Water Spinach With Shrimp Paste For Dinner, I Am Eating Well

I'm closing the session, tomorrow is the last exam....

my telegram channel, if you are interested in the process of creating works, then everything is there, and there is also a bunch of everything that I do not put here: https://t.me/Nuemmannn

He's so fine and for what

real, i wish nikto were real man, i need to gnaw on him

Yeah just like imagine coming over to this brick fucking wall of a man that you've grown emotionally attached to, tears dripping down your eyes and when you scoot nearer he's just brick hard yk

man, yeah, if it was nikto, i would forgive him. what should one do in this situation or is the awkwardness inevitable?

i keep missing classes man

one kinda done and i talked with the comissioner, we kinda chilling (not) i am thinking very hard on how to make chibi price looks cute

lord i am not locking in

i have been eating good as of late. too good.

i will take a small nap

translation:"I was joking guys"

he so me

i have drawn a lot this past week

Your home is a sanctuary to Nikto.

His apartment is suitable. But it's not warm like yours. Loneliness is embedded in the cracks in the walls, the shadows that weep in the unlit rooms, the squeaky clean shower is stark white and smells too much of bleach. It's a house. A place he exists. Haunts. A place to rest his buzzing, busy head. Cold pillows and sheets biting chill into his hot skin. He seldom finds rest there. Sleep? Yes. But the rest never quite reaches him.

But with you? Your home, your sanctuary. That's where rest is.

nikto finds you asleep, your form curled up small on top of your freshly washed covers, and he just stops and watches you for a bit. His whole world slowing down to something soft and calm, the sight of you breathing peacefully all safe and warm, makes the home feel homier. Warm, safe.

Hes slow and heavy as he lugs on over to you, the mattress dipping as his weight seeps into it. Nikto hovers over you for a moment- hands smoothing over the winkles in your shirt, fingers dipping under your top to spread out upon your stomach. Feeling you breathe beneath his palm. Everything feels quiet. His head still and softly humming with the murmur of voices. Hushes. Content whispers.

Leaning down, like a big snuffling doberman, his nose presses into your cheek- into your hair. Inhaling and huffing contently. Your hair is still a little damp from the shower, and it smells so strongly of that yummy shampoo you use.

With a low, grumbling grunt, he settles besides you. Around you, like a shielding wall. He wraps himself around you, nudging a knee between your legs so he can entwine with you- somehow. You're smaller than him, much more fragile. Your skin is soft and untarnished, and you smell of gentle soap suds and warm fabric freshener. His muscles are tense and locked as he lays pressed against you. His stomach is hard and tense as it flushes against your back. He probably smells like rain and grey. Like cold and salt grit.

But you sweeten him. You always do.