#sometimes I can barely get myself to draw something I really want to draw so it’s a struggle

[nickyrothfan]

What if everyone got super powers?(part 68). Remake

The night in Raven Brooks was as dark as ever. Not just "moonless"—it was sticky, thick, wrong. The Roth house creaked quietly like an old ship. Alicia, fortunately, was asleep—worn out and not waking the world. Nicky lay, staring at the ceiling, as if it was supposed to tell him something important.

He was almost dozing off when...

Tuk. Tuk.

He flinched.

Tuk. Tuk. Tuk.

He looks at the window. It's ajar. The curtain is moving. And in the gap—a face.

"Finch?"

"Open up, my ass is freezing," she whispered.

Nicky slid off the bed, still in his T-shirt and athletic shorts, and pulled the latch.

Finch climbed inside, gracefully as a cat. With her—a backpack. Her eyes were tired, her hair disheveled. No slingshot, no sarcasm. Just Finch.

"You..." he began.

"...don't ask. It's incredibly stuffy at home, the air conditioner broke, Dad is grumbling as usual. I bailed. You can consider it an evacuation." She walked to the bed and plopped down.

He blinked.

"You... want to stay here for the night?"

"Yep."

"And you... couldn't just..."

"Ask like a normal person? No. Sorry my dad monitors every call, and not because he's worried about me, but because he's worried about himself, lest I tell anyone what he's up to."

He sighed. He had no energy to argue.

She had already changed her shoes, let her hair down, and settled on the floor, pulling a hoodie from her backpack and rolling it up as a pillow.

"The floor is hard."

"Then give me the bed."

"No way." Nicky chuckled and sat down next to her on the floor.

"We'll suffer together."

Minutes passed in silence. Only breathing.

Then Finch turned on her side and stared at his desk. Scattered pages, diagrams, unfinished comics. A couple were about aliens, a couple—about strange girls with eyes like owls.

"You still write all this?"

"Yeah. Sometimes."

"You're weird."

"Thanks."

She turned again. Looked at the wall, where an old Guns N' Roses poster hung, next to it—a toy car with a broken door, drawings of guitars, even a map of Raven Brooks marked with pins.

But Finch's gaze was most drawn to the drawings. They weren't for an exhibition—simple, soft, almost childlike. But warm. On most of them—the same girl. Sometimes with an umbrella, sometimes with a book, sometimes sleeping on the grass. He was somewhere nearby. Sometimes—Aaron.

"Is that her?"

He didn't answer.

"Mya."

"Yes," he said quietly, almost a whisper.

"I can't erase them. Even if..."

Finch didn't laugh, didn't sneer.

"I get it. I keep some things too. Things I can't let go of." She took something round out of her pocket. A coin. Worn, almost without a pattern.

"From your mother?"

"No. From a cat."

"...What?"

"I had one. The dumbest, cutest cat. Died two years ago. The coin was from its collar. I always carry it. Even if it brings bad luck, because it was a black cat."

"Because you want to remember."

"Because if I forget, it means it's really gone." Finch stared at the ceiling, and her eyes glistened.

"It means I slept through everything."

Nicky closed his eyes. A few seconds—and he spoke, without pathos:

"I'm confused, Finch. Not in the sense that I don't know what to do. But in... how to feel. I remember Mya, and I still love her. But each of you... you, Trinity, Maritza, even Aaron..."

He stumbled.

"Each of you awakens something in me. I don't understand what exactly. It's like... I'm not alone anymore. But inside, it's still empty."

"You have the right to feel that way."

"I don't want to hurt anyone. Not you, not myself. I..." He stopped, clenched his fist.

Finch turned to him. Lightly, softly, without pressure.

"Hey, Nick."

"Mm?"

"We'll die before you figure it all out." She grinned. Then added:

"So don't worry about it. Just... be."

"That's the most ineffective advice I've ever heard."

"Well, you didn't ask a professional." Finch yawned and closed her eyes.

Silence.

A minute later:

"Finch."

"Mm?"

"I'm glad you came."

"Me too, Nick." Her voice was barely audible, already half-asleep.

He stared at the ceiling. Now it seemed a little less heavy.

…

In the morning:

"What the..."

Nicky's eyes snapped open.

The gap between sleep and awareness was as short as an electric shock. He flinched, trying to figure out why Finch's head was on his shoulder, why she had tucked her leg under his, and why someone was breathing heavily and angrily at the door.

"...Storm warning," Finch exhaled, not opening her eyes.

But enlightenment came a couple of seconds later.

"Finch."

"Mmm?"

"My parents."

"...Crap." She opened one eye. Then the other.

And looked directly at Jay Roth and Luanne Roth, standing at the door. Jay with a mug of coffee. Luanne—in a robe, with her arms crossed as if a court-martial was about to begin.

"Nicholas Michael Roth." Luanne said it quietly. But in that tone was all the authority of the universe.

"It's... not what you think."

"And what do you think I think?" Jay spoke calmly, but his gaze seemed to penetrate the walls.

Finch sat up. Abruptly. She stretched—as if she hadn't spent the night in a stranger's son's room, but had just come from a lecture.

"Mrs. Roth, Mr. Roth. I didn't... It's not... Nothing like that happened. It was just... stuffy." She shrugged, then pointed to the window.

"That's how I... well, I got in."

"That's not better, Finch." Nicky covered his face with his hands.

Luanne exhaled.

"Jay, I told you. The window."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll board it up." Jay finally took a sip of his coffee.

"Well, Finch. I'm glad you're alive, at least. Everything else—is debatable."

"Can I just leave... or disappear... or pretend this is a dream?"

"No disappearing." Luanne raised her hand.

"No running away. We're going to talk."

A brief pause ensued. Finch stood up. Picked up her hoodie. Adjusted her backpack. Tried to look proud.

"Do you want to yell?"

"No." Luanne looked at her attentively, as if trying to discern what kind of girl was really in front of her.

"I just want to understand."

"Well..."

"Finch."

"Yes?"

"Are you a friend to my son?"

"Well, yeah."

"Do you respect my son?"

"Very much."

"Then you'll have enough respect to tell me the truth. Without poses and lines from a teen drama."

"...why do you sound like you're using teen slang? Did you watch too much Netflix?" Nicky spoke up, but he was ignored.

Finch opened her mouth. Closed it. Then said quietly:

"I'm miserable at home. I didn't want... romance. I wasn't making a move on him. I just needed to be with someone who..."

"...understands," Luanne finished. Then she nodded. Not angry. Just tired.

"Then listen. For one night—it's foolish. But not a disaster. Running away is foolish. But not a betrayal. It's just..."

"...I should have told you?" Nicky asked.

"You should have thought," Jay finished his coffee.

"And by the way, not just you. Finch, you're strong, but you're not alone. And if my son is by your side, be ready to answer for more than just yourself. Understood?"

"Understood." Finch nodded.

"I'm really sorry. I just..." she hesitated.

"...didn't know where else to go."

"You could have said something."

"It's hard for me to ask."

"I know."

Silence. Then Jay shrugged:

"Well. Breakfast in ten minutes. Luanne is making pancakes. We're not terrible parents."

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes."

They left. Only Nicky and Finch remained. She let out a heavy sigh.

"That was awkward."

"That was very awkward."

"I still don't regret it."

"And I still don't know if any of it... means anything."

"Maybe nothing."

"Maybe."

They were silent for a moment. Then Nicky added:

"But if you want, you can come over. Better through the door."

"Boring. But okay." She smiled for the first time that morning.

…

A few hours later:

The forest rustled with a sluggish tremor. The trees didn't whistle—they seemed to whisper. And in that whisper, between the branches, two people walked.

Nicky walked slightly ahead, his backpack swinging as if it, too, was tired. Aaron—behind, hands in his pockets, his gaze scanning the forest. There were almost no birds. The air was thick and heavy, like before a storm.

"Did you even see how far we've gone?"

"Mmm." Nicky nodded, not looking back.

"Don't you think this is dumb? Trinity could have taken you with her; you're, like, the 'brains' too."

"She asked for us specifically. To check the surroundings. The movements. And..."

"...and you got permission to leave headquarters. Yesterday too. Disappeared. I didn't see you all day." Aaron's voice became even. Too even.

Nicky stopped.

"Were you following me?"

"I was worried. That's one. And two—you look like a bloody zombie. Blue circles, bags under your eyes, reactions like a duck in a freezer. I'm not judging you. I want to know."

Nicky didn't answer. He just stared off into the distance—at a rotten stump, at a spiderweb glistening in the faint light through the crowns. He wasn't trying to lie. He just... couldn't say it right away.

"I was with Finch."

Aaron was silent. Not because he was angry. He was just... processing.

"Hanging out?"

"Kinda."

"Kinda?"

"Then she came to my place at night. Said it was stuffy at home and her dad was being..." He waved his hand.

"I let her stay. Just. Stay. We... just slept."

Aaron nodded. Slowly. Without expression.

"Just slept."

"Yeah. I'm not lying."

"I know." Aaron sat on a gnarled root. He shifted, stretched his legs.

"And how do you feel?"

"What?"

"You know yourself it's not about that. Not about Finch. Not that she came over. But how you look, how you talk, how you're silent. As if the entire bloody forest is in your head at once. Trinity, Finch, Maritza, me. Mya."

Nicky lowered his head. The ground beneath his feet was cracked, the dirt long dry. He ran his finger along the bark of a tree.

"I can't cope. You know? All these feelings. They're like screws that don't fit the bolts. I still hear Mya in my sleep. I still see that roof. I still can't understand why I even get up in the mornings."

"But you do get up."

"Because you're here."

Aaron stood up. Slowly. Walked closer. Stopped next to him.

"We're not asking you to choose. Not me. Not them. Not Trinity. Not Finch. But we're here, Nick. I'm here. Even when you just... sit in the dark and try to put yourself back together."

"Thanks."

"Just tell me one thing honestly. Even to yourself. When Finch is around... is it easier?"

Nicky hesitated. Then:

"Yeah. A little. But it's like a bandage on a broken bone. It feels nice, but it doesn't heal."

Aaron nodded.

"Then we'll find a cast."

They both fell silent. Then they continued on their way, combing the forest step by step. The silence no longer seemed frightening. Rather... comforting. As if the forest knew—between them, everything was honest again.

…

In parallel:

The weather station building creaked in the wind. The panels on the ceiling were askew, old instruments clicked as if someone was still trying to measure something. Not the weather, though—time.

Trinity walked ahead. Her hands glowed with a faint purple light, ready to repel an attack at any second. Quentin, in his heavy jacket, followed her, clearly nervous.

Ivan tapped on his tablet; the "Compass" projected a map of the catacombs under the floor.

Enzo walked at the very end—slightly to the side. He felt it. There was something here.

"Here it is."

"The pit." Trinity stopped at the collapsed floor. The depth—unseen. Only darkness. Only wind from below. And a muffled echo... as if something was still living down there.

Suddenly...

Enzo's eyes widened.

He froze. As if someone had grabbed his face and yanked him back.

"Enzo?" Trinity stepped towards him.

"What... what do you see?"

The guy didn't answer. He was no longer here.

(Franklin and Theodore Petersons as children enter the inventors' club (at school), but the members—Gerda, Abanante, Leslie, and Tavish—say that to join, they need to pass a test at the weather station. At night, the brothers go there, but the four bullies start a fight with them. The brothers run into the catacombs, where they hide from them, and find a huge chasm and a small passage leading to the school. The bullies find them and grab Theodore. Franklin stands up for his brother, but trips and falls into the chasm. Theodore tries to fight off the bullies, but suddenly a mystical light appears from the chasm, from which an unknown silhouette is visible. The bullies run away in fear.)

Enzo abruptly stepped back. As if he'd been hit. He grabbed the wall, his face—pale.

"He... fell. Into the chasm. It wasn't just an accident. It was... an unfortunate murder."

Ivan was already pulling out his tablet. Trinity—tense.

"Who is he, Enzo?"

"Franklin. He was essentially pushed. But he didn't die. He found... or IT found him. An entity. I... don't know what it is. Just a silhouette. A shadow. A light. As if something from another dimension."

Quentin said quietly:

"I knew he was different. But not why."

"Now we know. This light energy is unusual... it didn't affect Maritza because of the chaos power in her... but Franklin wasn't so lucky."

Silence.

Only the wind in the pit. As if someone was listening from down there.

And waiting.

…

In the forest:

"Do you remember back in sixth grade, when we broke into the old library, and then hid in the closet to eavesdrop on the biology teacher?"

"Yeah. And then you sneezed, and we both got stuck between the shelves. Good thing you didn't foul the air like that time with the fart synthesizer."

Aaron let out a genuine, heartfelt laugh.

"Hey, that synthesizer was an engineering marvel. It was as precise as a Swiss watch!"

"Yeah, except it sounded like someone dropped dumplings into a pot."

They both laughed. The laughter was real. Even the trees seemed to sway more gently. The leaves rustled in time with their steps.

"Remember when we played that prank on the town? The 'Alien Invasion Imminent' banner on the school roof, loudspeakers with noises, and fireworks shaped like UFOs."

"As if I'd forget that. I had to clean the toilets on Saturdays for two weeks. They almost sent you to the school therapist."

"And I went. I told him aliens were sending me dreams. Right through a satellite." Nicky snorted.

"He wrote it down in his notebook and said I was a prime example of imagination."

"You were a weirdo. But you were my weirdo." Aaron grinned. They stopped. Looked at each other—almost like before. Almost without pain. Almost.

And just as their faces grew dangerously close, and the air between them began to buzz...

SPLAP! Something dropped right into their clasped hands.

A silvery cylinder, blinking red. And a beep—peep-peep-peep—very unfriendly.

"What the hell, is that a bomb?!" Aaron, in a panic, threw the thing into the bushes.

Nicky screamed:

"Throw it!"

BOOM! Deafening, but not lethal. The ground shook as if someone had slammed a door loudly from across the street.

Both boys jumped up, in shock, ears ringing, faces dusty.

"Are you serious? Who throws bombs in the middle of a moment?!" Aaron yelled angrily, shaking sand from his ear.

"Maybe you should be less dramatic, Hamlet. Look..."

From the shadows—a figure.

Tall. A little taller than Nicky. Hair—a shade darker. The same features, but rougher, more angular. His gaze—piercing. Rings glisten on his hands and feet. Hands in gloves. On his feet—jet boots, humming with a light vibratory noise. The clothing is the same as Nicky's, only in red and black tones. The face...

"Damn. That's..." Nicky exhaled, his blood running cold.

"Who is that?.. oh wait... Hold on, why does he... it's..." Aaron squints, staring.

"He's like you, but... worse. Like you're a Wi-Fi signal, and he's only getting two bars."

The figure smirked. Too familiar.

"I thought you were smarter than you look," Michael said. His voice—a little deeper, but definitely familiar.

"Nah. That's me. I was always the original."

"No." Nicky stepped forward.

"You're a copy. You're a fake."

Michael narrowed his eyes.

"Funny. That's exactly what I was thinking of telling you."

Aaron had already pulled out a crowbar.

"Okay, can someone explain why there are two Nickys here, and one of them looks like a creepy fighting game skin?!"

Michael snapped his fingers. A glob of yellow energy/electricity began to form in his hand, taking on the shape of a spear.

"Chaos Spear!" he shouts, throwing the attack.

Nicky and Aaron jump to the side; the attack hits the grass, scorching it. A clump of dirt hits the heroes' heads.

"The games begin. It's going to be fun," Michael growls.

[buckets-thought-dump]

I dunno if anyone asked you this already, but do you accept drawing requests?

[littlegochu]

Can we get a big one shot or a series, of single daddy JK and reader is an assistant at HYBE daycare while she temporarily figures her life out (she’s an artist trying to make means meet). She also bartends on the weekend and runs into JK one of the nights he is out with the boys.

I feel like you’ll be incredible in writing this

after hours│ jjk 18+

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: single dad jungkook, slow burn

rating: 18+ (explicit content — sexual themes)

synopsis: y/n juggles quiet days at a daycare and late nights bartending, never expecting her life to shift when jungha — a soft-spoken kid — walks in with his ridiculously attractive, unreadable dad.

between shared coffees, late-night drives, and silent promises, y/n learns that love doesn’t always arrive loudly. sometimes it shows up in small, steady ways — and maybe this time, it’s hers to keep.

-

i really hope this is applesauce.

it’s barely 10 am and my jeans are dotted in glitter glue and something sticky.

"gina," i murmur, crouching beside the low table where a few kids are coloring. "we can get you a new one, okay?"

i try to console her as she's having a full-body meltdown because her juice box exploded.

beside her, haru’s chewing on a blue crayon like it’s a snack. again.

surprisingly not the worst morning i’ve had.

i've been working here for about 6 months now, as a daycare assistant with my bestfriend. unlike her, i never aspired to work anything in child care industry.

but life doesn’t really ask what you want.

it's been hard to keep myself up recently, not after my mom's passing. i dedicated the last 2 years of my life as her caregiver, cutting my own dreams short to tend to her illness and keep us afloat.

i would do it again in a heartbeat, its just funny to think that i wasted my time just to see her go.

after she left i've just been trying to survive, i work at the daycare in the mornings, bartending at night.

my real dream? probably to be an artist.

i was always obsessed with painting, color palettes were my own way of expressing myself—

"miss y/n, how do you draw a sunset?"

jiwon holds up a paper with orange scribbles and a sun in the top corner.

i crouch down beside him, resting my chin in my hand. “well… sunsets aren’t perfect circles. they kind of melt into the sky, right? like when your ice cream melts.”

he blinks. “so i draw a puddle?”

“a pretty puddle,” i say, smiling, and he giggles.

i help him blend red and orange together with his stubby fingers, showing him how to smudge the lines just a little.

“can i put it on the wall?”

-

“alright, clean up time!” i call, clapping my hands twice. “parents are on the way!"

i help the kids line up their drawings on the little gallery wall we made near the door with their names are signed at the bottom.

"say bye to miss y/n and miss kyla!" summer's mom smilies as she carries her toddler between her arms, holding her lunch bag in the other.

"bye bye!"

i wave, already turning back toward the cubbies when i hear someone crying over a missing sock.

"look who’s here, y/n," kyla says behind me.

i glance over my shoulder.

she’s holding a sleeping haru on her shoulder, smirking. her head tilts toward the front door.

i follow her gaze and stop.

standing in the doorway, all black casual business attire and silver rings, hair slightly messy.

mr. jeon.

he's one of those quieter parents, always on time. he's been bringing his 3 year old here for about 2 months and its always been him picking him up.

and never once have i heard jungha bring up his mom.

proabably a busy woman, i cringe at myself everytime i think i have a chance.

seriously? finding your student's dad attractive? you're sick y/n.

but he's such a dilffffffffffffffffffff—

"i'm here for jungha?"

i snap back into reality as i scan for jungha, my eyes land on a small figure by the gallery wall, quietly adjusting his drawing. when he sees his dad, he doesn’t run. doesn’t yell. he just walks over and tugs the edge of mr. jeon's sleeve.

“ready?” he says softly.

he crouches down, pulling him into a one-armed hug. his hand rests gently over jungha’s back, a subtle kind of affection.

“he was good today,” i say, stepping forward. “still quiet.”

mr. jeon looks at me. dark eyes, unreadable. “he usually is.”

i nod, offering a small smile. “he drew a rocket for you.”

jungha glances up at me. not a smile, exactly — just a blink, a flicker of acknowledgment.

he stands, adjusting the strap of jungha's bag. “thanks.”

he doesn’t linger. never does.

-

i slowly close up the bar as the clock hits 12am.

we don’t shut down until 2am but the rush is over. the shift’s been steady, not as wild as it got earlier during the basketball game, but a few stragglers here and there.

yoongi (he’s a newer face), is here — tucked into the end of the bar, sipping a belgian moon. he's been coming around more often, doesn’t talk much, doesn’t cause trouble, he tips well and waits quietly usually.

“refill?” i ask, wiping down the bar in front of him.

he lifts his glass slightly.

i pour a new pint and slide it back to him. “you waiting on someone?”

he glances at the door. “yeah. friend of mine.”

the door chimes.

i look up.

and stop breathing.

in a black shirt button up shirt, silver chain around his neck, the same messy-styled hair this morning.

mr. jeon.

he doesn’t notice me right away, more focused on yoongi, walking toward him with a nod.

they do that half hug — a quick clasp of hands and a shoulder tap before settling into the bar stools beside each other. mr. jeon mutters something low, and yoongi huffs a tired laugh in response.

i’m frozen in place behind the bar, turning away and crouching down pretending to find the bottle opener.

"congrats on your cousins gallery, man, you built that?"

“a bit,” yoongi answers. “been working on it since two years ago. happy to see it up.”

another soft chuckle. mr. jeon's voice is sounds lower, quieter, more relaxed than during his pickups. i peek up from behind the bar, just enough to catch him resting his forearms against the counter, silver rings catching the low light.

he looks good.

they talk about some mutual friend i don’t know, then mr. jeon finally glances toward the drink menu on the bar.

“you got tequila?” he asks, not looking at me yet.

i don’t move. just grab the bottle automatically and start pouring. “silver or gold?”

his head tilts. “gold.”

i slide the shot across the bar without thinking.

he reaches for it, fingers brushing the base and finally looks up.

his eyes meet mine.

and he freezes.

there’s a beat of silence where even yoongi seems to notice something shift. he blinks, eyebrows just barely lifting.

“…miss y/n?”

i raise a brow. “mr. jeon.”

yoongi turns, looking between us with a slow blink. “…wait.”

mr. jeon exhales like he’s trying not to laugh. “you work here?”

“four nights a week,” i say casually, resting one arm on the bar.

yoongi stares at his drink like it’s suddenly gotten way too interesting.

mr. jeon glances at him, then back at me. “she’s a teacher at jungha’s daycare,” he says, lips tugging into the smallest smirk. “interesting seeing you here.”

yoongi clears his throat like he’s trying not to get dragged in. “small world.”

“too small,” i mutter, pouring another round for someone down the bar.

-

yoongi finishes his beer, checks his phone, and lets out a sigh.

“alright. i’m calling it. see you?”

“depends if you call me first,” mr. jeon says, not looking up from his drink.

yoongi stands, gives me a small nod. “goodnight, y/n.”

“night, yoongi.” i manage, offering a small smile.

yoongi turns to mr. jeon. “you staying?”

“for a bit.”

yoongi just shrugs and claps a hand to his shoulder. “don’t bother her too much.”

“wasn’t planning to.”

once the door shuts behind him, the silence shifts.

mr. jeon doesn’t say anything. just sips from his shot glass and scrolls through his phone while i work my way around the bar, wiping down tables and stacking chairs.

-

by the time i flip the lights behind the bar, it’s just the two of us left.

he stretches slightly, standing as i pull on my jacket.

“you can call me jungkook, by the way,” he says suddenly, voice low.

i glance over. “oh?”

“i figured since yoongi’s throwing your first name around like that...”

i smirk. “y/n.” tilting my head a little—“you sure? ‘mr. jeon’ has such a nice ring to it.”

he laughs softly, a bit breathier this time. “only during pick-up hours.”

i zip up my jacket and sling my bag over my shoulder.

he doesn’t move right away, just watches me from where he’s standing, hands in his pockets, eyes following every small movement.

i head toward the front door and flick off the last neon sign in the window. silence wraps around us.

“where’s your car?” he asks.

i hesitate. “a couple blocks down.”

he nods once. no hesitation. “i’ll walk you.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i know.”

he says it so simply. i look at him for a second longer than necessary, then push the door open.

outside, the street is quiet. the sky’s clear, streetlights humming. my boots hit the pavement, his strides just slightly heavier beside mine.

we don’t talk for a while, just walk. his hands are in his coat pockets, mine gripping the strap of my bag.

after a minute, he glances over. “do you usually get off this late?”

“mm. depends on the crowd. tonight was mild.”

he hums in acknowledgment. “do you walk to your car alone every time?”

“i don’t really think about it.”

“you should.”

he’s not looking at me. just ahead, eyes calm, jaw clenched.

my car comes into view, we slow to a stop beside it.

“thanks,” i say, turning to unlock the door.

he nods. “you get home safe, y/n.”

it’s the way he says it; like it’s a request and a promise at the same time. its makes my chest feel strangely full.

i open the door, one foot inside, then glance back at him.

“see you tomorrow?”

his eyes flicker to mine, a corner of his mouth barely tugging up. “yeah. see you tomorrow.”

i get in.

he doesn’t walk away until i’ve closed the door, engine rumbling to life. hands in his pockets. watching.

-

ugh, its the morning.

i’m half-running on fumes when i open the daycare doors at 7:20.

my hairs tied up, coffee half-spilled on my hoodie, and a stack of paper stars tucked under my arm for today’s “space explorer” theme.

i kneel by the cubbies, taping up names for coat hooks when the bell above the door chimes.

i don’t look right away. just call, “morning!”

small footsteps patter across the floor.

a quiet thud against my leg.

i freeze.

then look down.

jungha.

his little arms wrap around my shin, his cheek smushed into my knee like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

i blink.

"morning jungha,”

his face stays buried for a second, then he pulls back just enough to hold up something clutched in his fist.

a folded paper rocket with red scribbles, my name in shaky letters on the side.

“you forgot this,” he mumbles.

my chest squeezes unexpectedly.

i take it, kneeling down. “thank you, astronaut jungha. i’ll keep it safe.”

his lips twitch upward, just barely—before he scurries off toward the coloring table.

then i glance up.

and there he is.

mr. jeon. leaning in the doorway, dressed in black slacks and a slate grey crewneck. same silver chain, one hand in his pocket, the other resting against the doorframe.

his gaze is steady.

not cold, not unreadable, just… watching.

something flickers between us then—small, unspoken.

“you get home okay the other night?”

my breath catches a little.

i nod. “yeah. thanks again.”

his mouth curves, subtle. “see you.”

“see you.”

and then he’s gone.

but i’m still standing there.

paper rocket in hand.

“...you good?” kyla’s voice floats in from the other side of the room, casual, but i know her too well.

i turn, slowly.

she’s leaning against the play kitchen with a plastic banana in one hand, eyebrows raised.

i clear my throat, shove the rocket into my hoodie pocket. “yep. great. just.. tired.”

“mhm.." she hums, biting back a grin. “tired from working late… or from walking to your car with mr. jeon?”

i blink. “how—”

“you had that look.” she shrugs.

“kyla.”

“he walked you to your car, didn’t he?”

i press my lips together. silence is apparently confession enough.

she whistles. “girl. i’ve been saying. the way he watches you at pick-up like he’s trying not to cross a line? but also might be imagining you in nothing but one of those tiny daycare aprons?”

i groan, dragging a hand over my face. “stop.”

“what? i’m just saying. he’s quiet. hot. good dad. you’re single. he’s single. jungha likes you. the universe is doing its job.”

“he’s a parent.”

“and?”

i narrow my eyes. “you’re impossible.”

she winks, already turning back to the kids. “just don’t be surprised when he shows up with a second paper rocket and a coffee.”

-

aaaaaaaaand.. what the fuck.

jungkook walks in at pickup with a coffee in his hand.

i dont even need to look back at kyla to hear her snickering behind me.

i pretend i don’t notice. pretend i’m completely focused on taping up the last few drawings from this morning — crooked crayon suns and glittery stick people — even as i feel him walk closer.

“you’re early,” i say, not turning.

“got off work early.”

i glance over, finally.

he holds the coffee out toward me. “thought you might want this.”

i blink. “…for me?”

he nods, a little too casual. “you looked tired the other night.”

i take it, slowly. the cup’s warm against my palm, and for a second i forget how to hold eye contact properly.

“…thanks.”

his mouth twitches. “cream, no sugar. that okay?”

“how did you—?”

“jungha says you like it like that. said you told him it was ‘adult coffee.’”

i blink again.

kyla cackles from across the room. i don’t even try to hide my glare.

“you have spies,” i mutter.

“i have a very observant kid,” jungkook replies smoothly.

i turn to see jungha run toward him at full speed, backpack swinging wildly. jungkook crouches and catches him effortlessly with one arm, pulling him in.

“did you draw another rocket today?” he asks softly.

jungha nods and glances at me. “this one’s for miss y/n.”

he digs around in his cubby and hands me a folded piece of construction paper. the rocket is lopsided, the stars are pink, and my name is spelled wrong.

i feel my chest actually ache.

“thank you, jungha,” i say, kneeling down. “i’ll put this right next to the one from this morning.”

he just nods again and slips his hand into his dad’s.

jungkook meets my eyes as he adjusts the strap on his son’s backpack. “see you around, y/n.”

“you too… jungkook.”

as they walk out, kyla sidles up next to me.

“you’re so fucked,” she sings.

i sip the coffee. it’s perfect.

“…yeah,” i whisper. “i know.”

-

it’s sunday night and the bar is slow — the kind of slow that makes you count bottle caps and restack coasters just to feel like time’s passing.

the overhead lights buzz louder without a crowd. the tv murmurs with a baseball game no one’s watching. it’s been like this all shift. mellow. forgettable.

and i was kinda hoping it wouldn’t be.

friday came and went.

so did saturday.

no jungkook.

no black button-up, no tequila order, no silent glances from across the bar that made my chest feel like it couldn’t settle.

i told myself it wasn’t a big deal. how he probably got busy or had plans or maybe walking a daycare teacher to her car once at 2am wasn’t as memorable for him as it was for me.

i mean… maybe i looked into it too much.

maybe it was just a one-time thing.

he was being polite, protective. like any decent guy would. i’ve just been tired, maybe the attention felt warmer than it actually was.

maybe i wanted it to mean something.

i lean on the bar, drag my rag across the same spot again.

“you’re spiraling,” kyla says from behind me, not even looking up as she restocks the glasses.

“i’m not.”

“you are. your face does that thing.”

i frown. “what thing?”

“the pouty one. where you’re convinced you read a guy wrong and now you’re punishing the countertop for it.”

i roll my eyes. “very specific.”

she shrugs. “very accurate.”

before i can argue, the door chimes.

i glance up automatically.

a group of three walks in. not him.

i swallow the twist of disappointment and straighten my posture. “booth or bar?”

kyla nudges my shoulder as she passes. “he’ll show.”

i don’t say anything.

but i hope she’s right, not just because it would mean he cares —

but because i think i really, really want him to.

-

the bar’s mostly clean. the register's closed, and i’m reaching under the counter for my bag when i hear kyla’s voice from the front.

“i’m heading out. you good to lock up?”

“yep,” i call back, pulling my coat on.

she swings the door open with her jacket already half-zipped, she turns to glance at me over her shoulder. “text me when you're home. don’t get kidnapped.”

“i'll try.”

the door clicks shut behind her, and then—

a knock.

i pause, slowly leaning to peek out the side window.

and there he is.

leaned up against the brick wall just outside the door. he’s scrolling his phone like he’s been there a while or like he only just got here and makes it look good.

i crack the door open. “we’re closed, you know.”

his eyes flick up from his screen, the corner of his mouth curves. “figured.”

“then what are you doing here, mr. jeon?”

he shrugs. “sunday’s slow. thought maybe you’d need a walk home.”

i blink. “you stalking my schedule now?”

“maybe.” he shifts off the wall. “or maybe your friend told me you usually bus it on sunday nights.”

kyla.

“and you waited out here?”

“you’re not the only one with good timing.”

i step out and lock the door behind me, shoulders hunching slightly against the chill. he walks beside me, casual, hands stuffed into his pocket.

“you missed friday and saturday,” i say after a beat.

“wasn’t avoiding you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“who said i was thinking that?”

he laughs under his breath. “were you?”

“if i was mistaken,” i murmur, “i’d think you have a crush on me, mr. jeon.”

his steps slow just a little.

“you’re not mistaken.”

my breath catches.

“but if it makes you feel better,” he adds, a slight curve tugging at his mouth, “i’m trying to be subtle about it.”

“this is you being subtle?”

he finally lets out a low laugh. “you should see me when i’m obvious.”

he says it like a joke, but there’s a flicker in his eyes when he looks at me that makes my pulse stutter.

i try to ignore it.

“so,” i say, clearing my throat, “do you do this for all your kid’s teachers?”

“just the pretty ones that make my kid smile,” he says, no pause.

i stop in my tracks.

he doesn’t.

just keeps walking a few steps ahead, like he didn’t just casually drop that into the night air and walk away from it.

“…wow,” i mutter, catching up. “bold.”

we fall into step again, quieter now. the wind rustles through a tree nearby.

the breeze gets there first, curling under my coat sleeve. i shiver.

he notices.

“cold?” he asks.

“a little.”

without a word, he tugs the jacket over his shoulders and holds it out. it smells like clean laundry and faint cologne. i hesitate, but he gives me a look.

i pull it over my head.

“you look warm,” he says, flicking his keys from his pocket. “come on. i’ll drive you.”

“you don’t have to—”

“i know,” he says again, unlocking the car. “but i want to.”

the inside of his car smells like pine and something faintly sweet. the passenger seat’s already warm from the heater. i buckle in, tucking my hands into the sleeves.

he glances over as he pulls out onto the road. “comfortable?”

i nod.

a small smirk pulls at his mouth. we fall into a silence, the city blurs with amber lights and red signals, windshield wipers wiping the early drizzle.

i swallow. “you know this is weird, right?”

“what is?”

“you. me. this.”

authors note: i kinda liked writing this, it was a very new trope for me but ill have part 2 soon!

[jakescapes]

𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖'𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨. (𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 2)

pairing: stalker!jake x reader (f)

synopsis: It all started when you met Jake Sim—the campus golden boy everyone adored. Charming, new, and impossible to resist, you quickly become his obsession. But as you fall deeper into his world, you realize the person you're falling for isn’t who he appears to be. And soon, you're trapped in a game you never agreed to play.

warnings: non-con/dub-con!!, suffocation, reader passing out at some point, manipulation, public groping, explicit smut, also not proof read that well

word count: 16k

author's note: hi guyss, im kinda disappointed with this. i feel like i started this story out really strong but i feel like it's rlly rushed towards the end. ive just been rlly needing to finish it so i can get to my other projects, so sorry abt that. also there might be some typos and stuff, i didnt get to properly proof read, but still hope u enjoy!

part one

now playing: mind games by sickick

-------------------------

Jake froze, every muscle in his body locking into place as the faint sound of your voice echoed throughout the apartment, shooting up from the floor in haste. The lighthearted remnants of your voice getting farther away from the front door made his stomach churn with anxiety.

Acting swiftly, he began to hurriedly put all of your panties and bras back into the drawer, fumbling and folding them to make them look as untouched as possible. The faint sound of your footsteps grew louder, and when he heard the soft creak of the floorboards just outside your bedroom door, panic surged through him like a lightning bolt.

The doorknob rattled. Jake’s heart thundered in his chest. There was no time. His eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for an escape plan. He had to hide. Quick.

Without thinking, he dove underneath your bed, barely managing to squeeze his long frame into the cramped, dusty space. It was uncomfortable, the sharp wood frame pressing into his back, but he didn’t have the luxury to care.

As he lay there, Jake pressed his face into the musty carpet and swallowed hard, forcing his breathing to slow. He couldn’t make a sound, not even a whisper of movement, trying to act as invisible as possible. He listened intently, every nerve on edge, as your voice drifted into the room, still lighthearted and casual.

“…I mean, sucks that that one store was closed. Seriously, who closes at 1:30 on a Sunday? What are they, trying to be some knock-off Christian Chick-fil-A or something?” you joked, your voice drawing a laugh from your roommate in the other room.

Jake clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the dust tickling his nose and the pounding in his chest. His mind raced. Every second felt like an eternity as he waited, praying you wouldn’t notice anything amiss.

“…Right? It’s like, I get wanting a day off, but why not just close earlier or something?” Ava replied.

You dropped your bag onto your bed with a sigh, the springs creaking slightly above Jake's head. “Honestly, I’m not even mad about it. I just wanted an excuse to drag you out of the apartment anyway. You’ve been holed up in here all weekend.”

Your roommate groaned dramatically from the hallway. “Okay, but I deserved that lazy weekend. Unlike you, Miss Overachiever, I don’t like voluntarily overloading myself with assignments.”

"It’s called being responsible. You should try it sometime.”

Ava stepped into your room, leaning against the doorframe. “You know who else seems responsible? Jake.”

Jake stiffened under the bed, his heart skipping a beat as his name fell from your roommate’s lips.

You rolled your eyes, flopping down onto the mattress, unknowingly inches above the current topic of discussion. “Don’t start, Ava.”

“I’m just saying,” she continued, walking into the room. “He’s cute, he’s smart, and he literally likes you. What’s the holdup?”

You sighed, your voice tinged with hesitation as you stared up at your ceiling. “I don't know. He’s… really sweet, and he always knows how to make me laugh. I mean, he’s so easy to be around, you know? But sometimes, I get this weird feeling. Like, maybe I’m just overthinking it, but it’s just something is off and I can't ignore it."

Jake’s jaw clenched as he lay silently beneath the bed, every word you said hitting him like a blow.

Ava dismissed your concerns with a wave of her hand. “Are your seriously going on about this again? You’re being ridiculous. He’s just a guy. A really hot, really sweet guy who, for some insane reason, actually likes you.”

“Thanks. Your pep talks are always so inspiring,” you said dryly, but there was a hint of a smile in your voice.

Jake’s mind raced as he absorbed the conversation. On one hand, he was relieved to hear that you liked him, even if you did think he was “off.” But on the other hand, your words lit a fire under him. If you thought he was acting weird, he needed to make sure you didn’t anymore. He had to fix that. He had to fix you.

Your roommate just shrugged, heading back toward the hallway. “Whatever. Just let me know when you’re finally ready to admit you’ve got a thing for him.”

You groaned. “Go away, Ava.”

When the door finally clicked shut and you were left alone in the room, Jake could hear the springs creak again after a few moments as you shifted on the bed. He held his breath, praying you wouldn’t look down or notice anything unusual. If, for whatever reason, you decided to take a peak under your bed, he was done for.

The soft creak of the bed springs put Jake on high alert as you shifted your weight and got up, crossing the room toward your mirror and dresser. He stayed still at first, his body tense and pressed against the floor, but curiosity got the better of him. Slowly and cautiously, he tilted his head, peeking out from under the edge of the bed frame.

His breath caught as his gaze settled on you, oblivious to his presence, adjusting the chain of a delicate necklace in front of the mirror. The way you brushed your fingers over the small pendant, the subtle furrow in your brow as you tilted your head to inspect how it sat against your skin—it captivated him. Jake couldn’t help but stare, his pulse quickening as he watched your every movement.

You opened a drawer, pulling out a pair of earrings and holding them up to your ears, deliberating. To Jake, it was fascinating, how meticulous and graceful you were with such simple actions. He’d never seen this side of you before. It was intimate in a way that made his chest tighten.

But then you paused, turning your head slightly as if you sensed something out of place. Jake ducked back under the bed in an instant, his heart pounding in his chest.

Had you seen him? Did you hear something?

"Ugh, where’s that other earring?” you muttered to yourself, your voice breaking the silence. Jake exhaled quietly in relief, the tension in his body easing just enough to steady his nerves.

He clenched his jaw, realizing how reckless he was being. Yet, despite the danger of being caught, he felt an odd thrill coursing through him, an electric mix of fear and exhilaration.

That sensation intensified even more in the next moment, because the next thing he knew, your jeans were dropping to the floor from of your body. They were then followed by the top you were just wearing seconds ago.

Oh my god, he thought.

You were getting naked. Right in front of him.

Jake's attention piqued even more as he adjusted his head slightly, angling it to get a clearer view from the narrow crevice under your bed. The soft glow of your lamp illuminated your features as you slipped off your panties next, and then unclasped your bra, letting them all fall the to the floor right next to the other discarded pieces of clothing.

It all felt so intimate, so unguarded. Jake’s breathing slowed as he tried to remain as quiet as possible, his body stiff and heart racing, a mix of adrenaline and something deeper coursing through him (his arousal).

Speaking of, Jake immediately got hard, once again, at the sight—feeling his jeans getting tighter and suffocating his dick against the floor as it began to grow. However, it was definitely not the right time to pull his fucking dick out right now, and he knew that. Mostly because there certainly wasn't enough room for him to jerk off anyway, and less because he feared being too loud and getting caught.

But really, who could blame him? Any man with a decent pair of eyes would understand Jake’s fascination. Look at you. You were gorgeous. The way your hair cascaded down your slender back, catching the light just right, as you stood in front of the mirror. The subtle way you tilted your head, studying your own reflection with that quiet intensity, as if you were both admiring and critiquing yourself. It was mesmerizing. The way that your tits sat so perfectly, so perky, right above your waistline, perfectly accentuating your figure. Your belly button piercing glinted subtly under the light, resting perfectly against your skin, almost like a cherry on top of an already stunning masterpiece.

Your long legs. They seemed to go on forever, effortlessly graceful as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. Everything about you screamed perfection in a way that felt almost unfair to anyone lucky, or unlucky, enough to be in your orbit.

And who could forget that ass of yours? Jake, of course, couldn't. Only getting glimpses of what it looked like when you wore jeans or even those tight, tight yoga pants that drove him crazy definitely couldn't have prepared him for the sight before him. It was so round and curvy, resting perfectly against your hips. I could get used to this, he thought. He had fantasies about it, and now, those said fantasies were certainly growing by the moment, as he just stared right at you. Fantasies of grabbing it, slapping it as hard as he could. Didn't even care about leaving marks or bruises, knowing that except for you, he would be the only one seeing them anyway.

He so badly wanted to get a good look at your pussy. But that damn mirror, the one attached to the dresser, ended just where your hips were, blocking any chance of him catching a glimpse of what lay further. With your back turned towards him, it was as if fate had decided to toy with him, letting him catch only fragments of your perfect image before the mirror cut it off. He could only imagine the rest, and the thought of it made his chest tighten with frustration.

But at the end of the day, it was no big deal. The thought of seeing your sweet, perfect little pussy for the first time, up close while he undressed you and ate it out didn't sound so bad. Saving the best for last, I guess. He promised to himself in that moment, that he would eat it so fucking good it would leave you fucking desperate and begging for more.

Jake liked the sound of that. He liked it a lot.

But suddenly, the sound of you walking towards your connected bathroom snapped him out of his thoughts. Jake's heart pounded in his chest as he heard the water turn on in the bathroom a few seconds later. The faint hum of the shower running provided a small but crucial cover for his movements. And as much as he wanted to witness you after a nice, hot shower, probably only wearing a tiny towel wrapped around your body and topped with a sexy messy bun, he knew this was his only opportunity to slip out unnoticed.

Still lying under the bed, Jake strained to listen for any sudden sounds that could signal your return to the bedroom. Satisfied that the shower was fully running and you were preoccupied, he slid out from under the bed as quietly as possible, moving with deliberate slowness to avoid any creaking from the floor.

Once on his feet, he scanned the room to ensure everything was back in its place. His sharp eyes darted around for any evidence of his intrusion, opening up your dresser drawers once more to warrant anything suspicious. Satisfied, he grabbed just a few more pairs of your panties (for safekeeping of course), before he tiptoed toward the door, making sure to avoid stepping on anything that might give him away. Every movement felt painfully loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Slowly, Jake turned the doorknob, grateful that it didn’t squeak. He opened the door just wide enough to slip through.

Now in the hallway, he moved swiftly toward the front of your apartment, glancing over his shoulder to ensure the coast was clear. He could see the shadow of your roommate behind her closed door, which he wanted to take advantage of, in case she had any ideas of stepping out anytime soon.

Before exiting, he paused to ensure the door wouldn’t slam shut behind him. He gently eased it closed until it latched without a sound.

Only when Jake was outside, the cool air hitting his face, did he allow himself to exhale. His hands were trembling, but he couldn’t help the slight smirk that tugged at his lips. The thrill of narrowly escaping made his heart race as he walked away, blending back into the world as if nothing had happened.

-------------------------

You stepped back into your room, towel drying your damp hair, the scent of your lavender body wash still lingering in the air.

Your gaze landed on the door to your room. It was slightly ajar, a sliver of the hallway visible through the gap. You frowned, pausing mid-step. You were certain Ava shut it before you ended your conversation with her.

Shaking your head, you walked over and pushed the door closed with a soft click, dismissing it completely in the moment. But as you moved around the room, another thing caught your eye—your clothing dresser. The bottom drawer, where you kept your underwear and bras and a few other ones above it, wasn’t pushed in all the way. A small sliver of space separated it from the dresser frame, and you swore you’d closed it flush, as you always did.

You stood there, staring at the drawer. Then you laughed lightly to yourself, shaking the tension away. Seriously? You’re being ridiculous. Ava probably came in looking for some clothes to borrow, you reasoned.

To quiet the nagging thoughts, you reached for your phone and opened your messages.

You: thanks for being so understanding earlier about me canceling

You: i feel bad

The reply came almost instantly, as if he’d been waiting for it.

Jake: ofc, don’t even worry about it

Jake: u deserve to have fun with your friends. just lmk if u need anything

The sweetness in his words made you smile, easing the tension in your chest. Jake was always so patient, so attentive. It made you feel safe. Despite the strange feelings lingering in the back of your mind, you found yourself focusing on how lucky you were to have someone like him.

You sank onto your bed, scrolling through your messages and exchanging a few more lighthearted texts with Jake. The oddities in your room faded into the background, brushed aside by the warmth of his words. Everything was finally feeling normal again.

-------------------------

Some weeks later, you and Jake finally became official. After some more one sided pining on his end, you eventually gave in. How could you not? He was the perfect boyfriend if there ever was one. He never pressured you to do anything, always let you decide where to hang out, and gave you cuddles at the end of the day when you were stressed. At least for now he did.

Anyway, you two were the couple. The kind of picture perfect pair everyone whispered about on campus. Sure, girls despised you for being the one to finally cuff the golden boy, their envy radiating every time they caught you two holding hands and walking each other to class. But who cared? Jake was yours, you were happy, and that’s all that mattered.

But damn, you never realized how clingy he could be.

It started small, little things that felt more endearing than overbearing. Like how he would insist on walking you to every single class or text you updates throughout the day about the most mundane things. But as time passed, you couldn’t help but notice how Jake seemed to always need to be around you.

Take tonight, for example. You’d planned a cozy night in with Ava, some junk food, a cheesy romcom, and long overdue catching up. But Jake had other ideas.

“Surprise,” he said, appearing outside your dorm with that boyish grin you found so hard to resist. A bouquet of your favorite flowers in one hand and takeout from that hole in the wall restaurant you loved in the other. And while you appreciated the thoughtful gesture, you couldn’t help but internally roll your eyes at the fact that he was here. Again. You loved your boyfriend's company, truly, but sometimes... you just needed a little space.

You blinked, caught between guilt and irritation. “Jake, I told you I was hanging out with Ava tonight—”

“I know, I know. But you work so hard, and I just wanted to do something nice for you. You deserve to relax.”

It was sweet. Almost too sweet. You couldn’t bring yourself to argue. Instead, you shot Ava a quick apologetic look from behind the door. She was perched on the couch, arms crossed, clearly witnessing the entire situation and waiting for you to shut the door on Jake so the two of you could finally start your movie. But that didn't happen. Instead, you promised to make it up to her, and followed Jake back to his car.

And this was starting to become a pattern. Whenever you had plans, especially with Ava, Jake would magically appear with something planned. A picnic in the park, an impromptu movie night, or a late night drive to “clear your head.” And every time, he’d have some way of framing it as him looking out for you.

“You’ve been so stressed lately. I just thought you’d want to spend time with me,” he’d say with a pout, his hands brushing yours as he looked at you with those puppy dog eyes. “But if you’d rather be with her…”

The guilt would hit you like a ton of bricks every time. How could you say no to that? Ava would understand. You could always reschedule, right?

But she wasn’t blind.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Jake,” she said one afternoon, cornering you in the campus coffee shop. Her tone was casual, but her words carried weight. “Not that I don’t get it—he’s your boyfriend. But I feel like we barely hang out anymore.”

Her words stuck with you, planting a tiny seed of doubt that lingered in the back of your mind.

You sighed, stirring your matcha latte idly as you avoided her gaze. “I know. I do. It’s just… he’s so clingy. That’s just how he is. And I feel bad saying no to him, you know? He gets so disappointed when I do.”

“I get that. I really do. But I feel like he’s kind of monopolizing your time. I mean, it’s not just me. Have you even seen any of your other friends lately?"

You opened your mouth to reply but stopped. She wasn’t wrong. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it like that. It’s not like I’m trying to push you all away or anything. He just… he makes me feel guilty if I even bring up spending time with anyone else.”

Ava reached across the table, her voice softer now. “Look, I’m not saying to ditch him or anything. I just wish you’d talk to him about it, set some boundaries. You shouldn’t feel guilty for having a life outside of him.”

Honestly, you were a little surprised at yourself at this point. Before Jake, you always promised that you’d never let anyone, let alone a guy, control your life. You had standards. You had priorities. Not that you don’t have those now, but your relationship with Jake wasn’t exactly what you envisioned for yourself back then. Sure, you liked him, maybe even more than you wanted to admit, but the version of you from before would never have tolerated being treated this way. You roommate was right. It was time to set some boundaries.

You nodded. “You’re right. If he tries to do it again, I’ll talk to him. I promise.”

Ava smiled, giving your hand a quick squeeze. “That’s all I’m asking. I just miss my best friend.”

Her words made your chest tighten, and you felt a pang of guilt. You hadn’t meant for things to turn out like this.

And just as you had every intention to talk to him about it, you found yourself realizing how hard it actually was. It was almost as if Jake couldn’t fully grasp what you were trying to say, or maybe he just didn’t want to.

Here you were, in his room, standing near the edge of his bed while he sat there, looking up at you with those eyes. Soft, questioning, and frustratingly innocent.

“I’m not saying I don’t want to spend time with you,” you began carefully, your arms crossed. “I’m just saying I need to spend time with other people too, like Ava. She’s my best friend Jake, and I don’t want her to feel like I’ve forgotten about her.”

He tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing. “I don’t understand,” he said, his tone laced with genuine confusion. “Am I keeping you from her? I mean, I thought I was spending time with you because we like being together. Isn’t that normal in a relationship?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “It is normal, Jake, but not when it feels like it’s all the time. I need some space to breathe, to see my friends, to just... be me for a little while, you know?”

Jake blinked, his expression shifting into something that looked hurt. “But I never stop you from seeing her. I never tell you not to. I mean, is it wrong for me to want to be with you? Am I doing something wrong here?”

His words made your stomach twist. He wasn’t raising his voice or arguing back aggressively. It just really seemed like he was unintentionally making you feel like the bad guy without even trying. You could feel your resolve starting to crumble.

“No, you’re not doing anything wrong,” you said, exhaling deeply, trying to keep your frustration in check. “It’s just... I need balance, Jake. That’s all I’m asking for.”

It was silent between the two of you for a few moments and by the look of his face, you could tell Jake was in deep thought. Then he leaned back slightly, patting the space on the bed next to him. “Come here,” he said softly. “Can we just cuddle for now? I don’t like fighting with you. We can talk about it later.”

You hesitated, staring at him, feeling the weight of the conversation slipping through your fingers. Part of you wanted to push back, to make him understand. But the other part, the tired part, just wanted to stop feeling like the bad guy.

Finally, you sighed and stepped closer, sitting down beside him. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. “I’m sorry if I’m too much sometimes,” he murmured against your hair. “I just love being around you. That’s all.”

You didn’t say anything, just rested your head against his chest, hoping that maybe next time, he’d understand better. But deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if “next time” would even come.

You were then snapped out of your thoughts. You felt Jake’s arms tighten around you, pulling you in closer, his hands gently moving you onto his lap as he laid down against the edge of his bed. You instinctively wrapped your arms around him, letting your head fall into the familiar nook of his neck. The softness of his skin and the warmth of his body felt like a comfort, something you couldn’t easily shake off, no matter how many times you found yourself questioning things.

Inhaling deeply, you let his scent fill your senses, something warm, comforting, like a blend of cologne and the faint trace of his laundry detergent. It made you feel safe, even as the earlier conversation lingered at the back of your mind. Trying to push the thoughts away, you shifted slightly, moving even closer to him, needing to feel his strength, his presence.

He was so strong. So big. His arms felt massive against your body, holding you in place like he never wanted to let go. It was overwhelming in the best way, like everything outside of this moment didn’t matter.

Despite the frustration you’d been feeling with him earlier, there was still something undeniably comforting about being held like this. You couldn’t deny that part of you that loved how he took such good care of you, how he made you feel cherished in his own way, even if it was sometimes suffocating.

His voice broke through the silence, soft yet filled with something you couldn’t quite place. "Look at me," he said gently.

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. His eyes were soft, a mix of guilt and apology swirling within them. You felt a pang in your chest, unsure if it was from him or the doubt creeping in. Was I really being that mean to him? you thought, the question lingering in your mind as you studied his face. He didn’t say anything further, but his eyes spoke volumes. They were full of remorse, as if he was silently pleading with you, trying to convey something deeper than words could express.

The weight of the silence pressed down on you. You had tried to voice your thoughts, but here he was, looking at you like this, and it made you feel like you were the one who overreacted. It made you feel guilty in a way you couldn’t shake off.

Without thinking, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, your lips finding his in an almost instinctual gesture. It was a way of apologizing, of quieting the inner turmoil you were both experiencing. His lips were soft and familiar against yours, and in that moment, it felt like everything was okay again. For a few seconds, the confusion and uncertainty melted away, replaced by the warmth of his embrace and the comfort of his touch.

But even as you kissed him, part of you still knew that you were sweeping things under the rug. You could feel the weight of the conversation that still needed to happen, but for now, you chose to silence it. You couldn’t bear to confront it while you were here in his arms, feeling like everything was falling back into place.

So, you continued to play along with the nice guy act—kissing him, feeling him up, giving him the affection he craved. And that seemed to make him forget all about the tension from earlier, his mood lifting with each gesture. What started as simple innocent kissing, soon turned into a heated makeout sesh, with Jake groaning into your mouth with no care in the world.

Even though your boyfriend was known for being the sweetest guy on campus, always the charmer with a warm smile and kind words, you couldn't forget that he was, at the end of the day, a man—a man with needs, desires, and an undeniable level of attraction. When you first started going out with him, you expected him to try to make moves on you, to test the waters, even before he would officially ask you out. It was only natural, right? Especially considering the way he always looked at you with that intensity, the subtle touches here and there, and the moment his eyes landed on you, you could feel his desire to see you stripped of everything. But surprisingly, he never really tried anything. Other than the occasional kissing or making out, there was never anything beyond that between you two. You appreciated the patience. It made you feel respected in a way that was uncommon to see in pretty much any man these days. And maybe that’s why you overlooked the weirdness that sometimes crept in.

So when you could tell he was beginning to feel worked up as you both aggressively made out, him trying to contain himself from thrusting up against you, you let him. And more than that, you encouraged it, meeting his hips halfway, letting some whines slip out as you both tongued into each other's mouths.

Jake was surprised at first, momentarily stopping his movements completely as you continued your relentless riding against the center of his groin. But he then quickly took it as a sign to keep on going, to bring it up a notch.

He started to move his hands from where they were at your hips, all the way down to the bottom of your ass, squeezing them with no shame at all. Surely, you were taken aback at his blunt action, but you couldn't deny that that didn't just turn you the fuck on.

You let him know to keep going by moaning once more against him, which he seemed to like a lot, as he picked up the pace of his hips, thrusting right up against your core. Your panties began to feel a bit sticky, since you were, now, beginning to feel what was right under you the whole time.

You were always curious about what it looked like. Or what it felt like. Sometimes catching glances of it in those grey sweatpants of his, or when he would manspread right next to you on his couch, legs spread wide open. But now your curiosity came to an end, because you could literally feel every. single. inch. of his outline.

And he was bigggg. You just knew. I mean, how could you not? With the way it was completely rock hard against you at this point, being shoved up right against your center over and over, and over again. Now, you were being the one who was beginning to feel riled up and you needed more than to just hump his lap. Thankfully, though, Jake noticed—and he did something about it.

The next moment, you were flipped on your back with Jake now on top, reversing the position you were just in. You let out a gasp of surprise as your back hit the bed's mattress in almost an instant. As you caught your breath, you could see in your dazed eyesight, Jake smirking at you from above, very much liking the affect he had on you.

You were about to teasingly roll your eyes at him, until he forcefully pressed his hips right in between your legs, drawing out a loud, unexpected moan from you. The feeling was so raw with his hard length pressed right up against you, making your pussy ache and crave for more. Then, with no warning, he increased his speed once again, thrusting faster, harder, and spreading your legs apart as far as possible, giving him better access to press his cock onto you. He took them and brought them up against his face, forcing you in a mating press, while continuing his harsh, merciless thrusts, eliciting endless whines from you, and deep groans from Jake.

At this point, you completely soaked right through your panties and your shorts. which you only noticed because Jake was intently staring at the dark spot forming on your shorts, fascinated. Embarrassed, you brought your hands to your face, covering it from his view, getting too overstimulated in the moment from the pleasure coming from Jake's dick, and the almost tangible sexual tension in the room.

"Fuck," he groaned with rasp in his voice, still staring straight at what was in between your legs. "You're so fucking hot. Can't get enough of you."

He then inched even closer to your body, removing his hands from in between your legs, and up to hug your back almost suffocatingly. With this new angle, he could get his cock to reach further up your clit, humping into you at lightning speed. His bed started creaking from the sudden movements, and in the moment, you literally thought it was going to fucking break, considering how fast he was going.

Your mind was blank, overtaken by the waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. Eyes squeezed shut, lips parted, you were lost in the sensation, completely dazed. But it still wasn't enough. You wanted to feel it. With nothing in between.

"Jakeee," you whined, almost desperately. "I need ittt... pleaseeee."

This got his attention, his face lifting up from the crook of your neck. He slowed his movements down, just a bit, but still fast enough to keep you in this mind fucked state.

"Need what, baby? Tell me."

This just made you whine even louder. He knew goddamn what. He was just being a bitch and not giving you what he wanted. But your stubborn self wasn't going to give in. Frustrated, you snaked your hand in between both of your tight knitted bodies, grabbing his dick through his jeans harshly, immediately evoking a low, drawn out grunt from your boyfriend.

"Need itt," you whimpered again, reminding him.

You didn't need to tell him twice after that.

Right away, he let go of you, grabbing onto the hem of your shorts and pulling them down all the way down your legs, until you were just covered in those thin, slutty, fucking soaked panties of yours.

He stared at you for a few seconds, loving and drinking in the sight before him. You were propped up on your elbows, a sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead, panting slightly and your legs spread wide open, just for him.

And as much as he wanted to rip his pants off already and shove himself into you, he knew that was just the easy route. If he truly wanted to get you hooked, to have you wrapped around his little finger, he had to stick to the promise he made to himself that day. The promise he made when he was staring at you unclothed, from underneath the crevice of your bed, in your own room that you had no fucking idea about. Yeah, he thought. This is what I had been waiting for.

So instead, he lowered himself off the edge of his bed, never breaking eye contact with you. He took your ankles into his grip, pulling you forward suddenly, prompting a high pitched squeak from you, so your hips were now just at the edge of the bed, with your legs spread wide, dangling and open in the air. With nothing in his way now, he placed his nose directly above your clothed pussy, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, fucking shamelessly.

Yeah, this surprised you, but like c'mon... it was also so fucking hot. And the way he moaned into it, obviously liking the scent and burying his face even deeper, his nose pressing hard against your clit, sent your spiraling out of control.

"Jake what are you—"

"Shhh," he murmured against you, cutting you off. "Just let me."

So you did. Honestly, you would've let him do anything he wanted to you at this point.

After Jake was finally done with being a fucking pervert in front of his very own girlfriend and was finished with smelling your panties, he dipped his tongue out onto the fabric, applying just the right amount of pleasure. Your eyes instantly rolled back from the feeling, letting your arms and head fall back against the bed. If he was going to do this for you, you might as well enjoy it in comfort.

But for Jake, this was almost euphoric. After the first lick, he licked it again. And again. And again, until he was basically making out with your underwear, even going as far as to rubbing his whole face into it. And he honestly seemed like he was getting more pleasure than you were, moaning loudly enough that the neighbors would definitely come rushing to his door and complaining the next day. But after a while, he needed to really taste you, bury his tongue in your hole, with no fabric or lace in his way.

Finally, ripping your panties off your legs as quickly as possible, that's when he finally saw it—your fucking pussy. Dripping onto his bed, so, so, so perfect. He didn't have to even imagine it anymore. He no longer had to dream of it. After months and months of wondering what was hiding beneath the skirts you wore on your dates, he finally knew. And it couldn't have been more irresistible.

Wasting no time, he dug his tongue back in between your folds, ultimately getting a taste of the raw you. The real you he truly craved for for so, so long. He was instantly hit with a rush of euphoria as his eyes rolled back at the relish. Fuck, you couldn't have tasted better to him. And the fact that the whole time you were dating him, this is what you were hiding? This is what you had the whole time? Oh, poor naïve you. If only you would have known the affect just the thought of your pussy gave him. You could have been the one to have him wrapped around your finger. It could have been you. But unfortunately, it wasn't.

Minutes had gone by. Many, many minutes. Jake was currently sucking on your clit as you gripped tightly at the wavy locks of his hair, feeling the urge to rip out every strand as you got more and more overstimulated and impatient by the passing second. He had been going at your clit for the past who even knows anymore, and as much as his skilled tongue work sent you over the edge, you were starting to reach your limit and you needed his mouth off of you now.

"Jakee, it's too much," you weakly attempted, out of breath, as you tried to close your legs on him. Which obviously, didn't fucking work considering how fast he was to open them up again. You sighed in defeat as he just kept on going, eating you out like he was on death row and you were his last meal.

"Jakee. Stop it. I can't—"

"Shut the fuck up."

Um, what?

Flabbergasted, your body froze briefly at his sudden tone. Your sweet, kind boyfriend who had never even said the words "damn" or "hell" in front of you was now speaking to you like that? Who did he think he was?

Jake could tell you were taken aback by what he said, with the way your mouth was agape in dismay, your eyes fully widened.

"What," he chuckled, enjoying your state of shock. "You fucking asked for it didn't you? So you're going to take it."

And that's all he said, before he lowered his mouth back onto your core, lapping up every single drop, not letting a single morsel of your arousal go to waste. But even that still didn't distract you from your agitation. He had been eating you out for at least fifteen minutes at this point. And you couldn't take another second of it.

Again, you tried to move your legs out of his grasp, but struggling in the end. His grip on your thighs was so tight, it felt like he was trying to anchor you to him, making sure you couldn't escape even if you wanted to. Still, you kept trying to squirm away, your body instinctively resisting, though each attempt only seemed to make his grip stronger. His hold on you was unyielding, and the harder you struggled, the more you felt the tension building between you both. He wasn’t going to let you go so easily.

"Stop fucking moving," he said, mouth full of pussy.

Whining, you started thrashing around. You needed to get him off of you.

"What did I fucking say—"

"Wait," you blurted out impatiently, a strange feeling stirring within you.

"What?"

"I think.. I-I'm gonna.." you whimpered weakly, as you felt an unfamiliar feeling building up inside of you.

"Gonna what?" he asked confused as he looked up at you, but still not letting up on your hole.

The feeling was getting more urgent, something you couldn't ignore as he kept on sucking. It was so foreign, that you didn't know what it could have been, until it was finally ripping out of you.

"Ahhh!" you screamed, overwhelmed by a sensation you had never experienced before.

You orgasmed.

But it wasn't a regular orgasm. You didn't just come.

You fucking squirted.

All over your boyfriend.

The liquid spilled out of you, shooting into the air, most of it landing on Jake's face—coating not just his mouth, but his nose. And his eyes. Everything. Everywhere.

For a second, you both just stood still in shock, not knowing what to do, your eyes and mouth open wide in horror. The air was thick with tension, neither of you moving, neither of you saying a word. It felt like time had frozen, the moment hanging between you like an unspoken question, waiting for one of you to break the silence.

You were so fucking embarrassed. You had never squirted in your life. Ever. No man you have ever spent a night with has ever made you feel so pleasured the way that Jake did, in just minutes. You never expected for your first time to be repaying the person in their face, let alone that person being your own boyfriend!

You wanted to bury yourself in a hole, close it up, and never leave it again. The weight of shame pressed down on you, suffocating you, making every breath feel like it was being dragged through mud. You couldn’t shake the feeling of being exposed, vulnerable, and everything seemed to spin faster as you wished for the ground to swallow you whole.

And it didn't help that Jake was just staring right at you, panting heavily, with your fucking arousal painted all over him. You were expecting him to get up and walk out, or maybe even slam the door in your face, kicking you out like it was nothing. But to your surprise, that didn’t happen. Instead, he broke the silence just seconds later after catching his breath.

"That was... so fucking hot."

Wait what?

What did he say?

"... Huh?" you asked hesitantly.

"I said," he began, as he started crawling back up onto the bed, not even caring that your slick from his face was now dripping onto his sheets. "That was so.. fucking... hot." He said the last words with an emphasis that carried so much tension, each syllable hanging in the air like an ultimatum. You could feel your heart racing in your chest, unsure of how to respond. The silence that followed was deafening, almost suffocating, as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. His eyes never left yours, and there was something in them that you couldn’t quite decipher. Probably his horniness, you concluded.

"Fuck, I need to fuck you so bad," he finally confessed, staring directly at your lips.

And honestly, that idea didn't sound too bad. So you stared right back at him in the eyes, challengingly.

"Fuck me then," you said ultimately, as if daring him, testing how far he was willing to go.

"What'd you say?" he asked, his voice almost tinged with disbelief, as if trying to convince himself that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. Making sure he wasn't so horny to the point that he was hallucinating shit now.

"Fuck me."

The next thing you knew, your legs were being hauled up over your own head, once again, in what felt like a literal millisecond. After that, everything felt like a blur. The sound of the metal from Jake’s belt slipping through the loops echoed in the silence, the sharp clink of the buckle followed by the soft hiss of leather rubbing against fabric, pulled off in a rush.

Once all of his clothes were finally on the floor, you took your goddamn time to admire him while you were still perched on the bed. His pecs might have been as big as your own tits while his biceps were strikingly humongous. And damn, that holy six pack.

You were starting to understand now why every girl admired him on campus. His personality was evidently perfect, intelligent, sociable, and effortlessly charming. But you knew that already. However, you hadn’t quite considered just how much his physical appearance played a part in it all. The way his broad shoulders seemed to fill the space around you, the confidence in his posture that commanded attention without him even trying. And that slutty ass waist...

And then your gaze trailed lower... and lower. Until you finally laid your eyes on.. it.

You gasped lightly, Jake finding your reaction quite amusing, already knowing what it was you were gawking at. How the hell is that going to fit inside me?.. you thought.

It had to have been at least 8 inches. And it was veiny as fuck. Just the sight of it made your mouth water a little.

As much as it wouldn't go in that easily, you wanted it everywhere. Inside you, in your mouth, and maybe even from behind too. You were starting to imagine all the possibilities and wondered why it took you so long to finally do this with him. It's not like you were any better to be honest, considering since the day you met him you always wondered what that thing of his could do. And now, you were about to find out.

While he positioned himself right in between your legs, you hastily ripped your shirt and bra off, tossing them carelessly onto the floor.

"It might hurt a bit," Jake announced. "Just tell me if I should go slower."

You nodded, not even listening, your eyes never leaving his giant cock as he aligned it against your hole. But you should've listened, because nothing could have possibly prepared you for the first push of his dick.

It entered you with almost no warning, your body still getting used to the feeling, considering you haven't had sex in a while. And none of your past experiences could have compared to what Jake had. So, for you, it hurt. Like hell. More than usual. But you're a fighter, and you were going to take his 8 inches like a champ. So you took a deep breath, eyes shutting, and pushing through the pain while Jake inched even deeper.

But Jake, on the other hand—he seemed like he was already in heaven. Even when just his tip aligned with your pussy, he was already not confident enough he would be able to hold back, wanting to ram into it immediately and take you with no hesitation. But he can't scare you off like that. At least, definitely not now. So instead, he maintained his composure (or at least tried to) as he pushed his length into you just a few more inches.

He was probably halfway in now. And while you were still getting used to the stretch, squeezing Jake's arms from the pain, he was seriously about to fucking cum. Your cunt couldn't have squeezed him better. Your walls wanted to push him out so badly, while he simultaneously thrusted farther and deeper into you.

And when he finally made it all the way in, you gripped onto his chest fiercely, stopping him, not yet sure you'd be able to take him just yet.

"Just a moment," you voiced urgently. "I just need to get used to it first."

And while Jake nodded and remained rooted inside of you, he was going crazy and faltering out of control. The longer he remained still, the more he wanted to insert himself even deeper, thrusting into you with no abandon. He tried to think about your side though, he really did. How your probably trying your best to speed things up and get used to his size, but just couldn't help how big he was. But that thought just turned him on even more and he needed to move.

"Are you good now?" he asked, his voice laced with more desperation and want than he intended, needing to ram into you so badly. And although you weren’t entirely ready yet, you figured you were probably prepared enough to start. So you gave him a quick nod, which you immediately regretted a few seconds later.

The way that the moment you started to tilt your head to form a nod, he took that as a sign and did not hesitate to thrust all of his length up your fucking cervix, already going at a pace you could not handle.

You gasped, loudly and understandably, since Jake was basically ramming into you from the start, leaving you no time to fully adjust. His arms came down to cage your body from under him, his face buried into the mattress right next to yours, already groaning so damn loudly while you yelled in pain. His pace unfathomably increasing, not faltering for even just a second.

Thankfully though, after a few more seconds, the pain was starting to form into pleasure and lust. You could feel that familiar surge of nerves racing through your entire body while your pussy got fucking violated from Jake's dick. And the urge to scream at him to stop pounding into you slowly faded away in the background.

Your eyebrows furrowed as your mouth hung wide open in a silent scream. His gigantic cock slammed into you at a constant rate, nonstop and uninterrupted. His balls slapped your ass every time he thrusted hardly, definitely marking you with some redness down there.

His body was right on top of you, making it harder to breathe as you both moaned loudly, the sound of skin slapping echoing throughout the room. He was hitting you just right, in the exact places where you felt it the most. Where you felt it the hardest, the most authentic and raw.

You brought your arms up and lifted his head from where it rested on you, your hands framing his face between them. He stared at you from above, his bottom lip caught in between his teeth, sweat sheering his forehead, pleasure and lust written all over his face.

Never you imagined you would see your boyfriend like this. In such a state so vulnerable. So real.

And it was so fucking hot.

"Fuck," you moaned. "I think I'm close Jake."

"Yeah?" he asked, out of breath.

"Mhmmm..," you whined almost pornographically, and you felt Jake's dick twitch from inside of you, knowing he was close too.

"Me too," he grunted hoarsely. He readjusted himself as his pace sped up, thrusting his hips at a pace so unfathomably violent and fast, that it was starting to hurt your insides just a bit. But it hurt so good.

He brought his lips down to your right nipple, sucking and nibbling at the flesh until it was hard against his tongue, then switching sides to your other tit, milking out everything. He slurped and bit harshly, leaving dark purple and red marks that looked like it hurt. You moaned even louder, your pussy getting so wet that it was starting to coat the bed and even the insides of Jake's thighs. You were dripping literally everywhere.

"Want me to give you my babies?" Jake asked, once he was done with your boobs, grinning slyly while his pace fastened even more.

Not even able to fully comprehend the seriousness or reality of his question, you just shook your head weakly, only focused on cumming. Your brain was so fucked out at this point.

"No?" he chuckled lowly. "I bet you'd be such a good mommy though."

And that was all he said until Jake's thrusts were beginning to get sloppier and sloppier, his face contorting while his eyes rolled back to the brim, shoving in one final thrust, until he shot his thick, white ropes of cum inside you with absolutely no warning.

The sensation was so intense, so unfiltered—it was unlike anything you had ever experienced. Your entire body went rigid, frozen in place. You let out your loudest scream that night, when you felt his fluids paint your insides, unleashing your own orgasm. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as your back arched off the bed, until finally, you stilled—your body reminiscing the after moments.

Jake, so fucking exhausted, dropped right on top of you after getting arguably the best orgasm of his life. He panted heavily, eyes shutting immediately, feeling like he just ran a marathon with not a single drop of water.

And that was the last thing you remembered before the weight of exhaustion pulled you both into a deep, dreamless sleep.

-------------------------

After that day, you and Jake had sex, a lot. And everywhere.

In the shower, on the bed, on the floor, the wall, the couch, and even in his roommate's bed (but no one needs to know about that).

It was as if you had both hesitated, afraid to be the first to cross the line—but once it was done, the hesitation vanished, leaving nothing but a mutual understanding between you.

And now, here you were, kneeling down in between your boyfriend's legs, as he sat on his couch. His clothed dick was resting in your mouth, as his hands pet your hair gently.

"Come on, don't be shy," he encouraged, as he drank in the sight of you. You were innocently looking up at him from where you were on the floor, your mouth right on the center of his sweatpants.

"I'm not shy," you said, your mouth still around his dick.

He raised his eyebrow in suspicion, teasingly, not fully convinced by your statement. So, you applied more pressure on his dick, definitely not biting it, but just more force on your mouth overall.

His hips immediately and instinctively thrusted upward at the feeling, while his hand pushed your head downward onto his cock, groaning from pleasure.

You groaned too, although the sounds were getting suffocated and muffled from his pants.

"Okay, enough teasing. Just suck it already," he demanded out of desperation.

He released the pressure from your head so you could breathe better, while you took this opportunity to take the hem of his sweats in your hands. You tugged them down slightly as he lifted his hips, allowing you to slide them lower with more ease. Once they were low enough and the only thing separating you from his cock were his briefs, you placed your mouth back onto his center. But this time, you sucked and licked on the fabric, almost like you were mimicking his same actions from the first time he ate you out.

This made his legs spread even wider, hands pushing your head lower onto him as you suckled onto his cock through his underwear, feeling his arousal spreading throughout the cloth. You could almost taste his pre cum at this point. His whiny moans were getting louder, reminding you that you should probably get to it already, so, you removed your mouth from where it was while you finally tugged his briefs down, releasing his hard dick that slapped against his abdomen with urgency.

It looked so damn juicy and delicious. It stood up straight confidently, with pre cum leaking out of the tip from the hole. Veins covered it from top to bottom, and the observation made your own panties start to dampen.

Without hesitation, you brought your tongue to the tip, slurping up all of the pre cum, and almost rolling your eyes back from the taste. Sure, it was bitter and salty, and not your typical go to appetite, but it came from Jake. And that was good enough.

He cursed from above you as you took the whole head of it in your mouth, sucking and licking like your life depended on it. And once your mouth got used to his size, you reached lower and lower, until the halfway mark hit the back of your throat already. You wanted to take it in all the way, but there was just no way it was going to fit. And Jake knew that. So instead, you took your right palm and grabbed the base of his cock, jerking it off while you bobbed your head on the parts that would fit in your mouth.

Now, this wasn't the best head you've ever gave, you'll admit. It was pretty sloppy, but Jake didn't seem to mind. It was understandable, considering the fact that it was pretty uncommon for the average lady to take 8 inches down the throat anyway.

The sounds of you gagging, which seemed pretty unattractive to you, turned Jake on way too much. Him knowing the fact that your tiny little mouth with a gag reflex couldn't take his big, aching cock—the idea rattled him too much, moaning and grunting as he just watched you try to suck it as best as you could. Trying your best to impress him.

But he was growing impatient. And while Jake knew that you couldn't make it fit, he knew he could. So without any notice, he removed your hand from the base of his cock and slammed his hips upward into your mouth, releasing the most yearning moan out of him.

Your throat burned instantly while Jake began to fuck your mouth. You brought your hands up to his hips, grabbing and thrashing at him, trying to warn him that you couldn't take it. But Jake's head was thrown back so far in pleasure, he had no fucking idea. He just kept your head in place with that grip of his, continuously hitting the back of your throat as your tiny, pink lips jerked him off. Tears began to stream down your face, tasting the saltiness of them as they met with your mouth.

Fuck, this couldn't go on for much longer.

You tried to voice your concerns, struggling to make any sound, desperate to get Jake’s attention, but your mouth was still full of dick. And the vibrations from your attempts to speak just sent Jake even more over the edge, groaning loudly as his eyes shut closed in pleasure.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck... I'm so close.." he managed to mutter, eyes still sewn shut, hips still fucking up into your face.

You tried to breathe through your noise, knowing now that he was about to finish anyway, but really, nothing was helping and your jaw went slack.

Thankfully, with his hips stilling for just a second, you were able to get a small puff of air, before he was ramming back up and shooting his cum down your throat.

The tangy flavor instantly filled your taste buds, but not for long, as you removed your mouth in no time, gasping for air, as if each breath was your last. Finally being able to breathe normally again, you caught the sight of Jake, still very much cumming, but now with your mouth removed, it was darting past you and onto your face. Some got caught in your eyelashes while some landed on your lips. It was almost ironic how, not too long ago, you'd done the exact same thing to Jake, staring into his face with that same intensity while you sat there panting, trying to catch your breath.

But he wasn't done. He grabbed onto your face forcefully with one hand, opening your jaw back up and positioning it right where his dick was, while his other pumped his pent up cock a few more times, with the last bits of his cum spilling out and landing right inside your mouth. Your body jerked at the taste once more, while Jake just watched you, mouth wide open, swallowing up all of his juices with that look of pure sex and passion.

------------------------

"He did what?" Ava asked, her voice filled with disbelief.

You just shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal. "Yeah, I mean, it was definitely pretty unexpected, but like, it was hot," you admitted, watching Ava's face still struggle to process the information.

"But like, it's Jake we're talking about here. I didn't even know he was freaky like that."

You let out a sigh, brushing the hair from your face. "Yeah well, you can never really know with men," you tried to explain to her, glancing down at your hands. "Anyway, let's talk about something else."

"Okay, well did you ever actually talk to Jake about setting those boundaries? You said you were going to do that, right?"

You froze for a moment, the guilt creeping up your spine. "Well," you started, avoiding her gaze, "I tried... but he didn’t really understand. He kept asking me what he did wrong, and it just felt like he was putting it all on me. Like, I couldn’t even explain myself without him getting defensive." You bit your lip, trying to suppress the frustration. "I don’t know, Ava. Maybe I didn’t handle it right, but it was like he was more concerned about himself than actually listening."

Her expression hardened, lips forming a thin line. "You can’t keep brushing stuff under the rug just because he’s sweet sometimes," she said, her voice firm. "You deserve someone who respects your boundaries, not just someone who only hears what they want to hear."

"I know," you whispered, feeling the weight of the situation. "I just... I don’t want to make things awkward or hurt him. But it’s hard when he just doesn’t get it."

She placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring squeeze. "I get it, but you can’t keep ignoring how you feel just to protect him. You deserve to feel heard and respected, not like you have to change for someone else."

You nodded slowly, feeling the truth of her words settle in. "You're right. I just don’t know how to make him see that."

"Hey, give it some time. He might not understand now, but try talking to him again. I'm sure he'll come around."

------------------------

You and Jake were lounging on the couch in his apartment, your feet tangled in a blanket while a movie played softly in the background. The atmosphere was casual, comfortable. Your thoughts were still lingering on that conversation you had with Ava earlier, and it wasn’t until Jake suddenly perked up that you snapped back to the moment.

“Hey,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket with a grin. “Heeseung is throwing a party at his place later. Wanna come?”

You sighed, unsure. The idea of a party was definitely not appealing and you weren’t exactly in the mood for one of Jake’s big group hangouts with his friends. “I don’t know,” you said, hesitating. “I’m not really into your friends.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, the soft smile still on his lips. “Why not?” His voice was light, but you could hear the curiosity under it.

You shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to explain it without offending him. “Well… they’re not like you. They’re not sweet and gentle.” (yeah right.)

Jake’s expression softened at your words, and he let out a small laugh. “Aww, babe,” he murmured, leaning over and planting a quick kiss on your forehead. “Don’t worry. There are gonna be other people there too. I promise it won’t be all my friends. And you’re gonna have fun, I swear.”

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, not entirely convinced. You liked Jake. He was easy to be around, but his friends? You weren’t so sure. The idea of spending an evening with a bunch of loud, overly confident guys didn’t exactly excite you.

“I dunno, Jake…” you trailed off, still unsure.

Jake leaned in a little closer, his eyes soft and coaxing. “Come on, just for a little while,” he said, his voice sweet, almost pleading. “I’ll be right there with you the whole time. You won’t be alone, I promise. And I finally want to introduce my amazing girlfriend to my friends.”

At that, your heart softened just a little. He was just trying to make you feel included, and part of you wanted to make him happy. He had been so patient with you, always caring and thoughtful. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as you were imagining.

You hesitated, glancing at him and meeting his eyes. There was something about his sincerity that made it hard to say no.

“Okay, fine,” you gave in with a sigh, offering him a small smile. “But only because you’re gonna be right by my side the whole time. And if it gets awkward, we’re leaving.”

Jake’s grin widened as he pulled you in for a quick hug, his arms warm around you. “Deal,” he agreed, his voice bright. “We’ll make sure it’s fun. I promise you’re gonna have a great time.”

You felt the tension in your chest ease a little, but there was still a small part of you that wondered if this was a good idea. Nonetheless, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing Jake was determined to make it a night to remember.

And a night to remember, it was.

You recalled the booming bass of music, lights flickering and bouncing around the rooms, crowded bodies dancing together. It was your typical college party. The kind of place you’d avoid if it wasn’t for Jake’s hand firmly holding yours as he led you through the crowd. You couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, standing on the edges, unsure of where you fit in.

Jake noticed immediately, of course, and with his signature warmth, he pulled you closer. “See? I told you you’d be fine,” he said with a grin, his voice almost lost in the loud music, though he kept his tone reassuring. “Just relax. Let’s get a drink.”

You smiled back, trying to push down the knot in your stomach. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Jake, or even that you disliked his friends, but the scene was overwhelming. Bodies pressed too close together, the noise echoing in your skull, and the flashing lights making everything feel a little too surreal.

As you followed Jake through the crowd, you caught sight of his friends scattered throughout the room, laughter and conversations blending with the music. Heeseung was in the center, as expected, with a few other guys hanging out by the table, while a couple of girls chatted nearby.

Jake waved to them all as you approached, introducing you with a warm smile. “Hey, everyone, this is _____,” he said proudly, his hand on your back. “She’s a little shy, but I’m sure you’ll love her.”

You offered them a polite smile, trying to steady your nerves. They were all smiling back, their eyes friendly enough, but there was something in the air that made you feel like an outsider. They didn’t know you, not really, and as much as you tried to push that thought aside, it lingered.

“So, this is your girl, huh?” Heeseung asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m surprised, man. I thought you were all about the party scene, not settling down.”

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not about the party scene anymore. I’m all about her,” he said, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you a little closer.

You could feel your cheeks warm at his words, the possessiveness in his tone making you both giddy and uneasy. You smiled awkwardly, trying to stay in the moment, but the eyes of his friends were on you, analyzing, judging, like you were a puzzle they couldn’t figure out.

“Alright, alright, no need to embarrass the poor girl,” another one of his friends laughed, giving you a friendly wink. “Don’t worry, we’ll take it easy on you.”

You couldn’t decide if that was supposed to be comforting or not.

You stood there for what felt like probably hours, as Jake chatted away with his friends, eagerly accepting every drink offered to him, while you politely declined each one that came your way. Your eyes started to feel heavy from the monotony, a yawn escaping your lips as you were about to ask Jake to leave. But then, you felt it.

Jake's hand, gripping your ass from under your miniskirt. Out of fucking nowhere.

It was as if all of your senses heightened in that moment, eyes widening, darting around to see if anyone noticed. Thankfully—well, or maybe not—no one seemed to be paying attention. You did your best to force a smile, turning to Jake, but he was lost in conversation, laughing away with his friends, completely ignoring you while his grip just got even tighter, squeezing your ass to the point to where it stung.

You lightly (or not so lightly) tapped his side, trying to get his attention. After a moment, he finally turned his gaze toward you.

"Hmm?" he asked, almost innocently.

You gave him a pointed look, trying to hide the growing frustration that bubbled up inside you. "Jake," you said, your voice low but firm. "What the fuck are you doing."

The innocent expression on his face quickly faded, replaced by a stern glare that made you feel small and uneasy, a wave of fear creeping up your spine. He squeezed your ass again.

"Don't," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation as he noticed you trying to get the attention of his friends.

Then, without warning, he shifted his position. Where he had once been standing beside you, he was now directly behind you, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, possessive embrace, almost as if giving you a romantic back hug. But there was nothing romantic about this. Especially considering how he started to subtly grind himself against your ass. This immediately made every nerve in your body on high alert, your eyes flickering around out of embarrassment. All of Jake's friends were still gathered around, caught up in deep conversation. Some were drinking, others smoking, but they were all very much present. What completely threw you off, though, was how none of them seemed to notice what Jake was doing to you. The dimmed lights and the haze of drunken chatter certainly helped, but still. It was as if they were oblivious to everything happening just a few feet away.

"Jake, you're drunk," you said, your tone getting weaker by the second, but still trying to regain control of the situation. "Let's just go to the bathroom. We can continue in there if you want."

You hoped the suggestion would calm him down, give you both a moment of privacy away from the crowd, but as you looked at his face, the flicker of emotion there made you second-guess your words.

Jake just seemed oblivious to your growing discomfort, or maybe he just didn’t care. He ignored you completely, incessantly grinding his now hard cock into your ass, whimpering lightly right into your ear, where he began to lick and bite.

You felt humiliated at this point. How could nobody see what was happening? Were they just pretending not to notice, or did they simply not care? You looked uncomfortable, giving up on trying to appear normal, and now desperately trying to signal for help, hoping his friends might intervene. But nothing. No one noticed, or if they did, they turned a blind eye.

You didn't understand. Why was he acting like this? Sure, he was drunk, but that didn’t excuse what he was doing. His slurred words, his frantic movements, none of it made sense. He had crossed a line, and yet, in his haze, he seemed unaware of the damage he was causing.

"Jake, please," you pleaded, your voice trembling. You could feel the tears threatening to spill. "Let's just go."

"Shhh.." he whispered into your ear, sucking on it, clearly giving you no mind. His hands roamed from you waist all the way up your dress, until they reached your breasts, groping at the flesh and shoving his hand inside.

You couldn’t take it anymore. With all the strength you could muster, you grabbed his hands and threw them off of you, rushing out of the crowd. Your heart pounded in your chest, and adrenaline surged through your veins as you bolted towards the first door you could find. Without even thinking, you slammed it shut behind you and locked it.

You found yourself in the bathroom, staring at your reflection in the mirror. The lights flickered above you, casting a harsh glow on your tear streaked face. You barely recognized the person looking back at you, disheveled, disoriented, and utterly broken. You felt dirty, like his hands were still on you, even though you were now alone.

The tears came without warning, streaming down your face as you sank to your knees. You tried to catch your breath, but the overwhelming feeling of being violated, ignored, and trapped consumed you. How had it come to this? How could your sweet, loving boyfriend do this you? How could he treat you like this, especially so shamefully, right in front of all his friends? You felt betrayed, confused, and disgusted by the very person who had once seemed so perfect.

You hugged your knees to your chest, feeling the coldness of the bathroom floor seep into your skin, but it didn’t compare to the ice forming in your chest. Jake had always been the guy who made you feel safe, made you feel like you were the only one that mattered. But now? Now it felt like he’d turned into someone else, someone you didn’t even recognize.

You let out a shaky breath, wiping the tears off your face, but they kept coming. The humiliation lingered, gnawing at your insides. The fact that no one else had noticed, or maybe they had and didn’t care, made it worse. It made you feel so small, so invisible. But the worst part? It was Jake, the person you trusted, the one who said he loved you, who had done this to you.

You wished you could turn back time, make it all disappear. You just wanted to feel safe again.

You pulled out your phone with shaky hands, scrolling to Ava’s name and pressing call. The ringing felt like it lasted forever, but no one picked up. You tried again. Straight to voicemail.

It was too late at night. She was probably asleep, unaware that you were falling apart on the other end of the line. A strangled sob escaped your throat as you clutched your phone, feeling more alone than ever. You wanted someone, anyone, to help you, to pull you away from this nightmare.

After what felt like an eternity, you mustered up the courage to leave the bathroom. Your legs felt weak, your body still shaking as you opened the door and stepped out. The music was still blasting, the party still in full swing, as if nothing had happened. You scanned the room desperately, searching for a familiar face, someone who could get you out of here.

But everyone was too drunk, too caught up in their own world to notice the panic in your eyes. You approached a group standing nearby, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hey… can you help me?”

They barely acknowledged you. One girl gave you a fleeting glance before turning away. Another guy just laughed at something his friend said, completely oblivious.

No one cared.

And then you saw him.

He was already making his way toward you, his face painted with guilt, his steps quick and deliberate. Before you could react, he was in front of you, his hands reaching out.

“Baby,” he started, his voice soft, apologetic. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

You flinched away from his touch, the sight of him making your stomach turn. Anger, fear, and heartbreak crashed over you all at once, and suddenly, you were thrashing at him, pushing at his chest, hitting his arms. “Get away from me, Jake!” you choked out, your voice breaking. “Don’t touch me!”

But he just grabbed your wrists, his grip firm but not harsh. “Shhh,” he murmured, pulling you outside, away from the crowd. The cold night air hit you, but it wasn’t enough to stop the burning in your chest.

“Let go of me,” you sobbed, twisting in his grasp, but he wouldn’t let you.

Instead, he cupped your face and kissed you, forcefully, desperately. You tried to pull away, but he only deepened it, as if that would fix anything.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Let’s go home, okay?” he coaxed, his voice gentle, as if nothing had happened. “I wasn’t thinking straight. Don’t be mad at me, baby.”

His hands stroked your arms as if to comfort you, but it felt suffocating.

“It won’t happen again,” he promised, his eyes pleading. “I love you.”

And just like that, he was leading you away from the party, his grip firm but careful, as if he hadn’t just shattered your trust into a million pieces.

By the time you both reached his apartment, Jake’s grip on your wrist had loosened, but the phantom weight of it still burned against your skin. As he fumbled with his keys, he shot you a small smile, his tone light, casual, even.

“Just remember, my roommate’s home, so we can’t be too loud, okay?”

You nodded numbly, but your mind spiraled. What would happen if you begged for help, would he even help you? Or would he just brush it off like everyone else at the party?

It seemed so simple, so easy. All you had to do was open your mouth.

But you couldn’t.

The words never came. The air felt too thick, the weight of Jake’s presence suffocating. It wasn’t fear exactly, it was something more complicated, something more deeply ingrained. Like no matter how much you wanted to, your body simply wouldn’t let you.

So when Jake was eventually leading you to his room while he undressed the both of you, stripping you both completely of any clothes, you just let him, too weak to put up a fight, too weak to resist the way his hand pressed against your body, touching you in ways that used to feel so loving and precious, to now malicious and unwanted.

You were just too exhausted to argue.

Your body felt heavy, like you were sinking into the floor with every step, but Jake didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

The door clicked shut behind you.

"Baby, you know I love you," he tried to tell you as he positioned himself in between your legs, spreading them wide, just like he did that day.

You couldn't even speak, not able to find the words, or maybe just too afraid to try. Your throat felt tight, like any attempt to talk would only come out as a broken whisper.

He brought his thumb up to your clit, rubbing gently at first, and then speeding up his movements. And as much as you hated it, your body reacted the way it wanted, with your hole getting wetter and your body heating up.

"C'mon, don't act like you don't like it," he said with a smirk, savoring the sight of you beneath him. So vulnerable, so weak. The feeling of control sent a rush through him.

Even with mascara streaks on your cheeks, tear stains, messy hair, dark circles, and swollen eyes, Jake still thought you looked beautiful. To him, you were breathtaking. Raw, unfiltered, completely his. He brushed a strand of messy hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your damp cheek.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are right now," he murmured, his voice dripping with something you couldn’t quite place. His thumb traced over your bottom lip, his eyes dark with emotion.

You wanted to recoil, to push him away, but your body felt heavy, drained. Instead, you just stared up at him, searching his face for any sign of the Jake you thought you knew. But you couldn't see anything.

This new feeling of power he had over you made his dick stand up, as he just stared at you and your emotionless eyes. Your face was sucked of all of it's life as he pushed his cock in, and this is where you realized that your boyfriend was gone. But he was never really ever there though. The man you thought you fell for, it all just crumbled before your eyes, revealing a stranger in his place. The man you thought you knew, the one who made you feel safe, had never truly existed.

"No, no stop. Pull out," you weakly attempted, hoping he would finally listen to you, but to no avail. He just kept on pushing in, sighing and momentarily pausing his movements once he bottomed out, before he was eventually pulling back and thrusting forward again.

"Don't worry, it'll feel good soon baby," he tried to hush you, but it only made things worse, intensifying the panic bubbling inside you as you struggled to push him away, your heart racing.

You shoved against his chest, panic rising as you struggled to break free. Every inch of you screamed to escape, but he wasn’t budging. His grip on your wrists tightened as he slammed you back against the bed. His eyes flashed with frustration.

“This is your warning,” he growled, voice low and threatening. “If you don’t stop, I won’t be nice anymore.”

But you didn’t care. If he wanted to play this game, you were going to play it. You continued to twist in his grasp as best as you could, determined to break free no matter what.

"Stop bitching," He grunted, his grip tightening as you continued to struggle. No matter how hard you tried to push him away, he didn't budge. His eyes burned with intensity as he held you in place, not showing any sign of his movements stopping inside of you. You could feel the tension in the air, but your defiance only grew stronger.

"Okay, that's it."

He seized a handful of your hair, the sharp sting of his unyielding grip making you cry out in pain. With a forceful tug, he yanked you off the bed, throwing you face first into the mattress. His weight pressed down on the back of your head, forcing you further into the fabric, the pressure relentless. You struggled for air, your screams drowned beneath the suffocating pressure of the mattress as you thrashed helplessly. Every movement felt weak, your body’s desperate attempts to break free only muffled in the fabric, leaving you feeling more trapped than ever.

"I told you," he began sternly. "I won't be nice anymore."

Keeping your head pinned against the bed with one hand, he pulled your arms behind your back, his grip unyielding as you fought against him. It was no use though, how the next thing you knew, he was shoving his full length into you all at once.

You screamed, the pain searing through you, unbearable and relentless. Every inch of your body screamed in protest, but the intensity only grew, leaving you feeling powerless and raw as he quickly built up a pace, so violent against your hole and violating your body in one go.

But the more you screamed, the tighter the pressure around your chest became, each gasp for air growing more desperate and shallow. The world around you seemed to blur, the pain and suffocation overwhelming every thought as you struggled for just a breath.

"Yeahhh... that's it," Jake sighed, moaning and throwing his head back.

"I like you better like this," he spat. He just couldn't help it. Your wetness was just jerking him off too good, pussy clenching around his cock, even though you hated every second of it.

That was what made it so intense, his absolute power over you. The way he controlled every movement, every breath you took, leaving you helpless and vulnerable. The fear mixed with something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name, but it made the struggle feel all the more real. His dominance was undeniable, and it made your every attempt to break free feel meaningless.

He just kept on going, slamming those muscular hips into yours, that were now probably bruised, weak, and way too sore to even stand up straight. At this point, you were too consumed by the struggle to breathe, your entire focus narrowing to each labored gasp. Everything else faded into the background, the pain, the fear, the fight, until all that mattered was the next breath, and even that felt like a distant hope. You stopped trying to fight it, the weight of it all crushing any will left to resist. It was as if you’d given up, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation of being trapped in this moment.

The pleasure you once felt from your boyfriend was now twisted, a distant memory drowned by the overwhelming sensations that felt far from comforting. What had once ignited warmth and connection now left you hollow, the intimacy corrupted by the force of control. Every touch that used to feel reassuring now seemed to carry a weight, shifting from something you craved to something you no longer recognized.

Your vision started to blur, the edges of everything softening as if a fog was slowly creeping in. The sounds of Jake's cock and your arousal squelching together became distant, muffled, like they were coming from underwater. Your thoughts turned hazy, slipping through your mind like water through your fingers, leaving only fragments of clarity. It was as if the world was dissolving into a haze, and no matter how hard you tried to hold on, everything felt heavier, slower, more distant.

As your consciousness began to slip away, your thoughts became a fractured blur. You could feel the edges of reality fading, like sinking into a dreamless void. The pain dulled into a distant echo, and the struggle to breathe became a quiet, desperate rhythm in the back of your mind. A sense of surrender washed over you, as if everything was slipping through your fingers, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. The world grew darker, quieter, until it all faded into nothing.

------------------------

The days after what happened felt like a blur of weakness, an overwhelming numbness that clung to every part of you. Your body was there, moving, but it didn’t feel like yours. You went through the motions, eating, sleeping, and existing, but the life had drained out of you, leaving you hollow. Jake begged you to stay with him for a few nights after what happened. He told you how sorry he was, how he’d messed up, and promised that he could make it up to you by being the "perfect boyfriend" again by cooking for you, cuddling you, treating you like nothing had changed. He even said he would make sure you felt happy again. And part of you wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that things could go back to normal, that somehow you could undo everything that had broken inside you.

But that wasn’t how it worked.

You didn’t know how to explain to Ava what had happened. You didn’t know how to say it aloud, to break down in front of her, to admit how broken you felt, how you’d lost yourself in a way that felt too overwhelming to put into words. It was too much, and the fear of being seen as a mess, of having her look at you with pity or confusion, kept you silent. So you stayed with Jake. You stayed in his room, cocooned in the strange comfort of him pretending everything was fine. He acted like nothing had changed, like the hurt he’d caused wasn’t there, and for a while, you let him.

You hadn’t gone to class in days. The weight of everything kept you locked in that room, a prisoner of your own inability to face what had happened. Jake was your only form of “entertainment,” your only distraction from the mess inside your head, even though, he was the one who planted that mess in the first place. But as much as you tried to convince yourself it was fine, the truth was clear: You were never the same after that night. Jake noticed, though not in the way you might’ve hoped. He noticed the way you didn’t smile anymore, the way your once sharp arguments with him turned into silence. He noticed how you withdrew into yourself, your eyes dull, your words fewer. But he didn’t care. In his mind, you were still his, still under his control, and that was all that mattered. Maybe to him, you were better like this.

Days passed in this strange, disconnected state. You no longer felt like yourself, but you didn’t know how to fight back or even what to fight for. The numbness only deepened, and you wondered if you would ever feel like you again.

Eventually, you couldn’t avoid facing the outside world forever. After almost a week, Jake agreed to let you go back to your place, so you could finally fix yourself up a bit.

You walked through the door of your apartment, expecting to be greeted with concern, with Ava asking where you’d been, why you hadn’t been answering her calls, why you hadn’t been to class. You expected a wave of relief, a safe place where someone might understand. But when you saw her standing there, her expression wasn’t relief, it was frustration, anger even.

She demanded to know where you had been, her voice sharp with worry and annoyance. “You’ve been gone for days. You didn’t show up for class. You wouldn’t pick up my calls, and now you just walk in here like everything’s fine?” Her words felt like a slap. “I was worried sick!”

You opened your mouth, wanting to say everything, everything that had happened with Jake, the way he’d broken you, how trapped you felt, how empty you were now. But as soon as you tried to speak, the words stuck in your throat. You couldn’t say it. You couldn’t tell her what had happened. Not like this. Not in a way that would make her understand.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, trying to explain, but the words felt weak, disjointed. You wanted to say that Jake had hurt you, that everything had changed in ways you couldn’t explain. But when you looked at Ava’s face, you saw the doubt in her eyes, the skepticism.

“Jake?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “Jake is the nicest guy ever, you know that. Everyone loves him. He’s never even laid his hands on a fly.” Her words were sharp, cutting you off. “I don’t understand. Why would you even say something like that?”

The disbelief in her voice hit you harder than you expected. You wanted to tell her how wrong she was, how much you wished she could see the truth, but instead, you felt smaller. Like a part of you was breaking in front of her.

“I... I don’t know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just need help, Ava. Please.”

But she wasn’t listening. She backed away, her arms crossed over her chest as if she couldn’t even fathom what you were saying. “I don’t even know if I can trust you anymore. I don’t even know who you are anymore.” Her words cut deep, and with each one, you felt more isolated, more abandoned in your own confusion.

Your heart sank. You had hoped she would believe you, hoped she would understand, but instead, she questioned you, as if what you were saying was the lie. The emptiness inside you grew, as if the world was slipping through your fingers. You were alone, and even the one person you thought would be there for you couldn’t, and wouldn’t understand. You weren’t sure how to fix any of this, or even if it could be fixed. All you knew was that you were broken, and no one seemed to care enough to help put you back together.

You came running back to Jake, broken, sobbing, feeling like there was nothing left of you. Everything you had known, everything you had thought was secure, was falling apart. Ava had turned her back on you, your closest friend, the one person you thought would understand. She didn’t believe you. She wouldn’t listen to the pain you’d endured, wouldn’t see the truth of what had happened. Her trust was gone, and with it, so was any semblance of the life you had before. Your family, too, was slipping away. You had pushed them all so far, not responding to any of their calls or messages, unsure how to explain what you were going through, or if you even could. The space between you and them only grew with each passing day.

Jake shushed you gently, his hands moving to soothe you as if he could wipe away the pain with each soft touch. He pulled you into his chest, cooing softly, assuring you that everything was fine now. You didn’t need anyone but him. He was there for you, he would always take care of you. He whispered over and over that everything would be okay, that the people who hurt you, your friends, your family, didn’t matter. He was all you needed now.

You found yourself spiraling, withdrawing more and more into the safety of Jake's arms. He was the only constant left in your life. The only person who seemed to care, or at least, you told yourself he did. He welcomed you back with open arms every time you ran to him, his hands soothing as he whispered over and over how sorry he was for everything, how he didn’t mean to hurt you. He promised he would make it up to you, and for some reason, you let yourself believe it. The promises of making things right, it felt comforting, like you were returning to something familiar.

And the more you spent time with him, the more you realized just how much of your life was slipping away. You stopped going to class, stopped seeing your friends, stopped reaching out to your family. You let it all go, burying yourself in Jake’s world. He was your everything now, your only source of comfort, your only form of connection.

And when Ava moved out of the apartment a few weeks later, it was like the final piece fell into place for Jake. He wasted no time in moving his things in with you. At first, you told yourself it was a relief. Now you’d have him all to yourself, no distractions, no one to intervene. But as he settled in, things began to change.

Jake’s presence started to feel suffocating. He had you all to himself now, and the isolation was complete. You no longer had anyone to lean on, no one to offer a second opinion, no one to speak truth to your doubts. He knew exactly what he was doing. He watched you, broken and fragile, clinging to him as though he were the only thing keeping you afloat. He could see it in your eyes, the vulnerability, the desperation. You were easy to manipulate now, and he wasn’t about to let that slip away. Every word he spoke was calculated, every story he spun designed to pull you deeper into his web.

He fed you lies, yes, but they weren’t just lies, they were carefully crafted truths, twisted versions of events that only he could control. He knew exactly what to say to make you doubt everything you thought you knew. With every lie, with every slanted version of reality, he watched your perception of the world begin to crumble, piece by piece.

You remembered that one night, months ago, when Ava had told you about how she kissed Jake during a spin the bottle game. It resurfaced in your mind randomly, and curious to hear his side of it, you hesitantly brought it up to Jake.

But when you mentioned it, Jake’s eyes turned cold for a moment. He shook his head vehemently. “No,” he said, voice tight. “Ava tried making moves on me that day. She was obsessed with me, always had been. But I never really reciprocated. She just couldn’t take a hint, you know?” He said it with such conviction, his words painting her in a way you hadn’t considered before.

The more you thought about it, the more it made sense. You started to believe that Jake was the only one who truly cared about you, the only one who understood you, and anyone else, especially Ava, was just a threat to your relationship.

He could see the doubt forming in your eyes, the way you hesitated before speaking, and he knew it was working. He was twisting the truth, slowly erasing the foundation you had built your friendships and relationships on. You were starting to believe him. It made him feel powerful, like he was the one who controlled your reality now. You were his.

And the best part? You didn’t even realize how deep he had dug in. He wasn’t just convincing you of lies, he was rewriting your entire past, making you question everything, even yourself. He was the one who had become your anchor, and the more he spoke, the more you trusted him, even when you felt a strange unease. The more you doubted the people who had once been in your life, the more you needed him. And Jake knew that. He thrived on it.

You didn’t realize it at first, but you started to build an entirely new narrative in your head. You told yourself that Ava had never been your friend at all, that she had been a threat to your relationship with Jake from the beginning. That’s why she was so mad when you tried to tell her what Jake had done to you. She didn’t care about your pain, she was just angry that you had gotten in the way of what she wanted. You convinced yourself that she was jealous, that she wanted Jake all along. The realization felt bitter and suffocating, but you pushed it down. You believed Jake. You had to. He was the only one who had stuck by you, the only one who hadn’t betrayed you.

And so, you cut ties. One by one, you stopped answering your friends’ calls, stopped replying to their messages. You didn’t need them anymore. They didn’t understand. They never would. Your best friend was gone, and with her, your past life. You blocked her number, you blocked all of them. Jake was the only one who remained. Jake was all you had left, and in some twisted way, you were okay with that.

------------------------

As the days turned into weeks, you felt yourself slowly becoming more isolated, but Jake reassured you that this was how it was supposed to be. He was all you needed. And when he started packing up his things to officially move in with you, you helped him, eager to keep the peace, to build the life that seemed perfect. But that’s when you stumbled upon something that shattered everything.

As you were helping Jake pack, moving boxes from his old place into yours, you found something you weren’t meant to see. Buried beneath a pile of clothes and books were items that didn’t belong to him. Items that were yours. Your things—your jewelry, your lost underwear, personal things you had kept in your apartment. You froze, a sick feeling twisting in your stomach as the truth hit you. You’d never realized it before, but now, it was all laid out in front of you.

Suddenly, it all clicked. You remembered how your bedroom door had never been pushed all the way closed that one day, or how something just felt off in the room, like a presence that wasn’t supposed to be there. You remembered all those clothes that had gone missing over the past few weeks, the shirts, the panties, the things you never thought to question before. It was as if everything you’d ignored or brushed off was now flooding your mind, each detail falling into place, connecting the dots in a way that made your stomach drop. The realization hit you hard, like a cold wave crashing over you.

Those subtle changes, those small signs that you had convinced yourself were nothing. Now, they felt like undeniable evidence.

He had been there. He had been in your space, when you weren’t looking. It was all starting to make sense, but the truth was so much darker than you had ever imagined.

You thought you knew him. You thought you had control over your own life. But now, as the pieces fell together, you understood just how much of it had all been carefully orchestrated. You hadn’t just been blind to his manipulation, you had been living in it, suffocating beneath it. And it wasn’t just your trust he had stolen. It was everything.

Jake had been here, in your life, controlling everything in ways you never even realized, and as the truth crashed down on you, you stood there, frozen, not knowing whether to scream, run, or finally face the man who had torn your world apart.

[avtrbee]

safe

✢ summary: just like everyone else, sometimes megumi just wants his mom.

✢ tags: mentions of the death of a pet, implied satoru x reader

✢ a/n: my friend has psychoanalyzed me with a diagnosis of mommy issues and i have always denied them. then i caught myself reflecting on what type of fanfics i write. especially this one.

Ever since Megumi had started school in Tokyo, he was barely home. Of course, he comes home every now and then, and living within the school's dormitories is part of the high school experience- hell, even you stayed in the school when you were a student- but the house is quiet without him, too quiet, which is probably why he does not go home as often as you'd like- that, among other things.

Everyone in your household knew that Tsumiki was what made your house into a home. Your girl always greeted you with a smile and volunteered to make hot meals for the family when you and Satoru didn't feel like cooking. She was warmth, she was energy, she was life. Until she wasn't.

The house became cold without its fire. You couldn't blame Megumi for wanting an escape from the halls that still echo her memory. Which was why you were surprised to see him sitting on the couch with his arms resting on his thighs, hands buried in his face.

"Megumi?" You call. "I didn't hear you come in."

His head lifts up and looks at you. "Liar," he accuses. "You can sense my cursed energy miles away. You knew I was coming home as soon as you felt it ."

His words were harsh but his tone was not off of his usual deadpan manner of speaking. You can't help but smile. He is still the same child who refused to sleep unless he clung to his divine dogs, Tsumiki, you, or Satoru (reluctantly, of course) in some way. He claimed it was for "warmth."

But he knows you as much as you know him. As he made his way to the house, you noticed something- his cursed energy was off. It was more powerful than usual. Of course, it could be a good thing- perhaps he was doing really well in school, but his downcast eyes and even broodier vibe are telling you otherwise. "What's wrong?"

Megumi leans back on the couch, sighs, and contemplates. He stares at your wall that is decorated with framed pictures and pictures you memories from his childhood. You've even framed pictures of his drawings- usually doodles of his shikigami.

He stands abruptly. "Never mind," he dismisses. "I don't wanna- I don't want to talk about it. It's childish and stupid-"

"Stupid enough to make you retreat back home?" You ask. You watch as your question sinks in through Megumi. Slowly, he sits back down. You sit on the other end of the couch.

"What's wrong, 'Gumi?" You ask again. "Tell me." I can fix it. Whatever it is, if I can fix it, I will shouts your inner thoughts.

"I lost one of them," Megumi whispers.

“Oh, Megumi, I-” you say, racking your brain for something to say. Deaths in the jujutsu world is so common that when you’re within the industry for too long you get used to it. “Losing a colleague- this won’t be the first time, baby. Nor will it be the last.”

“No,” Megumi groans out frustrated. There are tears streaming down his cheeks that he angrily wipes away. “My dogs. I lost one. I- Yuki died.”

Your heart breaks at Megumi’s childhood name for his white demon dog. “‘Gumi, I’m so sorry-”

You move to his side of the couch, wide arms open. Megumi falls in, just like he did when he was small. Megumi feels himself melt in your hold, his walls and defenses crumbling away like ash.

Megumi refuses to cry at all times but when you have his arms wrapped around him he finds himself not caring at all. It was like his heart recognized you too.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and you pretend not to feel his tears.

You hold him until he lets you. Megumi is the one to pull away, and you never do. This boy js fickle with touch, and you always leave the duration of your hugs to his discretion.

You cup his face in your hands, thumbs swiping away the tear tracks. You’ve never seen Megumi this heartbroken before.

“I told him to scout the area and I just left him for a second- and he-” Megumi hiccups. “His head was on the wall. The curse threw his head so hard it made the pavement crack.”

You do not pretend to know his pain for you will never feel it. Megumi’s divine dogs were his first achievement. He smiled the first time he summoned them, even as Satoru threw him in the air in joy. Those dogs would trail after him in the house, obeying his command. You would turn a blind eye to the spare pieces of meat Megumi throws under the table just so they could taste cooked beef.

Megumi would refuse to let them go even when he slept, and was upset that they would disappear when he rested or lowered his guard. As a present, Satoru gifted him customized stuffed animals of the dogs that he never slept without. You were sure he packed those toys with him in the dorm.

When Tsumiki volunteers to run errands, Megumi would summon a dog and follow her. Just in case. They both always came back safe.

“He just did what I commanded, he was good, he was a good boy.” Megumi said, in a quieter voice.

“The best,” you agreed. “But didn’t Yuki merge with the other one? Isn’t that how your technique works when one of them dies?”

“It’s stupid-” A glare from you was all it took. “It’s not the same,” he admits. “I just want my dogs back.”

You give him a sad smile. You pull him close for another hug, and he melts in your arms once again but this time, he does not pull away. You hold him until his tears have dried, until his breaths slowed down, and until his eyes closed for a well deserved rest.

extra note: yuki apparently means snow in japanese. get it? snow=white demon dog (im not creative at all yall)

[wardingshout]

Hi Livi!

I finally gathered the courage to send something to your ask box. There’s so much I want to say, but I'm not very good at expressing myself, so if my words seem a bit jumbled, I hope you don't mind.

I started using Tumblr a little over a year ago, and I remember stumbling upon one of your artworks after searching the “alttp” tag. I was so incredibly happy and excited — I loved it immediately, especially because it’s so rare to see ALTTP-related art where I’m from.

Back then, I didn’t pay much attention to who the artist was and just kept browsing. But over time, I realized that so many of the amazing pieces I loved were actually created by you! Honestly, your art is breathtaking. The way you portray Link and Zelda outside of the game’s narrative makes them feel so real. Your inspiration and creativity seem endless.

Your use of bright, intricate, and emotionally resonant colors fills every piece with a sense of story — sometimes with a gentle sadness, sometimes with tiny, charming interactions that make me smile.

I remember seeing that you draw on a particular site, and I tried using it too. It was really hard 😣 and made me admire your work even more — I’m amazed at how you manage to create such rich, detailed pieces on such a tiny canvas and with such limited tools.

Your compositions and the way you frame your scenes are incredible too — the perspectives you use, whether it's looking up, down, or close-up, show such skill and depth. I’ve been obsessed with your artwork for a long time 🥺🥺

And the outfits you design for Link and Zelda — they’re absolutely beautiful. They’re so different from the classic green tunic, yet they feel *exactly* like something the characters would wear. I don’t think any language could fully express how much I love your costume designs. Please allow me to scream for a moment here.

There’s still so much I want to say, but now that I’m writing, I find myself at a loss for words. So I’ll just say this: you are truly an amazing artist. Your work is astonishing and deeply captivating.

Also, I drew some of your versions of Link and Zelda — I hope you’ll like them! (Screaming again, their designs are just too beautiful 😭😭)

VIOLET HI!!! 💕💕💕

I'm sorry I have no idea where to start here, I'm feeling so overwhelmed in the best way ever! I just barely managed to load this ask before leaving the locker room at work yesterday and ended up hiding there until everyone else left bc I didn't want them to see my cry haha💕,,

I don't think there's any beginning or end to how emotional this got me and to how honoured I feel to have my art described in such a way;; this is!! absolutely everything I've ever dreamed of reaching with my art, so having someone else putting it into words just from looking at is so incredible !!!! ;v; even if it's hard to feel happy about my own stuff it seems like I can still portray the things I want to, this makes me so happy 🥹💕💕

and especially because a lot of this is stuff I absolutely love about your art too!!!! you have such an incredible way of creating soft, yet somber atmospheres and your compositions always come off so intentional and interesting !!! the way you blend so many different colours into everything looks both natural and interesting and it's one of my absolute favourite things from art !! ✨✨✨

Seeing you back on tegaki was such a joy too !!! ;v; even if it ended up feeling difficult, I was so excited to see you there and getting to check your posts for new comments brought me so much joy !!!! I always wanted to send you more comments but got so caught up in the excitement of you posting smth yourself I got distracted from it too often...

in general I'm always so excited to see you post new art !!! and super grateful we get to see a lot of your sketches lately too !!!! you art has such a consistent and pretty style and always comes off so smooth and effortless and interesting and it has inspired me so much !!! 💖💖💖🥹💕

I'm feeling a bit lost for words since there's So much I want to say it's difficult to phrase it properly. but you bringing up fun tegaki memories reminded me of the most fun way to thank people! (I tried bringing out the classic palette too!)

and since I also really love the way you draw them too and I was sad I missed maid day (yet again) them !!

I've been absolutely losing my mind over the way you drew my little guys!!!!!!!;; I've been looking at them so much already they almost feel ingrained into my brain, to the point I almost forgot they were real !!! there's no way I could properly thank you for all of this; the amazing art, the incredibly nice words and all the art inspiration you bring me by sharing your work!!! I'm feeling so so lucky and again so so honoured ;v; 💖💖💖💕💖💕

[l3earfat-st]

It's very disappointing that you lost your personality to be friends with North American and European ST fans because you don't have enough personality to maintain your +18 art. Like a puppy afraid of being kicked, you make art just to please these xenophobic colonizers bitches.....

oh wow okay first of all thanks for bringing this up i’m sure a lot of people have wondered too! if i have to explain it logically, i don’t really make art to please anyone but myself. like back then i had so much free time, if you followed me since the start of my ST era, you’d know i was drawing every single day because i had nothing else to do lmao and it was fun to just create whatever i wanted. but ever since mid last year, i got a new job and it’s been so busy, i can barely draw more than 1-2 pieces a week. so with the little free time i have, i just wanna draw whatever’s in my head and do my best with it. i don’t really plan my art ahead—if i see something interesting or get a random idea, i’ll just go for it, and because of time limits, i gotta finish it in one go.

now for the next reason—i don’t actually enjoy drawing dicks that much 🤣 like yeah sometimes i’d get an image in my head from reading a fic and wanna draw it, but tbh every time i do NSFW, my drawing speed halves. you know how much harder it is to draw people fucking than just standing around looking cool??? and real talk, i suck at drawing dicks. yes, i’ve drawn them multiple times, but they all look ugly as hell. do you know how frustrating that is?? to draw something and have it turn out so bad??? erotic art is just not my strong suit, whether before or after ST it’s like two rocks awkwardly smashing into each other

so yeah, hope that clears things up!

[cherryredstars]

holy sbit i just read your actor!mig oneshot and i’m frothing at the mouthjfjfjdand it got me thinking

how would reader react if mig had to do a sex scene for a movie? i mean she’d be fine with outwardly but inwardly, understandably she’d be jealous asf, even though there is security in their relationship i feel like it would be difficult, how would mig react to her being insecure? or maybe jealous because of that🥹

(i saw ur requests were open and i couldn’t help myself, tysm for reading this and you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to i love your work regardless<333)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Insecurity, Mirror Sex, Praise, Fingering, Oral Sex, Mentions to Breeding Kinks

Summary: Nothing but a good sex scene. 

Word Count: 2K (Not Edited)

Part 1

The internet sucks.

You know that, Miguel knows that, everyone knows it. Yet, here you are, hurting your own feelings as your phone feeds you countless posts about your boyfriend and his new movie. His new movie that also stars a really popular, really really pretty female co-star. Who he had sex with. Cinematically. In the movie.

Movie sex is not real sex. Miguel says and reminds you all the time. Most of the time, sex scenes only consist of the actors being shirtless and zoomed in shots of their upper bodies. Convenient things like a perfectly placed object or being under the sheets hid the fact nothing is actually going on. Miguel always assures you that, if the directors want a real sex scene, he’d be out of there in seconds. 

But still, all the edits and tweets and pictures that are filling up every corner of the internet make your skin raise and ache. It definitely looks real. It’s not really a surprise, Miguel and his co-star are wonderful actors. They’re so good at their jobs. It makes you feel gross. Especially when you can’t stop replaying the scene over and over again. It’s not hard to find it, the scene devours the internet like a wildfire. 

She looks pretty. No, not pretty, gorgeous. Hot and sexy and erotic. Nothing like you at all. Her skin is impossibly smooth, shiny and soft. Her lips are painted in a deep red that pops against her skin and draws attention to her perfectly sculpted face. Even if it weren’t for the lipstick, the calculated moans she makes for the camera draws your attention to her mouth. Her moans are perfectly pitched. They’re breathy and her mouth forms the perfect ‘o’. It makes you rub at your throat, an uneasy feeling getting stuck there. You don’t moan like that. 

Her facial expressions are amazing too. Brows furrowed in a way that perfectly showcases her pleasure. But they don’t look funny or distort her face too drastically. When her eyes roll back, her eyelashes flutter so nicely. She doesn’t look possessed or ugly. Your hand subconsciously rubs at your cheek. You don’t look so effortlessly pretty like that.

It ruins you. Why would Miguel possibly want to have sex with you if he has pretty, hotter co-stars? The thought sticks with you even with Miguel on top of you. Usually, you’d be on your back, legs spread and exposed for his viewing pleasure. But you can’t, not today. So Miguel has begrudgingly agreed to take you in a different position. Your ass is in the air, upper body pressed into the mattress. Your face is completely hidden from his view, something Miguel isn’t the happiest about. What’s even worse, he can barely even hear you. You’re pushing your face into one of the stupid pillows, muffling the minimal sounds you’re making. 

Usually, you’re moaning and whining uncontrollably under him. Your mouth never shutting as noise spills from your swollen lips. It drives him crazy to hear your verbal pleasure. The pleasure he gives you. Sometimes you’re babbling broken sentences or just calling out his name, but it's everything to him. So hearing almost complete silence from you, paired with not being able to see your reactions, shoots worry through him. 

He tries everything he knows drives you crazy. He leans forward and pinches and tugs at your clit. It twitches in his fingers, but you don’t make your usual gasps. He spreads your legs wider and juts his hips into you with more force, hitter deeper against your wall. You don’t give him that beautiful, high-pitched scream of his name. You instead, shove your face into the pillow and hum. He leans in and whines into your ear about how tight you are. How he really, really wishes the two of you would throw away all protection so he can fill you up with his baby. Instead of begging and babbling, you wiggle your hips and push back into him. 

Something awful hits his chest. Did he do something wrong? Are you upset with him? Are you not feeling well? Does it not feel good?

He instantly stills, all the arousal he once had disintegrating. He pulls out slowly, not wanting to hurt you. You turn to him in confusion, brows furrowed from over the pillow. He flips you over gently, turning you on your back and dragging you close to him. You still have that pillow pressed to your lower face, arms wrapped around it. You look like a damn vision, naked before him with your hair spread out on the bed. You look like an offering with that white pillow covering your face and chest, leaving him to only focus on your big doe eyes and the fact your legs are spread to accommodate his body. Innocent and cute and sexy. 

His hands land on your outer thighs, warm and big as they rub up and down your skin. It makes you melt into the bed, a sleepy look masking your eyes. Miguel’s heart sings at the pure content on your face, but it doesn’t drown out his concern. He can feel unease in the air and his hair stands on end. Slowly, you pull the pillow away from your face as you realize he isn’t going to slip back inside of you.

“Why y’stop?” you call out shyly to him, a small pout on your lips. You seem nervous and Miguel’s hands tighten on your thighs. 

“You’re acting differently. What’s wrong?” He counters. 

You grow bashful under him, pulling the pillow up to hide your cheeks that are colored in shame. You simply shrug, turning away from him as you slowly start to close your legs. He doesn’t stop you, but he doesn’t take his hands off of you. He helps you sit up when you make the move to, his hand moving to grasp both of yours. He gives them a comforting squeeze and a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter shut, breathing in the comforting clean scent he carries. 

“What’s wrong, mi vida?” He asks again. 

You don’t respond. But you don’t have to. Miguel looks at you like he knows. He always knows. Tentative and caring Miguel who always knows. His kiss to your forehead is rougher, more pressure behind it before he pulls away. The way he carries you is effortless, like he’s carrying a bag of feathers. He moves the two of you to the opposite side of the bed, directly in front of the wall of mirrors that make up the walk-in closet. He sits down first, maneuvering you to sit on his thigh with your back pressed to his front. 

Your eyes are glued to your reflection, naked against Miguel with nothing but a fluffy pillow hiding you. His face nudges at your jawline and neck. He places soft kisses along the skin, distracting you as he takes the pillow from you. He places it to the side, still within your reach. Your fingers itch to grab at it again, but you resist. Instead, you close your eyes and focus on the way Miguel’s fingertips glide over your warm skin and make you shiver. You lean back into him, head resting against his shoulder. His hands travel down, and you bury your face into the crook of his neck to hide your gasp. His fingers caress the lasting stickiness between your thighs, his own leg moving to widen yours. You peek at the mirror from beside his neck, eyes falling to the glistening between your thighs. Your cheeks heat and you nuzzle your face into Miguel as a way to hide. He hums against you, hand still moving and collecting your juices on his finger. You whimper when he pushes it in, thumb swiping gently over your clit.

“Shh, taking it so well, mi hermosa. My pretty baby.” He coos gently into your ear, curling his finger inside of you. 

Your hips buck instinctively, another whine leaving as his finger grazes your walls. His other hand comes to massage your hip and your eyes catch the movement in the mirror. Miguel is looking at the mirror too, studying you. His touch is soft, his finger pumping in and out of you slowly. You moan into his neck, eyes fluttering when he adds another. They scissor inside of you, meeting together to curl. Your hand comes up to hold his, taking it away from your hip and squeezing it tight to stabilize you. 

He hums into your hair, muttering soft praise into the strands. His fingers continue curling, going to the knuckle so he can press onto the gummy spot inside of you. You can’t hold in your moans anymore, giving them freely to him. It makes him smile, kissing the crown of your head. 

“That’s it, singing so prettily for me, yeah?” He asks, letting go of your hand to grab your chin. 

He removes your face from his neck, making you face him. Your eyes are droopy from pleasure, and your lips are parted slightly so soft moans can escape. It makes his cock jump, but he ignores it to give you a sweet kiss. It’s soft and passionate. His lips opened and slanted against yours. His tongue is warm as it slips into your mouth, caressing your own until the both of you are moaning into each other's mouth. It makes your head foggy and you forget all about what you were scared about before. 

When Miguel pulls away, he turns back to the mirror and groans at the sight of you. You’re slick is dripping down his fingers and your skin fucking glows in the reflection. His fingers speed up, his thumb pressing into your swollen bud. 

“Been thinking about you so much, y’know that. Was fucking fantasizing about you during that whole movie. Imagining doing all those things in the script to you drove me fucking crazy. Had to take care of myself in my dressing room thinking about your cute little noises and the faces you make. Mi hermosa nena.”

The little whimper you let out paired with the tightening of your walls is fucking precious. He pulls you into another kiss, quickening his fingers until your whole body is twitching. You have to pull away from the kiss, your hand clawing to his arm and nails digging in as your moans get louder. With a hard flick to your clit and the curling of his fingers, your body is shaking with an orgasm. Your toes curl, head thrown back against his shoulder as he finger fucks you through your orgasm. 

“That’s, that’s my beautiful girl. Ride it out baby, I got you.” He mumbles against your shoulder, pressing kisses along the curve of skin. 

He only stops pumping into you when your hand pushes him away. Your body is heaving with the effort of breathing, and Miguel watches every second through the mirror. When you finally compose yourself, you nuzzle into his skin. It makes Miguel smile, kissing your hair again before gently lifting you off of his lap and laying you down on the bed. You watch hypnotized as he sucks his fingers into his mouth, humming around them before popping them back out. You whine softly at him, and he chuckles down at you. 

He leaves you on the bed, vanishing into the bathroom before coming back with a towel. It makes your brows furrow, leaning up and your elbows as he begins to clean you up. 

“But… What about you?” You ask, eyes trailing down to his prominent hard-on. 

Miguel follows your line of sight, shaking his head when he looks back up at you. “Don’t worry about it baby, all I care about right now is you.”

His confession makes you melt, letting yourself sink into the bed. His touch is gentle as he cleans you, and he throws the towel to the floor when he’s done. He hovers over you, leaning down to kiss you softly before resting his head against yours. 

“Te amo, mi amor.”

And you know. He always lets you know.

[synthaphone]

Allowing myself to go on a tangent about the nearly 26 year old virtual pet website that i am way too invested in.

So today they released the Candy Pteri. While I appreciate what they were trying to do here with it effectively having two designs that you get to choose between (The "Melted Candy Pteri" on the left is a Paint Brush wearable that can be removed to reveal the customizable base pet on the right), I think in this case, they have created two extremely boring designs when they could have easily created one strong design, or hell, even two strong designs if they wanted to do extra work.

Because with this release, we get a base Candy Pteri with no real lineart changes (like the rounded hair tufts and spines on the Candy Zafara), and an alternate design that's just... a drawing of a Marshmallow Peep™???

I would have WAY preferred a base Pteri where they did something like give it a little marshmallow dollop shape on its head and in place of the tail tuft, like my friend @darieyrie suggested. Or they could give it the Peep dot eyes and more rounded features! There's all kinds of ways you could do this concept.

I'd be less frustrated if the Peep wearable had any Pteri traits whatsoever, but its JUST a Peep that's been slightly microwaved. Which is a little funny, but even more than the Toy Poogle is just an iDog, the Candy Pteri does not have any deviation from its base inspiration at all. It's not actually an execution of the concept of "Candy Pteri thats based on a Peep" if there's no Pteri left at all!

(also are they just banking on the Just Born corporation (who make Peeps) never taking any action on this? it kind of goes beyond 'cheeky reference', its EXACTLY their product. I mean, it seems unlikely that they'll notice or bother doing anything if they do, but i don't really know why you'd risk that.) The saving graces of this design, imo, are that the pink and cream color scheme of the base pet IS pleasant (though the lineart and shading treatment aren't really my bag), and some people will enjoy the novelty of having a pet Marshmallow Peep™.

But really this is just the latest of a number of recent outfit and color releases that feel like they don't think people want Neopets. Like. This cardinal outfit that they also released today.

I love the idea of a cardinal Pteri! But this outfit literally takes away every distinguishing trait of the Pteri to make a high effort, nicely rendered, but stylistically incongruous generic cartoon cardinal????? Its not even a Neopet anymore!!! Even if I set aside my personal dislike of the overly rendered style they're using for more and more of the site assets, this wouldn't work with most of the rendering removed either, because it would still be a Pteri in pose and proportions only.

Not every new design and outfit that's come out in the past couple years has these issues and there have been a number I've really liked, and I DO think its great that the quality of the art has improved since the JumpStart era. But I would really appreciate it if the new pet colors in particular were designed a little more thoughtfully, so that they at bare minimum still resemble the species they're supposed to be outside of the rough pose and proportions. It sometimes feels like there isn't a rough draft or workshopping progress for new colors, and the members of the art team just kind of do their own thing and then the very first draft of an idea is what gets polished and released.

The current art direction for the customization aspects of the site just has me feeling like they've decided to throw out years of relatively cohesive art and world design for a strange jumble of ideas that don't really capture the appeal or feeling of Neopets to me.

[cripplecharacters]

Alright, I'm just gonna bite the bullet. Worst that can happen is I make a fool of myself. I've been working on superhero stories, versions of the same universe since I was in 8th grade and what I want more than anything is to modernize superheroes, create a world where they act for all people's social good and take representation to the highest level I can think of. From your position of expertise, what can I do with the creation of disabled characters that would buck the trend, do some good, and show a good side. The non-prosthetic and non-corrected for disability rep in the genre is basically nil, I have no ideas and nothing to draw on. I guess I just wanna know what disabled audiences might like to see for once in their lives.

Hello!

Disabled superheroes are awesome. There's really few of them but the ones that we do have are often really important to us - you can look at the reactions to Sun-Spider being first introduced to the Spiderverse, back then I couldn't open my fridge without seeing that one panel where she explicitly says she has hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos.

Here are a few suggestions of what I'd like to see in the superhero genre:

Superheroes with facial differences. Comics love to use us for their ugly disfigured evil villains but not much else unfortunately. I'd kill for a superman type hero who saves people with a smile and a facial difference on his face. Especially for superhero stories that are geared towards kids and teens, we just desperately need something to help with shifting the public perception of people with facial differences from "evil and ugly" to "people that can be awesome". A hero with burn scars, with Treacher Collins syndrome, Bell's palsy, neurofibromatosis... anything.

Superheroes who use disability aids (and still need them when doing their job). Sun-Spider is an awesome example, she swings from her crutches and has a spider wheelchair. That's cool as hell. But even a less in-your-face aid would be great. A superhero flying above the city with her ankle-foot orthoses visible would go really hard. Also, superheroes who are concerned on how much these things cost and try their best to make sure they're still functional while they save the city.

Heroes with different causes of their disabilities. The vast majority of morally good disabled characters were involved in An Accident or some sort of Attack that disabled them. That's not bad or wrong at all, but I think in media is kind of oversaturated with this specific portrayal when a lot of people have progressive or congenital conditions. We need more stories that show those who were born disabled as heroes equal to those who were born abled and spent most of their lives abled. Superheroes with cerebral palsy, chromosomal disorders, congenital rubella, achondroplasia, all the disabilities that tend to get ignored despite so many people having them. Same for really common chronic illnesses, diabetes or COPD are criminally underrepresented.

Disabled superheroes that aren't saints because of their disability. This is the whole "disabled person can do no wrong" trope that appears sometimes. I'm mentioning it since superheroes are more "perfect" than most characters in other genres, so try to not make it so the disabled ones can do no wrong. Disabled people can still make mistakes that are their fault, make poor decisions, or just simply be angry sometimes.

When there's no active superhero action going on, show the normal human parts of the disabled experience. Depending on the demographic you're writing for it would be different things, but there are some fairly universal concepts like inaccessibility, microaggressions, or just boring things like the prosthetic leg no longer fitting well after the character gained some weight. If your characters are from the US, don't be afraid to mention that their insulin costs are barely affordable with their superhero pay. Show how the common everyday kind of ableism affect them when they're in civilian mode. This will make it much more authentic to disabled readers.

These are my suggestions, and I hope they are helpful. My last advice is to have multiple disabled characters, and in different roles. Maybe a character with ALS can no longer do superhero fighting, but he can still be a wonderful parent. Maybe the character with Usher syndrome is more interested in the hero than being a hero themselves (disabled heroes in relationships!). Maybe the character with phocomelia can't be a hero yet because she's six, but she can train hard to be one when she's older. Keep it varied, have them come from different life situations and have different goals just like abled characters do.

I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[foldingfittedsheets]

Hey! If you don't mind sharing, I'd be interested to hear more about your chronic illness diagnosis journey (I also get that it can be a private thing!).

I've been struggling for the last 5 or so years with chronic fatigue, muscle weakness, muscle pain and brain fog, and my doctors have checked a bunch of different things. EBV, thyroid, vitamin D, "are you sure you're not just depressed" and they've now gone for ME/CFS. A part of that just doesn't feel right to me because I feel like they should have done more tests or walked me through alternatives before settling! Especially because it fluctuates so much. Sometimes I can't leave the house, sometimes I have to borrow a wheelchair if I'm in a shop, sometimes I can walk 5000 steps??

Love and support for you and your gluten free adventure - potatoes, rice and polenta tend to be pretty good for me when I want something bready! (Doesn't quite hit the spot as well as buttered toast does though...)

My decline was really painfully gradual. I didn’t realize why things were getting so much harder. It manifested first with friction between my beloved because they were frustrated I was always too tired to run little errands myself. I went to the doctor and talked about my fatigue but was assured I was fine. I went on Chinese herbs and they buoyed up my reserves so I could keep functioning.

That went on for months, just getting more and more tired. I’d wake up sobbing because I wasn’t any more rested than I’d gone to bed. I went to a new doctor at that point. I got diagnosed with anemia until my blood work came back normal and then I was told I was fine.

Then I started fainting. My hair was falling out. I went to a different doctor. She ran my blood. I got told I was fine, but that maybe I had a food allergy. She slapped me with a full elimination diet that broke my spirit. I did feel some minor improvement but I wasn’t healthy by any means.

Finally, my good friend who is a doctor said that’s enough. She was in a different state but she was furious that I wasn’t getting any help. She ran my blood on a bunch of different ailment tests that were less well known. She tested for antibodies to EBV. If you have over 20 they consider you to have an active infection.

I had over 700 which is when they stop bothering to count.

I was so chock full of virus I was pound for pound virus by that point.

Then came the hard part. Knowing you’re bursting at the seams with a virus doesn’t make it easy to treat. The virus was living in me, in my cells. Too much of the medication and my body would start siccing it’s defenses against its own tissue.

I went on a bonanza of supplements. There was syrups to boost energy, pills to increase my immune system, antivirals, iron and vitamin D because those were kinda low. It was a three times a day regime of medicines.

My initial dose of antiviral was too high. I experienced a pain unlike what any mortal should bear as a result, dropping to the ground to writhe in agony when it hit. My dosage got lowered and my progress crept along.

I started school sometime in there and barely kept my head afloat above coursework. My stress load from school correlated to how much energy I had and I longed to finish my degree and just prioritize feeling better.

Then things got worse. My original doctor friend let her prescription rights for my state lapse, it didn’t make financial sense to keep them. A different friend from yet another state wrote my antivirals for a while but eventually I needed a new doctor.

I found another, this time a naturopathic doctor like my friends, hoping I’d keep receiving good care in that scope of practice. I didn’t. I had the most painful blood draw of my life in her office, writhing in agony, then didn’t hear back from her. I got ghosted by my doctor. When I pestered her for results she wrote me a script for antivirals but that was all.

I’d find out about eight months later when my health was declining and my friends demanded to see my blood work that my iron had been dangerously low but she hadn’t bothered to tell me. I got on iron supplements and staggered along.

Through precision time management I could budget my functional time into schoolwork then collapse to recuperate. It was working, but barely.

When my scrip on antivirals ran out I hunted once again for a doctor. This time I’d realized that any good care I’d gotten was when I’d made a personal connection with the doctor, a rare privilege not many people got. So I sought out a friend of a friend, someone I’d seen on occasion in the doctory social circle.

I have never been more happy with a doctor. She tested my viral numbers and pronounced herself satisfied that it was in check but was suspicious that although my thyroid numbers always looked normal that something was going on there. She ran more tests and lo. A thyroid imbalance.

Around that time I’d sunk into needing the chair. I stopped functioning, it was almost as bad as my first collapse. And yet again the fun part of getting my thyroid in balance was a delicate balance of making sure I wasn’t taking too much and hurting myself.

That balancing act took about a year to stabilize. I was still so weak from years of fatigue and inactivity. An able bodied person cannot imagine how hard it is to build up from ground zero on all your muscles. And the worst part was any time I felt tired I was terrified I was going to slip back down into the depths of exhaustion.

Then my beloved and I got Wyvern the puppy. And before we realized we had both somehow developed allergies to dogs and had to break our hearts giving him up, he saved me the last time.

Potty training meant I had to get up every two hours to take him out. I didn’t have to walk far but I had to do it consistently. Every single day I’d go to bed aching in every muscle, terrified to wake up. But every day I woke up with energy and was able to do it again.

It was like puppy boot camp, and I was able to go longer and farther every walk. By the time we realized we couldn’t keep him I was mobile again, I hadn’t needed my chair at all. When we said goodbye to him I promised I wouldn’t lose the progress he helped me make.

Now I finally, for the first time in six years, feel healthy again. I can go on long walks, I can run little errands for my beloved, I can fill my days with activity and wake up to do it again the next day. It’s the most amazing thing.

I hope you can stumble upon a doctor who can listen to you and help you. I know how hard things can get, but sometimes they can get better.

[itsajollyjester]

yessss that defo answers my questions! ur thoughts on compassion & community intertwined w rebellion definitely show up in ur art lol. something more specific i have been curious abt is ur version of the endings of each specific hunger games & ur characterization/portrayal of the victors at those points! if u have any more thoughts abt any of those characters or their games id love to hear.... im also very not neurotypical abt hunger games

For sure!! But this is a novel and a half so I apologize in advance (also most of this is from memory so anyone can correct me if I'm getting any details wrong)

((TW: For visual depictions of Blood, Gore, and Wounds))

I realized I'd seen barely any art showing what the victors would have looked like when they won their games. They were all just kids and I feel like it can be easy to forget that sometimes

For all of them, I made the background one of their main "weapons" but tried to make it look like its turning back on them instead since there are no victors as Haymitch said.

I'll try to explain them all more in depth individually going in the order I drew them:

Finnick Odair, 65th Games:

His main weapons were his trident and nets that he made with vines. His background is one of the nets ready to trap him.

Finnick was the youngest victor ever at only 14. I really really wanted to emphasize just how little that is. (Especially since we know exactly why the Capitol loved him from the start…) Once I actually drew him looking that little I had to step away for a bit because I made myself too sad…

Outside of just how horrific his age is as a concept, I tried to think about what circumstances would lead to him actually winning when surrounded by older tributes. I think he would have had to avoid any kind of fight he didn't have the upper hand in. We know that he got the most expensive sponsor gifts in the history of the games (a trident), so he probably got plenty of sponsors outside of that as well. Because of that I doubt he needed to go looking for supplies much if ever so it was easy to avoid people there. He was also probably in a career pack, despite his age, due to his training and his popularity, and they would have hunted other tributes down together much like the one we saw in the first book (safer in numbers). Once it was narrowing down and the pack broke is when I think he started catching people in nets. All of that is a long winded way of saying that's why, unlike the other victors I drew, I only show him with minor cuts and bruises.

Originally I was going to draw him with a kind of strained smile like he was acting for an audience from the start. But I decided I actually think its sadder if he believed he was popular because of his skill and strategy as a fighter and only learned the whole truth after he won and that's when he started acting more for the camera. Instead I gave him a more muted despair kind of look, like his world is crashing down. One of my favorite parts about the movies, mainly THG and ABOSAS, is when they give the career tributes at the end a moment of realization about what they've done, and I wanted to give Finnick his. I'm a person that believes Finnick had to have volunteered for his games. I think he would have legitimately believed in the propaganda the career districts were fed and had a bit of a (very middle school boy) ego about his abilities. (I was NOT expecting to write so much about his lmao)

Enobaria, 62nd Games

She's most well known for ripping someones throat out with her teeth. (Her background is her sharpened teeth getting ready to eat her.) This is treated by The Capitol, and by Katniss, as grotesque and terrifying blood lust (Which obviously the Capitol loves her for). However, and I'm not at all the first to say it, that sounds more like a terrified and desperate attempt to survive a fight she was losing and an example of hysterical strength. We know that Career packs have had bloody betrayals in the past and I can see Enobaria being a part of one of them. Enobaria doesn't have a canonical age, but I decided to put her on the younger side (15 or 16.) I can imagine some of the older, bigger tributes deciding she was the weakest link towards the end and that was the result. I tried to make the blood around her mouth and down her shirt look more faded, like she tried desperately to wipe it off (Also I had to step away from drawing again after I drew her little tooth gap)

I think she probably leaned into the bloodthirsty image afterwards as a way to protect herself and (maybe even started to believe it too)

Annie Cresta, 70th Games

Annie's known for losing her mind after seeing her district partner decapitated in front of her. After that, she ran off and hid until the game makers started an earth quake, which made the large dam in the arena break and cause a huge flood. Annie was the only survivor because she was the strongest swimmer. So I decided to make her background dark water that's churning up and over her head. I also think it can work well as a way to show her mental state in the moment (and afterwards) Annie is actually one of my favorite characters in the series and I've been writing out a plan for a possible comic series about her that'll go more in depth about my headcanons for her. (when I say comic series, I mean sketches and oneshots, not a full thing lmao) It wouldn't take place during her games (outside of a few flashbacks when I need more context), instead it would start at her Victory Tour and go into her first (and last) year as a mentor for the 71st Games. Which is a perfect segue to-

Johanna Mason, 71st Games

Johanna is actually first mentioned early on in the first book when Katniss is wondering if the reason Peeta is crying is because he plans to act weak and helpless as a strategy in the games. (Katniss, he just found out he has to fight in a murder tournament with his crush. He's just Sad.) She bases her theory on Johanna, who pretended she was a "sniveling, cowardly fool" in the arena until the final stretch of the games when she proved to be deadly with an axe.

OR….. Katniss is an unreliable narrator and Johanna was actually a terrified kid from a district with so few victors that she was the only name in the bowl for the Quarter Quell… This is totally just a personal headcanon of mine tho lol. I think there would have been a point in her games where she realized she actually had a chance and that's when she seemingly had a huge character turn around. Maybe there was a infighting with the careers that ended in multiple deaths and there was only a few left along with any other tributes hiding away like her. Maybe she poked around what was left of their camp, found the axe, and felt strength from her district.

Her background was a little harder for me. Just slapping a big axe behind her felt cheesy. But them I remembered her saying there was no one left that she loved. So instead I put trees that could represent her loved ones (Two fully grown trees, a younger "teenage" tree, and a sapling) that are in the process of being cut down.

Haymitch Abernathy, 50th Games

Don't worry, I'm almost done. I don't have as much to say about Haymitch since we know SO much about what happened in his games. But his background was probably the hardest for me. His main weapon was invisible after all. I thought maybe the axe that was used, but again, That would look cheesy. I tried (and kinda failed imo) to draw the cliff side the force field was on instead. But the main thing I did was split the three panels I had on the previous drawings into six for two reasons. 1: Because he had to face twice as many tributes in order to win and 2: Being the only victor of a district that's tributes are seen as fodder for the blood bath means he had to meet and watch the death of twice as many kids every year.

[bellanoche-oxo]

I'm sorry this isn't a commission, but I just have a question about your art. Feel free to ignore this, of course. I was really amazed by your Miku drawing from December 16th. Seeing such a high-level piece, I wanted to achieve something similar, but no matter how much I try, I can't replicate your shading and highlights. I was so genuinely curious that I couldn't sleep. Could you possibly give me any hints or advice?

Hey, sorry for making you wait so much for this answer, i've been finishing some projects and i barely had free time. Anyways i'll try to do my best on explaing my coloring and lighting methos and you also asked me to explain how i create the folings of the clothes. Please take in consideration that 1 i am not native in english so it's a bit difficult for me to explain myself sometimes in this language and i may have some misspelings, sorry about that, and also 2 i am not great at explaing my drawing process bc i kind of turn off my brain when i draw lol, but i can explain the fundamentals that i know and help me create! Last thing i want to let you know is that i've started glazing my art, this is a metho to protect the images for AI images generators and it leaves a kind of pattern /effect on the image that i did not put there during the drawing process.

with all of this said let me start explaining things!

Learn the basics:

This may come as a cliche i guess, but yes my first ever advise to anyone is learn the basic theory on lighting and colors (on anything related to art tbh). You don't really need to spend a lot of money on books and such as there are lots of resources online like videos and documents you can read for free. It's not necesary to be an expert and even the smallest mount of knoledge is enought to inpruve your art a lot! , i find it very interesting to learn the way things work too so don't think you'll get bored of it!

To be frank, i am actually not very good at lighting lol. My lights and shadows are not very correct, but since i do have a lot o control over my colors and i know very well how to used them it kind of compensates and creates a very recognisable (i think) style.

just u know basic shitty advise that everyone is going to give you but it works! if you have free time try watching some videos or reading some documents about color theory shadow and lighting!

Your working space:

So this is something that works FOR ME not everyone likes it, you can try it see if you like it and if you do, cool! if you don't … that's cool too! When drawing on digital i prefer it when my base layer is grey instead of white. It helps with my headaches too but it's more about the fact that starting in a middle tone when coloring (in my opinion) makes the process of briging out both shadows and lights easier, let me give you an example:

Drawing from complete light (white) to compplete darkness (black) may condicion you to actually lose control in the contrast betwen these areas, i prefer staring in a middle place (grey) and that way is i want to show darkness i'll use a darkr color and if i want to show light i'll use a lighter color, but if i start on white i can't use anything lighter. I think i did a HORRIBLE job explaing myself there, but yeah it just helps me control my color valius a bit more lol.

this is the color that i used:

Another inportant thing about your woking space is you brushes, in my case i prefer using textured brushes that mix well, and i prefer using very thick strokes, if it's too think i'll just color pick the transparent color and ease it! I work in CSP i don't know what you use, but just in case i'll give you the setiings of the brushes i use the most with their codes so you can find them

Sculpting with lights and shadows

As i said before, i am not very good with light yet, so this is something that i do to help me with the process. When you think about it, lighting is used in art to give volume to the piece, not in every case bc rules in art are not there to be followed but to asist us when we need to take a creative decision. The way that we can start with our Sculpting is by creating a very easy first guide othe the shadows and lights and to do it with very big block, so that we get the general shape first,we don't neet to get lost in the detailds yet

The actual coloring

When drawing my process is divided in three stages. I first create the doodle/lineart, that doesn't neet to be super neat as i will fix it during the rendering. The basic colors, and the rendering.

During the preparation for the rendering when doing the base colors i recomend that you give special atention to the focal points of your illustration, in this case for example that's her face and the top of the hair, that's why i gave so much more atention for this part in comparation to the shirt, that it's literally not shadowed yet. Then another step that i use normally before rendering and that i can NOT RECOMEND ENOUGHT!!!! GO WILD WITH THE COLOR CURVES!!!! OMG!!!! THAT STUPID LITTLE TOOL IS SO FUCKING COOL!!!!!!!!! like for real, it gives effects that i have not been able to achive in any other way and omggggggg use the fucking color curves pleaaaaaaseeeeee

ok i'm notmal again , lets continue.

For the rendering i usually convine all the layers of the drawing on one layer, then use a textured brush that has low opacity of mixes very well fot the actual work. Tbh here is very i can't really help you a lot, bc i have no idea what i'm doing when i render i just don't know, the only thing i recognise is that i try to esare or clean the lines from the doodle/lineart, and i focus a lot on creating volume in the places that are more important.

Skins

An specific thing that i do a lot when it comes to coloring skin is using an undertone in red (literally) I will put the basi color, use the brush to mark where i want shadows to be in a very vibrant red and then use a blue / green / pruple (depends on the skin) to finish the shadowing. Thios metho is nice for lots of occasions, but take in consideration that it doesnt work for example for very dark scenarios where the character is suppoused to be in the shadows, as that red tone works as a outline for the light. It just depends on the situation.

Clothes foldings:

Ok so here the only thing i can give you an advise with is to remember that the way that clothes fold dependes on gravity and that gravity works in curves most of the time that have two (or more) attachment points that are going to determinate theit trajectory. Example:

And remeber that this creates (again) a volume, that there is an inside part, that it's probably going to be draker, and an outside part, that it's going to be lightter. With this info you can start practicing with images of clothes.

this is as much information as i am able to recolect on my coloring process bc i am horrible explaining , spacially on text and in english, and i am also not very much aware when i draw, i kind of disconect. I still hope this is enough to help you a bit on your learning journy.

I may try doing a video at some point if i ever have the time so i can explain my coloring while i actually do it bc if not in that situation i'm not sure i'll be able to remeber what it is that i did.

My last piece of advise is to watch speedpaints and livestreams of artists you like during their drawing process and maybe even tray to imitate them while they are drawing to see what it is that they do exccly.

hope you have a good day and lot of lucks ! be proud of being able to create and be proud of being an artist!

[aching-tummies]

Might as well try my luck! Have to piggy back from the last anon and be "Rough" to your tummy when it's painfully stuffed. It just adds a little extra something when your already feel like your gonna pop and everything I'm doing to your tummy is definitely not helping. Combine this with a little pyloric valve abuse and I think your gonna be in for a long night. Taking your tummy from painfully stuffed to suddenly hallow and empty as your intestines are forced to fill with a ton of mush that is hours early. Don't even get me started on the process of forcing your painfully stuffed tummy to empty early to. With all that stuffed into your intestines now that means there's plenty of room in your tummy again. A big hefty meal later with plenty of liquids and you'll be right back to painfully stuffed. A few cycles of forcing more out of your stomach into your already packed intestines and then packing your tummy right back up to the brim and you'll be completely stuffed solid from top to bottom. Painfully stuffed and drum tight as your whole abdomen gurgles. A few hard slaps to really increase the ache your feeling in your tummy and then i think its time we break out the suction toys and see how much your poor navel can take when your that full.

////<

Pyloric valve abuse + suction toys? Ok--100% yup. I'm hanging out with you.

I don't know how much of a hang-out this is going to be. My guts are pretty sluggish, particularly when they are over-full. I try not to stuff myself often because my stomach feels over-full for hours upon hours when I do (sometimes days, depending on the food). Forcing stuff to funnel into my intestines before they usually do, shocking my intestines with the sudden influx of barely-digested food…that's a recipe for a nasty tummy ache--guaranteed. Not sure how fun the hang-out will be 'cuz I'll basically be laying there, squirming and probably crying from my stomach aching.

Ugh…you did all that just to make more room? You really are playing rough. And liquids too? Oh gosh…so you're going for the triple threat of full, sloshy, and sick? Did you graduate with a MBA (Master of Belly Abuse)?

A few cycles? I don't know how many I can take. Just one would have my torso fit to bursting--zero give in both the upper or lower area. The stuff you packed into my stomach-organ would sit like curing cement 'cuz there's nowhere to go with my intestines as packed as they are with food that hasn't digested enough for them to deal with (easily). 'Stuffed solid'--emphasis on 'solid'--oooh…rock-hard abs…without the abs.

You're gonna slap it? Ooh…I don't know. It'd be like slapping a brick wall--your hand would start to hurt, for sure. And the shockwaves would be useless, just make me feel every little reverb as they travel through the dense mass that is food and guts. It'd feel interesting, for sure.

The suction toy? Dang. That's going to do some damage. My navel's pretty stubborn and it actually takes a lot to get it up and out. As packed-full as I'd be, I don't know if there'll be enough give for my taut belly to allow my navel to come up. The stretch would be intense if it didn't rip the thin, sensitive skin of my navel outright. If you get lucky, like a crane game, and manage to draw up a bit of intestine with that toy, we're going to be in for a live performance of our favourite orchestra--The Intestines ft. Indigestion. My intestines would be griping and gurgling angrily at the suction toy, for sure.

And, of course, what's the point of a suction toy if you don't get to tease and torment that sensitive nub you've so carefully extracted? To prevent it from going back in, like a shy turtle, you've probably already got those little elastics on-hand, don't you? You're gonna tie off my stubborn navel, aren't you? You gotta move fast though--once it's been tied off like the loose end of an engorged balloon, it's gonna go numb really quick. If you want me to feel anything you do to it--start flicking, or something before it just all feels like pins and needles to me.

What other fun could we have with my stomach in this state? Anyone else wanna inspire something?

[buboplague]

hello. i'm an art nerd and as such do art nerd things like study art. you are one of my favorite artists for your smooth and organic lines. is your style of line work something you've developed unintentionally over time or is it a matter of intention and technique? ive noticed you're able to do a lot with very little, which is something i strive for in my own art. happy late easter if you celebrated btw

oh this is an interesting question! I've never really stopped to think about this before.

I think it's a bit of both, but mostly unintentional and developed over time as a characteristic of the way I prefer to draw.

I draw quickly, erase minimally, like continuous lines, and enjoy the actual physical feeling of drawing messy, and I think that's helped me be more confident in my lines in general and contributes to how it looks. Being precise and accurate is usually not my goal, so it's ok if something is off (please never flip my sketches haha). I like the way drawing like this feels.

But there are also a lot of styles I love that use fluid lines, like ukiyoe art and artists inspired by those same styles, or others' quick gestural drawings. Seeing those inspire me to stay loose, or not care about accuracy, simplify things, etc, and folding these concepts it into my work is intentional, because it loops back into enjoying the way it's done. I don't really have much advice or technique for how to achieve this deliberately because I guess I'm not really sure myself LOL but based on how I approach things myself, these are tips to try (which it looks like you're doing some already!):

draw with pen on paper. If you mess up just go with it, or try again from the beginning. Don't get hung up on erasing and fixing things, just keep drawing

practice speed, with timed gesture drawing or other methods of practice you're comfortable with; try it without picking up the pen

turning stabilization off while drawing digitally for a more natural line (entirely subjective, but stabilization trips me up so bad and feels weird)

draw from life. It can be random objects around the house, or random photos, but draw things you normally wouldn't - train your hand to follow your eye, as this will help you see the way you use line, and is an easy way to practice what kinds of lines you want without getting hung up on idea generation, or if the character looks right, expectations, etc.

It's okay to be impatient and lazy sometimes LOL. Sometimes doing the bare minimum helps you to learn where you want to simplify or stylize things. "Good enough" is also a pretty useful catchphrase sometimes

I hope something in this post helps! And sorry if it doesn't, I'm not very good at articulating my own art or thought processes.

Thank you for your kind words and for enjoying my work. happy late easter!

[sevenop]

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: I've been havin' dreams

A/n: I've been stuck in this goddamn dream for like a month now, and you're bordering between the concept of God's blessing and sin's curse. I cling to your scarlet satin shirt like it's my last and only salvation, nearly ripping it off you, and you don't even mind.

Written on Billie's point of view, I'm just interested in experimenting with the presentation of the text.

"'BITTERSUITE'? Well, it sounds delicious just from the name alone," you purr in my ear, and I nearly jump two feet up in my chair in surprise, scattering all the thoughts and melodies going around in my head to dust. Shit.

Your short laugh, the palm of your hand that gently outlines my shoulder - that's all you are. And it's impossible to take offense at you, because you immediately draw a sincere "I'm sorry" in the air with just one lips, sitting down on the table, and I know you didn't do it on purpose, it just happened. A brief glance at you instantly turns into an uncompromising infinity.

"Finneas told me to tear you away from the monitor, and I fully support it." - You're slipping your leg over your foot, which in those straight-cut black pants is a total crime against my peace. - "You've both already done an incredible amount today, and it's barely lunchtime."

Nod silently in response, but my eyes only go higher. Past the supposedly aged eco-leather belt, I meet the expensive sheen of scarlet satin. The slightly carelessly arranged collar and neckline hiding the glitter of the pendant and, more importantly, your tantalizing collarbones.

"What, you like it that much, Eilish?" - the smirk on your face puts an intimate stroke on my heart, and I realize I've been staring at you too openly, for too long.

"Sometimes I wish I could erase all my pictures from the covers and put you in there, my girl," I cling to my desk with my hand (but wish I could cling to your damn collarbones) to pull myself up and move closer along with the office chair.

"Don't talk me into it, honey. Get away from the monitor and give yourself a well-deserved rest."

"Already ripped off, thanks for your presence," - the chair is a thing of the past, with the new tactic coming in. I come as close to you as possible, hands resting on either side of you. Behind you is a plethora of music equipment, in front of you is me. You're trapped, Y/n. - "And do you really think my compliments aren't sincere?"

The corner of your lips twitch as the smirk that was cheekily painted on your beautiful face is replaced by an embarrassed smile, and you look away. My hand touches your chin, bringing eye contact back. Be brave to the end, girl. Not like me.

"You can be expected to do anything when it comes to music."

"Only music?" - my fingers feel a pleasant coolness touching the collar of your shirt. A smile appears on face. It's invariable when you're around.

"Okay, me too," you chuckle warmly. You watch my movements with undisguised interest as I remove a few rings from my fingers.

"And yet what is the reason? Suddenly, the Met Gala was announced, and neither I nor my managers are aware?".

"Shut up!" - You cluck funny and ruffle my hair, wanting to hide the growing embarrassment. - "Your mom asked me to help her with a deal regarding a charity stock package."

"'Support And Feed'?" - I methodically slip my rings onto your fingers, one by one. The finishing touch is to intertwine our fingers into a lock, creating perfect symmetry.

"Absolutely right." - You bring our interlocked hands to your lips, showering them with short kisses. So trembling. - "И... Thanks for the compliments, really."

"Will you kiss me for this?" - I raise an eyebrow, catching the sparkle in your eyes.

And you kiss. Just because we both want it, other reasons are crumpled sheets of paper, something empty and unnecessary. Nibbling on your lower lip, pulling it back a little, pressing you closer to me when the only obstacle is only our clothes - this is my ambrosia. You throw your arms around my neck, burning yourself against the cold of the massive silver chain even through the thin satin, and I just grab your hips, tearing a ragged exhale from your hot lips. A pathetic plea for more in front of the eyes of affairs and circumstances.

"I have to go, Eilish..."

"Do you know I'm always crazy short of you?" - I take a moment to leave the hot touch of my lips on your neck. A new hitched exhale. The knot below your stomach slowly tightens, fiering.

"I know." - You hug me so tightly, completely disarming me with a feeling of all-consuming comfort. - "Still, try not to stay up too, okay? I'll be back late."

You disappeared out the door of my home studio half an hour ago, and I can still see the air trembling between us before you say it and I steal another hungry kiss. I lean back tiredly in my chair and shield my eyes from the blue light of the monitor while my fingers touch the keys of the midi keyboard in a half-sleep and your lips form an eloquent "love you" over and over again. Do you love my fears, too?

×××

The huge tiered chandelier was blinding, and the staircase in front of me twisted into a labyrinth with an incalculable number of ebony steps and equally incalculable meters of carpeting. Everything is as it should be: fabulously expensive carpeting, wood paneled walls, complete with ornate bas-reliefs, and as if that weren't enough - stained glass gilded lamps on the walls. The white light is irritating to the point of grinding teeth, and even if you try to cover your eyes - everything is absolutely useless.

I don't even try to get up from my knees, knowing that any effort will come to nothing. Something presses me so hard to the ground that there is no point in resisting: hundreds of attempts have yielded no result, so why resist, knowing the outcome? The only thing that gives an imaginary feeling of freedom is the feeling of baggy clothes on the body. Sneakers, long-sleeved shirt, pants, all white. And that only adds fuel to the furnace of irritation. The helplessness and the maddening whiteness. And your figure staring down at me, unreachably perched on the steps.

I've been stuck in this goddamn dream for like a month now, and you're bordering between the concept of God's blessing and sin's curse. Everything is unchanging, chiseled with detail in my memory, but not today. Your perpetually naked silhouette, taut as a string in a Stradivarius violin, today is swathed in the red satin of a weightless shirt and raven wing pants. My gaze clings to the silver glint playing on your devilish fingers: not magic, but my rings.

If things aren't the same today, will you be my long-awaited salvation?

"Open up the door for me." - mechanically and without a second thought. I know what I'm going to say, I know what you want to hear. I am but a defenseless lamb before you, a bowed-down bigot.

"Why should I?" - the flames of madness dance in your eyes. Your ringed hand touches the cold, spotless lacquered railing.

"'Cause I'm still on my knees, I'm stayin' off my feet."

And you descended lower, shaking the ghostly silence of the foyer with the stern sound of the heels of your shoes. Step by step, step by step. You keep your eyes on me, but I'm not lagging behind, looking at you as if I'm going to take you into my storm, the blue shards of my exhausted eyes. The closer you get, the higher I have to lift my head, just until you grab my chin imperiously. I catch a reflection of myself in your eyes: blue shards sharper than ever, ready to surrender to you at any moment, just say the word. I see the way you want me, I wanna be the one.

"Just want you to touch me..."

"Anything else?" - you snap your fingers and my throat immediately begins to tear with pain. You're depriving me of oxygen, it'll be over soon. The rings on your hand still glow hungrily. My rings.

"I've been overseas." - Like someone dragging a rusty chain across the floor, a wheeze cutting through my hearing, pushing the words out on the last volume of oxygen. - "I don't need to breathe when you look at me, all I see is green."

"So tell me for real." - Something you've never said before.

Click! And you disappear, a hazy haze dissipating into the air. I clutch at my throat, as if that will help me hold on to the last bits of oxygen. My eyes blur and pure panic runs through my veins.

"Billie!"

The foyer becomes a huge mosaic, disintegrating into a network of many cracks. Concrete crumbs are falling from the ceiling, and the gigantic chandelier is shaking to an outrage, wanting to fly down, glass fragments spread across the floor.

"Billie!"

And I finally take my first loud breath.

×××

I jerk out of bed, clutching at your scarlet satin shirt like it's my last and only salvation, almost tearing it off you, and you don't even mind. You wrap your arms around me like a lost child, stroking my head, whispering something, and I can't focus. I can't piece together the stained glass of my dreams and reality, so I just tearfully snuggle into your chest, seeking refuge like you're Noah's Ark.

"Shh, I'm right here, Billie, it was a dream." - You smell like night and street and ink. Wrapping my arms and legs around you, just so you don't leave again.

You don't ask me what I was dreaming about, just rocking me in your arms like a baby, telling me over and over that it's just a dream, offering me water. It's only when the two of us are on the bed, right on the blanket that was knocked over in the panic of the nightmare, that I tell you everything. You remain silent, listening intently, while I undo the buttons of your shirt. One by one, like a meditation.

"Who am I to you?" - A whisper in the dark when you are left completely unclothed. - "Who am I, along with all my fears?"

"L'amour de ma vie," - you whisper confidently as you gently touch your lips to my forehead.

L'amour de ma vie...