick inside of you, deep. You arched your back even more, allowing him to dig deeper inside of your warm pussy. You felt like you were going to fucking collapse by the amazing pleasure. That was until he pulled out. "F-fuck.. I want everyone to see what a dirty slut you are." He huffed and kissed you hard. "M-miguel, what if someone sees us." You said with a worried tone. "Don't you like that? Don't you like to be seen being fucked by me, all inside your pussy, amor?" You nod and whimper. "Y-yes Miguel.." He opens the bathroom door and heads to his office, gathering all the clothes and placing them on his couch. Fortunately, no one was on the floor. He grabs you by the throat, gripping it harder. He slammed your body onto the desk, causing paperwork to fall but you couldn't care less now. Your face and tits were planted on the cold desk, sending shivers down your spine.

Miguel pulled your hips upward, making you arch. He used his fingers to separate your lips and see your glistening cunt. He inserted his fingers inside your pussy and you moaned. He took them out to taste them and he almost came from it alone. You tasted so sweet, like a forbidden fruit. Your pussy pulsated and clenched around nothing, begging for some attention. "Miguel I want your cock inside of me again, please.." You whimpered. "Be a good girl and wait." He licked your pussy up and down and rubbed your clit. You stretch your neck, feeling so good and moaning that your voice was so strained. He slaps your pussy, making you jolt forward. He then grabs you by the waist and pushed your body against the sky high windows. "I want everyone to see how good I'm fucking you..you like that don't you?" He said while smirking. "Y-yes Miguel please fuck my dirty pussy already. Fuck me til I can't breathe." You groaned.

He slammed into your cunt once again, suddenly making you let out a loud strained moan. You kept cursing and yelling his name. Your moans would only get louder as he rubbed his thumbs up and down on your clit, pressing on it hard. His other hand pinched your nipples while his mouth landed on your neck. Your back arched back to his chest, causing him to reach your soft, squishy walls that you thought were unreachable. You could barely control your body's weight. Miguel grabbed both of your hips and bent your back even more. Your face against the window causes it to fog up. His cock slammed harder inside of you, deeper. His claws deepened on your hips. He slammed up into you at a much faster pace than before, hitting all the places he knew you loved. “Eres mia... Mia y mia solo,” (You're mine, mine and mine only.) Miguel whispered into your ear before kissing the skin below it.

His voice had lost its cold underlining, whining out as his hips stuttered. Miguel's hips rocked still before he let out a soft sigh, his cum painted your walls perfectly. You writhed under his large body, riding your own orgasm as he continued to rub your clit. Coming down to a stop you sighed as your body shook at the intensity. "You're my little cum slut, aren't you? Yeah you like it when I fill your pussy up with my cum don't you?" Miguel slowly pulled out, shoving his fingers into me immediately, making my back arch. He pumped his cum back inside of my pussy. You collapse from overstimulation. You wake up a few hours later on a soft bed. An arm wraps around you. You felt warm and cared for. You look up and see Miguel sleeping. He looked beautiful. You want something to happen between the two of you and hopefully become a couple. You moved closer to him and placed a kiss on his cheek and he suddenly placed one on your forehead.