#even though everything fit at this weight last time i was this weight my pants are crying this time

[edgypea]

Realizing my weight gain went straight to my thighs is really funny imo

[alexaloraetheris]

Oh boy, I feel like it's time for a post nobody will like.

We all know clothes are getting worse. Recently I found some jeans I bought in high school, and since I lost weight recently I tried them on and they fit, so I'll be wearing them once we get out of the Hell season.

But I took them and compared them to the most recent pair of jeans I bought, and... Honestly the difference in quality is so fucking stark it made me want to give up on life. The jeans I wore in high school have gone through everything. I'm talking half of Europe here, because one of our teachers was pretty big on school trips everywhere she could get the money for. They've been washed, tumbled, survived an actual car crash and they're still good.

The most recent pair I machine-washed ONCE, everything else was hand-wash only. I babied them to the max because they made my ass look like was on Instagram. Do you know what they look like now?

They're full of fixes like these. They lasted less than a year on their own. I got another decent year out of them SOLELY because I kept fixing them. And fixing them again. The crotch alone I had to fix SEVEN TIMES. I COUNTED.

And these weren't cheap jeans! C&A jeans tend to be around 40$ these days, and I got these for about 30 with a discount. I expected them to last me AT LEAST a few years, because those high school jeans? THEY'RE THE SAME FUCKING BRAND.

Considering this was the quality I was getting for nearly 40$ I figured I might as well get the same quality for 15$ and downloaded SHEIN. I didn't get jeans from them but I got some light, fluttery summer pants in the style that, honestly, I fucking love. I got three pairs for the price of one C&A jeans, and I am aware I will have to baby them even more, because out of the five pairs of pants in total I have bought on SHEIN only ONE is made of the fabric that I might be brave enough to machine wash. And with SHEIN continually getting sued for using sweatshops I probably won't be getting those pants again.

So what to do with that shitfuck situation?

I am insanely lucky my grandma knew how to sew really well and didn't mind me looking over her shoulder as long as I was quiet. I am aware that's not a skill everyone has, but quite frankly? When nobody has any money and even paying big bucks for clothes does not guarantee any kind of quality, and even fucking THRIFT STORES are full of just junk now, I think it's time to face the facts.

You need to learn how to sew.

I'm not talking about sewing your own clothes, though if you can and you have the time and patience, it's probably the best option (good luck finding decent fabric, because we can't even find THAT anymore unless you're ordering from fucking Belgium). I'm talking about fixing up seams and sewing on a patch, little repairs that make your clothes last. It might be junk, but with sewing you can make it last twice as long for the price of a spool of thread.

Now that I've pissed off everyone who is, for some reason, morally opposed to learning how to sew because it's a 'girly hobby' or 'supporting the patriarchy' (a take that left me baffled like nothing else) I'm going to piss off everyone who already knows how to sew.

I recommend getting this little guy.

It's called a stapler sewing machine, for obvious reasons. If I recall correctly, it was invented to fix clothes on the go for fashion shows and/or cosplay. It does only a chain stitch and needs to be pushed manually, but if you need to, like, hem your trousers and you don't want to spend half an hour on doing it manually (and don't already have an actual sewing machine) this is a lifesaver.

Here's a tutorial how it operates:

Now, why am I recommending this? Because it will only set you back six bucks. I got two right off the bat because I was banking on one not working (and I was right) and so I could use it for spare parts. The one in the video (Spring Come) is the one I have as well, and it's the one that actually works. I can't vouch for any unmarked ones, but the blue one works. It IS a little temperamental, but with a bit of practice it makes things so much easier.

The reason I'm not recommending an electric machine of any kind, even the one that costs 18$, is because, if you're a beginner, then an automatic sewing machine becomes a machine that exponentially speeds up the rate at which you make mistakes, and if it breaks down, good luck fixing it unless you have a dad/uncle/friend who knows his electronics. This thing can be fixed with a screwdriver, and takes the same needles as an ordinary sewing machine.

You can buy a bundle of needles just about anywhere for any price and they'll be decent as long as they're steel, but I would recommend looking for some actual better quality thread. Everywhere else, you can pinch pennies, but the thread itself is what's holding your clothes together, so this should be the part where you're looking for quality instead of price.

Alright, those of you who didn't scroll past with a derisive scoff at my take, I hope I've been helpful.

[worldsover]

Hourglass ft. Saerom

length ✦ 15.6k

genres ✧ anal; fwb!Saerom

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth, lips parched. Though you asked Saerom for water, you didn’t need to be directed. You remember the important things. Cups in the third cabinet from the right. The water pitcher in the fridge. Everything else about her home is slightly off in your memory. An experimental flick of a switch, so she has yet to replace the lights in the range hood, and now they blink instead of being merely dim. Turn that back off. A different blender, no doubt more robust for all the shakes she makes. New polaroid photos of Saerom and her members on the fridge. Even pictures with Gyuri, but nothing recent as nine as you expected. So that’s what one year looks like.

"Are you gonna hang out in my kitchen all night?" Saerom asks as she walks in, arms crossed and smirking. For all that's changed in Saerom's home, how little has changed with the woman herself? The blunt bangs are new and of course, you’ve never seen this outfit, the flattering blue tube top and denim skirt, but you expected as much with all the clothes she went through. Beneath it all, though, was the same supermodel-esque Saerom. Emphasis on beneath. Beneath, what you were most intimately familiar with. Beneath, what you’re imagining at this very moment.

"Wasn’t planning on it. just taking in how long it’s been," you say. "I like the new painting in your living room, the one with the flowers."

"Thanks. I made it, actually. Little hobby I picked up in our… downtime. But yes. You're right. It has been long." Her words are sharp. The next one is sharper: "Bedroom." 

Saerom’s eyes fill in the rest of the directive. Now. We’re going to fuck. Stop wasting time. Dumbass. You didn’t realize how many words could fit in a gaze. Or some of those meanings are conveyed through her narrowed eyelids. You weren’t fluent in the language of the unspoken, but that wouldn’t stop you from trying.

In the time it takes to decrypt the whole one-word message (she’ll at least let you grab that drink, right?), you realize you’re gazing back. 

Saerom shakes her head and laughs to herself. "It’s like you’re doing this on purpose."

She walks away, but this lingering look of yours is deliberate. Saerom knows it as she looks back and now her smile is much naughtier. She might not know that you’re first staring at her bare shoulders. You want to touch them, massage them, lick them, kiss them, everything. 

Water wouldn’t help your thirst anyway, so you follow Saerom to the bedroom. The familiar last room of the hallway, on the left, its location is seared in your brain. You’d know it sober but horny, and drunk but hornier, so you path in the same footsteps you always did. You only lag behind Saerom for self-evident reasons, your eyes on the target of desire, her pert rear. This time, with the close fit of her skirt, you can make out the shape of your favorite shape to make out with. Her cozy, pillowy thighs look perfect as ever to rest your head upon as well.

The mere act of walking into the room stirs heat in your core. You can’t help but associate this room with the carnal. The only lights in the room are the moonlight filtering through the window and the warm lamp in the corner, and the dimness reminds you of your many restless nights.

Saerom sits on her bed, those thighs settling down and squishing in just the right way. Heat turns to pressure, in turn, turns into a cock imprint on your pants.

"I still don’t like how you just stand there," she says.

Her words make you shift weight from one foot to the other. You should sit, approach, anything, but no, you continue to stand. "You leave me speechless sometimes. I can’t help but watch."

"That’s sweet." Saerom gets up and walks up to you until there’s barely any space between you and her. "But I need you to do more than watch. Especially since you’ve taken this long to see me again."

"You changed your number," you say. But you already knew this was a flimsy excuse.

"And you could’ve DM’ed me. Texted any of the other members." Saerom scoffs. "You could’ve tried. Anything. Apparently it took us literally bumping in the mall to meet again."

A centimeter from making out, minutes away from sex, this wasn’t the time or place to bring it up. However, you had to bring it up at some point. When you hold her hand, Saerom freezes, caught off guard. 

"I’m sorry," you say. "You know me, how I overthink things. It’s not like we were dating or anything. just, you know, friends that did a bit more than friend things."

"In that case… " The vexing half-smile, half-frown on Saerom confirms your self-awareness—at least you know that you’re overanalyzing the shape of her lips. "You could’ve been a better friend."

Why do you talk at all? What a mistake speech can be. As you look down, away from Saerom’s eyes, your grip on her hand loosens. Despite being in this beautiful and blatantly horny woman’s bedroom, you think about walking away in shame—

But her fingers clasp.

"Not this time."

Words into actions, Saerom grabs your shirt with the free hand and pushes you toward the wall. No, there is no escape, when you look down into the intoxicating image of her cleavage, when her breasts press up against you. Your cock hardens in your pants and pushes up against her waist, turning the rest of you into a melting painting (in which you’ve become modern art and don’t care to debate your artistic merits). All the worries disappear in a heartbeat as you recall this exhilaration. At one point, this was an addiction for the two of you: you were both in the middle of promotions and found time to fuck every day for a week straight. You learned her body inside and out.

Time to relearn.

It’s 9:03, the clock above her bed.

You gently place your hand on the back of her head, the other hand between her tube top and skirt, feeling the warmth of her back. 

You lean in.

The lesson starts with the taste of her lips. It might be sweeter than usual, or it could be time twisting the taste, though either way, the flavor honeys you in deeper. The focus of your touch is split between melting into her mouth and gripping, relearning, the various parts of her perfect body. What was a gentle hold becomes a clingier clasp of her hair, and she does the same to you. Another pull, Saerom grips the neck of your shirt, clamoring for you to somehow get closer (space between the two of you is at a premium). Your hand on her back follows the groove of her spine—no, make a detour to get a feel of the muscles in her lean back, lats, and all that. You end up under her top where you tempt to pull it off, but no, not yet, you’re getting a feel of things, reacquainting yourself. Warm skin becomes warmer, becomes the canvas for subtle beads of sweat. Get used to that too, because you’re guaranteed a full-body workout tonight.

Warmth spreads to her breath, or at least you gain a keener awareness of its heat on your lips, its subtle nostalgic taste. Awareness becomes a small thorn: you and Saerom need to breathe, so you draw back. 

9:07, but it feels like 9:03 and thirty seconds give or take leaning on the side of give. When you look into her eyes instead of the clock, it’s not a matter of seconds or minutes—months that have passed you are coming back in these familiarly firing nerves, where spikes of bliss rewind you to the visceral parts of your memories.

With how Saerom’s hands are latching onto your clothes, under your clothes, she might as well rip them off now. While your lips return to hers, your hands are taking a more subtle approach, your fingers drawing and memorizing the lines and curves of her body. Starting at her forearm, you track her muscles, from her svelte but sturdy biceps to her firm delicious shoulders, the sum of her efforts working out. You remember her habits as a welcome contagion that’s spread to you, the stretches she’d do after an intense session of fucking, the ungodly huge jug of water she’d gulp down—simple things in your daily life that you took for granted. Then, her eager tongue slides into your mouth and you’re back in the moment, your digits moving toward the crook of her neck. She always had a particular sensitivity here, a simple press of your fingertip into her skin earning a surprisingly loud moan, though it might also be your tongue pushing back into her mouth. 

You want to pretend that you can keep up this momentum of appreciating the small details, want to remind Saerom of your dexterity; however, your hands find themselves on her tits, over her tube top. Your squeezing and groping are only recompenses for Saerom’s mounting lack of restraint. She’s rubbing her crotch against your erection—does she want to make you unload in your pants? Because she could, easily—she has one leg hooked around you, and she’s making your massaging of her breasts seem tame in comparison to the nails starting to dig into your back.

Saerom and you have never kissed like this. Never kissed like you were trying to escalate from a little scrap to an all-out battle royal. It’s not tongues sliding, but tongues dancing, not hands feeling, hands taking and sinking and grabbing as if you might lose yourselves another year—why bother with what was lost, but instead, the things you will lose. The time, your mind, all control. Don’t try. Let go.

You’re only kissing, so why is there so much saliva? Each escape for air is made a mess by more and more thin bridging strands of spit between your lips, and more is exchanged when your mouths converge again. And you only take breaks for Saerom’s jaw or her cheek or her nose, giving each sculpted feature the kisses they deserve, and Saerom only takes breaks with her thumb on your lip—she sticks out her tongue, showing off the bubbly spit she’s pooled in her mouth, and you’re happy to receive before these breaks have to take a break: you need to kiss her again/she needs to kiss you again.

You’re only kissing, so why is there so much noise? A deep guttural noise nearing growls from out of your mouth meets the unexpectedly cute high-pitched moans out of Saerom at the lips’ points of contact, maybe amplified by the meeting of tongues or the lewd exchange of spit. But the erotic makes way for the romantic, and the two of you resonate in a shared low hum as you slow your pace, control your breathing, trade smiles and giggles and longing looks, no need to rush.

But then, there’s no need to rush, and you’re only kissing, so why is your heart racing out of orbit? And this isn’t close to the first time you’ve kissed, so why can you feel Saerom’s heart beating the same hurried way? The answer is obvious in hindsight. The past is an eternity and the present is infinitesimally small, contained to a single point; that is, your hearts are making up for the lost time.

(Only kissing, yet pulses inside you already threaten to end it here, how embarrassing. (But then on second thought, absolutely nothing to be ashamed of with Saerom's unfair allure.))

All this in a kiss, in a pair of lips upon another. Two selves are reduced to two bodies, flesh and all. Look at Saerom when you pull away, and you’re back to two selves, mind and all. Swipe away the long hair that’s fallen on her face, and help fix her thick bangs. She smiles at you.

Glance at the clock again, and it’s 9:18, closer to 9:04 in your mind. You might have discovered time travel.

She pulls you off the wall—you didn’t notice that you were sagging against it, that you’ve lowered yourself nearly face to face with Saerom—and then she brings you toward her bed. A light push knocks you off balance, though you land on her mattress.

"Smooth," you say, and Saerom giggles.

You reposition so that you’re sitting on the edge of her bed. Soft, springy, doesn’t make too much noise even when two people are testing the limits of its suspension—you remember all that well. The sheets always dried surprisingly quickly if you hung them outside overnight. Plus, it’s the exact height for you to place your feet on the ground, and for Saerom’s head to lean against your thigh. There, kneeling, as if home inside her home, she watches your cock twitch under your pants when she paws at it experimentally.

"And you’re frustrated when I watch," you say.

"Hey, you can’t say I’m just watching." Saerom rubs you up and down over your pants and your jaw clenches. "But you’re right."

When Saerom gets a hold of your shirt, you raise your arms.

"You’re still in good shape," she says, smiling proudly.

"Thank you. I definitely don’t miss the diets, but I’m happy they got me in the habit of working out. Plus, you gave me plenty of motivation."

"Mhm." She traces your abs. They aren't washboard muscular (read, photoshopped) since you’re not lifting your shirt for audiences anymore, but they are decently taut, hinting at a six-pack. As you said, you were over the sort of daily sweet potato diet to keep that up. But for this reaction, Saerom's half-lidded eyes gazing at your midriff, you’ll gladly keep up your other routines.

Saerom then tugs your waistband, taking both your pants and boxers an inch down, then another, teasing you with the incremental progress. You can only sit still and keep your hands on the mattress’ edge. When your cockhead pokes out, she smiles, then forgoes any inhibition, stripping you straight down to your ankles. Your shaft springs free, and it nearly hits her face, but Saerom instinctually dodges it. Saerom ducks under your dick, centering it over her face, and she lets out a long exhale. Warm air flows around your length, though the jolts racing up your body are cold. 

"I miss this cock. None of my toys compare." With a light frown, Saerom rests her head on your thigh again. She lightly and playfully traces your shaft with one finger.

"You really know how to boost an ego—ahh." Your jaw is wide, breaths ragged when her fingertip circles around your frenulum, the spot sensitive to her agonizingly light touch.

"Oh. Is that precum? Already?" Saerom’s narrowed eyes change focus from the slight pulses of your cock to your transfixed gaze, and that alone earns another white drop. Her finger traces up, and now she’s drawing circles at the top of your cockhead, smearing stickiness around.

"God, Saerom. You’re so fucking hot." Her touch pulls the truth out of you. It didn’t need to be spoken, but by her smile, it’s always worth stating the obvious.

She licks her lips, cleaning a bit of drool. Breathily, Saerom says, "Fuck. Should I just make you cum like this? With my fingers? It’s only fair. It’s only been me and my fingers all this time."

As much as you want to fuck her every hole open, you can’t deny that the prospect of being brought to the brim with her deft touch alone is tempting. "I said I’m sorry."

"Maybe if you say sorry enough, we can fuck." Saerom puts one hand around your cock and she’s barely doing anything, a lazy twist here, a half tug there.

"Sorry," you say, your upper teeth latching on to your lower lip. "Seriously. I miss you. I should’ve at least tried a little harder."

"Oh, we’re getting sappy now?" Saerom adds another hand—one isn’t enough to wrap fully her fingers around you—though it’s still awfully insignificant motions, sending erratic sparks throughout your body.

You shiver, hiss, and tense up. "Sorry. Please."

"Fffuck, I like the sound of that. the way your voice catches in your throat." She reaches down for your balls, jumpy at the faint graze of a nail. "What if I just milk out everything? I know how much you can cum. That would be so hot. When was the last time you came? Were you thinking about me?"

A week ago, and yes. Of course. You don’t want to admit those, and neither will you admit that a whine is coming out of you, yet even if you were silent, your hips are bucking on their own as you fuck yourself into Saerom’s hand.

Saerom says, "Oooh, are you—"

"I can’t take it anymore." You pull her up then push her back down onto the mattress, then you’re on top of her. You support yourself above Saerom with one arm and look at her carefully. Her face is a masterpiece, her body the work of a master craftsman. At your obvious overflowing lust, she looks to the side, bringing her wrist up to her mouth in a gesture of embarrassment you’ve never seen from Saerom.

Saerom’s reactions renew your confidence as if time never happened, so doubt’s seed could not have grown how it did, and you carry a sure smirk inspired by the cockiness once found on stage. You’re reminded that despite your indecision everywhere else—why the two of you never progressed past mere acquaintances—you were a man of action in the bedroom. That’s what Saerom wanted out of you. Saerom being shy might be an act, might be sincere, but it works either way. With this new upper hand, you grab Saerom’s wrist to unblock her face, too pretty to be shy about.

"We’ve done this plenty of times," you say, pinning Saerom’s arm to the bed.

She turns her head toward you but she can’t make eye contact. "It’s been a while."

"You're right. It has been long." You go in for a kiss, and she closes her eyes; however, you dodge her face.

"Fuck you." Saerom hits your chest and pouting. Then, her lips transform to a different contortion when you go straight for the neck. "Hnn, not too much. Remember last time you left hickeys on me? My makeup artist wouldn’t stop teasing me about it."

"Maybe I should mark you enough that makeup won’t be enough," you say, and her eyes go wide. "I’m kidding. Just a little payback for teasing me with your hands." 

So instead, you aspire to leave your small marks on the other parts of the body. Where no one else but you will see. First, a softer kiss on the end of her collarbone right under her neck. With the floral notes of her shampoo mixed with the fainter sweetness of her body wash on her soft skin, your nose is tempted as you kiss along the rest of her collarbone up to her shoulder; from there, you’re led down to her armpit.

"Your body is perfect, Saerom." 

She’s already ticklish from the playful kisses of her armpit and her ribs, but something about that crook under her arm compels you to lick—it’s the scent of her body wash once again, as well as a hint of vanilla, possibly from deodorant. Saerom is also starting to sweat, lending a barely noticeable musk and salty taste, and that only fuels your tongue further.

"Stooop, nh, nuh, no, why do you keep licking there? It’s dirty," Saerom says, squirming and laughing. This high-pitched tone is unfamiliar, easier to imagine coming from one of the maknaes such as Jiheon or Nagyung instead.

"It’s not." You’ve slathered her armpit in saliva by now. "Kisses aren’t enough. Every part of you deserves to be worshiped. What if I worshiped your whole body with my tongue? Gave you a tongue bath?"

Saerom can’t look at you anymore, yet she can’t stop smiling. "Wh-whatever you say."

You soon leave her armpit to fulfill your promise. You’re leaving a light trail of saliva down her arm, you suck each of her fingers, the knuckles, the interdigital folds, leaving no stone unturned. Returning up to Saerom's shoulder, you realize your folly of asymmetry, having only licked and kissed the right side of her upper body. You swipe your tongue across her neck.

"I don’t know what it is, but I can’t stop thinking about your neck or your shoulder or your collarbones. Should I take my cock out right now and jerk off onto them?"

She bites her lips, and her thighs rub together.

"Just imagine your neck and shoulders all drenched with cum. Dripping down to your tits. I swear I could leave a whole river of thick white semen down your cleavage, make a mess of your tits just as collateral damage," you say as you finish your job of licking up Saerom’s left arm, shoulder, armpit.

With your rising initiative, Saerom’s hands can’t lie inactive by her sides. She first adds to the rubbing of her thighs with her hands—not enough—reaches between her legs—not enough. You know this, have seen this, enough to understand she’ll be on a tortuous brim for as long as you’re not inside her. And so be it, her decision to make, because you’re happy to let her dance on that dizzying outskirt as you pull her top down to her midriff and kiss and lick her breasts. Going in a circle around each one, you find yourself lingering much longer here, again covering her skin with saliva as you sense every goosebump with your tongue. Here, on her sizable tits, you’ll leave the marks that she’ll think about when she’s on stage. Under whatever stage outfit she’s wearing will lay your claim, your worship, and no one else will know but you and Saerom. Sweet secrets, another unspoken language.

The noises that come out of Saerom when you suck on her nipples aren’t speech but they’re too loud to count as unspoken. Your tongue, lips, teeth, and every part of your mouth partake in playing with the nubs as they harden but before long, you pull the top back up. You’re carefully slow because you want to see her breasts squish against the deep neckline of the clothing before it’s hidden.

Slow breaths and raised brow, Saerom glances at you with your sudden intermission.

You tell her frankly, "It’s a cute top, and I want to watch how your tits jiggle when you ride me."

Her quiet, acknowledging "mm" becomes a longer hum when you move downward. You take time leaving a kiss on each rib before worshiping her perfect abs with your tongue. Though you can feel Saerom writhing under you, you’ve been too focused on your task, so you look up to see her reaction. However, as you tongue at her belly button, she doesn’t look down at you in return; instead, Saerom is arching back and looking straight up at the ceiling. Her hands flatten on the bed, right by her head, elbows up. Every muscle is stretching, tensed.

"I didn’t think you’d like this as much as you do."

At your words, Saerom finally looks at you, her eyes unfocused, and she only nods, lips tight.

When you’re done with the upper half of her body, you decide to multitask. If she could form words, she’d be begging for you to move up instead of down from her thighs, but you’re also removing her skirt while you move down to her feet. After you unbutton and throw the skirt off to the side, you give her toes the same treatment as her hands. A thorough tongue washes each ridge, each sole, until her body is tongue-bathed top to bottom as promised.

All except for one part. Looking at the dark spot on her blue panties, it’s safe to say your mouth has plenty of cleaning left. You don’t mind doubling back with your trail of kisses up her leg, especially since it earns more cute strained noises from Saerom’s lips, and then it’s a third and final path down her legs.

"Saerom, watch."

She mouths "fuck" as you bite the waistband of her panties and gingerly pull.

From her waist to her knees, the panty-pulling with your teeth was careful and teasing. You want to say you kept your eye contact the whole way through like a suave playboy, but a glint in the corner of your vision steals your attention. Saerom is immersed in the whole range of light’s temperature, the cool ambiance of the moon, the dim yellow of her small lamp, yet it seems all of light has collected onto her dewy slit. The thought of tasting her nectar hurries you. You stop using your teeth, your now feral hands damn near tearing them off from her ankles.

"Woah, careful with—" 

Then Saerom’s mouth seals when you seal your mouth around Saerom’s pussy without hesitation. This feels right, home, the past in the present, between Saerom’s thighs with your face right at her crotch. You don’t feel a drop of shame because there’s too much dripping already. Two dark pink wavy folds—you set your thumb on one, index finger on the other to hold them in place. The destination of your voyage of kisses and licks, you give plenty of passes of your tongue to the swelling nub of her clit, passes of your lips to her lips. Are you drooling? Or is that Saerom’s boundless juices? Either way, they mix in your mouth, the salty flavors, the addicting musk, and the slightest metallic tinge.

"Fuck, that’s delicious," you say while you gauge her response. You didn’t notice until now that Saerom has two hands in your hair, or that she’s pulling and pushing you to return to your station. You delay a moment to tell her: "Am I remembering wrong? I’ve never seen you this wet."

Saerom first works through her ragged breaths before she can talk. "Yeah, agh, I haven’t cum in a couple of months. You’d be surprised. How busy I’ve been. And, I guess, I was hoping, this exact thing would happen."

"You know you could’ve called too, right? DM’ed me, whatever." You’re surprised you had the wherewithal to bring it up while Saerom’s slick is on your chin and lips.

Saerom whispers, "I’m sorry." Then she closes her mouth. Her grip on your hair loosens. 

Of course, it’s too late for regrets and apologies now. You revisit your favorite place to taste in the world—fuck a restaurant, fuck a bar, everything you need to taste and drink is right here. And quickly, there’s no way Saerom can keep her mouth closed or her hands off your hair with all the oral pleasure you give.

"So, so good, good, ahh, fuck." Saerom’s tongue can’t stay in her mouth, dangling casually as her jaw opens wider in bliss.

As your right hand spreads her folds again, your lips suction and your tongue laps at the top of her cunt, servicing her clit, as well as below, digging deeper at the source of all the wetness. You lick exhaustively, collect every drop you can—you can't. Too much leaking fluid to avoid making a mess of her sheets.

"Fuck, fuck, goddammit, fuck."

Though your free left hand is mindlessly on your cock, stroking, there’s no actual need to touch yourself. You could be as hard as steel as long as you’re eating Saerom out. You heighten Saerom's stimulation, sinking your fingers into her thighs, kneading and massaging—earn a few giggle-infused moans—then you move to where your face is being turned into a canvas, a girl-cum rag. There, you add a finger, then two into her slit. Now your mouth and digits are working in tandem, pumping in and out, exploring her pussy, relearning, to turn Saerom’s brain into mush.

You could’ve been doing this for two minutes or two days, fuck the clock, fuck worrying about time and its immaterial decay on the world. It’s only when you hear Saerom’s profanities die down that you slow down too.

She works up the ability to talk again: "S-stop. I love how you eat me, but I need to ride you. Now."

One last kiss on her pussy lips. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

In honesty, you were also thinking about how your jaw is tired or how your neck is strained, but those would’ve been fine sacrifices to make for Saerom. If you needed to stay there an hour to make her cum three times, you would’ve done it—maybe that would’ve made up for a lost week? So just over two straight days to make up for a whole year? No matter.

Saerom nudges at your shoulder and gestures for you to get up. It takes a while for you to reorient yourself—right, she’s just lying in her bed as if it were any other night, except you’re in between her legs. She sits up and scooches over so that you can replace her reclined position. Listening to Saerom recollect her breathing and watching her stare at your erection pointed straight at the ceiling, you realize she’s also reorienting herself. Don’t give her time: you grab Saerom’s hand and she falls right on top of you, hands at your sides. A mirror of your stances moments ago. She’s surprised at first, her mouth in a circle, and then her smile grows. This smile deserves awards, and more light, if only you had a floodlight on your face. All you get in this room is a dim ambiance, but you’ll take every photon you can get. 

Traveling in time, you think about when you and Saerom fucked the first time. Five years ago, you were both rookie idols without the luxury of a bed. Far bolder back then, Saerom was riding your cock in the dark corner of an empty sound stage, and your hands and back were meeting the cold hard floor, the two of you risking your careers for a spontaneous fuck.

Now the two of you are in different places in your life, yet you end up in the same place regardless. 

Guess it’s 9:34:40—you can’t actually look at the clock above and behind your head as you lay in bed, and Saerom’s hair is in your face.

A breath, and then you’re overwhelmed by Saerom, her tongue in your mouth, her hand on your cock. You’re happy to lose control at this moment. For the rushing thrill of the idea of this beautiful idol fucking you, or for the physical manifestation of this desire, her pussy embracing your cockhead in the first penetration and the weight of her body and her kiss all crashing into your heart, you gladly sacrifice this exact minute for the compressed eternity to compress further, too much to contain, and it uncollapses—what was a single point containing all the beauty and warmth in your head becomes a cascading chasm, a pointillistic cloud, each little dot a snapshot of all the sensations. Beyond thrust for thrust, your thoughts flash ripple by ripple.

Saerom’s cunt slowly slides down as she pushes against the girth of your cock. Your hands are trying to compete for tightness of grip on her asscheeks, but they’ll never compare to the closeness with which her labia grasps around your cock. The tangy taste of her juices lingers on your tongue, mixes with her mouth's taste when you kiss—mostly the saltiness of saliva at this point, though you’ll drink up every last drop. You smell sweat and the trace of sex against the sweet scents of her skin and her hair. Listen to the slow squelch of her soaked hole because for once you’re both silenced by this kiss, deeper than before; open your eyes, watch Saerom’s need in action, and take in that every stimulated sense is but a small part of the single motion of Saerom lowering her ass into your crotch.

It was never that deep was it? It was just sex, just a basic carnal act. There was longing, there was the low light of the room, there was a closeness you forgot, and none of it mattered. For all this thinking, there is no real thought or purpose. There’s nothing so profound about it except for how much happens all at once, and in that inundation of self, the simple profane is newly profound. Balls slap against her ass. It is that deep.

Guess it’s 9:34:45, and it doesn’t matter what the time really is for the rhetoric either. The seconds have been stretched like Saerom’s pussy around your dick. The dots have danced.

She takes in the feeling of your length all the way inside of her, her eyes wide when she looks at you as you stop making out. You have to resist the urge to spank her ass, to start pounding up, upside-down jackhammer, so your hands slide up to her waist holding her.

Saerom feels her midriff, and you notice the slightest bulge of your cock against the slimness; she rubs it. "Fuck. I miss this. I miss you."

Somehow you find it in yourself to snark: "We’re getting sappy now? While I’m this deep in you?"

She growls quietly and holds your jaw. "Shut up." And if her words weren’t enough, she’s back at it with her tongue finding residence in your mouth. 

Saerom then pulls away from Earth’s gravity, lifting her ass. It isn't nearly as slow as the insertion, but it's just as serene a sensation. All the pulling and pushing, it’s everything you remember with Saerom—it’s more. Riding your dick becomes effortless for Saerom, gravity barely a nuisance as her bouncing hastens. Second nature returning in seconds.

You’re becoming less of an active agent, more of a recipient of pleasure, barely holding on by Saerom’s waist. While you certainly feel like you're pounding her pussy, she’s the one putting in all the work. You can imagine it’s tiring for Saerom, but if it’s half as good as it feels for you, then any amount of exhaustion doesn’t matter.

Her unbridled passion eventually subsides though, replacing the forceful slams of her butt with slower and more conscious motions. Though she still has her lips on yours, it’s a lazy placement. Not as much of a kiss. You'll take it. Saerom also isn't bothering to support herself with her arms by your sides, opting to lay on your chest instead. Your cock goes in, tick, tick, tick, out, tock, tock, tock. Many beats, many seconds, and many breaths between each plunge. Then, even the slick sliding of Saerom’s cunt on your cock gives way to more of a grinding motion. She twists her hips, bringing her ass around in erratic ellipses. A whole new host of euphoric sensations on your cock. You’re reacquainting with her tender inner muscles, clenching on your shaft. Your fingers around her midriff press into her skin, your eyes roll back, and you have to tense your jaw.

A grinding halt. 

Saerom is inert, warming your cock. Her head is on your shoulder, mouth on your neck (while not actively suctioning, the sensation of her plump lips sends shivers throughout your body regardless). She stirs, straightening her back again. There’s no way you want to let go of her waist, want to have her stop kissing you, want to remove the weight of her tits and whole body on top of yours—Saerom’s curves are ergonomic with how well they fit on you—however, she sits up, her knees on each side of your waist, back straight. Your dick is a stanchion, its tip poking at her entrance, and you don’t mind trading the feeling for the image.

A grinding start.

Instead of only feeling the twisting and the back-and-forth movements of her hips, now you get to watch it, doubling the thrill. Saerom’s eyes are filled with lust and she’s biting a finger, her other hand on your shoulder. Everything about Saerom hypnotizes you, and you can’t keep your hands idle. You return to sinking your fingers into the mass of her ass, then you’re exploring her curves again in this new context.

There's a large mirror leaning against the wall across from you, right in position to show off Saerom's backside. This is the first time this year and this night that you've got a good view of her bare butt. Perfectly round (you'll redefine circles to be second place if you have to) and ample enough for your digit to make a significant crease. Her ass is a famed masterwork, lusted over by many but not seen in true pure form except by the incomparably fortunate you.

Upon your renewed vigor and thirst, Saerom restarts her ride, the chaotic grinding becoming a focused lifting and dropping of her whole self. She has to hoist her knees up to squat on your cock. The image is accompanied by sounds, making the trade worthwhile. The flesh of her ass slapping and slamming against your crotch echoes her bedroom, some slick noises in there too. Her hands clench into fists by her side as she savors the stretch of her pussy.

This brings you back to the last time you fucked: a year ago, in a love hotel, a careless drunk hook-up. Saerom rode you cowgirl expertly then, and it seems she’s only gotten better now. You’d think the self-admitted lack of practice would show—but once more, she proves that time hasn’t passed between this year and last.

While Saerom seats herself into your perfectly plumb penis repeatedly in her cowgirl ride, not missing a beat or bounce, you get exactly as you wish: the hypnotizing view of Saerom's tits jiggling in the confines of her blue tube top. You get the most beautiful demonstration of physics with each bounce of her breasts. Then you take physics itself into your own hands, grabbing each breast and squeezing over the fluffy fabric. At your rough fondling, Saerom lets out some higher-pitched whimpers in between her constant pleasured groan. She rides down into your cock harder, and you let go to see how wildly her breasts can bounce. Saerom's mouth is open in bliss; yours is more in awe, her breasts bouncing up and down as if wanting to be freed of the top themselves. You'd be inclined to agree.

Thus, with a grunt that gets Saerom's attention, she stops bouncing and lets your dick rest guts-deep inside of her. She shudders. You sit up, a burn in your abs that you cast aside. Saerom raises her arms and you pull upward, watching her boobs squish, then pop out from under the tube top. You're tempted to re-clothe her just to see that again (squish, pop, boing, immature sounds accompanying the sight in your head). However, with the article of clothing already around her elbows, you might as well finish the job. No more hesitation, you toss the blue top right into her laundry basket (nice shot).

Saerom pushes your chest, returning you to your recumbence. You don't mind her forcefulness—in fact, you cherish whenever Saerom handles you roughly. You know exactly what that leads to. She lifts her entire body up, unsheathing your glistening cock, then drives herself back down. This first bounce is deliberate. She's watching your reaction, no doubt giving you a satisfied smile because of your weak groan or your face twisting with pleasure before she restarts her ardent riding.

Yet again, all these places for your eyes to land upon—her thighs jiggling as she springs up and down, your cock appearing and disappearing inside Saerom, the thin sheen of sweat covering the entirety of her flawless skin—yet there was only ever one possibility after flashing through those equally addicting sights. You're fixated on Saerom's soft tits, unrestrained by the shackles of clothing. They freely ripple, rise, fall, rise again, her nipples drawing some invisible erratic path in the air like the chaos of a double pendulum. There is no predicting the movements, but you're staring as if you're trying your damnedest, knowing that you'll fail. Happy that you'll fail.

"What do you like better, hmm? Watching my tits bounce with or without clothes?"

What an intriguing question. (You're jealous of her ability to form cogent thoughts in this situation.) You're not sure. Obviously, seeing her tits completely exposed, her brown nipples in plain view is a sight you never want to relinquish. However, the bounce of her tits within the tube top is oddly compelling. It's the sort of view you could get equally as an audience member or as an average fan replaying the same three seconds of a fancam—you get the privilege of getting to see this Saerom from a whole new angle.

Not even the most advanced camera can capture the full extent of your senses being. The perfect POV video of Saerom riding cowgirl will never convey the heat of Saerom's core, the constant clamping of her cunt around your cock.

But then, if you had a camera and had to hold it right now, you'd have to let go here in confusion.

Saerom leans forward and places her hand palm down on the bed by your sides.

You're surprised at her action and, at her hitherto wordlessness, you're also surprised at her saying "I'm going to ride you as hard as fucking possible."

What an intriguing declaration. Wasn't she already doing that?

She lifts her ass and does not lie and rides you as hard as fucking possible. Never doubt her. You knew intensity came in the form of horny Saerom, didn't know it could lift your soul past the stratified layers of atmosphere above this very home, where jet streams blew past and didn't compare to her speed or didn't compare to the air knocked out of your lungs.

Wanting to hold back from cumming, you slow down—well, you want to slow down, but it's not really up to you, judging by Saerom staring off into space with a slack jaw, by the insistent motion of her hips. Maybe she'll ride your cock until you both die or neither of you may die and she'll be fucking you cowgirl until heat death? She's in a trance, cock-drunk, lust clouding her brain, and you have the same fog, though the fog is also pulsations that you want to delay. Now a dynamic duo, heat and pressure cook inside of you, and you could unload and breed and fill Saerom any second now. You have to physically hold her from fucking into your cock.

It isn't until your fingers grip hard—you might even be leaving traces of nail marks—that Saerom is pulled out of her rhythm, panting. She whines and pouts and after brushing her long hair aside, looks at you with an empty-headed expression. "Wh-what?"

You try your best to maintain composure, but really your whole body is dedicated to clenching every muscle so that you don't orgasm on the spot, despite her now sitting still. "Reverse cowgirl," you say, keeping up your false resolve.

Saerom nods mindlessly, raising her ass. It's more honest of her, commendable, to eschew the pretense that she had anything in her mind. She gets into position for reverse cowgirl, kneeling with her legs hooked under yours, her ass placed right in your lap. Instead of a reflection a few meters away through the mirror in her prior cowgirl stance, now you get a perfect close-up. Sweat, pores, goosebumps, all that texture in the dim lighting of her bedroom. More than ever, you want a spotlight—having no such device, you aspire to paint bright red with your hand—smack, a loud one, like a whip on her right cheek, and at once you get the vividness you want.

She gasps and looks back, the vixen smugly grinning as if to say "one more".

It's too easy to fall in, to give her what you want, and her left cheek recoils nicely in the same way. It's tempting to keep going, to keep submitting to the little diversion that makes this moment and night last forever. But if the shape of her ass is tempting, her tight asshole is a drug to an addict, and you've unknowingly abstained for far too long. Right now, do it, take your cock, align it with the entrance, and thrust into her. You want to… but you also know better than that.

Besides, Saerom takes the matter into her own hands—hand, as she reaches back to hold your cock. She softly places your shaft between her supple cheeks and after a quick wiggle of her hips to situate herself, she starts sliding her ass up and down your length. This buttjob alone is enough to make your balls twitch, to make you jumpy at the prospect of cumming early once again.

Her rhetorical words don't help—"You know how many times I’ve thought about you and fucked myself in front of this mirror?"—because now, you're picturing it, and the images overlap in your mind. In the mirror and in your imagination alike, her deft fingers are teasing herself, crawling between her legs, and rubbing her clit. In this imaginary world, the juices from her cunt are being wasted on the floor or on the sheets or on a towel if she were so poised; in the real world, there is no waste, as this nectar finds its way onto your cock, whether it be dripping right into you or by her moist hands reaching back to keep your shaft in place.

The undulation of Saerom's hips is much gentler than her previous ride—she must have recognized why you wanted her to stop in the first place. You'll happily take the sparks of pleasure that this lazy friction gives you, your cock neatly nestled in the crack of her backside.

"I can even show you later," Saerom says.

"Show me what?" you ask.

"Ahh, don't worry about it." Once more, she grabs your cock behind her, but this time she's twisting her whole upper body to look at you. There are so many targets for your inevitable cumshot: her arched back has the perfect valley for your seed to run down, toned muscles to paint white; the thought of cum streaking down her tits could make you bust on the spot; and sullying Saerom's alluring face is naturally a favorite pastime of yours, especially making her sharp jawline drip with cum as you feed your load right onto her lips, or maybe you should make a mess of her bangs.

Anyway, what were you supposed to be worrying about? Whatever it was, it wouldn't matter compared to Saerom aligning your cockhead at her entrance, plunging your whole length at once, at twice, at thrice, and then it's a blur of bliss.

You want to say it's the same as a few minutes ago—after all, what's the difference except turning around—but her velvety walls surrounding your cock feel completely novel to the regular cowgirl position. Your shaft is pointed at an angle different enough to give you whole new sensations of pleasure, and if not for the momentary reprieve of the teasing buttjob, you'd climax in the first few thrusts. That doesn't include the whole new visual stimulation of her perfectly perky ass lifting and dropping in rhythm, its fleshy weight ricocheting with each downward collision.

Again, you feel inert, more like a toy being used than a person having sex. In a way, it's fine, natural even with Saerom's eagerness. There's only so much touching and fondling you can do until it seems a waste of energy—you don't need to do anything to keep Saerom bouncing on your cock as long as it's hard. And for your part, you're getting sweat and moans and jolts of pleasure extracted out of you without any effort. However, naturally, you want more participation, to feel more involved.

Therefore, your first course of action is to sit up, breaking Saerom's rhythm, and she looks back at you, her breaths heavy and sporadic. It reminds of you the classic ending fairy, her chest rising and falling, but you get to watch her breasts in their full bareness moving with each exhalation. Then, you grab her with two hands by the waist—by now, a gesture you've repeated a hundred times, and thus you know exactly where to put your fingers to have her held still, like her hips are handles. Keeping up this tight grasp and never fully unsheathing your cock, you reposition the two of you until you're both kneeling, with you behind Saerom.

Her back rests against your chest, and her long hair is right in your face. You take a moment to smell Saerom. Maybe her shampoo is lavender or rose—you're a Flover, not a florist—but for certain, you haven’t smelled it before. Then, you brush her hair with your fingers, all disheveled by the continuous bouncing and riding.

You take a nibble of her ear, and you can see the whites of Saerom's eyes for a moment in the mirror, your face next to hers. "My turn," you whisper into her ear.

Saerom gulps, barely maintaining eye contact in the mirror.

This position, inspired by JAV, is perfect for your goal: repay Saerom's passion by getting the leverage to piston into her pussy as hard and fast as possible. It starts by taking her arms, hanging listlessly at her sides, and pulling them behind her back.

Caress her face one last time—call it the moment's final tranquility. The silence save for the air passing your lips. The darkness save for glimmers of light, the night in the window.

Your hips snap into place, back and forth, cock going in and out, rhythm accelerating all at once, drag racing. You're already at your top speed, your peak strength, fucking your whole soul into Saerom. Clap, clap, clap, the audience and the performers on the stage of the bed are the same. The uproarious applause cannot be conceited because neither of you has your hands free.

Saerom yelps and moans, and you can't tell which is wider between her mouth and her eyes. The observational task through the mirror becomes harder as her hair swings wildly, long dark strands haphazardly strewn about her face, plus you get distracted by her breasts swinging even more wildly.

At least you now have an answer to Saerom’s previous open question.

Each of your words is punctuated by one or two or three thrusts (actual punctuation omitted for readability): "Can’t believe I haven’t fucked your tits yet or your throat or your tight little—" Well, these plunges are powerful enough—CLAP, CLAP—to merit the interruption, as it completely breaks the flow of what you were saying "—asshole. Fuck!"

Asshole, fuck—you want nothing more than to do that Saerom right now, temptations and jitters and dry throat as you look down and see that vulgar entrance, and it completely breaks the flow, slows down your thus-far dogged pace.

Her hands are shaking so you let her wrists go, and you expect her to fall forward (you’re looking forward to that, aren’t you? Saerom face down ass up, a lucid dream’s image); instead, her limbs limp at her sides, and she leans into your chest, returning the warmth and sweatiness and softness of her back—firmness of her lats and shoulder blades. 

She takes a deep breath. You nuzzle your chin onto her neck, and Saerom giggles—then she’s silenced when you wrap your arms around her: one arm around her tits, compressing them while you toy with a nipple in your hand, with the other arm around her neck in a stranglehold. You aren't aiming to asphyxiate Saerom (the force of your cock can make her as light-headed as you want her) but rather, to have her whole body in your complete control, manhandling her like a plastic sex doll.

It’s fair play to how she rode you mere moments ago (or maybe it’s been much longer; the clock might tick above you, but its count is worthless in this situation). You didn't need words to know how much she enjoyed this push and pull. You could hear it, see it, every sense attuned to your mutual pleasure. You’re not just fucking Saerom’s plush cunt. You’re pinching and rolling her nipples. You’re sucking on the back of her neck.

Emboldened by the few weak moans that escape Saerom, you’re back to that ardent rhythm, though long and deep strokes of your cock are replaced with quicker and shallower drives. Two people can’t get any closer than this. Your dick is repeatedly entrenched in Saerom’s cunt while the rest of Saerom’s body is held tight in your embrace. Close but there’s distance: she can’t look at you, her pupils rolling up.

This hold becomes tedious, even with Saerom having the defined abs to give her core strength for days. What would be a relaxed position—the two of you kneeling, Saerom in your lap—becomes tiring when it involves the exercise routine of sex. You take all the pillows from behind you, place them in front of her knees, then push her down with a hand on her back with the pile of pillows for support. You're positioned perfectly so that her face is at the edge of the bed, more importantly, visible to the large mirror opposite to the bed.

Look at yourself. You're exhausted, crease lines on your face, sweat on your brow.

Saerom's exhaustion is more beautiful—if not beautiful, compelling (it is beautiful, don’t philosophize now). It makes you want to pump harder, to find out if you can drain her of her stamina first. A tall task, you've seen the woman's more intense workout sessions too, experienced it first-hand in your past marathon weekends of fucking.

Hissing, you carefully extract from Saerom, then smack her reddened sore buttcheeks with your shaft. Her fucked cunt gets some cock-slaps too, a tactical delay that earns a few cute yelps from Saerom. If you’re going to cum, you’ve decided it’ll be here, with Saerom face down, bent over pillows, her ass up for you to squeeze, watch jiggle, and plunge into. Doesn’t mean you’ll cream her cunt in one more stroke. Savor this as long as you can. 

One more hit of her pussy lips with your dick. A dripping string of her juice flicks off.

A fistful of hair, you pull while you begin slamming your hips forward. You shove your cock inside, again and again, a slow rhythm, no rhyme, like there's a point you're trying to make by fucking Saerom into the bed. If there had to be a point, it’s that your dreams materialized too easily because even your lucid dreams didn’t go this well. And further, though not much further, following this logic, you fuck Saerom’s pussy with thoughts of another hole. An even tighter hole, somehow. Too tight. Visions of Saerom’s anal grip have your fingers digging into Saerom’s back, have you pushing too hard for this denouement. You have to be measured about your penetration, needing to pull her into you. If nothing else, ensuring she doesn't slump past the edge of the bed. Saerom is the pile of pillows underneath her, soft and lifeless and you wouldn’t mind spending all day in her.

Burying and unburying yourself into Saerom, your dick is soaked in slick and raw, sore. All this pounding is getting to you. A heady mix of hormones and heat. You’ve done your job. Saerom can barely keep her eyelids up, her every breath heavy and slow. She doesn’t even move.

This is your final ramp-up, the pace almost numbing, and then the internal throbs come out of nowhere—you can’t delay your end much longer. These past few minutes have been completely devoted to your stimulation, so it was only a matter of time. You push your knees down into the mattress now, having to hold onto yourself as much as Saerom. (What part of self you’re holding onto is a question you won’t or can’t answer.) feeling the familiar pulses of climax in two of your strokes, you're tempted to clamp down on her waist and keep your cock buried inside.

But then, you look at her ass. The roundness is so perfect and, like with her face, the only thing worth doing to perfection is to flaw it.

Here begins the end of all journeys.

Here, in this beautiful moment, you understand, the dots, tiny prickles of pleasure were grains of sand. They return in an overbearing way. Your mind is an infinite beach, where time stands still and then gives way to waves and the tangy orange sunset. This is sweet and fruitful perfection, the orgasm temporary but more real than any existence can claim. The shape of Saerom’s body, the sandcastles, the nostalgic memories, you’re damn near tears at the thought, but this is a cry of bliss as you moan and let everything out.

A long first short of semen lands on her back, creamy white streaking down the dips. With Saerom bent over, the cum runs down toward the back of her neck in the central valley of her spine. You're tempted to keep unloading there. But, after seeing her ass rise and fall, you then aim for her buttcheeks, giving each one an equal amount of love, mixing sweat with seed. You watch them clench as Saerom feels the warm sticky load, watch them ripple as heavy breaths make her whole body lurch back and forth. How hypnotic the pendulum. You cum more ropes than you expected, absolutely drenching her backside. You only know that Saerom is awake because she brings her hand to her neck, where your semen collects, then licks her hand to taste.

The two of you catch your breath. You want to sit against the back of the bed, your body slack and lacking energy, but you take the initiative to grab a big handful of tissues and clean the mess you've made on Saerom's backside.

Eventually, you and Saerom lie on the bed. She holds your hand. You look at her and let quiet wash over you both for a while.

To break the silence, you ask, "You okay?"

The end of the journey is only the start of a new one. Cyclic. Possibly infinite. Saerom’s answer to your question is a question: "Do you want to fuck my ass?"

You pause. Definitely infinite, judging by time's nonmovement. The answer is obvious, your "yes" breathless and nearly the neediest you've found yourself.

"I’m gonna shower," she says. "Also, I’ll need you to get hard for me again." 

"I’ll help you clean up then." After all, what could re-spark your erection more than soaping Saerom down, watching water drip down her curves? But when you get up, she places a hand on your shoulder. 

"I have a different idea." Saerom grabs her phone, opens up photos, and goes to the hidden album.

Your jaw drops while she smiles, stands, and heads to the bathroom.

Top left of the screen, 10:04, but never mind the time. You’re not sure where to begin, so you open the latest. A simple selfie in her bathroom with naught but a towel around her waist, the steam of a hot shower in the air. You didn’t think a selfie could be art, and then you see her wet hair and the droplets of water making trails down her tits, and you’d proudly have a print of that hanging in your living room.

Careful, don’t go crazy stroking yourself—wait, when did you even start doing that?—keep a casual pace of your hand up and down your shaft.

Spoiled for choice, you tap the gallery at random and find a video of Saerom on her bedroom floor. Her clear suction dildo is attached to some large book, weighing it down. Clever. (Note that the proxy cock is about the same size and shape as your real one.) She aligns its silicone tip, looks at the camera, wasn’t lying—your name’s but a whisper as she sinks down into the toy. Then she starts riding, and you understand her practice was studious. It’s like a dance perfected, how she makes her body move on her knees, tits bouncing, eyes unwavering. The same way she was riding your cock earlier. So that’s where she got the practice.

There are plenty more racy images, particularly artful ones of her nude silhouette as a shadow against her wall and less than artful pictures of fingers spreading her perfect pussy lips. Other short videos arouse you equally: a 2-second video of Saerom pulling her jeans down to her thighs, enough to show off the squish of her butt cheeks; an 8-second video of Saerom taking off her shirt in a public toilet to flaunt her bralessness to a mirror before running to a stall at the sound of the door opening; and an hour-long video of a cheerful Saerom dancing to various songs, nude in her living room. Actually, that video was only 7 minutes long. Felt like an hour though.

The sound of water flowing from the bathroom stops. Saerom should be coming out soon. You didn’t realize how tightly you were gripping your shaft.

It’s unbelievable the sheer number of pictures and videos there were in the phone’s gallery. Had to be at least one for every day since you last met her. It’d be difficult to quantify which was your favorite, and which one you would masturbate to the most.

However, the answer was clear. The hottest video, or set of videos, was yet another dildo. This one isn’t as girthy as the clear suction dildo, as she holds it in her hand. Two key differences. First, this pink phallus had little marks on it. Each subsequent video had another mark, a centimeter deeper. In some of the videos, she’d be fully nude while in other videos, she’d have a hoodie or oversized shirt on, but nothing else, leaving her bottomless. Sometimes it’d be daytime, birds chirping, sun shining into the room, and other times, it was at night, dimly lit as the room is now. Second, and more importantly, is that every video had the same format: she sat comfortably in her bed, legs spread, then she took lube, coated her fingers (initially one, but then it became two, three), and slid them in her ass—the fingers were only the start though; afterward, she kept her anal entrance relaxed as she spread lube onto the pink dildo, then slid the toy inside herself at an extremely gentle pace.

She had already been able to take your dick in her ass, though it wasn’t the most pleasant experience back then. You enjoyed it visually, but seeing the strain and discomfort on Saerom put you off of it (not to mention the wrenching tightness for you, barely inserting a third of your length). You thought you’d have to save the anal experience for another day. Didn't think it'd be today. Plus, the mere concept of progress here, the enjoyment she’s having, is somehow making you harder than ever, as if you didn’t just cum five minutes ago.

You can even find where Saerom hit a plateau in the middle of the collection of anal training videos. She had a pout on her face and rolled her eyes when she couldn’t push the pink dildo deeper inside her asshole. In the next video, she tried the same length but with a bullet vibrator on her clit—even used tape to hold it. Not only did it help, to get the toy deeper inside, but she also squirted all over her phone camera.

The door opens, greeting Saerom to the sound of her moans from her phone until you quickly pause it in surprise. Nothing on but a towel. Picturesque. In her hand, a bottle of lube.

"Oh, hey. I remember buying that," you say, pointing to the bottle. "Did it expire?"

"I didn’t think about that." Saerom examines the bottle. "January 2024. Should be fine."

She stands in front of you, drops her towel, and you thoroughly examine her figure. The hourglass curves, you want to make her toss and turn, forget the time. The sole sure sign of the time's passage is that night falls differently, moonlight mixing with the small lamp—now on the ground, not sure when that got there—casting subtly new angles of shadows on Saerom. In all lights, she looks ethereal, contrasting her casual attitude. A light smile, she dusts off her bookshelf. A light step toward her desk, she readjusts a potted plant. Like she forgot you were here for a moment, a light giggle as she remembers your presence and takes her phone back. 

"I take it you liked what you saw?" Saerom declares, rhetorical.

Right, you should nod here. So nod. But you’re holding your breath too, nodding emptily. You’ve decided she doesn’t look ethereal; she is ethereal, immaterial, of another world. You can’t touch her even though you did, consequences of ethereality you can hardly endure. Endure you shall because you must. Her nude form is unmatched. Her ass is unmatched. Your hands on her ass were a ghostly dream.

Saerom walks around the room, cleaning more. You’d offer to help but you’re simply awestruck, your eyes like a hawk. She fixes the lamp, the pile of pillows, and the clothes laying around on the floor.

Returning your gaze, she eyes your erection. Saerom points, and you’re back in position, and she's back to the floor, lube still in hand.

You sit on the edge of her bed. Soft, springy, doesn’t make too much noise even when two people are testing the limits of its suspension—now you're sure of it. With the wet mess, hopefully, the sheets dry as you remember. Your feet are right on the ground, but there's something different this time. The tension and doubt of earlier are silent; if you had to take a stab at it, you've never seen this sort of raw hunger from Saerom as she's kneeling between your legs. Your cock twitches, free in the air, when she licks at it experimentally.

"You don’t have to do this. Your pics kept me hard as a rock." Look, a statement as dumb as not contacting Saerom.

You're fortunate that Saerom is set on getting your dick in her mouth. "Shut it," she says, "you know how much I love sucking this dick."

"Right… but remind me."

A smirk tugs at the corner of Saerom's lips, then a soft exhalation. The warm breath sends tingles through your cock to the rest of you. What is there in the rest of you? You can only wonder when Saerom starts to give the same licking worship to your cock as you did to her whole body, spending as much time bathing you in her saliva. Her tongue is soft, wet, and all over your shaft, and the smooches on your cockhead plant your feet down into the ground. Your fingers curl. Five into the air, five into her hair. Let her go. She has work to do.

Saerom, relinquishing her momentary trance, opens the lube bottle. She squeezes a dollop onto her hand, can barely match the amount of saliva that she’s already drooling. Saerom tries her best to go to work, to give you a blowjob while applying the lube at the same time. Her palm rubs the cool lubricant onto your shaft, fingertips work all the half-viscous fluid around your whole cock—makes sure plenty is under your tip (does that part even need to be lubricated like that, or is she just toying with you?)—then she uses her dextrous tongue to spread the lube further. Pulling back, Saerom seals her lips on your cockhead, cheeks hollowing as she sucks and uses both hands to stroke you up and down. She’s diligent, but all that lube ends up being washed away by the excess of spit from her eager mouth bobbing down into your length, impulsively taking you into the back of her mouth. A waste, though you’re going to buy new lube for her soon. She has work to do, and you’re not stopping her for now.

You can tell that taking you into her throat isn’t on purpose; however, Saerom is so captivated with sucking your cock that she ends up gagging a couple of times. You're worried at first, pulling your hips back, but Saerom looks at you with puppy eyes and a pout on your cock—as if to ask why you took away her favorite toy, and imagine a harrumph for theatrical measure. At the unexpected, unspoken brattiness, you raise your hands. If she wants saliva streaming down her chin to get your full length into her throat, so be it. So be it that she wants her eyes to water.

A question Saerom won’t answer, too busy: you've already given her what she wants, so why is she whining and humming on your cock like it isn’t enough? Then you realize she knows what she's doing, knows how the vibrations are getting from your cockhead to your real head. knows how the foamy slobber makes her lips feel extra soft and pillowy. Amen to all the fluids, holier than water can get.

Having eaten her out however many minutes ago, you empathize with how tiring oral service gets. When Saerom finally pulls back from your dick, she exercises her jaw, moves it side to side, and stretches it.

Fix the thick strands on her forehead, putting the bangs back in place. She might have just showered, yet you could easily have mistaken her damp locks for being wet with the mess she’s made in her blowjob.

Saerom wipes the excess of saliva and licks her palms, then grabs the lube. This time, she’s more careful. More handiwork spreading lube than mouthy work as she kisses and tongues your tip with greater restraint.

In such a sensitive state—your previous orgasm wasn’t that far in the past—even the faint grazes of Saerom’s tongue draw out involuntary moans from you, and your mouth is a tight contorting curve. Something of a smile, something of a frown. You manage to ask regardless, "How does it taste?"

"The lube? It’s a little sweet, but not the best flavor. Here." Saerom squeezes a drop onto her hand and offers her finger to you. 

You wrap your lips around her middle finger, and you forget you were supposed to be tasting something as you made eye contact with her. Saerom smirks back. Is it a fruity flavor? Maybe it’s flower yet again, to match her shampoo. Doesn’t matter. You keep her finger in your mouth, and she laughs when you give it a soft bite before she takes her hand away.

"I, for one, prefer the taste of this cock." Saerom licks in a circle. "It’s musky and sweaty and salty, and I love it. Especially when pre-cum comes out like this—" she tongues at your cock’s slit, and you shudder.

Pretend that time is unwavering, a force inerrant, yet your mind can do so much to trick you, to make the past/present/future all toys in the same room converge. Turns to dots, to visions. You could be sitting here as you are, a passive man for the rest of your life (for all you know, this night will be the rest of your life), or you could be making good on promises.

You have work to do. This is the unthinking reverie of a man possessed by visions of a single thing you’ve been waiting for, for a year, for a lifetime, for dreams eternal. Don’t call it a reverie. Your actions are not light. You pull Saerom up from her kneeling stance, a hint of unnecessary rabid strength. This force is used in place of words, forgoing language in a new way. Your grip on her hand says something. If only you could say what it is. And she never liked when you just stood there silent, but her mouth is open and her eyes are needy.

Her brows are raised when you shove, and her yelps are unsurprisingly filled with surprise when you bring her to her desk, unforgiving in how you lever her arm back, grab wrist, animal thoughts, smack, one, two, the orbs of her ass jiggle. You’re in a human place, a human still. Posthaste, clearing the haze in your head, you clear out the stationery from the middle of the desk. There’s the rest of her, perfect, yet it middles to the true perfection of her asshole. You lay your cock between her asscheeks, left hand cupping their heft.

Saerom needs something from you, but she’s so beautifully compromised. Her arm is bent back, her wrist tight in your grip. Her legs are straight, but you see the buckle in her knees—it’s taking active effort from Saerom to keep her ass lifted in the air for you. All the while, her face is right on the desk, and she twists her head to look back. She’s pleading with her eyes. Put it in, put it in. Why say it out loud when the soft whimpers tell you as much.

Despite all the primal force and exhibition, you’re no animal. As much as you want to dive straight in and impale your whole length at once, she needs to acclimate even with her diligent practice with toys. Besides, it gives you an excuse to admire her ass when you push your lube-covered cock’s tip against her tight sphincter. Leave it there, for a breath, for two. Deep breaths. Long breaths. Breaths that let you stare at Saerom’s ass until time ends because you’ll never tire at the shape outlining sublimity, the weight so perfect, the firmness of the glute muscles, the smooth and light skin marked red by your hand and beginning to bead with sweat, the crease into her equally ample thighs. Your tip is at the start of anally penetrating Saerom, and all you can think about are the two surrounding cushions. You will never tire of staring at Saerom's butt.

You do tire of having only your tip in the chokehold of Saerom’s tight entrance. So eventually, you push in, a glacial rate, a tectonic rate, eras, timescales for scientists. The minutes dilate like you’re pushing against a law of physics, a speed limit, even if your length is plunging into Saerom’s ass as slow as it can. New paradoxes, record it. The waves propagating throughout your body, at one inch, at two inches, three, four, five, etc, record them. The snug ring of her asshole is almost at the base of your shaft, yet there’s a complete saturation of bliss, record it. All this pleasure must be recorded rigorously in your mind as charts and tables flash by in an attempt to put numbers down to the innumerable.

Saerom’s back arches on this first penetration, her eyes rolling up into her head, where she isn’t thinking about anything, and now you aren’t either. Saerom’s anal walls are built like a cocksleeve to hug and clamp around your shaft. With this inexorably tight hold, you can’t move, a statue, marbled by pleasure.

Looking back at you, Saerom frowns, her thinking returning. She doesn’t speak but she says why the fuck aren’t you totally inside, and you can hear it out loud in the bedroom only filled with ragged breathing. In frustration, she lifts her ass higher by tiptoeing, and you have to grab something, the edge of the desk, her waist, whatever you can. You look down, and her legs are trembling now. Long groans escape you and Saerom when you’re finally guts deep, finally inside her ass with your whole length. Never have you gone this deep inside Saerom; the last anal attempt was more half-assed. Now you're stretching Saerom in places she didn't know she had, content with her warming your cock.

You pull back, squeeze a bit more lube on your cock for good measure, and begin anally fucking Saerom in earnest. Can’t let patience rule you. Her pussy is tight; this ass has a complete throttlehold. To ram into Saerom’s asshole means you succumb to the constriction and thus what would be a torrid rhythm is turned spasmodic—fierce, yet subject to fits of paralysis, where you return from fleshly lust to scientific observation. Metrology in mind, you measure the precise amount of your dick inside of Saerom's butt, calculate the forces with which her asscheeks jiggle.

Nothing so surgical about your hands as you pull by her hair bundled in your fingers, enough to lift her head off the desk. Saerom looks at you with a nearly crazed frown—no, that’s her smile upside down—mad lust in her eyes, and teardrops every time her asshole is impaled by your shaft, down to the balls.

As much as you’re fucking Saerom, Saerom is fucking you. Regardless of her submissive position bent over the desk, she backs that ass up into you, and her smile shifts from smug to wild to docile and pliant with every thrust.

Thrust back and you see her gaped asshole, the width and consequences of your cock's pounding. It’s winking, at a rapid rhythm somewhere between her breaths and her heartbeat.

Who cares that you're in the middle of fucking Saerom’s unmatched ass—you can't help but get on your knees.

"Oh, fuck," Saerom says, "what are you—ohhh." 

Your tongue finds itself in Saerom’s used and stretched-out hole. One hand is holding an asscheek with a firm grip while the other hand is teasing her pussy lips. You drive your tongue deep enough that her asshole can’t just relax, can’t just ungape itself from being this well-fucked—it’d be a waste of effort and time, and you haven’t eaten out this perfect ass yet. The flavor is foreign but welcome, or whatever. Your lips refuse to release from her widened hole regardless of taste, and your tongue will rival Gluttony’s sin in your relentless analingus. If you do release, it’s only to kiss each of her plump cheeks, to give them the love they deserve, but her anus deserves more love with the bliss it sends to you. Give that love, and romance is returned in a thrumming moan, vibrating through the wood of the desk on which Saerom’s head lays.

In search of deepening that pleasant noise, you fully focus your hands’ attention on her leaking cunt. There were already clear strings leading from her slit to her thighs, from between her legs to the floor, but when you begin to insert fingers into her untongued hole and circle her clit, the leak becomes a whole-hearted drench. Saerom near crumples, slumping at the desk, your active hands keeping her from totally sliding off. The pitch of her voice heightens, and her whole body shakes.

"I’m f-fucking, cu-cumming!"

Your fingers are battering into her pussy, your tongue is sloppily tending to her asshole, and you’re kneeling next to a puddle growing as the spray from her cunt reaches its maximum pressure—

Catch her. As she shudders and limps into the floor as you envisioned, you hold Saerom as you two sit and inhale and exhale and inhale and—and slowly now, exhale.

"Slowly now, exhale," you say.

Saerom turns her head, eyes like a stray cat fed. Look deeper, and it’s more like there’s nothing there past the sclera’s white, the iris’ dark brown, dim of her pupils. The colors and shapes are all in the right places, sure. Nothing. Stroke her cheeks, its high bones, and her nose and her jaw. Be careful with those. Don’t get a cut on their sharp edges. The thought evolves: how sharp can she be? Her words and glare can cut, at times. Here, she’s feathers. She’s clouded; no, she's clouds. She’s fur. Looks back at you, the quietest smirk, like this one doesn’t say anything—she can be a cat, sure.

Though your breaths are now steady, you have to carry her as you relocate your two bodies to the bed. While Saerom’s orgasm has racked her, you are not faring much better. Truly flagging, it takes a whole minute until you’re both lying on the mattress—the clock you forgot or pretend not to care about said 10:28 with its longest hand up, then 10:29, longest hand up again when you look again.

Your arm under her neck, Saerom looks at you. "So we’re done for the night?" she asks.

You laugh weakly. "You’re asking like we’re not."

Saerom rolls her leg over your waist, hooking your erection between her calf and thigh to make a point.

Again, your laugh has little air to it. As much as you want to go on forever, spend all the moonlight fucking Saerom’s ass, you don’t have the energy left to move. You close your eyes, sorry in your heart for ignoring her succubine advance for a final round.

You’re going to sleep. One or five or thirty minutes pass. Can’t tell. The internal hourglass is too tired. Sand won’t even fall. There should be an ending here regardless.

Weight. Instead of an ending and empty darkness of sleep, weight, and heft, the now intimately familiar but always welcome warmth and plushness of Saerom’s butt against your crotch. You feel her hair scattered on your face, tickling and itching, and you half open your eyes, but you stay stock-still. Instead of next to you, Saerom is lying on top of you.

You should’ve known this would happen. It’s not the first time she’s done this to you, not even the first time on this bed. When you were stressed from the responsibilities and the changes of your new non-idol occupation, you answered a Saerom booty call, expecting to have fucked out your tension and worry. However, the moment you lay on her bed, you fell asleep—then woke up to Saerom sliding down onto your cock like it was a bomb that would explode at the slightest bump.

You didn’t complain then, and when you watch Saerom apply lube on her thighs, making them shiny and wet, you don’t complain now. The muted glimmer of her pale skin, her thighs giving way to your cockhead as it pokes out with each slide, yet those don’t compare to the loving caress of her flesh on your shaft.

Saerom must know you’re awake. There’s no way you can ignore the coolness of the lube on your tip, or her finger smearing the small beads of seed on your slit. She carries on yet, the sluggish up-down motion of her legs becoming a back and forth: she moves forward to slide your length against her pussy lips, then moves back to give your shaft her thighs' full embrace.

You buck up into her labia, her thighs, and that’s when she gives up the game, a chuckle as she shakes her head, moving hair off your face.

"Look at you," she whispers, "pretending to be asleep."

You groan when she grasps your shaft carelessly. "I didn’t want to interrupt."

She sits up, grabs the lube, applies more to your length by stroking and twisting, then guides your cock into her asshole before leaning back into your chest.

Kiss her neck. Lightly, with pecks, you didn't forget. It matches the verve with which Saerom fucks her ass into you.

That is to say, none.

Unlike with the desk, this is the laziest anal sex you’ve ever had. Every few seconds, a deliberate rolling of her ass. In, out, this piston couldn’t drive a toy car. There’s purring like a car anyway: guttural sounds from deep within your throat, Saerom matches them, still not used to the brute stretching of her asshole. If her pussy is a natural moist velvet that enveloped your cock, her asshole is the closest thing you can imagine to a sex toy, made to wring your cock out, lube fully necessary for the tightness. She's almost stuck on your shaft, making each act of pulling out a whole grippy ordeal.

After enough of this lethargic penetration, you endure the ordeal and unsheathe fully.

There's only one way this can end. You truly understand how this night is a cycle. The giver becomes the receiver; the subject becomes the agent—the push and the pull are bound in sequence.

Never any words to communicate the time to switch where they aren't needed and are a waste of oxygen by now. (You, the liar or the fool, must know you're fluent by now.)

You peel Saerom off your cock, setting her aside on the bed. You're not so gentle when you flip her over. She sits up, kneeling, facing away from you (facing the dear enemy, the clock, above the head of the bed). Hands on knees, she wiggles her ass and looks back at you. The soles of her feet are equally inviting, toes wiggling. (You want to bite them.) She bites her finger. Never fails to make you act.

You're quick to your feet, standing by the edge of the bed, and then grab Saerom's waist and pull her toward you. Falling forward, she gets on all fours.

Push.

If the rest of your life could be defined by pushing and pulling with Saerom, that would be fine by you.

Cock in her asshole, nothing more.

Fine, there's a little more. You're holding your shaft, your thumb on your tip, and you tease Saerom's anal entrance one last time. even if this hole has acclimatized to the exact mold of your dick's shape, evidenced by its continued gape, you can't help but savor a final time. You rub your tip around in a circle.

Enough of that. You push an hour into a minute, pull a minute into a second, push a second to the wayside. There is no truly timing in the animalistic act of doggystyle, especially not with Saerom. Hands in her hair, hands on her back, hands spanking hard against her ass, hands cupping her breast as you bend over and kiss where your fingers dug in, every thrust consolidating into one. You're under some self-made thrall, and Saerom is in that same complete thrall. With her feet keep kicking up at the sheer bulldozing force into her very guts, you take one moment of not having her ass in your hands to knead her soles. Then you're back inside, making sure that mold-tight hold of her asshole is perfectly set, or whatever was there is being rearranged. How you're fucking Saerom on all fours, it's like you're rushing for an ending, and you get what you want soon enough.

A single fiber of your being and your soul (in other words, hormones and nerves) becomes a quivering fire, then two fibers, then four, and the pretty pattern flowers into something equally pretty in its chaos.

As this night can't last forever, the doggystyle position can’t last either.

She falls back down, face onto the mattress, and she spreads her legs in a split. You keep pounding, your false energy like the retreating soldiers of a battle sounding off their final shots, and as you do, you massage her ass. Saerom shouts into her pillow at your throes, though it's equally spaced with satisfied hums at your unfailing handiwork. Hands are the only part of you that fail to fail. You want to fill her insides with cum, to destroy the crumbling dam of your restraint. Want to paint her guts white. Want becomes need. You’re fucking her hard enough to turn the necessary into the truth. 

"Saerom, I’m…" Finish your sentence. You can’t.

Saerom has her own idea about this ending anyway.

She pulls herself off you. Her tight anus is reluctant to let go of your pulsating cock (you empathize). Saerom rushes to your waist, crawling down to the floor and onto her knees in front of you. It gives you a second to breathe—no, it doesn’t; Saerom’s lips are sealed around your cock already. By the look in her eyes, she wants to suck your soul out. All uncertainty thrown aside, she pushes herself down into your length with a repeated rhythm. Each loud and forceful gag of her self-throatfucking comes with a mess of spit that stains her bed, waterfalls onto the floor.

However, you have the final say.

Grab her hair, pull your cock out of her mouth, and stroke yourself as you aim down.

The first shot hits her chin, dripping, but the other jets of cum cover her neck, her shoulders, and her collarbone, exactly as promised. There are no revelations in this orgasm—unfortunately, you haven’t been superhumanly recharged. The edge of your sight blackens and your knees halfway give out. For this is purely physical. Pure hormones and static sparking pleasure to your body as you stroke your cock to Saerom’s visage and form, and quivering fire is jittery lightning when you cover all that unblemished skin in sticky cum, vulgarizing, fulfilling promises sexy.

Your mouth is dry. Everything else too.

A phone is handed to you. A picture is taken. A smile is on her lips. (A final lesson, smiles don't drip the same way cum does.)

There should be an ending here, but see, climaxes are the true ending, and the true ending is just a necessity. As you and Saerom cuddle, there is an understanding. Comfortable, but uncomfortable. The future, a future, between the two of you exists in some uncertain state. The two of you might find something deeper in this bond, or might never know anything more than friendship and sex. Don’t think too hard for now. It exists unspoken, for now. Whatever would exist is far away from the confines of this bed, and this hold on her body, and eyelids lowering with the understandings between you intertwining—not solved, but trying; if it were solved, then you would just say it right now. We’re together. We’re not together. We’re just fucking. Who cares. If it were solved, there would be no ambiguity to the ghost touch of Saerom’s fingertips on your back and a breath trying to let a word out but letting that warm air become past sand in the glass bulbs and the upper bulb is damn near empty.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

[haru-sen]

The Seat of Patience (NSFW)

Decided to try a gender neutral smut oneshot. This is Gates of Horn & Oak compliant; it just doesn't fit anywhere in the story right now.

Content: Explicit, Orgasm delay, cockwarming

Zevlor was a dangerously patient man, and he was used to denying himself, existing in a constant state of tension, thriving on it even. That was something you did not realize at first, touch-starved and worn-down as he was. Vacillating between shy, eager, and anxious you would change your mind, he accepted everything you offered with painful gratitude. It took time to coax him out of that scarcity mindset, and it still irked you that Halsin was simply better at allaying his insecurities than you were. To be fair, very few people could match Halsin’s serene confidence and down-to-earth gravitas, and his simple presence defused many a tense situation.

Halsin was also a patient man, but even he wouldn’t do this to you.

You shuddered, fingers digging into Zevlor’s shoulders as you tried to roll your hips.

“Stop that,” he chided, one arm holding you firmly against his chest as his quill continued to scrape across the paper at a steady pace. By now, the sound was hell on your nerves.

“But-”

“You said you wanted to help, so remain still,” he said, his voice staying remarkably even.

“I didn’t think you meant like this,” you whined.

“Hm,” was the only answer you got, a rote polite response to a marginally interesting statement.

The two of you were alone at his desk. He was still working, clad in full scalemail, sheets rustling as he continued to write reports. You straddled him, face buried in the crook of his neck. You were in your civilian clothes, and other than having you in his lap, the only outward hint of impropriety was how off-center his tassets hung.

It wasn’t obvious to anyone, but you, that you were serving as his cockwarmer.

You clenched your inner muscles around him, and he exhaled sharply.

“Your constant interruptions are just going to make this take longer,” he said, tone mild, even as you felt him twitch inside you.

You gritted your teeth, taking a ragged breath as you tried to get comfortable. The solid wall of armor was not fun to cuddle. Thankfully the leather along his collar was not as harsh on your skin. When you laughingly agreed to this an hour ago, you thought it a cute game. If you were playing with Halsin, this would have lasted fifteen minutes tops. The two of you would push until one of you snapped from the teasing and dragged the other one over with them.

Zevlor, it seemed, was actually doing work, and he was simply content to have you on his lap, resting his cock inside you while he filled out reports.

Grumbling, you closed your eyes, trying to just get comfortable. But it was damn near impossible to ignore the heat of him, stretching you and holding you there while you languished. Fine, you would just ignore him like he was ignoring you.

He scooted forward, hips shifting with the motion, driving himself a little deeper into you, and you whimpered.

“Mmm, my apologies, my leg was falling asleep,” he murmured, still scratching away with his quill. He lightly kissed your cheek, and continued writing.

“Can’t you just take a break?” you asked, voice strained.

“Once I reach a stopping point,” he said.

You tensed, and he stiffened.

“You know,” his voice dropped lower. “Every time you interrupt my thoughts, you just prolong this.”

“Sorry,” you said sullenly, and shifted your weight, trying vainly to relax. You bit your lip, terribly sensitized to the feel of him. You were now hyperaware of every ridge and vein on his shaft, and exactly how it felt when they rubbed inside you. In your frustration, you had to be making a mess on his pants, but he had yet to say a thing about that.

Closing your eyes again, you tried to rest. It wouldn’t be the first time you napped with his cock inside you. Usually that happened after a proper round of sex though.

Clearing his throat, he shifted in his seat again, bouncing you in his lap.

“Damnit, Zevlor,” you hissed. Every single time. He was doing this on purpose, waiting for you to get comfortable and then moving, just enough to set you off again. He was enjoying tormenting you. There was no other explanation.

“I barely moved,” he said dryly, but you could hear the amusement in his tone. Yes, this was no accident.

Gritting your teeth, you clenched tightly around him.

He gasped, fingers digging into your hip. “I thought you were here to help me,” he said, strain finally showing in his voice.

“I’ve let you tease me for long enough,” you snarled, and bit down on the side of his neck.

He made a choking sound and arched under you, hips jerking up, thrusting himself deeper inside your slick hole. He grunted, and yanked back on your hair, prying you off him.

“That is not how you ask for attention,” he said sternly in your ear, clicking his teeth and you shivered.

“You’re the one who’s been hellbent on making me suffer,” you hissed, even as his lips brushed the side of your neck. “Don’t pretend like you weren’t goading me into this.”

“I am simply trying to teach you discipline,” he said in the tone he used for lecturing slower subordinates. It put your teeth on edge. “But it seems that I won’t get any peace until I appease your ill temper.”

“You’re the reason I’m in this state!”

“You’re supposed to be warming my cock, not chasing your own pleasure,” he said, ignoring your dissatisfaction.“There’s no helping it, I suppose. We’ll work on your endurance after this.” Papers rustled as he pushed them aside, and suddenly you were flat on your back, spread across his desk, knees up against your chest.

He drove his hips into you, and you yelped, even as he covered your mouth with his hand.

“There are other people around,” he scolded. “You need to be more considerate.”

You glared at him. He was enjoying this and you were absolutely going to make him pay for it later.

He flashed you a knowing smile, clearly reading your thoughts on your face. He kissed you then, with a fierce hunger that did not match his prim tone. Then he slid deeper into you, the fullness of his shaft stretching you wide, the ridges on his cock dragging against your walls. His strokes pushed through the tension, blotting out your anger.

Your head dropped back, and your eyes fluttered shut as he finally filled you properly. The pulsing tension began to melt into pleasure and you bit your fingers.

“Is this all it takes to placate you, my dear?” he asked, his voice husky as he fucked you slowly on his desk. “I didn’t think just sitting on my cock for an hour would have you squirming like this.”

“Liar,” you gasped, narrowing your eyes at him.

He chuckled, giving you another sharp kiss. “I just like having you with me,” he purred. “It gives me...motivation.” He nuzzled your throat. “You’re the one who can’t control yourself.”

“A whole hour,” you whined softly.

“Such a needy slut,” he sighed, reaching down between your thighs. “All right, I’m going to give you what you need, fill you up, and then you’re going to be a good little helper after this while I finish my work. No more interruptions, understood? Or I’ll have to tie you up-” he grunted, spreading you wider. “Gag you too, and it will be far less comfortable for you.”

You groaned. That would be a frustrating game, and yet the idea sent a thrill through your core. “We can try that some time anyway. Not just as punishment. Though I think having Halsin on his knees under your desk would be fun too. I like the thought of him collared, with his hands tied behind his back.” It would be a very snug fit, but that was Halsin in a nutshell.

Zevlor took a shaky breath, those brilliant eyes alight. “Do you just spend your time thinking up ways to torment me?” he murmured.

“Nah, these ideas come pretty naturally to me. But if you want, I can come up with something special just for you-”

He gave a low growl and began to pound you harder. His thighs slapped against your ass with more force than before and you knew there would be marks later. You didn’t care. You just grabbed his horns, yanking him down to kiss him, so he could muffle your moans.

His tail coiled around your thighs and his calloused fingers stroked you. You writhed under him, finally receiving the attention you craved. You ground against him, eager for all of him. The heat and fullness of his cock combined with the friction had you panting for more. And the knowledge that you drove this strict, focused, proper man into fucking you senseless on his desk had you close to the edge.

Oh, he made you beg, but you were going to ruin him. You knew that he wasn’t going to be able to look at this desk and his boring paperwork all week, without thinking about how he had you on it. It would get him worked up at the most inconvenient times, and when he was alone, you knew he would be tempted to sit in his chair and stroke his cock, wishing you were here in his lap again-

His tongue pushed into your mouth, and you whined as his cock continued to hit that spot inside you, making your vision blur, the pressure building. You clawed at his armor, mewling as he doubled down, tearing away what was left of your control. Zevlor was fucking you on his desk with all the vindictive hunger that accrued over the last hour of teasing. The feral gleam in his eyes made you realize that he was not unaffected and that perhaps it had been delicious torture for him too.

Good.

“Is this what you needed?” he purred. “Is this all it takes to get you to yield? Just a little denial?” His teeth grazed your throat. “I could do this all day-”

And he absolutely would. The idea had you clawing at his armor as that bowstring tension inside you snapped, your body spasming from the flood of sensation.

He growled as you came and his own thrusts grew harsher as he spilled himself inside you. You lay under him shaking, struggling to catch your breath as the aftershocks wracked your body. He slowly straightened up and pushed his hair out of his eyes.

He took a moment to look you over, drinking in the sight of you spread out on his desk. He ran his thumb along your bottom lip and you flicked your tongue out to lick the tip. His sigh held a little exasperation as he pressed a quick kiss to your temple, but pulled away before you could drag him down for more.

“We’re going to try this again,” he said calmly, and you felt his cock twitch inside you. “And this time you’re going to behave.”

You let out a deep breath and nodded agreeably.

He flipped you over, and pushed back inside you so fast you barely had time to register it. Then he took his seat, pulling you onto his lap, your back to his chest. “You made a mess on my desk,” he said, pulling an actual handkerchief out of a drawer to mop up the liquid.

“Going to leak all over you too,” you muttered, feeling his cum start to drip out of you.

“Try not to be so slovenly,” he said, sounding amused. “You’ll have to clean that up later.”

You sighed, resting your head against his shoulder. “How long are you going to make me wait this time?”

“Till I’m done,” he said firmly. “Or till Halsin comes to find us.”

[sea-of-dust]

Ranpo,Chuuya,Atsushi x M!Reader

My hand slipped while I was doing math homework and i accidentally wrote this. This is my first time writing for a male reader I'm sure I'll be fine (this is going to be worse than my math grades)

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of bruising,death implications,might be a lil ooc I haven't watched bsd in a hot minute

Oh? You have sweets? Are able to bake?? What's that, you're able to spoil him? Yea, he's imagining how to rizz you up before you two were ever dating. "Y/n thinks you're cool" "really?" He lights up at the mention of you "he does think you're kinda werid tho" he pouts disapointedly, will be whining about this

You're like another piece of candy! You're not escaping him. You thought you were allowed to leave? No. "Y/n we need you on this" "alright" "I should go too" he raises his hand popping another candy into his mouth "he can solve this himself" "well I can make it so they're right back here in secounds" "whenever I go out with you the minimums like 3 hours" you cringe remembering the holes he digs into your wallet. "That's irrelevant!"

If you ever did manage a task alone, he'd be annoyed for the rest of the day, so annoyed he actually opens his eyes to glare at people. "30 minutes" "would have been a few secounds if you took me with you" you sigh kissing his forehead "I'm sorry I didn't bring you it would have been too boring for a great detective like you" he proudly huffs "well it would have been fine since it would be with you" will make you tell him how it went and it'll always end with him saying "I knew it! This is why you should bring me"

He does get hurt sometimes, but when he does, it's just a small scab at most. Never the less you still treat him. "Don't give me the teddy bear ones those are for babies!" "They fit you're aesthetic, though." "they do not!" Applying the bandage carefully, you watch him lift his pant leg higher to reveal another small bruise. "Are you serious?" "Well were already here" does like looking at your handiwork from time to time.

Wants you to stay up and tell him stories and is pretty understanding when you say you're too tired to. "Y/n! Are you up to read 12 angry men?" "Ranpo I'm heading straight to bed" you rub your eyes sluggishly, walking past him to change out of your clothes to something more comfortable. "Alright, but you owe me more pages than usual" "deal" he plops onto you as you cover yourself with the blanket. He doesn't even attempt to gain spoilers or read ahead if this happens. He really likes hearing your voice,trying to act out certain characters. He might even ask questions he knew the answer to just to hear more of you. "Wait, so why'd he agree?" "Because that guy's thinking about his son throughout the conversion by putting his past with his son behind him he accepts the fact the kid on trial isn't his son and shouldn't be found guilty" "he should've just agreed when everything else got debunked" "yea well sometimes stuff like that holds someone back"

"Do you like wine?" "No" "?!" How did you guys even date? Wait nevermind besides that wine thing, you're pretty great 10/10, not returning

He would use his ability to quite litterally sweep you off your feet. Feeling the sudden decrease in weight, you feel as if you're floating on air. "What the-" he casually grabs something out the fridge "that's the last one" "that's why I stopped you" sometimes he'd just leave you floating for an extra 5 secounds, gracefully hold your hands and and help you down. "Can't have you bursting your head open" "I was two feet off the ground" he sighs, you pull him close kissing his cheek "thank you for saving my fall Chuuya" and that's why he does it often

He does get a bit cranky, but it's usually when he has a bad day. He likes bad days if you're at the end of them, though. You'd always let him sleep somewhere or stay up and watch you try to open wine for him and fail or succeed. "Finally!!" You popped open the bottle with the Cork flying out. "Wait, where'd it go-" hearing a small thud, you see the cork crack the floor due to its sudden change of what seems to be weight. "There's a tool for that." he pulls out the drawer and shows you it nonchalantly, "but that was kinda impressive"

"I wanna get a dog" "we should get married." The guy would be on the brink of tears. A dog? And you two are living together? He's gonna love that dog. Unfortunately, that dog mostly followed you around. It likes him, but the millisecond you're there that dog lays with you,sleeps with you, he's starting to get jealous of both you and the dog! You still catch him petting it going. "You're so fluffy! Who's a good boy who's a good-" the dog sees you and walks toward you it's tail wagging .How are you fluffy?" There'd be such a defeated look on his face

Definitely would be judgemental and then do some strange shit. You'd catch him dancing in the halls? Nothing to see here, only him getting slightly upset you didn't say anything. Pulling out every product known to man to bathe the dog, it's pretty adorable. You still don't say a thing, only smiling when you see it, still a bit annoyed you didn't say anything As soon as he catches you posing with his clothes...he's flattered time to make fun of you. "What are you doing" you turn around smoothly "Why I'm Chuuya Nakahara of the port mafia" you moon walk over to him "that is not how I introduce myself" "yea you introduce yourself by trying to show off your taste in wine to someone that hates it" "you worked at a liquor store!" "I dont have to drink wine to work there" you take off his coat to put it back, but he quickly slides it back on "keep it on for a while I wanna savor this"

You taught him what a flash game is. "OK so then this guy wants uhhh" "oh my god its Wally" "WHERE" unironcally so emerged in papa's games its aggressively odvious you two aren't working, you're are lucky you specialize in speedrunning paper work the secound half of the work days basically just you two getting bullied by the food critic

He's pretty shy for a lover infact when you start dating, he still feels like a friend more than a boyfriend. So when you ask him out, expect him to hide away somewhere nervous he might say something werid, he'll suck it up for you though! He's got this! It's just a museum! He can- you held his hand, and his confidence is down the drain. How he managed to keep composed is a miracle. Surprisingly for him, he didn't do anything he'd think would embarrass him in the future. He's definitely gonna ask to go on more dates in the future.

You try to help him with tiger matenence. Including getting loads of dirt out of his paws and even splinters sometimes "Alright ready" "I never will be for AH-" he winces pulling away, but you hold out his arm "you're fine lemme put on a bandaid" they do feel nice after you clean then though a bit numb

Attempting to teach him games will get him to teach Kyōka. "Y/n would you like to play quack diddly oso ?" "You know how to play that? I thought it was too old" "Atsushi taught me" you decide to ask him about it. He would get a bit embrassed, his mind racing about what you'd do or say. "Maybe I should try and teach her numbers too" he sighs in relief leaving you a bit confused but you infact did teach her numbers, a horrible day for Ranpo in particular as she and you easily beat your record of 57 with him. You didn't need her approval for dating Atsushi, but you still got it because of some children's games

You wouldn't be surprised by how mushy he could get. He'd overthink about the dangers you two face being apart of the Ada. He'd get trembaly grabbing onto your hands for their warmth. "I'll be fine. I'm more worried for you" "But what if you get hurt cause of me!" "I gladly will" "That's the issue!" He grabs your shoulders."What if you-" "Then yosano will take care of me" You pull him close, letting him calm down. "You're hopeless." "I won't regret a thing"

[kinzis-writing]

Sweet Nothing | Tee Higgins

Summary: Tee and Y/N appreciate the simple pleasures of being together, no matter what the world puts them through.

Pairing: Tee Higgins x Fem! Reader

Requested: Yes | No Based on this request!

Warnings: mentions of hate, private relationship, reader is well-known as well, suggestive content?

Note: I apologize if you did not want the reader to be "famous" or well-know, I just felt it would fit better with what I wrote. I can always re-write if you do not like it, just let me know! 🫶

*Not edited*

Word Count: 3.2k *not including song lyrics*

I spy with my little tired eye, tiny as a firefly A pebble that we picked up last July, down deep inside your pocket, we almost forgot it Does it ever miss Wicklow sometimes?

“Hey, do you need any laundry done? I was going to throw a load in, and I didn’t have a full one.” Y/N asked as she entered the home gym, where the two often worked out together. It was something that they liked to do, but Tee did it for longer and every day, while Y/N only did it twice to three times a week.

Tee thought for a moment, taking a break from lifting weights. “I have that jacket and jeans that I wore on our trip, if you don’t care to throw them in. I’ll get the rest.” He spoke softly sending his girlfriend a thankful smile before getting back to what he was previously doing.

Y/N turned around to go get the outfit that he was talking about. During his offseason, he had taken Y/N on a trip to Ireland because he knew that she had always wanted to go there. It was the best week of Y/N’s life, just being with Tee in the silence and privacy of a nice quiet vacation. They got to bathe in each other’s company and not worry about the media putting their relationship down or fans of either for that matter.

She threw the clothes in the washing machine, but not before cleaning out the pockets of all the clothes. There had been many times when she had accidentally washed money, keys, and so on since she did not check the pockets of clothing items. Everything was clear until she reached the pocket of Tee’s bottoms, she carefully pulled out a small pebble, looking at it in awe before throwing the pair of pants into the machine and starting the cycle.

“Hey, babe!” She called as she made her way to their shared master bedroom of the home. Tee had officially asked her to move in before they left for Ireland, and she had agreed to take that next step in their relationship. She also knew that Tee’s workout was done and that he would be in the bathroom, either showering or had just gotten out of the shower. “I found this in your pant pocket.” She spoke when she walked into the bathroom and showed Tee the small stone in her hand. They probably weren’t supposed to take things from there, but it was a memory and to be honest, both had forgotten that they even brought it home.

A smile grew on Tee’s face as he noticed the little pebble, “from Wicklow?” he questioned even though he knew the answer. “You were so happy that trip, we were so happy and free that trip.” He corrected while thinking back to the best time together. When you two didn’t have to worry about anything but calling your family to assure them that you were okay.

Y/N thought for a moment, “I bet if it was a living breathing thing that it would miss it’s home in Wicklow.” She spoke her thoughts. That was something the two always did with each other, there was rarely secrets, unless it was surprises. “I know I miss it.”

Tee gave her a reassuring smile, “It will get better.”

They said the end is coming, everyone's up to something I find myself running home to your sweet nothings outside, they're pushin and shovin, you're in the kitchen humming All that you ever wanted from was sweet nothing.

A week later, Y/N and Tee were back to their regular schedules. Tee had practice, interviews, and meetings. Y/N had interviews, studio recordings, Teasers to release, and a few other things on her schedule. This day, Y/N had two interviews back-to-back. Except one interviewer had decided to get out of line and ask some rude questions and made some rude comments about her relationship with Tee. Which only led her to go on Instagram and read through the comments on Tee’s and the Bengals newest Instagram posts.

She hated it when he caved and looked at the hate messages, but she needed to find an argument for what the interviewer had said. Yet, it was impossible. Sure, the two had some loyal fans who appreciated them no matter what or who they dated, but most of their fans were jealous of at least one of them. She thought about the interview and the comments the entire drive back to her and Tee’s shared house.

She had cursed herself when she noticed Tee’s car in the driveway, meaning that he had beaten her home. So, there was no way that she was going to be able to pull her “I’m okay” card, seeing as it caught her off guard. She had taken a few deep breaths before grabbing her bag and making her way in the house, she was hoping that he would not hear her come in so she could go calm down for a minute before having to face him.

“Hey, baby!” Tee greeted from the room he was in when he heard the door close and lock. “How was your day?”

One of the many things you loved about Tee was how much he cared about you. He always put your needs before his and you knew that there was no one else better. “Okay, I think I am going to rest a bit.” She muttered hoping that she was monotoned and the proof of crying wasn’t showing.

“Woah,” Tee called when he noticed her walk past the living room but had caught her tone. He read her too well, and he honestly knew her too well to fall for any of her tricks. “Come here, what happened?”

Y/N waved it off. She knew that mentioning what happened today would make Tee feel guilty when he had no control over egotistical hosts and what his fans and Y/N’s haters think, as well as vice versa. “I’m fine, just a rough day.” She assured walking into the living room.

“Talk to me.” He reasoned to try to make her feel better.

Y/N sighed before throwing her purse on the coffee table in the living room and plopping down on the couch beside her boyfriend. “My first interview went fine. The second interviewer was rude.” Y/N explained to Tee as he listened to what her day had consisted of. He knew that she didn’t let things get to her, but when they did, they could be overpowering. “He asked what song I would write when you cheated on me because all professional athletes cheat. He then proceeded to tell me that a relationship between a singer and professional athlete will never work out. I honestly think he booked me on his show just to dog us.”

Tee gave her a sad smile before pulling her into his chest and let her rest there, “You can’t listen to people like him. You are the best woman out there for me, and nothing is ever going to change that.” He assured placing a soft kiss on her head.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N mumbled as her eyes became teary again, “After he got in my head, I looked at Instagram and twitter comments.” She admitted as she wrapped her arm around his abdomen and blinked her tears away. “On twitter, your mom was defending us and you. But it still gets to me sometimes.” Y/N was forever thankful for having a loving relationship with Tee’s mom. Not only for Tee but also for their relationship and everything that his mother had been through. She deserved to be worry free about her son’s relationship and she loved that the two trusted each other.

“I know, baby.” He assured placing another reassuring kiss on her forehead before pulling away a bit. “You still need to know that whatever they say isn’t true. You’re my girl and you always will be.”

With that, Y/N felt herself drifting off into sleep. Her body was exhausted from worrying about the hate and the comments that the couple was getting. Around two hours later, Y/N had woken up by herself on their living room couch, the smell of food and loud humming coming from the kitchen made her smile to herself a bit. Standing up and stretching, she yawned before making her way into their shared kitchen to where he was finishing up dinner. Since they were both on a similar diet, seeing as they supported each other to that extent.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Tee teased when Y/N had walked into the kitchen. Her perfectly curled hair had turned a bit frizzy from where she had fallen asleep on him during their prior conversation. “I finished the house chores and dinner will be done in a minute.”

Y/N gave him a thankful smile, “Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that.” She spoke as she took a seat at the island on one of their bar stools.

Tee shrugged as he held up the box of stuff that he was making, “I used one of those pre-prepped meal kits you buy for us all the time.” He explained before laying the instruction back on the table beside him.

In moments like these, Y/N was so thankful because unlike her other boyfriends, Tee wanted nothing other than her.

On the way home, I wrote a poem You say, "what a mind" this happens all the time.

The next few days had flown by, and the Bengals had just played a game and won, which was why Tee and Y/N were in the car driving back to their place. Joe had ended up having a celebration at his house and the couple had shown up. Y/N didn’t mind, neither of them had been drinking that night and driving at night was calming to her.

“Okay, but what about something like this, “unexpected, this thing we fell into like, so connected. You can at a time when my heart was selective, didn’t have to choose, my love was accepted.” I wanted to get your opinion because I just came up with that idea for a song and- “Y/N trailed off not knowing where she was taking the conversation.

“You want to know what I think?” Tee asked wanting to know if she wanted an honest answer. Y/N nodded willing to take any criticism coming from her boyfriend. “What a mind you have, you came up with that in less than 24 hours and it would be amazing on your next album.”

Y/N was used to Tee’s compliments by now. It happened all the time because he never let her go unnoticed or never forgot to let her know how proud or in love, he was with her. Y/N tried her best to keep up with Tee when it came to assurance to make sure that he knew that he was just as special and important as he tried to make her feel.

“I love you, so very much.” Y/N spoke softly as she interlocked their hands together.

“I love you too.”

Cause they said the end is coming, everyone's up to something I find myself running home to your sweet nothings Outside, they're pushing and shoving You're in the kitchen humming, all that you ever wanted from me was nothing.

A few days later, the couple laid in their shared bed that night just talking. They talked about anything that was on their minds or anything that they felt the other should know. These were the conversations

that Y/N knew the world would say were pointless. Yet, they meant everything to the couple and that was what mattered the most.

“I was thinking…” Tee trailed off making Y/N turn her gaze up to him. She could tell that he was hesitating if he wanted to say what he had originally planned.

Y/N moved her hand up from his bare chest to right under his jaw, while his hand slid down to her mid-forearm. “About?” she urged in a quiet tone to not disrupt the conversation between them.

“Marry me?” He asked quietly that Y/N almost missed what he had said. She looked at him with her mouth parted a bit, not expecting it to come out that easy. “I know it isn’t an ideal proposal and I had a big thing planned out for Christmas but- “

“Yes,” Y/N cut him off making his place his attention on her. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Tee smiled before leaning over and grabbing a small box out of the bedside table. He easily opened it and slipped the diamond ring on Y/N’s left ring finger. Once it was placed, he put the box on the side and pulled her into him. Before pulling her into a kiss and moving to hover over her.

“I love you.” Y/N spoke quietly not to break the intimateness between the two.

“I love you more.” Tee promised before pushing their lips back together so they could spend some quality time celebrating the fact that they had gotten engaged in secret while sharing their sweet nothings that the world would never know about.

The next morning, Y/N had woken up before Tee and decided to cook breakfast for them. As she got the ingredients out for their healthy breakfast, her eyes kept on glancing down at the rock on her finger. It was clear that it cost a pretty penny because of how big it is, Tee had no shame in spending a decent amount of money on designer jewelry, bags, and so on.

While cooking, Tee had gotten up and caught her humming in the kitchen this time. It seemed to be a tune of a song that she was due to record in a couple of days. He knew how her anxiety made her run through the music and the lyrics many times to ensure that she would not mess up when recording.

“Good morning.” He came up behind her and whispered, wrapping his arms around her waist. Setting his head on her shoulder to get a better look at her. “Sleep good?”

Y/N nodded a small smile gracing her face, “Better than normal.” She spoke truthfully. Leaning her head back as she spoke. “How much did this cost?” she asked quietly as she finished up breakfast wrapped in her fiancé’s arms.

Tee shrugged knowing you wouldn’t like the price. He had gotten it custom made when he had noticed you browsing previously, but he always acted like he never paid attention. “Not enough.” He replied instead of giving an actual number for the price.

Y/N placed the food on two separate plates and handed Tee his, to which he thanked her and gave her a kiss on the cheek before going to the table. “I feel like you’re saying that because you know you spent too much.” Tee didn’t reply, but memories about the two of you played through his mind. When you two met, you didn’t even realize that he was more than likely going to be drafted into the NFL. He had been to one of your shows, by accident, seeing as his best friend’s little sister liked her and it was when her career had first started. Ever since you two met, there has been an instant connection. Being friends and then becoming more, Y/N had never wanted anything from him, the same way he didn’t want anything from her.

Industry disruptors and soul deconstructors and smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other and the voices that implore, "You should be doing more" to you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it.

It was almost Christmas time, which was when Tee was going to originally propose. There had been many articles, posts, and even some discussion in a few podcasts if the couple was already engaged. Y/N knew that it was bound to happen when she wore her engagement ring but moved it to the middle finger during interviews. She was in no way embarrassed of Tee or how he proposed, she just wanted to keep the happy moments to themselves for a bit longer. Of course, her closest friends knew and so did Tee’s.

With the rumor of them already being engaged or fixing to be, came a lot more hate this time around. People were realizing that one of their favorite professional athletes was about to be officially off the market, and others were realizing it would be harder for break-up songs to be written. Coming with the hate were also articles and news media discussing how Y/N could never settle down because the listeners of her music would abandon her because of her finally getting a happy ending.

“I don’t think the relationship between Higgins and Y/L/N will last. She’ll need some new songs to write, and he’ll pull stunts that all professional athletes do. They’ll get bored and they’ll both be single. We just hope it’s before they actually tie the knot.” A few guys spoke in the video that Y/N had been tagged multiple times. Some of the comments were defending her, while others were tagging her just to nag about her. It was true that she had surpassed Tee in hate comments recently.

Tee walked in as you shut your phone off. You were too exhausted to cry, but it didn’t hurt any less. Y/N was growing a backbone when it came to her relationship, but it was hard considering she still cared too much about what other people thought. “I don’t understand why I can’t handle hate.” Y/N spoke as Tee took a seat right beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I guess I’m just too soft for it all.”

Tee placed a gentle kiss on your head, “It gets to everyone sometimes.” He mumbled making sure to give your shoulders a little squeeze. He knew that Y/N had trouble handling hate and he wished there was a way to make everyone treat everyone kindly. Sadly, that would never happen. “the ones that say things like that are unhappy.”

She nodded when he said that knowing he was true. You had to be unhappy yourself to try to tear other people or other relationships down. Along with jealousy being a big problem when it comes to two people being together.

They said the end is coming, everyone's up to something I find myself running home to your sweet nothings Outside, they're push and shoving, you're in the kitchen humming All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing.

Y/N had finally admitted that she was engaged on an Instagram post, on Christmas Day. Many people were saying that Tee had proposed on Christmas Eve or the day that she announced she was engaged. She had decided to let her management take care of her Instagram after her last post, at least until her new album was released. This would give her time away from social media and she had also cancelled every interview that was before her album release. She agreed to still go live on certain socials to engage with her fans but taking a step back from monitoring any comments.

All the hateful words that were being said, were far from Y/N’s mind as she tucked away from her social media’s and stayed off YouTube. Also keeping the tv channels on music or cartoons instead of the news. All this had improved her mental health so much, not being able to see anything unless she wanted to.

“My momma is coming to stay for a few days.” Tee told Y/N as she walked into the Master bedroom where he was putting his laundry away. The little things that help her mentally are always what he did.

Y/N nodded, “Okay. You want me to set up the guest bedroom?” She asked as she went and joined him so they could get the job done quicker and together.

“Already did.” He replied as they both finished the job of their laundry.

It’s the small things that kept their relationship alive. The small gestures, the small touches, the small looks of adoration, the small conversations. The things that people wish, pray, and hope for in a relationship and they both get to have that.

Y/n had come to realize that the world and haters would never understand their relationship. Not the way that they do and even the way their friends see it. Their relationship was full of sweet nothings that the world would never understand. And Y/N was beyond thankful for their sweet nothings, because that was her home and Tee would always be her home.

[onim5]

Isekai Au

Chapter 5: Fit in

Portgas D. Ace x Female Reader

Warnings: None

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

"So this big map isn't a map?" Ace asked, confused.

"First of, it's called a TV, I want you to sit here and watch it until I'm back." You said pointing at the couch.

"But, how is this TV gonna entertain me for, what did you say? Five hours?" Ace asks.

"Yup, five hours. I have a client who's waiting. Oh, and if you're hungry, eat something from the fridge." You said closing the door, leaving Ace behind.

He pushed the buttons of the thing you gave him, and at last, the map shined up. Oh, well, the so-called TV. On the screen, after a lot of clicking, Ace finally found some weird place with a lot of different titles. You had told him to watch something called Harry Potter. The hunch Ace had said he was in the right place, and after some scrolling, he found one of them to have Harry Potter on the front.

It didn't look interesting at all. But, oh well. He clicked on the screen and, let's just say, wow. Ace wasn't sure of what was the coolest? The story or the way he sees and hears it. When the movie had ended, Ace stretched a little. After a quick look towards the clock, he found it to be around three hours until you would get back. 

How am I supposed to get home? Ace questioned in his head as he raided the fridge. He came here by saying some weird shit, but that didn't take him back. It was worry some, to say the least. And Blackbeard had said something even more frustrating. He would go after Luffy and trade him to become a warlord. Sighing Ace took something he found and placed it in the so-called microwave.

One Harry Potter Movie Later

"I'm back, sorry I'm late. I just figured you need clothes and that you probably have eaten everything from 'my' fridge." You said quite fast as you carried everything into the apartment. Ace walked up with a questioning look.

"Did you just say you bought clothes?" He asked, unsure.

"Uh, yes. People don't go around shirtless, here. And I don't feel comfortable with a shirtless pirate in my beautiful apartment." You answered, handing him two plastic bags.

"How many are there?" Ace asked as he peeked into the bag, finding both to have quite some weight.

"Uh, I dunno. I bought a lot, though, so don't worry." But that was what worried Ace. He didn't wanna be a burden to you.

"Now go change." You smiled, pushing him into the bathroom. Not long after, Ace came out wearing a nice black T-shirt and black pants.

"Ha, now you fit in more. What do you think?" You asked while filling in the fridge.

"It's really comfortable, but um, why did you buy so many clothes?" Ace asked, placing his hand on the neck.

"How many did I buy?" You asked, closing the fridge.

"Around twenty-five. I think. Also, was it necessary to buy two more pairs of shoes for me?" Ace asks, placing down the bag.

"No, but it was fun. We're going out for dinner, so put on the more fancy clothes I bought for you." You said, walking into your own room, before Ace could respond.

Ace put on the suit. He had once again black pants, but these felt different. And a nice patterned light blue vest. And under was a comfortable white shirt. Although the blue doesn't match the marines, it still crosses his mind. If Grandpa was here he be either laughing or telling him to become a marine. Ace walked out of the bathroom holding a tie. He had never ever worn anything like this and wondered if nobles feel like this all the time. After a minute you came out wearing quite beautiful clothes too.

"You look good. Hmm, you need help with the tie?" You asked, walking up to him.

"Uh yes, I've never really been on the fancy side. It's really new to me. Also, Y/n, I hope you know you don't have to do all of this." Ace says unsure, after all, he didn't wanna be ungrateful. And for the matter of facts, you two had known each other for maybe two days now. Ace fellt his cheeks warm up, as he feels your hands fix it.

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

Sorry it took so long to write. I'm a bit sick. 🤧 It's just a cold, though.

Also, ignore the fact that we shouldn't know what Ace sizes is. Cause if I wrote a reason that would make sense, we turn into a real creep.

End of chapter 5.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Masterlist

[joocomics]

“yk that video of jungsu dancing to adtoy during the hello world showcase? imagine…male stripper jungsu- [GUNSHOTS]”

— 🧁 anon

tags: male stripper!jungsu x fem!reader

a/n: this concept is SO freaking good i’m definitely taking a note to write something longer cause it’s not enough!! gunshots indeed

he walks towards the small intimate room, still feeling puzzled over the words of his boss. his hand hesitates a bit over the door handle, wondering who is he about to meet… his boss warned him to not fuck it up. this client is paying them really good money for this, so he better give them the show of their life.

“oh, it’s you,” he mutters, shutting the door of the softly lit space. everything from the walls to the lounge you’re sitting on is in black and red colors, making you look tempting more than ever. you cross your legs with a seductive smile, and… how is it possible that you look even more beautiful than the last time he saw you? “disappointed?” you ask, because of his stunned reaction. the question makes him laugh though. “obviously not, just surprised,” he admits, and you ask why, despite already having an idea of what his answer is gonna be. “for a moment i thought you got a boyfriend. you stopped coming to my shows.” as you both only gaze at each other he steps closer, speaking in a lower tone. his voice drops like honey to your skin when he rests his hands on the armchair, locking you in place. “so… do you?” you prove the truth behind your words by placing your warm hands on his bare fit chest. “no, i don’t.” you hear him release a deep breath, before pressing his lips hard onto yours. the weight of all those weeks he’s been waiting, searching for you in the crowd, drops from his shoulders when his tongue meets yours.

you’ve missed him too, of course you did. but you also miss him when you come here; when you see all the women and men eating him up with their eyes and paying crazy money for an hour alone with him. but you couldn’t get between him and his job, which he was amazing at, and you also couldn’t be with him, so you knew you had to take a step back. however, it’s harder than it sounds.

you unbutton his short pants from black leather, the only thing he’s wearing, that compliment his slutty looking waist and fit butt cheeks. you pull back from his lips to catch your breath, but to also drool at the visible v-line, leading down to his growing boner, at his tense abs, and fit thighs, that you love admiring when he kneels down on the stage. you spread your legs wide for him welcoming his delicious figure closer, but out of the blue you realise something that makes you pause the kiss he leaned in for. “wait,” you pant, while he eyes you confused. “i want a lap dance first.” jungsu smirks almost shyly, running a hand through his hair. “anything for you,” he whispers, stepping back while swaying his hips. you lean in the lounge comfortably, biting your lips, as the sight of the arousing motions of his silhouette put you in trance.

[dimbulb0]

The fabric of Jenna’s oversized, overstretched bra rubbed against the edges of your doorjamb as she entered the apartment. She made a point of pushing her way through the opening, letting her breasts bulge and creep through. Her hips made it, but just barely. Another week, or even another day, and maybe those, too, would struggle to make it through. Already, she had outgrown all of her pants. Somehow she hadn’t been arrested for indecent exposure, but you weren’t sure how long that would last.

“Everything is so small now,” she said, shutting the door behind her. “My feet hang off the edge of the bed, nothing fits . . .”

“Having second thoughts?” you asked. Jenna had started on hormone therapy two months ago, had even renewed her prescription in spite of the dramatic and abnormal growth spurts. 

“No, not one!” she said cheerfully. “It’s just weird, is all. The changes take some getting used to.”

“I bet.” You went back to the kitchen to tend to the bubbling pot and sizzling pan on the stove. “Dinner’ll be ready in a few. Make yourself comfortable.”

You heard her heavy footsteps trail into the living room. Those sandals of hers were at least a half-dozen sizes too small, but what else could she wear? She tried borrowing a pair of your sneakers a couple of weeks ago, a pair of expensive size-10 Jordans, and she outgrew them in a day or two. Her feet grew so much that her big toes had almost torn completely through them. She was apologetic, of course, but there was something else. She seemed strangely . . . proud?

Jenna had always wanted to be taller, but she hadn’t predicted how much her second, artificially-induced, puberty would make her breasts grow, too. Each titanic mammary was over a hundred pounds (she had weighed them) and stuck out several feet in front of her. The heavy-duty spandex bra she wore was custom-made, and if she spun too quickly she could hear a stitch or two pop. It seemed impossible that she could carry that much weight around so easily, but seeing her from behind, those strong back muscles working beneath her smooth, pale skin . . .

Smoke rose from the pan in front of you, causing you to curse.

“Everything all right in there?” Jenna called.

“Yeah–almost ready! Just got a bit distracted.”

The dinner was more of a formality, anyway, as Jenna had no doubt already eaten. Her superhuman growth was only eclipsed by her superhuman appetite, and she started going out to eat on her own in addition to the meals you enjoyed together. You didn’t ask too many questions, but she often came home smelling like fast food. Still, she managed to put away two or three times the amount you could eat. You always made extra. Tonight, you made an extra two chicken breasts, plus enough pasta to feed an army.

When everything was ready, you brought it to the dining table. Jenna was already there, practically drooling at the food. God, she really had grown so much recently, even over just the past week. Even sitting, she almost came up to your eye level. The utensils looked like children’s toys in her hands.

After you sat down, you scooped some pasta onto your plate, then did a double-take as Jenna took the rest of the bowl to her side and started eating out of it. That was just the way it was now, though.

“So good! Thank you for cooking, by the way. I know I can’t help out too much in there anymore,” she said. Your kitchen was small, and as it was, she couldn’t even turn around in it without knocking something over.

“My pleasure,” you said, and it truly was. In fact, as strange as her transformation was, it also fascinated you. You had always loved big breasts, and to be able to grope what had to be one of the largest sets on Earth was amazing, of course, but it was more than just that. After the sex–something that had become more frequent and more intense since Jenna had started her treatment–when the two of you laid quietly together in bed, you were in awe of just how big she was becoming. She had long since surpassed you in weight, and that meant she was also much stronger than you. If she rolled the wrong way in her sleep, perhaps, or decided to do something against your will, you couldn’t really fight back. Would she even wake up if you were struggling against her? There was something both frightening and exciting in that.

She ate. And ate. She had warned you about staring at her over dinner, but as you picked at your food, you couldn’t help but steal a glance. The chair beneath her complained but held firm. Although you couldn’t see it, she must have been growing right there in front of you, each bite adding to her bulk, her curves, her mass. Your hardening member pulsed in your pants as you thought about what would happen later than evening in bed. She could completely bury your head in her cleavage now, a fact that amused her greatly. 

She caught you looking at her chest. Sitting up straight, she sighed. “I guess you noticed. I don’t think this bra’ll last me another day. Next one’s going to have to be Kevlar.” She gave you a wink, but you were pretty sure it wasn’t a joke. “See how tight it is?”

You nodded dumbly. “You can always take it off, if you want. It’s just us.”

“Hmm. I like it tight, though, don’t you?”

As if on cue, her bra seemed to grow even tighter, sending a crest of boobflesh bulging over the cups. Millimeter by millimeter, her nipples grew hard beneath the fabric, fighting against the industrial-strength weave of the cloth to make their presence known. How big would they be tonight, those nipples? As big as thumbs? Bigger?

After dinner, you cleaned up the dishes while Jenna relaxed in front of the TV. She turned on a movie. “Hey, babe,” she called to you. “Let’s watch something together. The dishes can wait.”

You came into the living room to see that the lights were off. Jenna sat on the floor in front of the couch, her titanic chest filling her lap. She had moved the coffee table out of the way and spread her legs in the clearing, inviting you in. Only the light of the screen illuminated the room.

You took your spot, leaning back into her pillowy cleavage as she chose a movie. It was some terrible Netflix comedy, but you couldn’t have cared less. She wrapped her arms around your waist and pulled you further into her breasts and closer to her thumping heartbeat. In the dim night, you almost drifted off.

Behind you, you could hear her stomach churning. Over the course of the next half hour, the gurgling grew louder and louder. “Feeling okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, never better. Are you okay there?”

“Best seat in the house,” you said, shifting side-to-side as if to drive home the point. Jenna giggled.

“Careful! This bra is ready to pop, remember?”

And, for the second time tonight, Jenna’s words seemed to be almost prophetic: you could feel the pressure behind you expand as, seemingly, her breasts grew again. You could hear the fabric stretching. Jenna let out a gasp, as though in pain.

“Are you–did you just grow?”

“Mmmph. Maybe. I feel something weird.”

Her grip on you tightened as she shifted and took a deep breath. Nestled as you were between her tits, you couldn’t turn your head to see her face, but to either side of you, you watched in amazement as her legs started to get longer. Inch by inch, they grew closer and closer to the television, while her thighs and calves bulged with burgeoning flesh. Her bones creaked and crackled as she grew bigger. In spurts of growth, you saw her feet first elongate, then widen as she flexed and curled her toes. And finally, as if to prove that your senses were not deceiving you, her bra thwapped and twanged as the hooks in the back finally snapped. Although the cups were still dangling from the straps, nothing stopped you from sinking a bit deeper into her cavernous cleavage, which seemed to swell even faster, now freed from their confines.

“Are you okay?” you asked. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” she admitted. “But it also feels really good, too.”

“You want to go to the bedroom?” You stood up and turned around, looking at her essentially eye-to-eye, despite her sitting on the floor, which stunned you. She was huge! How much could she have grown? Your brain struggled to process just how large she looked.

“Oh, honey, I don’t think you understand,” she said, drawing her legs underneath her. She smiled coyly as she looked into your eyes. Every curve of her massive body seemed to pulsate as she stood up, up, up. Those gigantic breasts rose above your head, despite their disproportionate size, and Jenna’s smiling face leaned down to keep from crashing into the ceiling. “I’m too big for the bedroom now, don’t you think?”

Your heart raced in your chest as she grinned down at you. She was right; she had barely fit through the front door earlier, and she was far, far bigger now. You could smell her sweat and arousal fill the air like a thick fog. “Jenna,” you said cautiously. “What are you gonna do . . .?”

You almost added “. . . to me?” but decided against it. It didn’t matter, though, because she seemed to notice your fear. No, more than notice.

She giggled again, leaning down even further until you could feel her hot breath on your face. “Don’t be afraid. Isn’t this amazing?” She pushed up both of her breasts with her hands, then let them drop. “Hey, you wanna know a secret?”

Her eagerness and nonchalant attitude did little to calm your nerves. You nodded slowly.

“I was bad today,” she said. “Before I came home, I already ate. You knew about that, didn’t you?”

You nodded. What was she getting at?

“But I was REALLY bad today. I ate a lot. Like, from three different places. I was soooo hungry, see. And you didn’t even notice, did you? It’s ‘cause I’ve gotten so big, you can’t even see my belly beneath my boobs. But don’t worry, it’s all gone now.” Jenna patted her expansive midriff, which seemed relatively flat despite her assets elsewhere.

Jenna took a pause in her monologue as she seemed to concentrate on something, long enough of a pause for you to look around you. The Netflix movie was still playing, casting shadows on her white expansive skin. A sense of dread filled you as Jenna’s gigantic form again began to creak and shift. Her panties, already stretched to floss, snapped and fluttered to the floor, having lost the battle to her gargantuan hips. 

She moaned with a blend of pleasure and discomfort. “I even ate dinner here, too. Even though I felt so full, I ate it anyway. Mmm . . . and I’d eat it all again, too.”

She crooned again as another wave of pain coursed through her, and she took a step toward you. Planks of the hardwood floor wrenched themselves loose beneath her tremendous weight. She shot up what must have been another two feet taller in an instant, and every part of her goddess-like body similarly swelled with her. Her breasts swung free, and the remnants of her bra looked laughably small now. She was so bent over that she was almost on all fours, looking like someone navigating through a crawl-space instead of a living room. You backed away.

“But the worst thing I did was in the morning,” Jenna said. “I’m only supposed to take two of those pills, you know.”

Wide-eyed, you slowly shook your head. “You didn’t.”

Her grin grew even wider. “Uh-huh–ugh!--I took a whole bunch. And now . . .”

Another growth spurt, this one sending her on her hands and knees. She was still a few feet from you, but it felt like only inches. Her growth was no longer smooth or uniform. You watched as her asscheeks expanded at an alarming rate, rising like a moon behind her. As pound after pound of flesh inflated them bigger and bigger, Jenna’s eyes rolled in lewd sexual euphoria. “Oh god,” she moaned, “I can feel it!” Her thighs and legs grew, too, though not quite catching up in size to her mountainous rump. Her latest burst of growth came to a halt just as her asscheeks grazed the ceiling.

The walls vibrated with her panting. You knew you should run, but you had also never seen something so powerfully erotic, either.

“Like what you see?” Jenna said. She grabbed you in one massive hand and pulled you in for a kiss. You closed your eyes and tilted your head, but her lips covered half your face. She let go of you just in time for another one of her deep cries of lust and pain that was loud enough now to rattle your teeth.

“More?” you croaked, not sure anymore whether you wanted it to stop. She was so big already, what would another foot do? Or ten?

“Mmhmm, more!” This time she arched her back, jutting her tits forward into you and bumping you back. Your hands sunk into the wall of flesh, then it pushed you back as her titanic tits ballooned outward. Each sensuous boulder swelled bigger and bigger each time she inhaled, almost as though she were inflating them herself. Her areolae, dark and several feet across, stretched wider and puffed up. Her nipples, which you had earlier thought must have been as long as thumbs, were cylinders too big to even get your mouth around. You reached out to one, unsure of whether to proceed, but the instant your hand touched the firm, rubbery flesh, Jenna grunted with approval. You gave it a long, slow tug in time with Jenna’s breaths, trying to amplify the waves of bliss that she was clearly riding, but also enjoying the strange sensation of feeling Jenna–a part of her, at least–grow even bigger.

And still she grew. As her body became larger, she eventually took to laying on her breasts like pillows. Her legs had nowhere to go, and as they folded and bent beneath her, her knees began to press into the walls of your apartment. Studs in the walls creaked and cracked as her thick thighs, filled with immense power, threatened to bust down the whole building. Jenna didn’t care, and neither did you.

Her growth slowed, then halted. Her head was pressing into the ceiling again in spite of her prone position, and she looked down at you with an erotic intensity that made you eager to jump on top of her colossal body.

“You’re too big to leave through the door, you know,” you said. “And I don’t think the neighbors are going to like seeing the new you as much as I do.”

“Maybe,” she said, her lips curling into a grin, “you go see if you can find that bottle. I can think of a fun way of getting me out of here, can’t you?”

*******

Image made with NovelAI. Prompt: Doorway with a curvy giant woman with gigantic breasts {crawling through}, torn clothing, taut bra, long blonde hair, outside

[goodhickey]

1,9,13, and 15 for the ask thing!!! <3

YAYYY THANKS

1. what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

Dogs and wolves are number one, seriously. As a kid, I bonded with my first real best friend over our shared love of wolves, and I would talk to anyone I could about dogs. When times were hard for me, I could count on my dogs to be there. Studying dogs and wolves more closely has helped me to better understand people through the lens of animal behaviour, and has led me to my current job which is the only one I've ever had that's truly fulfilled me. I think about dogs and wolves often, and without my love of them I don't think I'd be who I am. secondly, my father. I don't think I could ever be the person I am without him. he is the most kind and empathetic person I've ever met, who taught me the value of doing good deeds in my community and in my family without needing to be asked. his kindness is infectious and makes me feel good to help others, and the relationship I have with him is one I wouldn't trade for the world. my only tattoo (as of now anyway!) is one I got because it reminded me of him. I can show it off if anyone wants to see, lol. for my last thing though, I'd have to go with an easy answer, one that applies to pretty much everyone: the internet. I'm a very socially averse person - not by choice - and have always found it extremely difficult to put myself out into the real world and meet people. online, I've been able to meet people from all over the world who have offered me perspectives and kindness I couldn't have found in my local community, even if I weren't too cowardly to look. my best friends in the world are people I never would have met in my life without the internet, and they've all shaped me in ways I don't think even I'll fully comprehend.

9. tell a story about your childhood

this ones a bit bittersweet, but this is always the memory that comes to mind when someone wants to hear an anectdote about my childhood. the last time I ever saw my childhood dog was a rainy day, when I was eleven years old. my parents are divorced, and the dog was my dad's, so I only got to see him every other weekend. but we were the same age when they adopted him, and so we were both eleven then. I had no way of knowing it would be the last time I ever saw him - as a child, I couldn't note any symptoms of anything to come, and it's not as if anyone would have told me. he liked to try and jump on me, but at his age and weight all he could do was rear up on his hind legs like an old horse. a few winters prior, my dad had built the old man a doghouse of his own, with a porch and a heater to keep him warm. it was a sunday, and we were playing in the yard. or, as much playing as he could do anymore. I didn't really mind him being slow. as a baby, they'd set me on his back and pretend to let me ride him. I was more than okay carrying his weight this time around. but it started to rain hard after not too long - and PNW rain storms are no light business. but I didn't want to leave him just yet, knowing that going inside meant finding my father waiting to drive me back to my mother's, somewhere I'd rather not be. so we retreated to the doghouse - comfortable enough for us both to fit inside, my dad was kind to his dog like that - and sat there for a while. he and I were both wet and panting, staring out into the endless sheet of rain as it poured over the grass. I held him, then, seeking warmth and maybe for someone to tell me I'd be okay when I left. I remember him pressing into my chest and sighing. maybe it was then he decided he had done everything he ever wanted. my dad found me in the doghouse not long later, helping me out as I waved goodbye to my beloved yellow lump. I found out only a few days later that he had passed in his sleep. peaceful, just fell asleep and never woke up. I sometimes wonder if, in his last dream, he could hear rain pooling on an old patio roof.

13. what are you doing right now?

laying in bed. I've been awful lazy the past few days. currently snacking (cheez its) in the dark with a candle going. might pick up my copy of the terror again, though it's been a while since I've read it.

15. what do you think of when you hear the word “home”?

a doghouse.

[thewarriorspecial]

And uh here’s the johnkyle I just can’t quite get into. I dunno. Probably gonna shelve this until I get a better direction for it.

John’s perfect posture belied the boredom wriggling through his body. This entire meeting could’ve been an email. The ring on his finger provided better intel at the speed of light. John already knew he’d be put into a leadership position and he had already identified a more efficient approach which would negate everything Batman was telling the League from his tall chair at his end of the table.

As a polite man, John didn’t interrupt. Moments like these he wished he had Gardner’s more direct approach to Batman’s plans.

Batman’s Batplans. Na na na na na na na Batplans. Batplans.

John smiled to himself and let his mind wander.

As a perpetual Titan there wasn’t a seat for Kyle at the table. The younger man shifted his weight where he leaned on one of the massive window arches nearby. As a perpetual Titan he also didn’t get a say in anything and was really just here because he was still asleep in John’s bed when the “emergency” meeting had been called.

Which was fine because the closer Kyle was the less John had to travel to get back to what he’d rather be doing.

Kyles uniform fit like a second skin. And that was odd because John knew Kyle had nothing but baggy tie dyed pants on when they left.

He had heard Kyles excited shout when the smaller man had dug John’s old pants out of the dresser and started hauling them on without asking.

“These are awesome!!” Kyles eyes shone so bright that John was unbothered by the phrase which was Future Kyle’s unconscious way of apologizing for never giving them back. They looked better on Kyle anyways.

They’d look even better on the floor somewhere.

John knew where all of the cameras were around the Watchtower. More importantly he knew where the blind spots were. Perfect little places where he could get Kyle alone for a few minutes. Just little secret corners, he thought as Batman’s monotone carried on. Little fuck cubbies. A tiny smile lifted the corners of Johns full lips.

He could shove Kyle into one of those corners, push those thin pants that his nothing right out of his way and—

Oh. Uh oh. Everyone’s looking at John expectantly. Uh oh.

He searched his mind for the last discernible syllables that had made it into his brain.

Something something brainiac. Something blah blah space, blah Green Lantern, something long range blah blah.

That’s right, I was a sniper. They want me to shoot at Brainiac from space because I can fly. Time to drop the bad news that the plan is bad and he had a better idea.

John stands up, acknowledges Batman’s thorough planning and pitches his idea instead.

The faces of the heroes gathered at the table are all frozen in an expression between confusion and shock.

John nodded slowly. He’d floored them with his plan.

“John, I —“ Batman started “—greatly appreciate all of your input with the last Brainiac incursion and I recognize how much you think about the leagues security…”

“But?”

“But…we are just washing and reinforcing the windows.”

“Rigjt,” John kept his face steady and stoic though he was aflame with embarrassment, “Um. My bad, chief. Haven’t been sleeping well.” John made a fuss of shuffling his chair into a batter position. “Thank you all for your time and carry on.” He added a nod and a little wave to signal that he was done and it was okay to stop looking at him now.

Surely finger guns would’ve been too much?

Kyle snickered and finally everyone looked away from John.

Great. Now everyone knows they’re sleeping together.

Can’t people just mind their own business and utilize emails and eliminate all meetings forever?

[shyprincessthoughts]

Well, I woke up very this morning after consuming another massive meal before bed. I was very stuffed last night before bed. Everything was packed in nice and tight and legitimately one bite away from rolling into the sickness zone. But I didn't like the good greedy girl I am, I took my belly filled with an enormous 28-oz steak straight to bed for the relaxing to begin. I did not get up after that point. I fell asleep at some point, only to wake up feeling things starting to lose up. Only 1.75 hours later. In my mind, there is no way I could have been able to digest or even begun to digest that much food that fast. So I decided to roll over and go back to sleep before my brain caught on and kept me up the rest of the night.

Now in an effort to help me keep an eye on what I am consuming i downloaded that diet diary ap thingy. I also put a step counter on my phone so that I could be more accurate at the end of my days and see where I am headed and if it is in the right direction. Now here is the first confusing thing. It restarts the count at midnight. How is it that by 8am I have over 180 steps already? I know I get up to use the facilities, but it is legit maybe 10 steps from my bedroom? I am not too worried a out caloric wastage there because 182 steps is only 16.7 calories, but 182 steps is just unreal considering when I went to sleep the idea of 2 steps was 2 too many.

My bigger confusion though. My big round drum of a belly ball. It feels loose, but I still feel full. It has deflafed considerably, i did a full poke, grab and giggle test. It's definitely ready for more. but when I stadted to move around a bit it is definitely a lot heavier than usual. Curiousity got me so got up and stuffed myself into my do nothing weekend pants it really feels a lot weightier. I feel hungry again, I mean my belly is barking at me quite loudly. Gurgles and grumbles galore, but my appetite is not quite there yet. I know if I put my mind to it I could fill it back up, but I also know enough that I still need a bit of time. But back to the curious part. I stole the scale from my feeder and weighed myself 3 times to confirm. I have gone DOWN 2.2lbs on the scale. I ate 2.2lbs of food just before bed??!!

What the heck is happening here? Are all my efforts in vain? Or am I just still having a steak fever dream and should go back to bed and just rest some more? I want to get my one errand of buying new pants over before the mall gets too busy.

Maybe I am just stressing about how many sizes up I will need to go into order to be comfortable at home and work. I found out that my old brand of jeans has added a proper plus sized (I hate that word) line all the way up to size 30, so I may be spared from maternity shopping. But the mall has since opened up another shop that could also probably have my correct sizes, too. I have come to realize that it has been over 7 years since I last bought a pair of jeans. I have to do a full new set of measurements because the size I think that still fits me really doesn't and I don't just want more of the same issue I have now.

Maybe shopping while a little stuffed is the safest option? It is not like I am not going to put more weight on. Perhaps I should buy 2 pair at the right size and one a little bigger for my "fat days" even though I think they are gonna be more like my perfect fit goals.

Wow, deep thoughts for this hungry, but not hungry, stuffed but not stuffed, round but feeling deflated girl. There is definitely something happening in there. I just don't know what. I got out of breath making the bed, and now I can't get up from my current position in bed because I fell into one of my divets. Ugh. It's a good thing I brought some snacks so I could get this all out. If I get back to fully stuffed again. I can just roll like a ball out of bed... right?

[hannibalcatharsis-zero]

Tagging Game

tagged by @lullabyes22-blog thank you :)

Nickname: Zero

Sign: Earth alligned

Height: not too tall

Last thing I googled: the news of a LGBT art exhibition that was destroyed in the city I used to live in -_-

Amount of sleep: Only thing that has really improved in the last few years, I now feel rested with normally 7/8h of sleep per night. I really don't want to go back to how it used to be

Dream job: I really can't imagine a job I'd feel happy with

Wearing: I'm slowly introducing color now because my regular clothes don't fit me much anymore because I gained a lot of weight and because I need regular clothes for my job, so I currently have black pants and black undershirt with a light pink overshirt

Movies/books/media that summarize you:

Book - Dresden by @hedera-helixwriteseruri- has my lifelong interest in WWII and liking of Shingeki no Kyojin perfectly blended, with a sense of fulfillment and hope that fills my soul. It is a masterpiece

Series - Arcane - Has everything I value in a piece of media and provides real enjoyment, also everything I wish to one day be able to produce in my art and writing

Games - Final Fantasy X - melancholic nostalgy with beautiful graphics music and story that feel like a warm blanket after a long cold day

Favorite song: Impossible to say all time favorite, but lately I've been listening to The Migrant by Shadow of Intent a lot

Instrument: Wish I could play the piano

Aesthetic: Has been dark/alternative half my life but lately has been slowly declining to more semi-formal regular clothes

Favorite author: I don't remember the last time I read a book. I have been reading fanfiction so I'll mention Hedera again because what she did with Dresden is something amazing, @lullabyes22-blog @alishatheninth @letters-to-rosie @isindismay because I have spent time with their works and they have all etched somehow

Also really like the writing of Ian Kershaw, even though I don't read his books since 2018. I want to collect at least the books in this image and so far I only have 2

random fun fact: I have a collection of Jinx fanart (and one Silco), sketches of cosplayers and a figure all made by portuguese and brazilian artists

Only one I know the tumblr of is @velnna and @nn-ee-zz

tagging if you want to @letters-to-rosie @the-clueless-kitten @alishatheninth @isindismaymay @thedarkivist @stilwatered @sonderous-opia @greenfiredragonfly @the50-person @unholycross @momtaku

[josiebelladonna]

exact same shirt, two years apart.

(full story under the cut; 18+ please)

i weighed 225 in april 2020, up from 205 in december 2019 (no clue how that happened as life for me barely changed when the lockdowns started); i’m at 266 now, and i gained all this weight in 2021 and a little bit this year, believe it or not. i actually lost weight in quarantine, about 13 pounds: wasn’t eating much and things going on in my social life in the summer of quarantine contributed to the losses. tried getting it back over the winter, and more so when alex entered the picture. then my stepdad passed in april 2021 and all of a sudden, there was a lot more food in the house. i gained 25 pounds last summer, going from 221 to 246, followed by another five over the winter and then 15 spread out over the course of this year.

i don’t mind it: if anything, it feels good. healthy, even. my pants fit better (those old ones in the top pic fell down at every chance: they give me the biggest muffin top now 😅), everything is fuller and rounder, and i can eat a lot more—i feel stronger, too. i was always curious about the world beyond 220 pounds—from 2015 when i hit 200, to 2021 when my stepdad passed, i bounced around that range and i was curious about the 230s. now i’m actually looking at 270. 270 pounds, i should be gigantic (and my mom is planning on making gingerbread cookies and sugar cookies pretty soon here, too. gingerbread, with sugar, there’s also a few chocolate chip cookies and some oreos in the cupboard, and persimmon cookies atop the fridge. and she wants to make bread pudding at some point. and there’s apple pie in the fridge. and there’s chocolate on the coffee table before me. when i said “fuck diet culture”, i meant it.)

actually i kinda am gigantic now. i’m big.

just for reference, this was me in december 2019

and this is me just now

my bras are tighter now, too. i had difficulty keeping them on my shoulders in 2019/2020: they keep everything in place now, like they actually fit.

i felt emaciated back then, too. my stepdad, with all his problems, often snuck food when no one was looking, and objected to my mom and me treating ourselves. i couldn’t eat much—and you gotta eat. you gotta nourish yourself. he passed and suddenly, i could eat to my heart’s content, all the healthy food and all the sweet stuff. 

my body widened out, i now have a definite double under my chin, and i have a potbelly now, and it’s kinda sexy, tbh. i feel really healthy: everything is where it should be and i haven’t had a cold or anything since 2019, interestingly enough. i do have a little snoring problem, but that’s about it, though. i’m not in pain and i’m not “aching” for anything. i was thin before the world came crashing down, but i wasn’t having a good time, though. i love to eat. i love sweet, fattening food. i love vegan food. i love meat and pasta and cheese. i love so-called guilty pleasures. i love mexican food, indian food, chinese food, japanese food, vietnamese food, filipino food, french food, german food, italian food, what the baltic countries do this time of year and just gorge until new year’s… i want to “eat across” a city some day. i love to eat, and i love to eat a lot.

i wish i got chubby as a teenager, if i’m honest. my story would have been so much different (just imagine: a fat field hockey player rather than a gaunt anorexic one, i probably would’ve stuck it out much longer). and i wish i could tell 13-year-old me that it’s really not at all bad because your body actually needs to be fed and that your thoughts are lying to you and the whole world is lying to you, actually, and you can feel good by eating whatever the hell you want, and come with me in unpacking diet culture and all the bullshit that makes women (and men) destroy their bodies all for the sake of chasing ideals which are pointless anyway because to change is to live and be human.

i remember being 19 on a camping trip to the oregon coast over thanksgiving 2012 and the backstory is it was a potluck dinner, and i brought a grasshopper pie because i’m actually from 1960. and no one touched it (one of the boys brought a pecan pie and that was more welcomed) and there was no room in the miniature fridge in our yurt. so, i ate this whole pie aside from two pieces missing. solo. on top of two helpings of thanksgiving dinner. three quarters of this creamy mousse pie made with crème de la menthe, marshmallow, and a chocolate crust. and this was well before i got heavy, too, this was back when i still weighed around 150 pounds, and before i dropped down to 139, too. i often think about that pie, too, how it made my then-slim belly swell up and it felt so right, and if i can do it now. i think that was the moment of clarity for me, in hindsight: the moment i thought, “i don’t want to torment myself anymore.” a fleeting thought, but i do remember thinking it.

in fact, i actually have a pretty distinct memory of being five or six years old and wishing i could eat everything and become fat, like i muttered it to myself when no one was paying attention (i looked at my naked body when no one was looking and i wished to be fat when no one was looking, the belly kink makes a lot more sense now, doesn’t it? 😜). i have no clue what happened to it, but my aunt used to have this old black and white photograph of me wearing denim jeans and cowgirl boots, and i had no shirt on, and i was pushing my belly out as far as i could go.

i wasn’t healthy thin, either. got sick a lot and nevermind b.m.i., it’s ableist and eugenicist and serves no one. you want to go with waist to hip ratio (those measurements divided by each other; you want under 0.80 to be considered healthy. and guess what? mine at the moment is 0.74, which is perfect. yes, even with my belly, i still pull off the numbers).

so, i have literally genuinely felt this desire to be a heavyweight my whole life: 5 year old me wanted a fat belly, 13 year old me wanted to look good, and 19 year old me wanted to feel good. it’s part of my truth. it’s just one part of who i am, and i’m finally just comfortable enough to talk about it.

so, as i write this, yes, i don’t feel negative about it (if anything… you want the truth? i don’t feel fat enough. it’s not like i’m lazy or sedentary, anyway: i’m gonna eat a big slice of apple pie with ice cream and whipped cream right now and then all my mom’s cookies, and everyone obsessed with dieting—and covering up—can die mad about it).

the last time i posted pix of myself, a bunch of people unfollowed me and blocked me. their loss, i say, especially when you see these:

(that faith no more shirt has been through so much: of course i love wearing it now)

another kind of interesting thing about gaining all this weight? i feel more tomboyish than ever. i’ll go through the fat-related tags on here sometimes and i’ll look at fat women, and they’re all very feminine. whatever rings true for you, absolutely (the one dress i have, i tried it on and from the side, i looked pregnant with my well-fed belly 🤷🏻‍♀️) but i think it’s interesting that there aren’t a lot of “sportier” girls such as myself. i want to keep wearing shirts and sexy camisoles and skinny jeans and flared jeans that accentuate my legs and my hips.

yeah, man. this is all me.

all 266 pounds 😈🥵😘

[schlongus-journey]

recovering well! i had my last post-op yesterday. they said i’m healing perfectly. the next thing up is glansplasty in 3 months, and they’re gonna schedule a pre-op for a month before (so 2 months from now). it will be a separate surgery but should be covered.

i can sleep on my side now

i can walk around the house entirely without a cane and even dance around a little bit (by that i mean, move my weight from foot to foot in time to a beat)

i can go down the stairs very slowly the “normal way” ie one foot after the other down each stair, instead of moving my good foot to one stair, bringing my bad foot to the same stair, then moving my good foot to the next stair. i still need my cane for this because it’s stiff but i’m getting better

i’ve gone out multiple times to the city, to the library, etc. i need the cane for energy (my surgeon does not want me using it in 2 months though, which i think i can manage).

post-op depression is pretty much gone (seasonal depression very much here though)

bought some lion’s mane supplements to hopefully help with phallus nerve growth? we’ll see!

the big scab on my graft site is gone, there’s just some scabs from the blisters that appeared when i tried to put an oil emulsion pad on the graft site -_- but otherwise it’s lightening up and becoming a bit less itchy

donor site looks amazing frankly and way less like ham. there’s no open bleedy spots at all anymore and the skin is pink and tough. surgeon said i could put normal lotion on it instead of aquafor, but definitely emphasized that i should put lotion on both it and the graft site.

wrapping my schlongus with coban nowadays. the underside is like 97% healed, and everything else including all stitches along the “seams” and base are healed up.

i got some actual men’s pants made for schlongs and they fit really nice. i may wear these out until they’re threadbare tbh. they were $50 though, they’d better be able to handle it. i also need underwear with an actual pouch...

my husband and i have continued to have piv sex and nothing has gone horribly wrong. yay!

[hazbincalifornia]

Decorations

Chapter 55: Blitzo decorates himself, and also the nursery.

Ao3 link

Blitzo knew, objectively, that his balance was kind of shot at the moment. Strapping what felt like twenty pounds of bulky baby weight to your middle would do that, and he was intimately familiar with that fact due to the number of times he’d had to awkwardly bat something off the floor with his tail and try to catch it instead of being able to just lean down and grab it.

However, that didn’t mean that it was any less embarrassing to have to call his daughter to pull him out of the dumpster he’d been able to get into by himself. There had been a shirt he’d just had to have dangling out of the edge, and he’d immediately locked onto it with laser-focus before realizing that getting down maaaay be a teensy-weensy problem. It seemed much further to the ground than he’d remembered, which was just bullshit.

“You realize this smells like shit, right?” Loona’s nose was wrinkled as she tugged at his leg, pulling him down from the slime-soaked rim of the bin and into her arms before settling him back down on his feet. She held out her shirt with a grimace as he rocked back and forth slightly, getting his balance back. “Seriously. You owe me a new shirt, this one is going to be gross forever now because the garbage-juice touched it. Fucking nasty.”

“You can take one of my new ones, sweetie, I’m pretty sure those would fit you!”

“I’m not gonna do that. Maternity clothes look like potato sacks.”

“Geez, thanks, fussy pants,” Blitzo said, cracking his back and turning his prize over in his hands. “There was a pizza slice in there too that I dropped, want to lift me back up for that? It only had a little bite taken out of it! Maybe somebody was just a little bitch and it wasn’t even poisoned.”

“I’m good.”

“Your loss. I can give you overtime for being Daddy’s helper, doesn’t that sound nice?”

“It’s the least you can do for making me come back here,” Loona grumbled, but her mouth quirked up ever-so-slightly, and he smiled to himself as he headed for the door, new shirt slung over his shoulder with as much of a spring in his step as physically possible. Loona fell into step right beside him, and he counted the fact that she wasn’t trailing fifteen feet behind as a victory.

____________

“Since when do you have tits?”

Millie’s eyes were wide as he exited the bathroom, shirt proudly stretched over his belly after getting a dunking in the sink, and he patted his chest, shifting to the side slightly.

“Since last Saturday. Bird-boy had some spell that jacked up my curves, and that included adding milkers. Weird, huh?”

She hopped off the table and leaned forward, grabbing his left boob in her hand. “Huh… they sure feel real.”

“They are.” His voice squeaked up an octave at the sensation of her palm squeezing against the nipple “They’re also-“

“Oh, sensitive?” She pulled her hand back. “Sorry! Just surprised, is all!”

He waved a hand. “All good, Millie-Billie. I’d probably do the same thing. They’re gonna have free milk and everything!” She gave a pleased whistle at that, and his hand dropped down to tug out the bottom of the shirt. “Guess what I got dumpster-diving, though?”

Millie squinted at the text. “Egg daddy?” She tilted her head. “Why do the eggs have faces and hats?”

“Beats me, I just thought it was funny. I mean, the kid’s not in an egg, but it is a bird, so-“

“I get it.” She punched his shoulder with a grin, and he barely held back a wince at the force, taking a partial step back to not teeter and fall on his ass. “They’re gonna be real lucky, y’know that, right? I know it was all a right mess for a while there, and Moxx’n I didn’t want to get too involved when you were sorting all that shit out as long as you weren’t in real danger, but you’re gonna be a good dad as long as you love ‘em like they deserve. You’re a good guy, Blitzo.”

Blitzo blinked, then blinked again to get rid of the moisture gathering behind the lids. “That’s- I’m gonna try, Mills, you know that.”

“Then you’ll do just fine.” She grinned. “Besides, I’m totally calling auntie privileges on the squirt. They’re gonna learn axe-throwing if it’s the last thing I do, no IMP kid is gonna be a wuss.”

“As if I’d let you escape that. They’re coming out calling all of us family.” He pulled her into a noogie, and she just laughed as Moxxie re-entered the room with a pair of coffees.

“What? What did I miss?”

“Millie was just admiring my milk buddies,” Blitzo said, wrapping his tail around Moxxie’s waist and tugging him closer on the other side, getting a little yelp. “And she said she’s looking forward to being an auntie, so I expect you to be their uncle too, got it?”

Moxxie held the cups out to keep from dropping them, but there was a slight twitch on the side of his face. “I think that will depend on if they don’t bite my face off, sir.”

Blitzo grinned, ruffling at his hair as well. “You drive a hard bargain, but we’ll manage. You’re part of the family too, Moxxie-Roxxie.”

Moxxie rolled his eyes, but the partial-smile didn’t disappear, and Blitzo snickered as he slumped against Blitzo’s side, defeated.

“Just let me finish my paperwork.”

“In a minute. This is important bonding time.”

“Wait, do you have breasts?”

“Yes, I already said that, keep up. Jealous?”

“No.”

“You should be, these were gifted from a fertility demon and make me look great in this shirt.”

“Can I borrow them sometime?” Millie piped in with a little laugh.

“You figure out how to, they’re yours, Mills,” Blitzo said, letting both of them go. “Now, once those boring forms are filled out, today’s kill takes place on a llama farm so I expect somebody to bring me back fancy llama socks, got it? My ankles feel as bloated as somebody who had two Wackdonalds meals and I deserve it.”

Millie chirped out ‘yes’ while Moxxie grumbled a little, but when they returned from the job, Moxxie was the one to lob a slightly-bloody pair of woolen black socks at him along with a smiling llama keychain. The keychain even had a little cowboy hat on it, and he set it on his desk in a place of honor.

____________

A few hours later, Blitzo adjusted the final horse on the dresser in the nursery, pleased with the scene. Lolly Buttons was right up next to her girlfriend Hoebag, and Shadow was standing regal all by herself. He glanced back at the crib across the room.

Decorating had mostly been scattering the horse dolls around the room and throwing up an old show poster from the old apartment so the walls weren’t quite so empty. He still needed to bring in more, though, as this was just kind of sad- and the lonely dartboard left by the previous owner didn’t help much.

Blitzo turned back to the dresser and sighed, cheek resting in his palm. It was still missing something, dammit, but what?

He could ask Loona if he could borrow one of the posters from her room, but he didn’t want to take anything of hers that he didn’t have to. She deserved to get to keep her stuff. One of the pictures of the IMP gang, maybe? Or one with Stolas? He could probably get a half-decent one of him by the time she was out. Maybe he could try and ‘borrow’ one from inside the palace…

Blitzo reached over to fiddle absently with Hoebag, the softness pleasing to the touch, before glancing down and tilting his head.

Hmm.

____________

“Aaand there!” Blitzo pulled the needle back, satisfied, before setting the newest pony down. He’d taken the space on the left half of the dresser top to create a few new dolls and rearrange some of the old ones. Moxxie and Millie had gotten fresh models since theirs had kind of been smushed in the transit, and Loona’s stood behind them. Stolas’s had to be propped up with a pencil to stand on its own, he had made another one for Octavia complete with a little beanie that was settled on her father’s back. The one of himself was slightly to the left of those two, with the newest addition in between them.

She was a pink thing with black on the lower half of her legs- he was pretty sure she’d have at least some black on her feet between the two of them. He gave her black hair too, which seemed like a safeish bet, and even slapped a yellow star on her front just for fun.

The tip of his tongue stuck out as he adjusted the scene to be just right, clapping the bits of material off his hands when he was finished. She looked up at him from her position between them with M+M and Loona standing watch, and he patted the top of her head with one finger while the other hand settled on his stomach, the front of the bump pressing against the dresser before he bent down to press a kiss to her tiny horsie ears.

“There we go. Perfect.”