#show some form of self restraint

[luna-azzurra]

Body Language Cheat Sheet For Writers 

╰ Facial expressions

These are your micro-signals, like the blinking neon signs of the soul. But they’re small, quick, and often lie harder than words.

Raised eyebrows — This can mean surprise or disbelief, sure. But it can also be a full-on, silent “Are you serious right now?” when someone’s being ridiculous. Or even curiosity when someone’s too emotionally repressed to askthe damn question.

Furrowed brow — That face people make when they’re doing long division in their head or trying to emotionally process a compliment. It’s thinking, yes—but also confusion, deep frustration, or quiet simmering rage.

Smiling — Can be happiness… or total fake-it-till-you-make-it energy. Some smiles are stiff. Some don’t reach the eyes. Show that.

Frowning — Sure, sadness. But also: disappointment, judgment, or the universal “I’m about to say something blunt, brace yourself.”

Lip biting — It’s not just nervousness, it’s pressure. Self-control. Anticipation. It’s the thing people do when they want to say something and decide, at the last second, not to.

╰ Eye movement

The window to the soul? Yeah. But also the window to when someone’s lying, flirting, or deeply trying not to cry in public.

Eye contact — Confidence or challenge. Eye contact can be gentle, curious, sharp like a blade. Sometimes it’s desperate: “Please understand me.”

Avoiding eye contact — Not always guilt. Sometimes it’s protectiveness. Sometimes it’s “I’m afraid if I look at you, you’ll see everything I’m trying to hide.”

Narrowed eyes — Calculating. Suspicious. The look someone gives when their brain’s saying “hmmm...” and it’s not a good hmm.

Wide eyes — Surprise, yes. But also sudden fear. The oh-God-it’s-happening look. Or when someone just found out they’re not as in control as they thought.

Eye roll — Classic. But try using it with tension, like when someone’s annoyed and trying very hard not to lose it in public.

╰ Gestures

This is where characters’ emotions go when their mouths are lying.

Crossing arms — Not just defensive. Sometimes it’s comfort. A self-hug. A barrier when the conversation is getting too personal.

Fidgeting — This is nervous energy with nowhere to go. Watch fingers tapping, rings spinning, sleeves tugged. It says: I’m not okay, but I’m trying not to show it.

Pointing — It’s a stab in the air. Aggressive, usually. But sometimes a desperate plea: Look. Understand this.

Open palms — Vulnerability. Honesty. Or a gesture that says, “I have nothing left to hide.”

Hand on chin — Not just thinking. It’s stalling. It’s delaying. It’s “I’m about to say something that might get me in trouble.”

╰ Posture and movement

These are your vibes. How someone occupies space says everything.

Slumped shoulders — Exhaustion. Defeat. Or someone trying to take up less space because they feel small.

Upright posture — Not always confidence. Sometimes it’s forced. Sometimes it’s a character trying really, really hard to look like they’re fine.

Pacing — Inner chaos externalized. Thinking so loudly it needs movement. Waiting for something. Running from your own thoughts.

Tapping foot — Tension. Irritation. Sometimes a buildup to an explosion.

Leaning in — Intimacy. Interest. Or subtle manipulation. (You matter to me. I’m listening. Let’s get closer.)

╰ Touch

This is intimacy in all its forms, comforting, protective, romantic, or invasive.

Hugging — Doesn’t always mean closeness. Could be a goodbye. Could be an apology they can’t say out loud. Could be awkward as hell.

Handshake — Stiff or crushing or slippery. How someone shakes hands says more than their words do.

Back patting — Casual warmth. Bro culture. Awkward emotional support when someone doesn’t know how to comfort but wants to try.

Clenched fists — Holding something in. Rage, tears, restraint. Fists mean tension that needs somewhere to go.

Hair tuck — Sure, flirtation or nerves. But also a subtle shield. A way to hide. A habit from childhood when someone didn’t want to be seen.

╰ Mirroring:

If two characters start syncing their body language, something is happening. Empathy. Chemistry. Shared grief. If someone shifts their body when the other does? Take notice. Other human bits that say everything without words...

Nodding — Not just yes. Could be an “I hear you,” even if they don’t agree. Could be the “keep going” nod. Could be patronizing if done too slow.

Crossed legs — Chill. Casual. Or closed-off, depending on context. Especially if their arms are crossed too.

Finger tapping — Time is ticking. Brain is pacing. Something’s coming.

Hand to chest — Sincerity, yes. But also shock. Or grounding—a subconscious attempt to stay present when everything feels like too much.

Tilting the head — Curiosity. Playfulness. Or someone listening so hard they forget to hide it.

Temple rub — “I can’t deal.” Could be physical pain. Could be stress. Could be emotional overload in disguise.

Chin stroking — Your classic “I’m judging you politely.” Often used in arguments between characters pretending to be calm.

Hands behind the back — Authority. Control. Or rigid fear masked as control.

Leaning body — This is the body betraying the brain. A tilt toward someone means they care—even if their words are cold.

Nail biting — Classic anxiety. But also habit. Something learned. Sometimes people bite because that’s how they self-soothe.

Squinting — Focusing. Doubting. Suspicion without confrontation.

Shifting weight — Uncomfortable. Unsure. Someone who wants to leave but doesn’t.

Covering the mouth — Guilt. Hesitation. The “should I say this?” moment before something big drops.

Body language is more honest than dialogue. If you really want to show your character’s internal world, don’t just give them lines. Give them a hand that won’t stop shaking. Give them a foot that won’t stop bouncing. Give them a mouth that smiles when their eyes don’t. And if you’re not sure what your character would do in a moment of fear, or love, or heartbreak, try acting it out yourself. Seriously. Get weird. Feel what your body does. Then write that down.

[mellowwillowy]

𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Feat: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, Lilia Bonus: Floyd, Jade, Jamil, Rook, Epel, Malleus

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle’s face was almost as red as his hair, not out of anger but rather…

[Oh my gooodddd, stomp those tiny feet again, Riddle! Give me that pout~]

Really… should he do it again? Out of nowhere? Well, let’s take a walk to where you clicked then…

[Yaahhh!! So cuteeee!!!]

Well at least you didn’t think him badly for being angry out of nowhere… whoops, he wasn’t supposed to idle like that.

Ahh, why are you moving on to another character? Cater? That good for nothing? The naughty ADeuce duo? He's almost turning from red to green in envy!

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was supposed to be ticked to the brim but definitely not with you. His ears are red from your nonstop rambling while you keep on poking his avatar right on his ear.

[I wonder how it feels like to play with his ears, ah, maybe I should help you clean it too?]

Don’t. Twitch. Ears. Else the player might notice this and question this one new idle.

[Thinking back, I kinda wanna try stepping on his tail like Yuu too~]

Don’t. Swish. Tail. What? Is he a masochist or what? Well, if it’s for you then he wouldn’t mind it.

Wait wait, why are you checking out Ruggie and Jack now? Hey, what do you mean Ruggie has cuter ears and Jack has a fluffier tail? Why do they look so proud? Are they asking to be minced?

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul might break out of the avatar restraint now. You’ve been talking about how you want to squeeze the kid him, round and plump, you quoted.

Why did you find his past appearance adorable?

[Honestly, I kinda want to lift him and his hiding spot and boil him as a takoyaki filling]

Now that made Floyd and Jade snickered. Azul was internally panicking but his avatar did not show him breaking a single sweat.

[Or maybe gather all his ink whenever he cries]

For your pen?

[But I do think squeezing his plump octomer form is the best~ Oh well, he had lost all those baby fats]

And back to how you ramble about his round self again. This was supposed to be disheartening but why was he blushing?

Wait wait, don't look away from him, no! Why are you going to Floyd? And Jade too? He knew Floyd won your heart but allow him to worm into your heart at the very least. Please let one of his three hearts rest in you!

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim was nodding non-stop at your ramblings, or should he say, wishes. He was really happy that you were taking him as your magic lamp!

[And then, I want you to lace my body with lots of glitters, made of gold!]

No hard task, he just had to grind all that gold into some sort of fairy dust for you!

[Oh! And I want to try swimming in a pool of golden coins like Uncle Scrooge! I wonder if it'll hurt and uncomfortable as I think...]

He was in the same boat with you. You'd have to be careful when diving into the pool! But you can try sleeping on it though you should be careful, just in case the coins swallow you whole!

[And a carpet ride every night~]

Roger that! Tell him more of your wish, will you?

Eh? Why do you stop wishing? No! He will guarantee you that he will make it all come true! Please do not doubt him! Ah... it's because you two are in a different dimension? Screw this barrier that separates you two then.

Vil Schoenheit

Yes, he knew he was unworthy of your praises but he couldn't help but enjoy bathing in it!

[Look at your hair... and that make-up! Wow... truly is the fairest one of all!]

Oh please, no matter how much you compliment him, he could never compete with you beauty-wise! You would always be the true fairest one of all!

[Aha! Look at those heels too, contribute a lot to your height, and make you look so pretty!]

Even a prominent actor like him can't cover his natural reaction which was the growing blush on his face!

Eh? Rook? What does he have to do with him? Too in love with his words more than the beauty in front of you right now? No no no, you must look at him only and no one else!

Idia Shroud

If anything, he was glad his hair did not turn pink! From the way you kept on poking his avatar and patting his head, it made his heart tickled. He was no longer stuttering because the system wanted him to, but because he himself was nervous!

[Oh, show me that one illustration... Kyaaa! Why must you be so cute biting on your sleeve??? It's so inviting!!!]

Ah? That one? He couldn't help but feel embarrassed as you zoomed into his face and examined his hair. Truly, this was too much for his heart!

[Oh oh, and your masquerade costume is so pretty! It makes you look so pretty ffs!]

Ah, it was pretty uncomfortable to wear but he's glad he didn't take it off, not like he can do that anyway. The system won't allow that after all.

Everything feels nice so why are you changing character now? Wait wait! Have you checked his other card? No no no, why is that little shortie fae here? Don't close on him, please! He might want to try hacking your phone soon!

Lilia Vanrouge

Oya? You'd like to dress him up? Kukuku, looks like green and pink would work well on him~

[And... I think we can try curling his long hair, can we change the hue from red to pink like a color wheel?]

...Curling his hair didn't sound bad. Maybe he should try it sometimes and see if it suited him.

[Oh! And I'm gonna hang him upside down like the bat he is! My cute little bat, let's fist-fight!]

You really are an enigma huh? One moment is a sweet and docile lamb then the next moment you are a bull. Hm? Malleus? Why talk about him so sudden? Didn't you say he is your number-one favorite from Diasomnia? So why are you looking at someone else now?

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒:

Floyd Leech

God of Shrimpy~ Keep on poking him, he loves it! Ah, you love his teeth? And his droopy eyes? And his laugh? Hehe, you really love everything about him huh?

So why do you even bother looking at the others? He's going to hug you tight for this silly!

Jade Leech

Ah, he is quite the gentleman, no? Hm? You'd like to keep him as your butler? Why that is quite the generous idea that you allow him to manage your daily life~

With a small dose of love potion in your daily tea every day, he's bound to have you in his arms soon, well, if he ever finds a way to pull you into this twisted wonderland.

Jamil Viper

It truly is an honor to be considered as someone reliable (from babysitting Kalim) and acknowledged as an attendant who could shield you from any danger, truly. He is ready to put his life in line for you so why?

Why are you saying that there's someone else who might fit the position as your attendant more than him? And that person being that slimy eel no less!

Rook Hunt

Ah! This is amazing! To be able to charm you with his words and let him worm into your heart is truly a blessing! Would you like him to write you a poem detailing your beauty?

No no, mon chèri, you shouldn't grace those who are unbefitting of it, don't you think it's a waste to spare the other your grace? Allow this hunter to save you from that trouble.

Epel Felmier

H-huh? You want to dress him up? Naturally, he hates being treated as a doll, a girl no less! But... the idea of you helping him dress and helping him with makeup... he can do this. It is your way of gracing him after all...

Huh? You want to dress Lilia up too? Why? Because he's cuter? Oh no, there's no way there's someone who is prettier than him, look at him, look at how pretty he is in this dress!

Malleus Draconia

If anything, he will always hear you compare him and Riddle to the 'Queen of Heart' and 'Maleficient' from your world. You will praise him for being able to stand on the same level as the actress' beauty which makes him feel giddy.

But boy is he sulking when you start rambling about Riddle and the big-headed Queen. You will dote on him and Riddle back and forth.

Can't you just dote on him?

[strawb3rryhachi]

“When did you get so sensitive here, Sy?” You purr, embracing him from behind, slowly releasing the clamps so they bite down gingerly on his nipples. His head lolls back, back pressed firmly against the chair he was sat in, crimson eyes locking with yours in sweet, sweet pleasure.

“Kitten— ah— more. Please.” He begs, though it’s comes out as a breathy whine as hands struggle against the flimsy restraints. He knows it’d take less of an effort to break out of them than it does to keep a lid on his self control. Your scent is in the air driving him mad, and that sadistic little glint in your eye makes his cock twitch with glee.

“More what, my love?” You coo, caressing his face softly, fingers dancing on his lips teasingly, “No use in being shy now.”

His jaw goes slack, eyes still boring into yours like a well trained dog as your digits slip past his parted lips, fish hooking the inside of his cheek to open that perfect mouth ever wider.

Tsk-ing at him for his lack of response, too enamored with the way your brow furrows, that hateful little look in your eye when he disobeys as you tug on the chains, the clamps pulling his nipples intoxicatingly taut. Mewling, tears of pleasure beading at the corners of his eyes.

You were like a beautiful little reflection, a relentless conqueror in your own right. Both of you feeding into the others ever growing greed and depravity. An ever evolving cycle of exchanging power.

“Be a good little pet and I’ll give you a reward.” You smile, your eyes wild and alight with a burning fervor to watch the big, bad man in front of you crumble by your hand.

“Touch me more. Please.” It’s hoarse and desperate, the image of you dominating him alone is enough to leave him spurting hot thick cum into his briefs most nights, actually seeing it without cumming on the spot is an intense act of self control.

You hum a small sound of approval, “Show me your tongue, pretty.” You gush, hearts practically forming in your eyes while you watch it loll out, drool cascading off the pointy tip and dripping down his chest.

And he should probably feel more embarrassed, shouldn’t enjoy being called feminine little nicknames as much as he does.

But, he can’t help the precum spilling from the tip of his blushing pink head as you cradle his jaw so mean and rough, craning his neck so his cheek is pressed flush against your plush breasts, nipples all but poking out of the top of your bra. Spitting into his maw so deviously, letting it pour slowly between you and into his eager mouth.

He can’t help the desperate little ‘thank you’s’ falling out of his mouth, especially not when you’re reaching down and finally touching his cock. He’s whimpering, the sweet, minty taste of you burning down his throat as your thumb plugs up his weeping tip.

“Would you like some for your cock as well, honey?” Your breathy whisper on the shell of his ear sends electric shocks down his spine. He’s bucking his hips so hungrily against your touch, only to put more pressure on that all too sensitive tip.

He’s nodding, mouth open but no sound escaping. You consider being cruel, making him use his words or threatening to leave him high and dry for the rest of the night.

It was a very attractive consideration. He’d probably end up rutting against you in bed just to feel some sort of relief, and another cycle of punishment would inevitably begin again.

But, you decided he’d been quite the good boy, he deserved a little grace. For now.

So you did as he so clearly needed, spitting aggressively on his achy head, the sensation making his balls squeeze.

You sauntered to his side, bending down so your clothed pussy was inches away from his face. Your sickly sweet scent invading his senses so meanly. You slowly untied his restraints, freeing both of his hands in minutes instead of seconds.

He looks up at you, eyes wide in anticipation of your next order, cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

“On your knees, baby.” You lilt, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead before stepping back. And he’s always been an exceedingly good listener so, like a good pup, he drops to his knees, dick slapping against heavily his stomach as his shins touch the cool marble.

“Let me see you cum, my love.” You smile, feeling an overwhelming sense of blood rushing glee as you watch his face drop, knowing he thought you’d be the one making him reach a mind melting orgasm. He whimpers, one hand gripping his shaft while the other wraps around his balls, unmoving.

You tut at him, “And to think I was going to let you eat my pussy.” You tease, pulling your panties to the side, displaying that pretty pink clit he so desperately wants to lick at as you use your other hand to spread your lips.

His hand squeezes involuntarily around his shaft, a deranged smile spreading across his beautiful features. “ ‘M ready to be your perch, kitten.”

And god, was the man beautiful. His eyes looking at you so lovingly as he pulled insatiably at his throbbing cock, your saliva squelching and bubbling through the gaps in his fingers, dripping down and coating his balls as he tugged and tugged at them.

“So good f’me, Sy.” You gush, standing on your tip toes to sit your puffy folds on his face, sinking down before gripping his silver locks, making him focus. “No cumming before me now.”

That wouldn’t prove to be too hard, he makes quick work of pulling your clit between his lips, suckling and nibbling on the bundle of nerves, eyes fluttering as they so desperately wanted to close in unadulterated pleasure.

“You taste so good, sweetie. So perfect.” He mewls, palm pulsing as he tries to replicate the last time he felt your plush walls milking and stretching around his cock.

You can’t help but praise him and belittle him, little breaths of “You look so pretty down there.” and “The big, bad leader of Onychinus is such a slut.” between giggles and held back moans.

His head is dizzying as he drinks in your nectar, your sweet slick pooling around the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin as he struggles to collect it all in his crazed devouring. He’s bucking his slutty hips into his hand, releasing his balls to add another hand to his needy, long shaft. Crying fucked out sounds of pleasure into your pussy that serve as another stimulant.

And it’s then you decide to punish him no more. His brow furrowing as he chases and denies his own orgasm. He looked so perfect like this. A man of poise and status reduced to nothing but a begging, achy mess at your beck and call.

He sobbed as you pulled your drooling cunt from him, a stringy mix of slick and saliva the only thing tethering you, but just like a good dog, he continues his assault on his cock.

“No, please. ‘M sorry. I’ll do it better.” He pleads, hungry and yearning for the taste of you. Sometimes you wonder how you could’ve become so twisted as to enjoy this sight, but those thoughts don’t stick around for long.

Not as your pulling your panties the rest of the way off and stuffing them in his mouth. Watching his eyes cross and roll back as you, his one and only angel, his savior, come down to his level, swatting his hands away from his cock and gripping them in your own.

And he thinks this is the end for him, that this was the last reward you were going to bestow upon him. But he’s seeing stars as you hover over him, sliding the precum dribbling from his tip against your cock hungry cunt. All he can do is let out pathetic little cries with a smile.

Your head rolls back, a throaty moan escaping from you as you sink down onto him, taking every girthy inch in one go, needy hole stretching so deliciously around him.

“Oh Sy, I’ve been teasing you so long I forgot how good your cock feels.” You croon, fingers interlocking at the back of his neck. The praise isn’t helping the knot in his stomach that’s struggling to keep from snapping, trying to be oh so good for his precious kitten.

You’re mean too, wholly unfair. Cruel really. Holding him in place so he has to look into your pretty eyes as you tell him how good he is, how you wanted to break him in front of a crowd of people, show everyone who the Boss truly was, a good boy who sucks on panties while you fuck him. The way you tighten your walls around him purposefully in rhythm with every slide down on his cock, was damning him to eternal punishment.

His fingers were creating dents in the floor as he did everything he could to hold himself back, your ass slapping so furiously against his thighs, his balls covered in your cream and slick. He was babbling muffled, incoherent plea’s. Back and forth between begging you to let him cum and sobbing for you to slow down so he didn’t.

His length is prodding so perfectly against that spongey spot inside you, your mind going blank as you gush your release all over him. Like a dam that had broke, pooling on the floor underneath you, beading down his toned abdomen.

A switch inside him flips, the sounds of his pussy drunk moans reverberating in the space between you as he finally cums, his hips lifting to reach as deep inside you as he can, painting every inch of your insides white. His cock is pulsing, his orgasm almost painful as every nerve of his body is being lit on fire. He’s panting, whining, pathetic as his head lolls forward to rest on your shoulder. A myriad of ‘thank you’s falling from his lips.

You find pleasure in the feeling of it gushing out of you, absentmindedly pushing it out to make way for his still hard cock as he’s fucking up into you, that primal part of his brain overtaking him.

You rudely pop off him, letting the remaining mix of arousal pool on that patch of silver on his pelvic bone while he’s still twitching and groaning. You make your way toward the shower, but not before looking over your shoulder to give him one last tease.

“Next time, be prepared for my fingers.”

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

hi pookies posting earlier than i was planning hehe(: this one is a lot longer than my previous ones <3 i hope u enjoy my little freaks. HACHI LOVES U FOREVAAAA

xoxo

Hachi

[kawhh]

this will be a lil long im sorryyyy but i thought u might like some of my really pervy thoughts abt being jack's cute little best friend <3

him buying his 'Angel', as he always called her, a stuffed animal w/ a voice recorder box. he'd hear all the little sounds she makes in her sleep and the moans as she touched her innocent holes before bedtime.

jack coaxing her into their first sleepover. sure they were best friends but she wasn't so sure as to why he couldn't just drop her off at her place. he'd make up a random excuse then, once she fell asleep, he'd touch her cute pussy through her lil pajamas. his Angel would think she had a wet dream and wake up all embarrassed and shy but she'd have no idea that it was no dream at all. it was Jack planting a seed in her mind to view him in that way <3

that same night he'd snap some pictures of his Angel in his bed, her little sleep shorts riding up and showing her butt. the way she slept through it all put crazy thoughts into his head - thoughts about fucking her in her sleep. would she even know?

sorry for bad grammar or typos or anything!!! i'm sick in the head and sleepy and english is not my first language 🌀

Angel is forever my favourite pet name for him and nobody can change my mind. It just fits. It's just right.

Warnings: recording you without permission, touching you in your sleep, grinding against your skin until he cums, hints at kidnapping you to keep you with him, fantasies about fucking you in your sleep

He'd be paying outta the ass for storage space, needing every single little noise recorded from you permanently saved. It makes him feel insane, every single noise from you shooting straight to his cock. Such a mess every single night, headphones in, his face buried in his pillow thinking about your pretty tits, his cock grinding against the bed.

He can't think straight. Hearing you exist is enough to make him leak, but he's fucked when you start exploring your body. His innocent angel, building her self-confidence.

He hears the squelch as you dip your fingers cautiously inside of yourself, the little circles around your clit obvious to his ears. The need to be inside you makes him want to scratch at his skin, has him panting into the pillow, his saliva drenching the fabric.

He can't control it. His mouth filling at the idea of his tongue tracing patterns around your tits, his cock head weeping at the thought. Mouthing around nothing, pretending he's flicking against your clit, consuming you.

You're fucked the minute you're trapped in the same room with him at night, even if you don't understand the danger you've been placed in. You don't see the way his mouth waters, how he shakes with restraint while he waits for you to fall asleep.

You have no way of leaving him. Even if you found where he'd hidden his keys, you have no other way home. You need him. He's unconcerned about the consequences of touching you while you're asleep. He'd just keep you here until you calmed down if you stir.

All the nights alone, cumming against his bed sheets is worth it for how adorable you look when he drags your teddy bear pyjama shorts down your legs. It's hard for him to not cum just from how you look in your underwear. The way he can see every part of you through the material.

Hyper focused on his finger as he drags it softly across your clit, watching your sleeping body jerk towards the contact, the way a wet patch instantly starts forming with his touch. He swears your pussy's trying to suck him in, pleading for him to come in.

It's saturating his finger, the slick forming a bridge to his finger when he pulls away. He's panicked trying to rush to suck his fingers, needing every taste of you he can get until he can fully manipulate you.

He can imagine the look on your face when you wake up. Your underwear sticking to you, the way the fabric would be ruined from how wet he'll make you all through the night. It's already almost transparent and he's barely touched you.

It's impressive how you don't stir in the slightest, with how whoreish your pussy is acting. Your hips on a mission, the little moans and whimpers he drags out of your mouth. The way his circles around your clit quicken, the way your thighs spasm. You don't even slightly stir. Your hands don't even twitch.

He can't resist his desires, his confidence growing when you don't react. Grinding his bare cock against your inner thigh, thrusting up against your skin, occupying the gap between your thigh and cunt.

You're too innocent to know what his cum'll look like mixed with the mess you've already made in the morning. You'll be too flustered, worrying too much about what you did. Not him. You'll be convinced it's your fault and he has no intention of confessing until he's confident that you've fallen for him.

He'd be recording you the minute he got close to cumming. The camera shaky as he tries to capture every second of your face and your pussy, every thrust of his cock. He can't decide what to focus on, what he needs to immortalise.

He's panting as his fantasies overload his brain, driving him further and further to the edge. It's a fucking miracle how you don't wake up. An aphrodisiac injected straight into his veins. He could ruin you. Ruin you for everyone. Mould you to himself. Mould you to his dick. You're so wet in your sleep from his touch. He could have you over night after night.

Sinking into your cunt, feeling you squeeze around him, being ever so gentle with you until he'd lose his mind, his grip would tighten on you before he'd start attacking your pussy, crashing into the deepest depths of you.

His eyes rolling back in his head from the thoughts, his cock throbbing as he releases against you, painting your innocent, sleepy little body with his cum.

[14dayswithyou]

Ren's favorite color is black!!!

So you can totally say no to this if it falls too heavily into spoiler territory, but I constantly see with all the angel centric questions that are trying to find a way to break past the wall of Ren/REDACTED changing themselves to angels preferences and get some different response than he "wouldn't care" or they'd just try again but what I really want is just some pathetic yandere Rendacted content of him doing everything he can to keep us with them, if Angel in some way didn't want to be with them and like all his previous personas have failed in some way, shape or form, it doesn't really matter the reasoning.

I know he's like super patient and would be willing to try again and again till he makes a persona Angel likes the most, but I really just want to see this dude in peak yandere form, beyond the dead ends we see within the game. So like if that's either like just a list of stuff he'd do or an actual story fic idrc I just need him being the worst fucking version of themself, begging, crying, hell even threatening just to stop angel from leaving cause his patience has been exhausted PLEAAAAASUHHH

⌞♥⌝ I've said this many times, but Ren genuinely has all the patience in the world for Angel, and there really isn't anything that would make it snap!! ^^ He's not a short-tempered, emotionally-driven*, or verbally abusive kind of yandere either; Ren is extremely manipulative, clever, and deceptive — and often relies on making Angel be the one who sabotages their relationships with others.

If you wanted to see Ren crying and begging, you would have to run his self-esteem into the ground and treat him the exact same way his father did.

But even then... Ren would still show endless restraint for Angel. I've had people try to (unintentionally) convince me otherwise via asks of their own, but I'm quite literally his creator, and I mean it when I say that Ren has the patience of a saint. There's nothing Angel can possibly do to make him lose his temper. Ren is endlessly forgiving and more than desperate to prove his worth, so no matter how many times Angel tries to test him, it won't work. So... Please stop trying to convince me otherwise ;v;

* = When I say "emotionally driven", I mean like... Ren won't physically lash out or do anything crazy just because he's angry or upset with Angel. I hope this makes sense gsgsjh ^^; I know he's driven by love (he is a yandere and love is an emotion), but it's not like he'll want to yell or take his anger out on Angel just because he's in a bad mood.

[sagaduwyrm]

Something that interests me about Girl Genius is the way that the Heterodynes are consistently portrayed as the worst of the worst despite being pretty reasonable by Spark standards.

This is not to say that they are reasonable by normal people standards, or that they were anything approaching decent people. This is pointing out that compared to other sparks, who figured out they could conquer places and immediately started the Long War, the Heterodynes have had little to no large scale negative effect on the world.

Evidence: Zumzum

While in Zumzum Agatha finds out that the Heterodyne raids rolled through the town "every four years or so, sure as the moonrise" (Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess). Despite this the town is, though small, prosperous. They have a fully staffed guard and enough spare income that the circus was initially planning to remain for three days.

Compare this to the numerous dead towns noted to be littering the wastelands. Sparks regularly render towns unlivable or dead. The Heterodynes, however traumatize them and steal their stuff, but still leave the towns they raid capable of functioning. From this we can assume that, despite what we are told, the Heterodynes are not only capable of self-restraint, they're good at it.

Evidence 2: Heterodyne Creations

The Heterodynes left an enduring legacy in the form of constructs, clanks, and the castle. Many of these are hundreds of years old and yet have little trouble functioning. This means that the Heterodynes not only build to last, but their descendants are willing to put in the time for upkeep rather than get distracted and focus on the next big thing.

The Heterodynes are the only sparks with so many creations still running around. Other sparks, like Van Rijn, do have some creations that have lasted the ages, but nothing compared to the sheer quantity of the Heterodynes.

Also, consider the jägerkin. The jägers are some of the most important Heterodyne constructs, and have acted as the core of their army and their honor guard for more than half a millennia. Despite this, they don't have levels of speed or strength much beyond average, at least as far as spark constructs go. Instead, they're noted for their remarkable survivability. This again suggests that Heterodynes prioritize longevity to a remarkable level for sparks.

Evidence the Last: Europa still Exists

I repeat myself, after two centuries of off and on spark warfare, significant amounts of Europa is unlivable. The Heterodynes had ten centuries and Europa was fine. Do the math.

However, despite this show of consistent reason, the Heterodynes are constantly described in story as evil incarnate. I'd like to posit that this suggests both that in-story lore should be taken as unreliable, but also that the most dangerous sparks aren't the flashy, fire and brimstone assholes. It's the consistent, intelligent ones who know when to back off and when to press that are the real danger, and it's for this reason that the continent fears Heterodynes. Not because they're uniquely capable of destruction, but because they know when not to destroy.

The Heterodynes are the oldest dynasty in Europa. To everyone with the slightest understanding of how sparks work, this is terrifying.

Also, here's a post that tries to answer why the Heterodynes are uniquely like this. You should read it. It partially inspired this.

[domesticgoddess22]

wish upon a cowboy

chapter 4: guilty as sin? - Joel's POV

pairing: raider!joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: A rugged raider takes you under his wing after hunters leave you for dead. The two of you form a team and you quickly grow attached to him–mumbling, grumbling, protective Joel Miller. When you divulge your wishes to experience life before the outbreak, Joel decides to make them come true. All of them.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/mid 40s), praise kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, unplanned pregnancy, unprotected piv, canon-typical violence, light choking, dom!Joel, angst word count: 4.6k words (chapter 4) rating: 18+ explicit MDNI masterlist here

Joel knows he doesn’t have a soul left inside his body, that he should be feeling distraught over the damn deer just like you are, but he doesn’t really give it much thought. His mind is occupied with how your tits looked this morning and he knows he’s going to hell for it. 

He’s been stiff since the second he saw you, and it took every ounce of self-control in his body not to take you right then and there. But he didn’t, maybe because there’s still humanity left in him after all,  but damn did he want to fuck you. Badly.

These thoughts whirl around in his mind as he paces around in the middle of the woods. He’s been alone for so long, the last time he even had a good fuck–before he had you–was probably half a year ago. Once he had a taste of you… fuck–he needs to have more. 

Doubt and uncertainty cloud above him whenever he thinks about his self-restraint capabilities. He’s a man, you’re an attractive young woman–so much so that his instincts are becoming fucking hard to ignore. He’d already slipped up once, pumped an entire six month’s worth of his seed into you. He isn’t a good man and he knows that, he’s done a lot of things that aren’t right, but he could sure as hell blame the alcohol for that last bit. 

Tommy would surely be disgusted with what he’d done, sleeping with someone half his age. His brother was never able to look at him the same after the hunts. Joel can’t imagine Tommy would even be able to look at him at all for this. Not that he’ll probably ever see his brother again…

Tommy always had remnants of the man he was before and it showed. Joel didn’t have anything left, and even so, back before things went to shit, he wasn’t excatly a stand-up guy. He was young when he had Sarah, had to raise her all on his own so he did what he needed to. Stole–not cars but other things–and he lied a lot. Cheated his way through life just to make sure his kid had food on the table and a roof over her head. 

Eventually, his contractor business became more stable so he didn’t have to resort to being an asshole, but he did do other things he knew weren't considered by the general public as polite behavior. He had women to keep him company whenever Sarah was at school or sound asleep. He’d sneak out and get laid by some chick in cowgirl boots and a miniskirt that he picked up at the bar--and then he wouldn’t call them back. The next night, rinse and repeat. He’d done it so many times that he'd lost count of his score. 

That was another time, but the truth is, Joel still isn’t a great guy. If anything, he’s even worse now.

Yet, he still knew up from down and right from wrong, even if he didn’t choose right, he did feel like he took advantage of you, a vulnerable little thing. Needy. You’d probably do anything for any guy that took care of you like he does given the circumstances. Compared to Joel, most of your life you’ve been pretty sheltered and he could tell. Never had to kill anything when you lived in the QZ, only lasted two days outside of it by yourself, and ever since then you’ve had him to do everything for you.

You’re in the tent, sleeping like a little lamb and he’s a big bad wolf on the verge of losing his fucking mind, his dark eyes boring into the zipper of the tent. He remembers the soft cushion of your breasts against his arms, the way you felt up against his chest while he showed you how to hold the gun, how your moans sounded when he was driving his cock into your wet folds.

Joel wants you. Now.

A sinful smile curls at his lips when he thinks about how his spend dripped out of you that night, his mind wanders further into the lustful abyss, fantasizing about your belly growing swollen with his baby. 

He’s practically in a lustful trance right now, wanting to fuck you, fill you, make you his. 

Joel finds himself deep in the woods now, close enough to hear you call if you need him, but far enough away for him to have privacy. The bark of a chestnut oak tree is digging scaly patterns into his left palm. His belt is loose, the buckle is swinging around his thigh, jeans sagging around his crotch as he bucks his cock in his hand, furiously stroking it with the slick from his spit. 

It’s like he’s a damn twenty-something again, imagining you in that sexy pink bra of yours– and with a thong to match. He’d unhook your bra with ease, just as he’s done a million times, and then he’d watch in awe as your perfect tits were on display for him, groaning as he sucks on your perky peaks. Fuck your breasts were so full lately, maybe it was his carnivorous mind playing tricks on him, but he felt like they were just begging for his attention.

He’d press you up against the tree, spread your legs, and hook one of them around his waist. 

Then he’d slide your panties to the side to make room for himself, not bothering to take them off. Your pink pussy would be dripping, all wet and ready for him and he’d slip out a curse or two at the delicious view of your cunt.

The big head of his cock would line up at your entrance and then he’d press in, one inch at a time, slow and steady in his movements like he was holding his rifle and waiting for the perfect moment to pull the trigger. The feel of your walls constricting around his head would knock the breathe out of his lungs, again, and he’d bottom out with a loud groan. His rhythm would start off paced, giving you some time to adjust to his size, and then he’d pound into your little pussy, balls kissing your folds and his tongue tangled with yours.

Joel liked the way you tasted, fresh like summer rain with a hint of honey. You tasted so sweet. 

Needy girl, fuckin’ soaked on my cock. You like that? You like that, baby? Yeaaah, you like that. Lemme hear your little moans–tell daddy how much you like it.

Your moans were the sweetest sound, a song he was hearing for the first time at just the right pitch–the perfect cadence for him to come. Joel, Joel, Joel! Harder, please, please, more, ahhhhnn, Daddy!A mess of his spend decorates the dirt at his feet and the guilt seeps in as he looks at what he’s just done–and what he thought about did get it done. Yeah, he’s disgusting and he knows it but the pietist in him died at seventeen when he told his ma he wasn’t going to church anymore and just about kicked him out of the house. 

This isn’t the first time he’s jerked off to the thought of you in the last month–and it sure as hell won’t be the last. It’s the only thing keeping him from actually laying his hands on you. He’s replayed this same scene and–many others–in his head that he’s starting to run out of ideas.

He’s chased his own release at the thought of himself buried deep inside of you, over and over again. But it was never enough–he was hungry. And it was becoming impossible for him to feel satiated by his hand alone.

Back at camp, the venison is still cooking over the spit, the meaty smell permeating the air, surely making both of your mouths water. Joel’s eyes land on you, rummaging through your bag, frantically digging through each pocket like something was missing.

“Hey. You’re awake.” His low, grumbling tone sounds grumpier than he means for it to be. He’s still getting used to having someone around. At having a woman around to soften his nature instead of one of his old raider buddies he’d boss around or tell them to go to hell whenever they wouldn’t shut their yappers. “How are ya feelin’, darlin’?”

“Better. Just a little hungry now. How long til the meat is done?”

“That ain’t gonna be done cookin’ until dinner, darlin’. Help yourself to whatever you can find in there.” Joel points to the crate he built that’s packed with foraged goods and the spoils of your scavenger hunts in town. He drags his gaze back down to your hands, fingers digging into the muddy fabric. “Som’ wrong?”

“No.” Your lips pucker up whenever you’re cross with him, and he knows you’re up to something but he can’t help but fight back a smile at how pretty you look when you’re about to get sassy.

“Ya holdin’ on to that thing so tight, your nails are about to pierce through the damn denim.”

“Did you take anything out of my bag?” Your eyes snap to his.

Joel laughs through his nose in disbelief, and then he licks the back of his teeth and says, “And why would I take anythin’ out of your bag?”

“I dunno, maybe cuz I was sleepin’ and you thought it’d be funny?”

“No, I did not take anythin’ outta your bag while you were sleepin’. You’re welcome for carryin’ you back.” His voice is dry and even, not bothering to hide his lack of amusement.

“Ughhh… Sorry Joel. I’m just missing something important and I’m still a little out of it after fainting earlier.”

He adds a few sticks to the burning fire, eyes watching the meat cook. “You should drink some’n, stay hydrated. I uh-brought some fresh water from the creek. Just need to let it boil.”

“Thanks.”

“So what was it?” Joel says after you crack open a box of frosted mini wheats, a cloud of sugar and cereal bits explode when tear open the ancient plastic wrap.

“What was what?”

“The thing you dropped.”

“Oh.” You swallow down the dry miniwheat with a big gulp. “It was just stupid stuff–a pad.”

Joel narrows his eyes at you. “You just about ripped my head off over a damn pad?”

“They’re rare ya know?”

“Well let’s go back out and find it then.”

“No, no, no. It’s gonna be all dirty. There might be bugs on it and all that, I can’t use it now.”

Joel rubs his beard in thought, watching the fire dance in your big, beautiful eyes. Normal your face is so expressive, lit up with a sort of eagerness to live. But not lately. Something was different. It was subtle, but he’s taken notice of how your light has dimmed, how your once frequent chatter has been replaced with an eerie quietness. Joel starts to wonder what he’s done to make you upset. Making you accuse him of stupid shit he ain’t even done. He’d start to remedy the situation by acknowledging the events of today and apologize for the stupid shit he did that made you puke your brains out.

“I threw ya to the wolves ‘n I shouldn’ve done it. Just thought–I thought maybe you’d learn quicker that way.” He clicks his tongue, reflecting back on the horrors from earlier. “Next time we’ll start off with trappin’, start nice ‘n slow, then work our way up.”

“It’s all my fault that she suffered like that, isn’t it?” There’s a dazed, far-off look in your eyes as you gaze into the fire.

Joel is quiet in thought, not sure what to say to bring you comfort. He wasn’t built for that. Comforting people, that is. Not with words. All he knew how to do was protect… and kill. So he says the only thing he can think of to put you at ease. “The world is crueler now than it’s ever been ‘n ya can’t let it get to ya.”

There’s so much you haven’t had to experience yet, it makes you somehow innocent, almost untainted by the horrors of the world. He loves that about you, wants to protect your delicateness as much as he can for as long as he can. Shield you from anything that dares to corrupt your sweet soul–which is why he has to keep the dark side of himself a secret from you. The things he’s done, the people he’s killed, the torture he’s inflicted on countless individuals is something he knew you’d find downright disgusting.

Yeah, you knew he was a hunter, but he never filled you in on the gritty details of what that entailed. How he was so much worse than those hunters that left you for dead. Didn’t tell you that his brother abandoned him because he was a monster. If you found out, you might be scared of him, run away from him even. And he can’t have that. You're safe with him at your side and so this little secret of his is just to protect you, that’s all. You don’t need to know about his past or what he’s capable of.

Joel knows what’s best for you.

“It’s gettin’ cold now ‘n we need somewhere warm to stay soon.” Joel begins, cutting through the deer's breast with his knife. “Was thinkin’ we could head back to that cabin you liked so much.”

“Nah,” you say with that same distant look in your gaze and he had absolutely no fucking idea what was going on in your head. 

“Alright then. We could find another farmhouse, somethin’ more secluded than the ones we’ve been passin’. Think we might be able to find som’ nearby, near the creek ‘n the town.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you’re practically in a trance and Joel’s not even sure you’re actually listening, but he keeps talking to fill the silence–something you normally do.

“I’ve got a hoodie you can wear, it’ll be a little big on ya but it should do the trick ‘til we find ya som’n else.” He’s scrambling for words at this point. It isn’t in his nature to be the one driving the conversation, 

“Mmkay.”

Joel rests his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together. “‘S everythin’ alright, sweetheart? You’ve been quiet.” 

Eyes lidded, you look up at him. “Still feeling tired is all.”

“Get som’ore sleep. We can head into town in the mornin’ and get whatever you need. Maybe there’ll be pickled goods in one of the markets. Oughta be good for your stomach.” Joel is attentive to the fact that you have a sensitive stomach. First, it was the tuna, then you had a few instances where your nose would scrunch up in disgust if he tried to get ya to eat, and then the vomiting earlier today, all telltale signs that you were a delicate little thing.

He’s convinced that pickled goods will solve this little stomach issue of yours.

***

His hoodie looks good on you. He likes the way it’s too big for you, but despite that, he can still see the outline of your curves. After an hour of walking on an incline up into the town, you shed your layers to keep the heat at bay and Joel does everything he can to keep his eyes off your plump tits, barely held in place by your bra and spaghetti strap tank top. Were they always that plump?

He licks his lips and shakes the thought away. Getting a hard-on would be troublesome to hide from you, especially since the jeans he’s wearing today are a little tight.

Joel realizes that he isn’t interested in just sex with you, like all of the others he’d laid with. There’s something about you that he’s drawn to. Something that lights a flame in the dark chambers of his heart and gives him a purpose, a reason to live. Your enthusiasm and excitement for the world make him feel alive again, and it’s exactly why he’s so adamant about making sure he finds a way to knock out as much of your bucket list as he can.

These feelings that are developing toward you also explain why he feels an ache beneath his ribs when he sees how unwell you’ve been. Whether it’s the sickness you have or something else, he doesn’t know for sure, just knows it’s been dimming that beautiful light in your eyes and he’d give anything to make them shine again.

Up ahead, there’s a crusty sign that says Welcome to Taylor. You dip into the first convenience store that comes into view. Joel’s hand is on the small of your back as he ushers you in, carefully closing the door once both of you are inside.

Joel’s made it a habit to look for Twizzlers at every stop. “Sorry, darlin’. Looks like they’re all outta stock today.”

“It’s okay. I was actually in the mood for chocolate. See any around?”

“Chocolate huh? Never heard ya say that before. It’s usually all Twizzlers, gummies, and bright-colored candies that do it for ya.”

“Yeah, well I’m just in the mood for chocolate today.” You close the distance between you, hands resting on your hips, neck cranked up to look him in the eye. “That alright with you, cowboy?”  

There’s a cocky smirk on Joel’s face as he looks down at you, a little thing with a big sassy attitude and he’s glad to see that it hasn’t changed. He notices the rosy pink color of your lips and the thin layer of shine on your cupid’s bow that he can’t take his eyes off of. “You can do whatever you want, angel. I ain’t stoppin’ you.”

“Good. Let’s get moving then,” you say nonchalantly, heading for the door. Joel had already grabbed the last two jars of pickles and an old box of saltines that were hidden in the back of an old shelf. “There’s nothing else here that’s worth our time.”

“Ain’t true. There’s these,’ Joel argues, holding up a couple of composition notebooks and ink pens with what’s probably their last drops left to spare.

“What do we need with old notebooks and pens?”

“There’s an old community college down the main road,” Joel begins, awkwardly fumbling to finish the sentence as if completing it would admit something about what he feels toward you. “So you can go to school.” 

You stop in your tracks. “Last time I ‘went to school’ I puked.” 

“We’re gonna take it down a notch or two. I’ll show ya what school was really like back in the day.” 

Maybe it’ll put a smile on your face. Make you forget about all this shit.

Joel smiles when he sees how your face brightens up at the sight of the old college, bricks still red and distinct, nature not claiming it just yet. You both do a sweep through the main building, careful not to make noise and alert anyone or anything nearby, but the coast is clear. 

“First class of the day: Film Studies,” Joel says, unstrapping his gun and kicking his feet up on a dusty wooden desk, hands tucked behind his salt and pepper curls. “First thing you oughta know is George Lucas made the greatest films of all time: Star Wars. Completely transformed the film industry as we knew it. Nobody had dared to even dream of making some’n like this series before. Spaceships, blaster guns, entire fuckin’ planets we ain’t even seen before, right there on the big screen.”

“So it was about aliens?”

“Yeah, som’ like that. ‘S bout a galaxy far away, and all the inhabitants in it. Humanoids, Wookies, Droids, and Jedi Knights. The first movie came out in 1977, Star Wars: A New Hope, and tells the story of Princess Leia, her brother Luke who’s a Jedi, and Han Solo, a badass motherfucker–pilot of the Millennium Falcon. They’re tryin’ to save the galaxy from the big evil Empire.”

“Kinda like how we’re trying to save the world from the big evil Clickers?”

“Yeah… som’ like that… Except this is more fun cuz the good guys always win.” Joel tucks his legs under the desk and straightens his spine. “You takin’ notes?”

“Yes Mr. Miller, I am taking notes on your class about Star Wars.”

“Good, cuz I’m gonna give ya a test on this later to make sure you were listenin’.” 

“I’m listenin’ just fine,” you say, resting your cheek on your fist and biting the butt of the pen.

The rusted metal legs of the chair screech against the tile as Joel stands up, pacing the classroom now as he dives further into his lesson. Joel wasn’t a film junkie back in the day, if anything he was just an average guy that went to the movies now and again, but he had his favorites of course. He tells you everything he knows about cinema, mostly raving about what his favorite movies and shows were, but he shares as much as he can remember about film history, including some of the classic film directors like Alfred Hitchcock and Blake Edwards. 

His knowledge was limited, but he knew that what he had to share was more than enough to paint the picture for you. The light was back in your eyes and it warmed Joel’s soul.

“I like when you tell me about the stuff you liked back then. Wish you’d always tell me more about yourself like this,” you say, nibbling at your pen and looking up at him through thick lashes.

“Mmm,” Joel hums, and that’s about all he manages to say as his gaze is fixated on the window to your left. He looks back over at you. “Think maybe we should start heading back. ‘S already gettin’ dark.”

A gunshot rings in the distance and both of you snap your attention to the window. “There’s people here. What do we do?”

“Lay low. We’ll go out the back and find a quiet place nearby to stay for the night.” Joel’s voice is low but commanding as he straps his rifle back into place and waves you to follow him. “Come’on.”

***

The quietness after the gunshot feels eerie and unsettling. There’s an odd sense of safety in being alone nowadays, so the fact that someone is nearby means danger lurks. Joel scans the street for signs of life, his brain racing, gears turning as he tries to determine which house would be the safest, the one least likely to be broken into with the most convenient exits if the worst case scenario did happen and you both had to make a run for it in the middle of the night.

Not that running was really his style. If anyone came in at night, if anyone hurt you, he’d put a bullet to their head without remorse. He’d shatter their skull until they were utterly unrecognizable by their face alone, and he’d leave the rest of them untouched as a warning to any of their friends that if they fuck with Joel, they die.

“This one,” he points to a yellow house with white shutters. The front door is covered with debris and vegetation, but there are two adequate back exits on the east side of the house by the kitchen and on the south-facing side that leads to the once was garden.

Male voices in the distance keep both of you on your toes. Joel thinks they’re at least a block down the road and tells you he doesn’t think there’s anything to worry about just yet.

“What happens if they find us?” Your voice is riddled with fear.

“They ain’t gonna find us,” Joel says confidently. “No one saw us, no one heard us, ain’t no one lookin’ for us.”

“But what if they do?”  

He sighs, rubbing his beard in thought. “I’ll fuckin’ kill them.”

“What if they kill you first?” Your brows knit inward with desperation.

“That ain’t how I operate, sweetheart.”

“But what if?!” Your chest is heaving now, your eyes are wide, hands trembling as you reach to hold onto Joel’s shoulders. “I-I can’t fight Joel–can barely shoot a gun, you know that. How are we gonna take ‘em? What do I do if somethin’ happens to you?”

Joel squeezes your shoulders, pulling you an inch or two closer to him, eyes serious, brows furrowed as his eyes bore into you. “If anythin’ happens to me, you run. You got that? You run and you don’t look back.”

“No, I can’t leave you behind–I need a gun–I need–I need you. You don’t understand. I can’t make it without you–”

Joel hisses your name, teeth bared in a snarl. “No! If I’m down, you run. Understand?”

You nod your head rapidly in obedience. Joel can feel your little heart pounding away, and he thoughtlessly lets his thumb glide across the smooth surface of your skin, just above your heart before releasing his tight grip on you. 

“Upstairs,” Joel commands, and you follow. The first step creaks under Joel’s boot and he turns to you, a finger to his lips. 

Joel checks all the rooms, dusty, littered with crap, but good enough for the night. There’s one last bedroom to check before the two of you can safely stay there. Joel doesn’t like it when you go off on your own, and when he sees you twist the knob on the last door before he’s even finished his sweep through of the third bedroom, it takes every ounce of strength in him not to yell. 

The knob twists with a little squeak and then the little white door with peeling mint green paint swings open with a creak. You gasp, mouth agape at whatever lies beyond the doorframe, out of Joel’s view. 

“What?! What is it?!” He rushes to your side to see and before you can even answer the question, he answers it for himself.

Inside, the main wall is painted with a faded yet still colorful rainbow with a bouquet of balloons on each end. The ceiling is decorated with paintings of smiling clouds, and at the center hangs a lampshade shaped like a sun with golden strings holding little rainbow and star ornaments. They sway gently from your touch, making a melodic tinkling sound as they stir. 

Below the lamp sits a beautiful wooden crib ornately carved with hummingbirds and little flowers. The entire scene feels like something you’d read about in a book, a world where people lived vibrant, happy lives and painted childlike illustrations on their walls. It was as if someone captured happiness and sunshine and trapped it in this room so that all who walked in would feel a rush of joy, love, and warmth.

“A nursery,” you say in a gentle whisper, fingertips brushing over the little hummingbirds

Voices stir in the distance, growing louder with each passing second. Joel’s calloused palm clasps around your delicate wrist. “Baby, ‘m gonna need you to hide.”

You ignore him, continuing to look fondly at the crib.

“Are you listenin’ to me?” He tugs at your arm.

You turn to him, eyes glistening with tears. “Joel. There’s something I gotta tell you.”

He swallows, voice hushed. “Can it wait?” 

You shake your head and tears cascade down your cheeks like a river that’s just burst through a busted dam. Joel’s chest feels tight and his stomach is doing flips at the sight of you crying and he has not a single clue how to stop it, he just knows that there are men out there who could hurt you and he doesn’t have time for this. Your lips part, a shaky breath of wind escaping from your lungs before you compose yourself and finally say what you’ve been keeping to yourself for some time now. The secret you’ve been keeping frozen and locked away from him is now thawing, melting away the once-hidden layers of secrecy, and Joel was on the edge of his seat to finally find out what has been making you act so strange.

“I’m pregnant.”

~~~ au: Today is my birthday so I wanted to treat everyone and upload a few chapters here today! Enjoy <3 masterlist here

[jaeyong-sucker]

bottom jeno pls

pairing: lee jeno x male reader

genre: smut (of course)

warnings: teasing, fingering, delayed orgasms

note: forgive the rusty writing… again, i suck at writing dialogues and conversations… bottom jeno just tickles something in me

“Mmmhhh, hyung!” Jeno whimpers, his leaking cock twitching from his prostate getting stabbed by your fingers. He leans back against your shoulder, hole clenching tightly once again after seeing his fucked out reflection in the mirror. You spread his legs wider before smirking at what you see in the mirror.

It all started when Jeno, out of all things, stepped out of the room with a cropped hoodie and a jockstrap, looking like a tempting snack, first thing upon arriving in your vacation house by the beach. Jeno always shows you more skin whenever he wants to get laid. That evoked you to take care of the boner in your pants he was responsible for causing. You can fix your luggages later; Jeno presented himself so early and there's no way you won't fuck him right then and there.

“H-Hyung, let me cum, please!” He whimpers, pathetically squirming as his orgasm intensely charges at him again after so many delays, thanks to you. His jockstrap and hoodie are thrown somewhere in the house, leaving him naked and heated on your lap. He meets your gaze at the mirror once again, tugging at your hair and pressing his legs closed upon being turned on at the sight of him being a slut in heat on the lap of his master clothed in a plain black shirt and jeans.

“Do you deserve it, you brat?” You whisper before landing a slap on Jeno's thigh, making him wince at the sting and spreading his legs wide open again. He squeals loudly upon feeling his erect nipples get pinched, then twisted.

“With your fucking behavior the whole day, I don't think so, bitch.” You continue assaulting his exposed neck with kisses and bites, leaving marks and replacing the hickeys that have already faded. He whimpers helplessly, humping the air for friction and bouncing on your still fingers to chase the blissful orgasm being pulled away from him once again.

Jeno sobs, tears filling his eyes before they drip down his sweaty face and body. If only he were a good boy, obeying every order of his boyfriend, maybe he would be a pillow princess, cumming multiple times from his daddy's cock. If only he didn't place his hand over your clothed crotch before palming it while you were driving, maybe he'd be experiencing heavenly, slow, gentle sex with his daddy. If only he didn't misbehave by watching thirst traps of some random TikToker and fingering himself to it while on the trip, maybe he'd be delightfully drowning from your loads of cum.

“P-Please, I'd do anything, daddy,” he shakily cries. “I wanna cum, please!” He turns around, begging helplessly by grinding his thick ass on your raging boner underneath the sturdy fabric of your jeans. He gives you that cute look, which makes it close to impossible to resist his pleas. The cute, begging look with his eyes looking like a puppy's and his lips forming into a pout. That goddamn look that appeals to your raging cock and tugs on the ropes of your self-restraint like a demon. That goddamn cute look that makes you want to bend him and fuck his tight little hole.

“Fuck,” you spank his ass, making sure to land your calloused palm on the area of his thick ass cheek where it arouses him more than it hurts. You're still too soft to actually hurt him the way he wants it even though he practically declared over a million times that he loves pain. He's still too soft for harsher spankings and chokings and the like.

“Anything?” You smirk, millions of ideas of dominating your fucked out boyfriend traveling in your mind, making your already hard cock spring up in arousal. Will you bend him over the dining table and fuck him out? Will you fuck him senselessly on the balcony? Will you fuck him on the beach chairs with the staff of your private island watching him crumble messily from your cock pounding into him mercilessly? Or maybe you won't even penetrate him with your cock at all. Maybe just jerk off to him trying to hump the air for his poor, miserable orgasm? The options are endless.

“Anything, daddy, please,” he pathetically begs, “just let me cum!”

His appeals go nowhere else but to your raging cock. Unable to hold yourself any longerㅡsince you're just as horny as he isㅡyou grab a cock ring and a few packs of condoms from your bag. He writhes, squirming away from you as if you were an assailant. One thing about Jeno, he doesn't like wearing cock rings, or anything that restrains him from cumming freely. Another this about your needy boyfriend, he HATES condoms at a spiritual level. If he dislikes cock rings, he loathes condoms with a passion. Aside from seeing it as a waste of plastic, the thought of you wearing condoms while fucking him makes him feel like a barren Omega who couldn't provide pups for his Alpha (he's read a lot of Omegaverse and always fantasizes of being bree by you and can get dramatic about it).

“You’d do anything for daddy, right, princess?” You ask, cooing at his frozen, shocked form that looks goddamn irresistible that your cock twitches, wanting to be freed from the restraint of your jeans.

“Yes, daddy,” Jeno nods, helplessly agreeing in desperation to be touched, or fucked, or whatever by you. “Wanna be good for daddy,” he purrs, dick leaking upon seeing you slowly reach for your jean zippers to free your cock.

Gosh, that fucking huge cock of yours. That large, fat, veiny piece of cock that has been inside Jeno for as much as he could remember. That cock that he desperately wants to suck and milk to ejaculate your hot cum out of your heavy balls. That cock that already is huge even though it hasn't reached its full erection yet. God, if only your cock is a deity, he'd offer his tiny hole everyday as a devotion. He drools, loving the sight of your semi-erect cock becoming veinier as you pump it with your equally veiny hand. He moans languidly, reaching for his hole before inserting two fingers, playing with his prostate while he crumbles at the intense, horny gaze you give him as you stroke your cock to its erection.

“You wanna cum so bad, huh?” You smirk, pulling Jeno closer by his leg before holding his dick upright. He internally panics at the sight of your hand holding the cock ring inching closer and closer to his dick. No way. No fucking way he's gonna wear that shitty rubber around his dick.

“You’ll only cum after daddy cums inside the condom, slut.” You growl, sending shivers down his spine, as you slip the cock ring on him, much to his incoherent protests. He whines, protesting helplessly like a wanton bitch as you slip the condom down your cock slowly to tease him and remind him of the punishment of his misbehavior.

“Butㅡ”

“No buts, goddamn it. Daddy's gonna make sure you get punished for behaving like a messy slut.” You softly spank him on the face. “I will fucking use you like the slut you are and you will never cum unless I say so, understood?” You grab him by the jaw, getting more turned on as fresh tears form in his eyes as he nods, agreeing helplessly just to have your cock inside him despite it being wrapped in a piece of rubber.

You position him straddling your lap, facing the mirror, making him turned on and leaking at your reflection of you being fully clothed, while he's naked, preparing to be used like the goddamn slut he is.

“Fuck!” He whimpers as you give him a hard thrust that hits his prostate. He fixes his gaze on the mirror to see you lock stares with his.

“Moan for daddy, slut.” You whisper.

It's going to be a long day.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)Wife

Chapter VIII: Rumours 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Three months after your show in Oldtown, things seem different. How will you and Aemond navigate this new normality?

Warnings: 18+, self-destructive thoughts, mentions of rehab, therapy and anger management, allusions to smut

Word count: 4500

A/N: What a journey! Thank you so much to everyone that has followed this story, both for the first and second time.

Three months later. 

The tour went on for over two months, finishing with a sold-out show back home in King’s Landing. Thanks to management bringing in some highly skilled people to work on finalising the songs on Rumours, the event doubled as the release day of your second album. 

You sold twice as many records in the first three days as your first album did since its release last year.

Though you’re certain that some of the attention your album’s received is due to the dramatic end of your marriage to Aemond, you’re convinced that fans wouldn’t be buying it if they didn’t enjoy the music. The reviews from major music outlets were raving about the emotional depth throughout the album, another indicator that gossip wasn’t the only selling point of your heartbreaking labour. 

Now, with the holidays closing in, your label has asked you to create some type of extra material to put on a limited edition version of Rumours. 

The members of Dragon Dreamers agreed that adding a bonus track would be the best feature, and decided to meet in the studio to record it in one go; a straight-forward and quick procedure fitting your time restraint. 

You’ve been playing around with a few ideas for new songs, but nothing substantial that feels ready just yet. Lucky for you, Helaena posted in your group chat that she’s been working on a song you could use. 

You’d listened to the demo she shared and the song truly has great potential, being somewhat fast-paced with Helaenas dreamy vocals adding that mellow feel to it only she seems capable of. 

Reaching the studio, you step out of the taxi and thank the driver over your shoulder, pulling the thick, wool fabric of your coat tighter around your trembling body. 

It’s only the last week of November, but winter seems to have come early this year. You hurry to get into the building where the studio is, shaking fingers fidgeting with the key in your cold, inflexible hand, too stiff to obey you and get the thin piece of brass into the keyhole. 

“Allow me”, echoes a voice behind you, and the corners of your lips pull up at the familiar, gentle tone. 

“It’s fucking freezing”, you say light-heartedly and move away from the lock to make space for Aemond, who steps forward, key already in hand.

He unlocks the door swiftly, giving you a pointed look while pushing the heavy door open with one hand. It’s his idea of banter; meeting your eyes with that cheeky glint dancing in his eyes, amusement hiding in his lips where the faintest promise of a smile forms. 

“Thank you” 

You walk past him into the hallway leading to the studio and he follows behind you, mumbling a quiet, 

“Anytime”

After the show in Oldtown, your and Aemond’s relationship has improved immensely. Agreeing that whatever happens, the band comes first, proves to be a good way for the both of you to stay on track. 

Being on the road and performing several times a week is draining, stressful, and overall rough. But in the strain, it’s provided you with some peace of mind, forced to put all your focus on work instead of dwelling on the past.

On everything that’s happened between the two of you.

Besides, Aemond’s put in effort to be civil as well, even bordering on being friendly at times, asking you if you’d like anything from the coffee shop before he went to grab an espresso. A clear sign of trying that you appreciate, no matter how small. 

Besides, it’s not like he even needs to ask. He knows perfectly well what you like. 

But this feels better; feigning ignorance. 

Not still acting like a married couple. 

Perhaps his change was not entirely due to what occurred in Oldtown. Helaena had let it slip one day over lunch that he’d started seeing a therapist, while also attending an anger management program online. 

You’re happy for him, truly. 

It shows on his demeanour that he’s doing better; that he knows how to handle situations better. He seems more in tune with his inner self as well, more in control of it. You’re glad to see him improving, and yet there’s a small part of you that still mourns the broken bond between the two of you. 

That part feels resentful, annoyed with the fact that he couldn’t have done this before your divorce. 

Then you might still be together. 

Helaena’s singing voice grows louder as you move closer to the door of the studio, pushing it open with your stiff, cold hands. 

Jace and Erryk are already seated, listening intently to Helaena’s instructions as she explains how they’re going to record the song. You and Aemond slip in, eyes trained on her, and she offers you a nod in greeting, continuing to discuss her vision of the song,

“The build up has to be captivating! It speeds up towards the outro at the end, which is like the highlight of the song”, she says, hands coming up to put emphasis on her words, 

“That’s what you’d envisioned, right Aemond?”

Her head turns to meet the gaze of her younger brother, waiting for a sign of agreement. He only hums in reply and nods at her, prompting her to continue. 

Has Aemond written this song?

You think back to the demo Helaena sent of her singing and playing piano. 

Isn’t this a love song?

“Finally wrote a song for your girlfriend then?”, Erryk teases as he lowers himself to take a seat behind the drum set. 

A wave of nausea crashes over you without warning. You feel your heart race in your chest, like it’s fighting to get out, and a sickening panic spreads within you. Your hands, that’d just felt so cold and stiff, now feel clammy and tingling with unease. 

You knew this day would come. 

The day Aemond writes a song for Alys. 

You’d mentally prepared for it; convinced yourself that whenever this day came, you’d be okay. It wouldn’t hurt that much, you already know that he’s moved on. 

But Erryk’s question leaves you disoriented, almost dizzy, and you hear the furious beat of your heart in your ears.

Now you have to live with your decision to leave him all those months ago. Allow him to move on and watch him from the sidelines as his colleague. 

Sing along to the declaration of love he’s written for his new lover? 

“Hel and I have been working on this song since last spring”, he dismissively replies, throwing Erryk a look that feels cold, yet his tone stays neutral. 

Since last spring? 

You still feel the heavy weight of anxiety on your chest, but with a few deep breaths, you manage to pull yourself together. 

Just get through this afternoon, then you can go home and dwell in self-pity without spectators. 

The band starts to play, Helaena singing as her fingers dance over the keys of the piano, 

‘Sweet, wonderful you’

‘You make me happy with the things you do’

‘Oh, can it be so?’

‘This feeling follows me wherever I go’

Aside from the demo Helaena sent you a few days ago, you’ve never heard this song before. If Aemond’s been working on it since last spring, does that mean he’s kept it a secret from you?

Maybe he played a rough edit to you before your separation? 

Maybe he and Helaena had reworked it beyond recognition? 

‘I never did believe in miracles’

‘But I’ve a feeling it’s time to try’

‘I never did believe in the ways of magic’

‘But I’m beginning to wonder why’

He’s not usually the type to write love songs. His solo song on your first album, titled ‘I’m so Afraid’, can be described as anything but romantic. 

‘Don’t break the spell’

‘It would be different and you know it will’

But this? Is it the love he receives from Alys that has prompted him to write such an exposing song; causing him to believe in miracles and magic? 

Does she make him feel safe? 

Safer than before? 

‘You make loving fun’

‘And I don’t have to tell you but you’re the only one’

You try to keep your voice stable as you sing along, backing up Helaena’s delicate tone. 

It hurts, hearing how much he doesn’t miss you; how happy he is with her. 

The one that makes loving fun. 

When you were married, all you seemed capable of was making him miserable. 

Loving you wasn’t fun. 

‘You make loving fun’

‘It’s all I wanna do’

‘You make loving fun’

‘It’s all I wanna do’

Some hours go by.

You record a few different versions of the song; playing around with various sounds. 

Every time you sing the words, they stab your heart like a knife, 

‘You make loving fun’

You try to act normal. You try so hard that you can taste copper on your tongue. Thankfully, no one seems to see through your facade. 

Just breathe. 

In. Hold three seconds. Out. Hold three seconds. 

You know that it won’t hurt this much forever. 

One day, you’ll wake up and your lungs won’t ache when you inhale deeply. Your eyes won’t burn from the force in which you're trying to prevent tears from falling. 

Time heals all wounds. 

But yours are still fresh. Leaking and aching. 

All you want to do is go home, throw yourself in bed and cry. 

You crave release, whether it comes from sorrow-induced dehydration, calling Alysanne just to yell out your frustrations, or screaming into a pillow.

When Helaena finally wraps up the recording session, asking you to come back tomorrow after she’s listened through a few of the takes, you hastily grab your bag and move towards the door. 

Just need to get out. 

Away. 

You call out a rushed farewell over your shoulder as you make your way down the corridor of the building, hand coming up to the door handle to step out into the cold November night. 

You brace yourself, ready for the chill air to hit your cheeks as you pull the door open. But before you’re able to leave, a large hand gently grabs your shoulder, keeping you in place, 

“Wait”

Aemond’s voice is low behind you. 

You inhale a deep, shaky breath before you turn around to face him. 

“Yes, Aemond?”

Your voice is purposefully flat, and you’re doing your absolute best to not let the hurt you feel reflect on your tone. 

“I wanted to talk to you”, he begins, tongue coming out to lick his lips. He’s apprehensive in a way that makes his voice sound foreign, like he’s not himself. 

“Did you like it? The song?”

Your gaze flickers down at his question, a reflex-like response so you don’t roll your eyes at him. He sure makes it difficult to be the bigger person. 

Set on tormenting you. 

“Yes”

You bite out the reply, laced with innate irritation you can’t conceal. 

Yes, it’s a good song, you can’t deny that. But seeking you out to have you admit that the song he wrote for his new partner is good Is a new low. 

And to think you thought he’d finally changed for the better. 

Aemond’s good eye roams your face, seemingly searching for something. An answer hidden in your features. 

He licks his lips again, as if he’s looking for what to say, 

“You do, you know”

His eye still flickering around without meeting yours, and his restless demeanour makes you nervous too. 

“I do what?”, you ask, irritation now clear in your curt tone. 

“Make loving fun”, he answers. 

The shock of his sudden confession renders you speechless, and Aemond takes the opportunity to pull you out of the building and into the dark night. 

The heavy door to the studio closes with a loud thud, and left are you and Aemond, alone in the freezing, dark November night. 

“I wanted to surprise you with the song on our wedding anniversary in June, but obviously..”, his voice dies out. 

Still lost for words, you’re sure you look ridiculous, mouth agape and eyes wide. 

Aemond carefully takes in your reaction and takes a deep breath himself, 

“I’ve thought about our relationship recently. A lot”, he says, eyes flickering down to your trembling hands.

Are they shaking from the cold? 

He takes your hands in his warm grip, encapsulating their entirety, 

“I didn’t treat you right-”

“I, I just-, I loved you so fucking much, I-, I didn’t know how to handle loving you so fiercely. I still do”

He has that sad look in his eye that you’ve grown familiar with; the sorrow that he’s made a habit of keeping from you. 

Now, it’s on full display as he offers you himself again, 

“Please take me back”, he quietly begs, body moving forward, face coming down so he can rest his cheek on your head, hands still holding yours tightly. 

You feel lost for words, stiffly staying in place as you hear Aemond inhale deeply through his nose buried in your hair. 

“Aemond”, you sigh, tone thick and unsteady, 

“I thought we’d agreed to move forward as bandmates”

“I’ve missed you so much”, he mumbles in reply, unmoving as he rests his head on yours. 

“You’re with Alys now”, you breathe out, disbelief making it hard for you to sort out your thoughts.

“I haven’t seen her since Winterfell”, he replies.

“Aem-”, you try to oppose but he cuts you off,

“I’m sorry for ruining everything. I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you. I’m sorry for being selfish”, he confesses quietly, whispering his sins into your hair. 

Aemond moves to let go of your hands, and instead brings his arms around your shoulders to hug you. 

His voice is still low, mouth right next to your ear, 

“I took your love for granted. I couldn’t imagine a world where we weren’t together”, he admits and presses your body against his, 

“And now I regret how I treated you every day. I know my actions are inexcusable, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I need-”, his voice breaks, 

“I need you”

Being in his embrace, so full of the love you’ve been missing for months, causes your lids to feel heavy, and you close your eyes and rest your cheek against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. 

He still smells the same. 

The most comforting, warming scent in the world. 

It would be so easy to take him back.

It is so tempting. 

You gently pull away to look up at him, eyes locking with his, 

“Aemond, you know you weren’t happy being with me” 

“I’m going to therapy, I’m trying to be better”, he says quietly. His eyes are glassy when he adds, 

“For you”

You swallow the lump lodged in your throat. 

“That’s great, Aemond, and I’m so proud of you”, 

“But I don’t think getting back together would be good for either of us”, you conclude, gaze carefully gauging his expression, anxiously awaiting his reaction. 

The inevitable fire. 

His eyes narrow, face setting in harsh displeasure. 

You notice the corners of his mouth twitch downwards as he stares at you in silence, nostrils flaring with each breath. 

His warmth disappears as he steps away from you. 

He quickly shifts to the side to avoid your eyes, and leaves without another word.

You do all three things when you get home. 

You cry, you scream into a pillow, and you call Alysanne to yell out your frustrations. 

Nothing helps.

Why did he have to do this now? 

Why couldn’t he have done this when you were still together? 

The wound of your marriage opens up again, sending icy waves of pain through your body. 

This was supposed to be the part when things got better; when time had healed the wounds.

And yet, you’re still hurting just as much. 

A gash that refuses to stop bleeding. 

In the depths of your despair, you see your phone light up with a notification through the veil of tears obstructing your vision. 

You bring one of your hands up to half-heartedly wipe away the tears that spill out as the other grabs the phone to see who’s texted. 

Aemond: “I’m sorry for earlier tonight. If you want to remain friends, I would appreciate that”

For the second time tonight, his unpredictability astonishes you. 

Where’s the anger? 

You’re unmoving, hand holding your phone in a cramp-like grip as it lights up again. 

Aemond: “It’ll be entirely on your conditions”

You inhale, closing your eyes as you ponder your reply. 

Exhaling slowly, you open your eyes again to type out your answer.

You: “Okay”

Like most things, though it seemed absurd in the beginning, being friends with Aemond has become a normality. 

It started slowly, not going further than the two of you chatting during band practice. 

Then, you started going out to grab coffee together, airly discussing the band, upcoming shows, and what music you’d been listening to recently. 

As weeks pass by, your newfound familiarity blooms into a friendship. 

You start taking more liberties around each other, without constantly being on edge. 

Things like Aemond asks you if you’d like to go see a film by an up-and-coming director, you asking him if he’d like to grab food on the way home from the studio together. 

Your marriage, as tumultuous and heartbreaking as it had been, seems a distant memory now. The ashes from what once was have provided soil for the two of you to build a new, healthy friendship on. You feel thankful for that.

Thankful to still have Aemond in your life.

Being friends suits him. 

He’s opened up far more in these past few weeks to you than he had during the entirety of your futile relationship. 

He acredits it to the therapy and anger management he’d done, but you sense a real shift within him. 

He tells you about Alys; how he met her and how they developed a kind of friends with benefits dynamic as he longed for intimacy and she became his manager. 

Though you can vividly remember him calling her his ‘girlfriend’, he apparently hadn’t made that clear with her, and when he asked her to come on tour with him, a childish attempt at making you jealous, you presume, she’d patted him on the cheek and explained that though he’d been a fun fuck, she didn’t have time for a partner. 

He says that in retrospect, her not having any romantic feelings for him must’ve been a blessing, since he was only using her for selfish fulfilment himself. 

He tells you about Aegon; how they hadn’t spoken all summer, until Aemond reached out to properly apologise, a crucial part of the anger management program. 

Aegon, inspired by Aemond’s dedication to sort out his inner demons, had decided on a fourth trip to rehab. By now, he’s stayed sober for longer than ever before.

Aemond says that he’s made a habit of bringing his brother out hiking, trekking the vast landscape of the Reach. 

Sometimes during those long walks, they’d talk over each other, engaging in passionate discussion about everything and anything. Other times, they walk in comfortable silence, simply existing together. 

It’s nice seeing your ex husband so content. 

The bitterness you first felt at his dilatory introspection has been replaced by admiration; impressed by his dedication to be better. 

Somewhere inside, the wound of the past bleeds less and less. 

Perhaps this is how you were always meant to be? 

Friends. 

The realisation is bitter, but you’ve grown used to the taste on your tongue. 

You made the right decision. 

It’s almost midwinter when Aemond asks you to come over to your old flat one Sunday morning. 

Apparently he’s in the process of subletting the place, and needs help removing any personal belongings. 

It’s strange being back, already foreign and distant, yet still so familiar. 

“I’ve put some of your stuff in the guest bedroom”

Aemond gestures for you to follow him as you step inside. 

Like you don’t know where it is.

You follow him, watching as he opens the wardrobe, stepping to the side to invite you in. 

True to his perfectionist nature, your things are neatly organised, hanging in tidy rows. 

Some of your clothes, two coats, a vase you’d gotten from Alicent on your birthday, a jewellery box. Mostly gifts you received from Aemond, too painful for you to bring with you when you left all those months ago.

Maybe now you’re finally ready to look at the relics of your broken marriage with fondness, reminiscent of the love you once shared. 

As you inspect the wardrobe, you notice an old box tucked in one corner, edges worn down and structure almost caving in. 

You pick it up and open the lid, surprised to find the picture collage you’d made for him on your six month anniversary inside, along with a few other memorabilia from your relationship.

Two tickets to the cinema, a pub receipt, an ugly doodle of Aemond you drew as a joke. 

“What’s this?”, you ask as your hands rummage through the content of the box.

Aemond looks up from the moving box he’d been hunched in front of, eyes going wide when he sees what’s in your hand. 

“You can just put that back”, he quickly replies, face growing a bit pink. 

“I can just move this to the trash as well”, you say and shift towards the big, black bin bag in the corner. 

“That’s alright. I-, I want to keep it”, he mumbles quietly and stands up, towering over you as he takes the box from your hands. 

Your eyes dart from the frame with the pictures you’d made for him to his face, not quite sure why he wants to keep such trivial things. 

“I want to keep the memories” 

He puts the lid back on the box, bends down to place it on the floor, and pushes it towards the back of the closet using his foot. 

There’s something in the air that causes the mood to shift. It’s like a thick fog has settled over the room, sticking in your lungs whenever you breathe. 

“The good old days”, you joke stiffly, trying to chase the uncomfortable tension away. 

Aemond’s standing with his back against you, facing the closet. He hums in reply at your attempted humour. 

“Everything was so easy back then”, you sigh, moving to grab one of the coats hanging next to where he stands. 

He’s stiff as he turns to you, watching as you carefully examine the coat, pondering whether you should keep it or not. 

“I-”, Aemond starts before he stops himself, appearing to be lost in thought,

“I’d try every day to make it easy for you. To love me, I mean” 

Your head snaps to the side. His confession hits you with such force, it’s almost physical, and now it’s your turn to be lost for words. 

“Oh, Aemond”, you choke out as you take in the sad frown his face is set in,

“It was never hard loving you. It was hard being loved by you”

“I know”

One of his hands moves carefully towards you. When you don’t back away from him, he takes the opportunity to place it on your cheek. 

You can feel the way his hand trembles against your skin despite how gentle his touch is.  

“I can’t promise that it’ll always be easy. But I still love you as much as I did back then. I know I shouldn’t but I need to-” he licks his lips as he’s searching for the right words, 

“I need to ask you again. Will you take me back?”

His stare is intense as he carefully evaluates your reaction. You still can’t find your voice, stuck in your throat in shock. 

“I know I don’t deserve it, but I don’t want anyone-, anything else. I’ll do anything for you. Please take me back”, he begs, voice cracking at the end of his plea. 

The hand he’s placed on your cheek feels like it’s burning an imprint onto your skin. 

You’ve never seen him like this before. 

So open; heart on display, laid out in the hand he’s now offering you.

It’s all yours. 

He hurt you so much during your time together. 

He made life so hard for you. 

He made you feel alive. 

Would it be worth it; possibly being hurt again?

Feeling alive again. 

You bring your hand up to his cheek, mirroring how he’s cradling your face. 

Alive. 

Aemond’s POV

When she tilts her head up, leans forward and pulls his face closer to hers, he almost lets out a relieved cry. 

Kissing her again feels like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. 

It’s so relieving it hurts. 

Even when he has to leave her lips to breathe, he presses his face against hers, desperate for the contact. 

He can’t be apart from her warmth for even a second longer. 

Her arms meet around his neck, keeping him close as her breath heats up the skin of his face. 

He’s robbed himself of this for months. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever forgive himself for that. for allowing her to slip away. 

He searches for her mouth again, kissing her as if she could breathe life into his lungs and revive his numb heart. 

His hands can’t decide if they want to touch every part of her being, or hold her so close they melt into one. 

She presses herself against him, kissing him back with just as much vigour. 

The thought that she’s missed him makes him want to weep. 

“I love you”, he says between pants as he moves his lips from hers, trailing down to kiss her neck. 

Her hands grab the back of his shirt and she lets out a moan when his lips find the patch right beneath her ear she loves so much. 

She pulls him downwards, onto the floor, and offers him a giggle as she straddles him. 

Her fingers come down to help him unbutton his trousers, just as eager for him as he is for her. 

He feels tears burn behind his eyelids again. 

Finally. 

He can hardly contain himself as his fingers clumsily search for the buttons of his jeans to aid her in getting them off. He is so impatient, so eager for her, that his hands shake from desire. 

His soul is finally soothed when she sinks down on him. 

He’s consumed by her. 

When she begins to move, the grip of her cunt around him indicates that this won’t last long. But that’s alright. It won’t be the last time. 

He surges forward to kiss her again, to let her know how grateful he is. 

That she came back to him. 

That she’s offered him her warmth once again. 

Fin.

A/N: Thank you for reading! ❤️

A very special thank you(!) to Justine @theoneeyedprince who've helped me by beta-ing this fic. You are truly a gem, so wonderfully supportive of me and I appreciate you so, so very much. Besides being an absolute legend of a friend, Justine's also an immensely talented writer. If you're eager to read more modern heartbreak, check out her story Careless Whisper - it's so good! ❤️

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Second Lesson

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: edging and overstimulation

Genre: smut

Summary: Some things are not self explanatory, and Steve has decided he's going to fill in the gaps by coming to you to ask his questions about sex and some of those questions have more involved answers than you'd expect

***

You hear a knock at your door while you're looking for something in your closet.

"Coming!" You call, taking a moment to contain the hurricane that you've created in there. You open the door to find Steve in the hall.

"Are you busy?" He asks.

"Not particularly, what's up?"

"I have another question."

"Shoot." You say, gesturing for him to walk into your room.

"Edging. What it is?"

"It is pleasuring yourself or someone else until the brink of orgasm without letting them actually have an orgasm."

"That sounds like torture." Steve frowns.

"Sometimes it is. It can be used as a punishment, some people enjoy it though, it can also be about increasing endurance- you know- training to last longer in bed, it also usually makes the orgasm more intense when you do eventually get to that point."

"Huh, have you done it before?"

"Been on both sides." You shrug. "Oh also I should mention that like most kink terms there is an equal yet opposite complementary term. For edging its complementary term is overstimulation."

"And that is?"

"If edging is about restraint when it comes to pleasure then overstimulation is a hedonistic indulgence in it. Orgasming again and again and again, sometimes to the point of pain this is where a safe word can be useful because you may say things like stop or I can't take it especially because post orgasm sensitivity can be a bitch but the whole point is to keep going and if you've already talked about exploring either edging or overstim, your partner will probably ignore you saying stop because again the point is to keep going even if you are sensitive, but if they're going to ignore you saying it's too much, you need to be able to stop them if it actually is too much."

"Are all aspects of sex so- severe?" He asks.

"No. Sex can be incredibly soft and gentle and sweet, it can be slow and tender in many ways. I mean, you saw some of that last time. You just- happen to have coincidentally questions about the other end of the spectrum today." You shrug.

"It just seems very, intense. Like maybe too intense? I don't get why you would want to put someone through that. It seems like a slippery slope, sex should be about love not some form of- torture."

"Well calm down, you sound panicked and it's not like I'm going to strap you down and force you to experience it. It's not for everyone Steve, different people have different preferences, this is why it's good to have those conversations before you sleep with someone so nobody gets put in a stressful situation they didn't sign up for. Plus there are a lot of ways to express love you know. If your person wants you to do these things then that absolutely shows that you love them, especially if you do them with the care you're meant to."

"I just don't understand it I guess." He shakes his head.

"That's fine Stevie, no one can force you to do it or enjoy it or even comprehend it really. Like I said, it's a personal preference. Just- be honest with your partner when the time comes." You shrug.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you... like this stuff?" Steve asks.

"I do. With the right person."

"Really?"

"You have your ideas about sex, I have mine." You shrug.

"What's that mean?"

"You said sex is about showing love and I agree with that to a point but to me it's also about pleasure. It's about exploring yourself, sometimes through someone else. It's about learning and adventure. The heat and intensity, passion that is borderline all consuming, sex can be many things. I like to experience all of them."

"Oh." He breathes.

"Of course that's just me. I'm not here to change your mind about anything." You hum.

"I have to try this edging thing."

"You don't. The hands on lessons are an option not an obligation, you don't seem interested in that and that's fine! You can just take the verbal explanation and proceed with your day as long as it makes sense to you, there's no reason to force yourself to try something that don't appeal to you." You shake your head.

"Well, it's hard to understand something if you're not open to experiencing it right?"

"I mean, I guess sometimes."

"So I want to experience it. That way I can understand it." He insists.

"As long as you're sure about this."

"I'm sure. Let's do it." He nods.

"What? Now?"

"Do you have time?"

"Depends on what time it is now."

"Three seventeen."

"I've got til six, I have another engagement later this evening."

"Is that enough time?"

"Plenty. Get comfortable, I would recommend getting naked, you do need to at least take off your pants or you'll likely stain them but it'll probably be more comfortable to take off everything because there's a chance you'll get hot. I know you run pretty warm already but I don't know how much you'd enjoy your shirt sticking to your back after twenty minutes." You say.

"Right, yeah." Steve hesitantly shuffles out of his pants and underwear and then, after seemingly debating in his head, he also pulls his shirt over his head and places all of them on your desk chair before sitting on the bed.

"Alright, I'm going to treat this like I would a real situation. Of course, the expectations are different, I know so don't worry about performing a certain way. Just like last time if at any point you have a question or something makes you feel uncomfortable you can simply say so assuming you can focus. If you can't focus use your stoplight. Yellow, or red, just like we discussed before." You tell him as you pull open the drawer by your bed and grab the bottle of lube.

"What's that for?" Steve asks when you squirt a generous amount into your hand.

"It's a lubricant. It might be a little cold at first, but I'm sure you'll appreciate it, especially the longer this goes." You say sitting beside him. "I'm going to touch you now, is that alright?" You ask.

"Yes." Steve nods with more conviction than you'd expect. You wrap your fingers around the base of his dick and he takes in a large breath. His exhale is shaky as you drag your hand up his length with a pressured grip. You circle his tip, slowly massaging it, watching his reactions, enjoying the way his abdomen seems to flex sporadically. His breathing is coming out harsher now and you begin to pump him. Last time you made a point not to stare at him since he was clearly rather nervous about the whole thing but not looking is rather impossible with this 'lesson' so you take the time to really get a look at his dick as you stroke him. The tip is a reddish pink and there are a couple veins running very noticeably along it. You already knew he was big, he's been inside you for fuck's sake, but looking at it unobstructed, boy was he... endowed.

"So how this works Stevie, usually, is that you'll tell me when you're close, ask me, beg me if I tell you to, ask me to cum and I'll tell you if you've earned it. Of course I won't demand all that from you, I'm rather good at reading people's bodies." You explain to him, stroking faster, holding a little bit tighter.

"W-what do you mean usually?" He asks wearily.

"When I do this with partners. There's a bit of power play that comes with this, if you hadn't noticed, having control of how much pleasure your person receives at any given moment. It's a very powerful feeling. But this is more about teaching you than my own enjoyment, so it's a bit different, I'm just offering you more details about the appeal of it all." You explain.

"A-and you- you like that? The p-power play?" He asks. You can tell he's really starting to struggle with his focus, his body is twitching, and he's gripping the sheets, blinking rapidly as he speaks. You watch his whole body tense up and take that as your cue to ease up. You slow your wrist to almost a stop, relishing in the groan Steve lets out.

"I find it can be intoxicating." You smirk.

"So that's how this works?" He pants.

"Pretty much." You nod, picking up speed again. Steve moans as his body jolts again. You can't help but imagine how nice he'd look with a couple of hickeys. You won't be giving him any of course but the idea does captivate you for a brief moment. It's clear that Steve is trying to control his reactions, but the shaky breaths and strained grunts give him away.

"My god." He whispers, tipping his head back. If it was anybody but Steve saying those words, you'd affirm that you are their god and they should worship you as such but it's not somebody else, it's Steve and you'd best keep it simple. When his body tenses up again, you slow your hand accordingly, and Steve lets out a strained groan.

"You know Stevie, you don't have to try so hard to keep quiet. I like your little noises. They're hot." You say.

"I'm not- r-really used to... making n-noises like that." He pants out.

"Well, a bit of advice, most girls like to hear that you're enjoying yourself."

"Really?"

"Yep." You say, stroking him faster, again. You continue your game with him, slowing down when his body tenses up and speeding up when his shuddering breaths quiet. With each denied orgasm his restraint on his vocalizations seems to slip, by the fith time you're slowing down he's an unending string of moans and grunts and even a few whimpers when you squeeze in just the right place.

"This is torture." Steve grits out. His entire body is flushed and his skin is glistening.

"I know but you're doing so well. Just a little longer and I promise I'll reward you. Don't you want that?" You ask with a mocking sweetness in your tone.

"Please." He says breathlessly.

"Oh that sounded nice." You smile. You're not even trying to break him like you would under usual circumstances but the sound him whimpering please to you almost makes you want to.

"Y/n- I feel, like I'm on fire. Please I need to cum." Steve huffs through clenched teeth and you start to wonder if he's reaching his limit. Gripping his chin you gently tilt his head to look at you.

"Checking in Stevie, gimme a color please." You say softly.

"G-green, this is insane." He says shakily.

"You haven't tapped out yet." You smile slightly.

"Is that the goal?"

"Not today." You wink at him. You decide it's probably best to stop here, so you pick up your speed again watching for the telltale signs of his orgasm but this time you finally let him peak and you can't decide if the sound or sight is more dazzling. Either way, you work him through it as evidence of his release spurts over your hand and his thighs in thick ropes. There's an impressive amount of it and you wonder if this is a super soldier thing or if he's just really pent up. When nothing else comes out and he hisses against your touch you let him go. "I'm gonna get a wash cloth, hang tight." You tell him standing from the bed and walking into your bathroom. You rinse your hand first and then soak a washcloth with room temperature water. When you pop back out his arm is draped over his eyes but he otherwise hasn't moved. You start with his neck, wiping the sweat that's probably made his skin sticky. You do a quick swipe across his chest too before moving on to cleaning the remenants of his orgasm from his thighs and recovering dick. "How are we feeling?" You ask him once he's clean. You toss the washcloth in your hamper and grab a water from your mini fridge before sitting beside him on the bed.

"That was- intense." He says.

"Yes but you knew that going in."

"I mean- when you finally let me, you know. It was intense- probably more so than I've ever felt." He says and you giggle at his avoidance of saying orgasm.

"We should really work on your comfortablilty with some of these terms. But yes that intensity is a high some people crave."

"Wow."

"Was it worth it?" You ask.

"What?"

"You said it was the most intense orgasm you've ever had, would you say the payoff was worth the buildup? After all you called it torture."

"You're not even nice about it."

"I was actually very nice, I didn't wait til you were crying to get you off which- is usually what I'll do."

"You make people cry?" He blinks surprised.

"Sometimes." You shrug.

"That's- further than I-"

"I know, that's why I didn't make you cry. Although crying is way more likely with overstimultion anyhow." You shrug.

"Is it?"

"Wanna see for yourself?" You ask opening your bedside drawer again.

"Well I'm not sure I can hand-"

"Here." You drop one of your toys in his hand.

"What's this?"

"A vibrator. I figure it's not fair if every lesson is just me doing things to you like some sort of lab rat so I thought you might want to try overstimulating me. The only other way for that to happen is for you to learn my body but who has time for that? This is efficient and pretty much idiot proof it'll get the job done regardless of your personal experience." You shrug.

"You- want me to use this on you?" He asks wide eyes watching you quickly take off your clothes.

"Yes I do. It's simple, I promise. It does most of the work for you. If you have the energy for it that is." You say.

"Depends on just how simple it is." He says. You sit on the bed next to him and grab his wrist, placing the vibrator in his hand against your clit. It's not on but your insides still clench in anticipation when it touches you.

"Put it here, small circles or wiggling it up and down is fine but keep it in this general area, start with light pressure and press harder as we go. I'll be using the same stoplight system, so here's a couple of preliminary warnings, if I squirm away follow me or hold me down, if I cry that's fine, if I scream let me, ignore me if I ask you to stop or say it's too much. In fact, no matter what, you keep this against me until I call red and I will call red. Sound simple enough?"

"You might cry and that's a good thing?" He frowns.

"It's not a bad thing. It probably won't happen anyway I'm just covering my bases no need to look so terrified." You chuckle.

"How do I turn this on?" He asks after a moment.

"The last button."

"What are the other two?"

"One controls the rhythym and the other controls the power, don't mess with those buttons. For the sake of this lesson they are off limits."

"Last one turns it on?"

"Yes." You nod. Steve stares at the buttons for a moment before a sharp click fills the silence and you jolt from the sudden stimulation. He moves the toy in tight circles, his face pinched in focus. Your hips grind against the vibrator and it doesn't take long for your first orgasm to hit you with a soft moan.

"Oh." Steve says, as if he's surprised.

"Keep going, add pressure." You huff out. Shuddering pants indicate that Steve's done what you asked, your muscles tensing from the continued pleasure post orgasm. The thing with this particular vibrator is that it works quick and you hardly manage to calm down before your second orgasm sneaks up on you. Steve trades the circles for little up and down motions that draw a couple sharp moans from you. 

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"Fine Stevie, I'm fine." You say shakily. Your third orgasm comes with a cry through your closed mouth. You know it's impractical to be so mindful of your sounds but you've got to remain at least semi-composed to be of any help to Steve. More and more your body spasms as the stimulation continues, practically twitching from the pleasure. Small whimpers begin to escape with more frequency as you quickly approach orgasm four. On this one your eyes roll back and you allow an obscene sounding high pitched moan to fall from your lips. Steve makes a sound somewhere in his throat which you barely hear. You're starting to feel that bite of overstimulation layering under the pleasure and it makes you squirm. You jerk against the toy, hoping for a reprieve from the buzzing and Steve, the dilligent student that he is, places a hand across your stomach, holding you in place and all you can do is cry out as he presses the vibrator firmly against your clit. You grip the sheets tightly as he starts to make little circles around your too sensitive bundle of nerves, your whole body is shaking as another orgasm quickly creeps up on you with a squealing noise and string of curses. You can feel your brain getting fuzzy, that familiar hedonistic haze threatens to blanket your thoughts, you know if you don't stop Steve soon you'll be far too blissed out to do so and Steve is not equipped to handle that sort of headspace.

"Okay, red. That's enough Stevie." You say breathlessly but firm. Steve quickly moves the toy but struggles to turn it off so you take it from him and turn it off yourself. You take a couple of moments to recompose yourself, ignoring the phantom buzzing and overwhelming wetness between your legs when you sit up and pull your knees to your chest.

"Are you alright? Do you need water? Can I get you something?"

"I'm fine Stevie. How are you feeling?"

"Me? I wasn't the one-"

"The whole point of this was to see if you enjoyed either edging or overstim- having tried both, do you feel like you at least have a better understanding of them like you wanted?"

"I- guess I have a better understanding."

"Well what're you thinking?"

"I thought I would- hate the edging thing but, as... intense as it was there was something, freeing about it? Like getting on a ride at Coney Island and the ending was, worth the build up."

"And overstimulation?"

"It's incredible watching the way your body reacts to such an onslaught. Plus the idea of bringing your lover imense pleasure like that is undeniably delicious, I can see how that kind of thing can be so thrilling."

"Well there you go. Questions answered. You're free to leave." You say.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"I'm fine Steve I'm just going to hop in the shower you've got nothing to worry about really. I've got other things on my schedule of today remember?"

"Alright- if you're sure. I'll see you around. Enjoy your evening."

"Thanks. See ya." You say. Steve seems hesitant to leave but without a reason to stay, he has to shuffle his way out. You let out a sigh after your door closes. You've got a couple hours before your evening plans, good thing, you'll need it. Hopefully one of these days Steve will ask a simple question with a simple answer that doesn't a demonstration.

***

Tagged Users: @chososg1rl

[bogkeep]

thoughts about the "it's ableist to demand people to create art without ai" argument

thankfully not an argument that shows up on my dash unless someone is dunking on it (though i prefer not to be exposed to it at all but what can you do), but i Do think it can be worth biting into the question of: Does True Art Require Effort?

like, if we just ignore the exploitative nature of generative AI for a moment, and the fact that it creates dogshit results and is probably not going to get much "better" than this.

the thing i tend to harp on is that i don't find it particularly meaningful to discuss back and forth whether or not ai generated pictures counts as Real Art or not, because we do not have a meaningful consensus on how to define art in a way that includes everything we personally think is art and excludes everything we don't think is art. it's an interesting discussion! but it's a distraction from, well, The Exploitation. i personally think ai generated pictures can be art - it just tends to be Bad Art. it's uninspired, boring, and makes a mockery of the craft - but that's something you can say about many artworks that's been crafted by real human hands, as well.

so technically i have already answered the question, but it's not what i wanted to talk about. what i wanted to look at was the relationship between Art and Effort, or as some may put it, Suffering. because there is a point where i agree- i don't think there's a necessary Effort Threshold something needs to pass to be considered Art. i don't think one has to suffer to create. and it is true that for some people, the act creation requires far more effort or sacrifice than it requires of others, be it because of disability, time restraints, a lack of resources... we have different situations! this is real! i myself have struggled with tendonitis, severely limiting my ability to draw, and it's not something you can just keep drawing your way through the pain for, lest you fuck it up even worse.

the first question is this: is Creation a human right? well, self actualization IS on the maslow's pyramid of needs, on the tippy top. i have no idea if the pyramid theory is considered Super Legit or not, but it makes sense to me. i think humans DO have a creative need that we express in a myriad of forms - not just writing and drawing! i think our brains yearn to Make Thing for the sake of Making Thing. i think it is very very sad that techbros are dabbling in the act of creation by writing prompts to feed ai generators, and i pity them for not having discovered a more fulfilling way to feed that impulse. i do actually think all humans should have time and tools for creative expressions, but that's an extremely broad sentence for me to say.

(a more adjacent topic is that art as a Product is more of a luxury than a Human Need, like it's not food or shelter. but also art is so deeply embedded in human civilization, and i do think it's a shame how often people consider it superfluous or even hedonistic. *i* think it's important to feed the soul with beauty and stories and expression, but i have no authority to make such a claim for all humankind.)

here is the thing. we have made many tools that have made creating art easier. we live in an age of photography and audio recording and digital art programs. the last one especially can give us a MYRIAD of shortcuts when it comes to creating visual art! nobody would consider it "cheating" to use the paint bucket tool instead of painstakingly filling in every area with a brush tool. we have increasingly more access to 3d models and various assets. *is* there a point where we draw a line in the sand and say, "you're not spending enough time to make this, therefore it is void"? i, personally, wouldn't. i wouldn't know where to draw that line. i have been reading webcomics for a long time, and i have seen how webtoon as a platform has slowly gentrified the medium and is forcing creators to create pages at an unsustainable, breakneck speed - it's no wonder artists are plopping 3D assets directly into their art to even make that schedule viable.

like, ultimately, generative ai doesn't make anything new we have never seen before - we've had photo manipulation for as long as photography has existed, what we consider "slop" has been churned out by greedy corporations for as long as it's been a way to make money - it just makes it much faster, and, crucially, without intention or creative input.

like, i think that's the big thing. whether or not Art can be created without Intent is a whole another discussion, actually. there was an article about someone leaving their glasses on the floor at a gallery, and people started treating it as part of the exhibition. your cat can take a random, unintended photo and you can call it art. once again, a very big and interesting discussion to have! but i think the throughline is that even if human intent was not involved in creating the art, human intent placed it in a context to make it art. art is a social construct! but! i do think intent can be the line between Good art and Bad art. unfortunately, this is another extremely complex discussion to have, because can we objectively call any art Good or Bad? what does Good or Bad even *mean*! do we even have time to delve into that!!

but what we can say for absolutely 100% certain is that generative ai has no intent, no purpose, no thoughts. it is an algorithm, it does not have the ability to think or mean anything of its own. if it has a bias, it's because the people who programmed it have a bias, or because there is an implicit bias in the content fed to it. now, i don't want to go down the path of talking about how Real Art has a ~*Soul*~ or always has some kind of deep meaning. i don't think the millions of Cool Anime Eyes sketched in math notebooks have a deeper meaning. we create art for lots and lots of purposes - for fun, for practice, to make money, to tell our most vulnerable of truths in the only way we know how, and so on. it can be hard to tell how much of what we create is imbued with ~*intent*~, or even how much we are aware of it - i don't know if a 12 year old trying to draw the coolest edgiest sword wielding OC is thinking too hard about like, the contextual implications of design tropes... but they're making an effort to make their OC look ras as hell with the knowledge and tools at their tiny hand. when they are 24 they may look back at what they drew and redraw it with all the experience they have gained since!!

an AI can't replace a human doing creative work professionally because the skills and knowledge they are using is far more than just "picture look pretty" or "this text vaguely sounds like it was written by a human and isn't that super impressive". at best, or worst really, it replaces extremely overworked and over-exploited professionals who are not given time, resources and compensation to do their job *well*, such as ghost writers forced to write slop.

creation is more than the effort it takes to make it. it is *knowing* how to shape your clay, your words, your lines, to make them into what you want them to be and what you want them to do. it is knowing how (and when) to rewrite your draft, to pick out the best sketch, to make coherent thumbnails, tighten up the narrative, to evoke a mood, to play on themes. it is to build your skill with everything you make.

generative AI is a randomizer button. the one thing i feel fairly certain about is that it's very difficult to say *you* created something if all you did was write a prompt and a machine spat out a product at you. like that one seems fairly cut and dry to me. another thing i've seen a lot is people claiming to use genAI as a starting point, and then editing the thing to make it what you want it to be - and i can see the merit in that, sure! though i also think that the amount of editing and tweaking you need to do to make the thing workable is so substantial and grueling that you may as well make your thing from scratch, and now we've just looped back around to the Demanding Effort Is Ableism problem again.

using generative AI is giving up your autonomy in the process of creation. there are ways to spin art out of that (gestures at marina abramovíc's famous performance art where she just let the audience do whatever they wanted to her while she remained unresponsive) - but for the question of Creating Art As A Human Right And Need: why would you want to? what creative fulfilment do you get out of relinquishing all creative control? you're not... you're not *making* anything. maybe you came up with an idea - great start! - and then threw it out the window in the hopes that the wind would pick it up and take it somewhere exciting. god, even that sounds more like an artistic project than using generative AI. literally any metaphor i could make about this sounds more artistic and interesting than what generative AI is doing these days. i miss the time when AI generated pictures were incomprehensible and strange. i miss secret horses. i miss the time where i naively hoped computers dreaming up images would be like, artistically interesting.

most importantly, as many, many other people have said: disabled people are *already* making art. when my tendonitis was bad, i drastically reduced my drawing time and switched to only using tools that were gentle on my hands, and planned my drawings and drawing time accordingly. i think of my disabled writer friends using speech-to-text software. i think of sir terry pratchett, diagnosed with alzheimers, creating his last books by dictating to his assistant and making audio notes for himself. i'm thinking of the many, many creatives who have collaborated to create amazing things together. i'm not going to come out here and say that ~*Anything Is Possible If You Only Put Your Mind To It*~ or some other platitude that disregards your disability, i don't know you, maybe you will never have the ability or resources to work on the One beautiful creative project that lives in your heart. but i am nearly completely certain that generative AI is not your only option.

[ichorai]

chiropterology — pinnochio.

drabble synopsis ; bruce wayne prepares to attend a gala alone. warnings ; sexually suggestive, some kisses :0

series masterlist.

You tossed Bruce’s silver cufflinks from one hand to another, watching him get dressed from the bed, lips curled into a coy grin. Bruce’s hair was slightly damp from the shower, but was quick to dry after a quick pass with a blow dryer and a swift comb through. His fingers deftly buttoned up the ironed dress shirt as his eyes met the reflection of your provocative, sultry gaze through the mirror. If there wasn’t a gala to attend in half an hour, Bruce would’ve been crawling over you again in an instant. Self restraint was, however, something he prided himself on.

Though, it was getting increasingly difficult to hold himself back when you slid out of the bed in all your naked glory, a light sheen of sweat still glossed over your skin from your prior… activities. You sidled up behind him, kissed his shoulder, and took one of his calloused hands to drop the cufflinks into them. 

“Close your mouth,” you whispered with a laugh. “This is your fault, you know. I would’ve been happy to join you for tonight’s gala.”

Bruce sighed. “I love you, but I’ll be avoiding bringing you to public events for the foreseeable future.”

“I don’t know what could possibly lead you to that decision,” you said, feigning innocence and batting your lashes at him in an exaggerated manner. Bruce scoffed at that.

“The people attending fundraising galas are not your lab rats to test your Pinocchio Serum.” Though Bruce was practically scolding you, his eyes were still soft and playful, despite his exasperated tone.

You held up a finger. “Mm, au contraire—everyone who attends galas are rich, and have plenty of disposable money to get reconstructive facial surgery—”

Bruce groaned out your name, face palming.

“—and their noses only grew if they lied! It’s not my fault every single one of them felt the need to lie about the sizes of their pools, or the number of companies they owned, or how badly they wanted to visit their estranged kids in Bulgaria, or—”

As you ranted about the groundbreaking outcomes of your experiment that he so clearly was not appreciating, he crossed the room to take a silken robe and drape it over your form, tying the soft sash over your hips with a faint blush. If he was going to listen to you talk about your science, he would prefer it if you didn’t do it naked. He had places to be in a few minutes after all.

“I can take you to the next gala. Just promise me—no serums.”

You thought about his offer for a second. “Fine.”

Bruce arched a brow. “No rays, no pills, no buzzers, none of your experiments.”

“Then what’s the point of going in the first place?” you lamented, tossing your hands up in the air. “It’s no wonder none of the kids want to go with you.”

“Hn. It’s more the opposite,” Bruce objected. “It’s best for everyone if the kids don’t attend galas with me anymore.”

Damian was very close to murdering an old woman with a butter knife for pinching his cheeks, and Jason wasn’t any better—he ended up in a screaming match with a high-profile politician. Tim was so sleep-deprived the last time he was forced to go to a gala that he passed out into a plate of mashed potatoes while a senator was speaking to him about some sort of tax law. Cassandra escaped onto the rooftop after two seconds of socializing, and Dick ended up swinging on a crystal chandelier the last time he attended one. You were so proud of all of them.

“You could ask Alfred?” you suggested.

With a sulky huff, Bruce said, “Alfred said I don’t pay him nearly enough for that.”

“Woe is you,” you snorted, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well, have fun at the gala, hon. I’m taking a shower, then checking up on Duke and Damian, and then I promised Tim we’d start a new show together. Oh, and let me know if you need a quick escape! I’ve been testing out a new kind of smoke bomb that releases—”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Bruce reassured. Every day of his life he found himself grateful you weren’t a supervillain. With a hum, he swept you into his arms and caught your lips in a passionate kiss, effectively shutting you up before you could insist on him trying out the smoke bombs. It was near painful when he forced himself to pull away, relishing the way you chased after his lips just a little. “You’re too much for me, woman,” he grumbled, as if it were your fault that he had to leave.

“You’re the one who put a ring on it,” you retorted, before giving him a light shove towards the door. “Now go! Alfred’s probably been waiting to see you off for ages now!”

[newkatzkafe2023]

A Y/N with chubby thighs! and maybe a very innocent personality but who loves to wear short skirts, please! including Sun Wukong and Black Myth Destined Wukong

Me arrodillo ante ti!

OH MAN HERE WE GO!!!!🤩🤩🤩

(Lmk Wukong) He squealed upon seeing you for the first time. You so chunky and soft and he has the ugre to cuddle you so much, but uhhh he constantly has a blush considering your thighs. It gets worse with your pure and innocent personality and the fact that you would wear the shortish skirts he's ever seen. Wukong face would be as red as his cape whenever you had his face laying on your soft legs. His brain was fried the whole time🤤🥵

(MKR Wukong) Oh man he's gonna get so jealous so fast with being with someone like you. Your were always be so kind, and Patient with him. Then you being as squishy and adorable too reminding him very much of fruity. You also especially kill him with those cute short skirts of yours, making you ever more irresistible and he has to fight of other men and pigsy to keep you around.

(NR Wukong) Shamelessly looks at your thighs, even drooling at that. Your whole being is beautiful, soft, and cute and he can't handle you sometimes. What's a blessing and a curse was you having a love for skirts, short skirts for your chubby thighs to show themselves and being free. You would have Wukong drunkenly giggling with a ahem boner at the Wardrobe you got and he would never hate what you wear around him.

(HIB Wukong) Has a hard time looking at you Directly especially in your short skirt. You are slowly killing him with your soft body and thighs and what's worse was that you don't even know, and that is so not fair!!! You would have him fighting for his life when you were those damn short skirts especially when he's not sure if you even have underwear it's Doing some critical damage to his mind🤣 but at least he reminds pigsy not to try anything on you lest he wants to be porkchops👿

(Netflix Wukong) I'll be honest this boy didn't notice at all at first, but when he did oh man he's at a total lost. You dare walk around him with such exposed soft looking clean flesh and you even dared to wear short skirts around him and in public. Now he's normally good with Controlling himself but with you looked all squishy and yummy to him He's not sure how long that's going to be true.

(BTW Wukong) He's gonna tease you so bad,You'll be the one who's blushing🫢. Don't get it twisted. Your sexy short skirts and pretty smooth thick thighs are definitely testing his restraint and self-control, but he would totally hide his Arousal with flirts and teasing of you and your squishy form. Meaning he loves you and your Cuddly body.

(The Destined one) I see him having a habit of kissing your thighs, especially when you were short skirts around him. It shows that he's totally at peace around you, and in the little world you both share. He also like making you Squeak, moan, and squirm around him as his fur tickles you. You both especially enjoy cuddle sessions especially in the winter and Taking maps to together became your favorite couple's activity😴🥰

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG🫂

[heartz4levi]

AH WAITER MORE DEWEY PLEASE..!! 🫶🏼

vitamins, that d, i'm good i'm healthy !

☆ thinking abt dewey nsfw headcannons . .

☆ dewey (alnst) ,, gn reader . . dom!dewey ,, sub!reader ,, BIIIG dick dewey ,, dewey is nasty.. NASTY i tell u... ,, manhandling ,, semi—public sex ,, dewey is shameless and oh my god i desire him so carnally no way he isn't real ,, my fingers r so cold that they feel like they're nearly paralyzed so i didn't get to write all that much </3.

first off, dewey's dick is big. it's fat and he has to make you cum multiple times on his fingers and his tongue to ensure that you're properly stretched out before lubing you up and preparing you to take him in. even then it's a tight fit..

it'll feel like your hole is being split into bits and pieces at first, but when you finally adjust and he finds a suitable place, you'll be on cloud nine. his cock doesn't leave a single crevice of your insides untouched, tip kissing that particularly sensitive spot of yours so effortlessly that he doesn't even have to search for it.

unlike some, dewey doesn't make love, dewey fucks. everything he does to you is too nasty, too lewd to consider it as him making love to you. if you were to ask, he would try to be more gentle, try and set a slower pace, but all of his self restraint crumbles the second he feels you clenching down on his dick. yeah.. no, he can't hold back.

speaking about the nasty and lewd things dewey does to you, here's a small list of the aforementioned 'things'. only if you're into that sort of stuff and give him permission to do it, though.

spits in your mouth — he'll tell you to open your mouth and, with a shit–eating grin, will let a fat glob of his saliva fall down onto your tongue before instructing you to swallow. if you ask him to spit in your mouth instead of him initiating it, he'll get bricked up on the spot.

puts you in a headlock — he has muscles and he likes to show them off. whenever he has you on all fours, dewey likes to tower over your frame and wrap one meaty arm around your neck, keeping you in place while he fucks you dumb on his cock. the way you look at him when he does that, eyes glazed over and half–lidded.. it's enough to make him cum on the spot, honestly.

manhandles you — again, he has muscles and he likes to show them off. if you ask to ride him, he'll agree, but before you can even begin to move your hips he's already physically bouncing you up and down on his cock. whenever the sensation of his dick abusing your poor insides becomes too much and you try to crawl away, he immediately pulls you back by the hips.

will fuck you in semi–public places — dewey is not afraid to pull you into a secluded spot and take you right then and there. if you're hanging out with him and a few of his friends from the rebellion, dewey will whisk you away in the middle of a conversation without giving any explanations. he'll find a relatively safe hiding spot, press you up against the wall or trap you on the floor and make you see stars.

by the way, he will come back afterwards acting as if nothing happened. dewey will seem and look completely unaffected, meanwhile you look like a disheveled mess — hair ruffled up, legs wobbly, both lips swollen and barely able to form any coherent sentences. if anyone is bold enough to ask, however, dewey will shamelessly admit to what he has done to you.

'what he has done to you' always meaning he wrecked your shit with the help of the big dick everyone knows he is in possession of.

[tojirights]

tags: 18+ SMUT, MDNI, drug use, unprotected sex, creampie, choking, casual hookup

toji had been your dealer consistently for quite a while now, and you were well aware of his reputation. you always did your best to not go visit him alone, knowing damn well you'd let him persuade you into falling into bed with him.

but you were insanely bored and had the weekend off so you were in need of some more bud. unfortunately, everyone and their mother seemed to be busy so you suck it up and plan to meet with toji alone. when you pull up to his door, which you also knew was a bad idea, he opens the door with a smirk. “hey sweet thing.” he speaks, already making you feel weak in the knees. “by yourself tonight?” toji raises an eyebrow, seeing just you and your purse. with a sigh, you nod. "yeah everyone bailed on me this weekend. just me, some takeout and shitty movies." you say with a small laugh.

the way toji's eyes scan your body makes a pit form in your stomach. he clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "mh, can't let that happen. come in, why dontcha?" he steps aside, gesturing for you to enter. you hesistate, pulling your lip between your teeth. "i uhh... i shouldn't. not really looking to end up on the news tonight." you tease, watching as toji's eyes falter before he laughs. "i like you, kid. c'mon, i got some bud rolled and ready. on me tonight."

free weed? now you may be dumb but you're not an idiot.

against your better judgement, you accept his invite in. his place was... cleaner than expected... but the smell of the freshly ground weed hit your nose immediately and you let yourself relax. what's the worst that could happen, huh? toji wouldn't kill you or anything, right?

right?

sitting down on his rather comfortable couch, you look at the rolling tray with three blunts ready to be smoked. "as my guest, you have first dibs." toji says, placing himself next to you on the cushion. there's enough space where you aren't feeling suffocated by his presence, but you're fully aware of his body heat.

with a shaky hand, you make your choice and make no hesitation to spark up. your nerves start to settle after a few minutes, smoke flowing around you after your first hit. toji watches diligently, a smirk growing on his face as he watches your muscles stop tensing. "good shit huh?" he asks, taking his first hit. you sit back with your eyes closed, taking in the effects.

you supress a cough as the second hit burns your throat, and that shit hurt but you won't let toji think you can't take a hit so you do your best to suck up the pain. "fuck." you cough, unable to hold it and toji just chuckles. you didn't even see him light up the other joint, but he's already somehow burned through more than you. as the pain resides, you're overwhelmed with the euphoric feeling that you've come to rely on.

toji's still respecting your space, but it somehow feels like the room has shrunk and all you can think about is how close his knee is to yours. your body heat starts to spike, a telltale sign of arousal starting to burn in your gut and you beg it not to show. you're no stranger to bud putting you in the mood, but now is not the time.

"holdin' up alright doll?" toji hums, breaking you from your trance. "h-hm? oh yeah." you fumble your words as you turn to face him. your brain chemisty must be fucked, because the moment your eyes meet his, your self restraint all but snaps. "fuck... toji, i-i..." you sound like an idiot, and your cheeks burn with embarrassment. you try to hide it with an awkward laugh, but it gets lost in your throat when toji's hand rests on your cheek and captures your lips in his.

you would like to say you pulled away and slapped him right across the face, but you instead immediately crawl into his lap. strong hands wrap around your waist to grip the fat of your ass, earning a groan from toji. "y'been dreamin' of this, haven't you baby girl?" toji uses his grip to basically force you to grind on his quickly hardening cock, making you whimper against his lips.

'never fuck your dealer'

your number one rule is quickly disappearing as your hands desperately tug at the hem of toji's shirt, the sudden need to see him unclothed, taking over your senses. he does the same to you, removing your top and expertly unhooking your bra from behind your back. "you clean?" toji pants between kisses, lifting his hips so he can free his cock. you nod, doing the same just a little clumsier. "and on the pill." your response almost makes toji laugh, but he can't help but to find those simple little words so sexy.

there wasn't much more hesitation after you both cleared eachother, your leggings barely making it off your ankles before you feel the head of toji's cock slipping into your needy pussy. you brace for the push in, knowing damn well that toji's cock is bigger than any you've taken in the past. you whine with every hard inch of cock that spreads you open, hearing the squelching sound your pussy only makes after months of not getting fucked properly.

"fuckin' hell kid..." toji groans as his cock forces its way in, all the way until your ass hits his thighs. you're shaking as you try to accommodate not only the length, but the girth of toji's cock. reaching behind you, you grab the last joint off the table and light up, taking as big of an inhale as you can. before you can exhale, toji's grabbing your jaw and pulling your face to his so that you have no choice but to blow the smoke right into his mouth.

you pause now, sitting in toji's lap with his cock pressing snugly against your cervix. it's almost too much, your head spinning as the weed takes over your senses once more. toji takes the still lit joint and takes his own hit before doing the same and blowing it down your throat this time.

and when toji senses your hesitation to keep moving on his cock, he doesn't waste another moment in reaching around to grab a handful of ass, slowly bouncing you up and down on his shaft. "w-wait toji-" you gasp, hands on his chest to brace yourself but toji only gives you a second to breathe before he's lifting you higher and fucking up into you with a harsh pace.

"see? y'didn't need me to wait, sweetheart." toji coos, his grip tightening to keep you lifted so his cock meets no resistance. "your pussy was made for taking cock." he grunts, taking the still burning joint from your hands to blow more smoke in your face. your thighs shake as you keep yourself balanced, each deep stroke of his cock has you seeing stars as intoxication takes over. every nerve in your body screams with pleasure as toji fucks into you relentlessly.

"o-oh fuck toji." you whine, eyes screwed shut as the coil in your gut threatens to snap at any moment. toji's quick to flip your position, flinging you onto your back as he now looms on top of you. "wanna feel y'cum on my cock." he breathes in your ear, hitching one of your legs up around his waist. "s-so close." you mewl, back arching off the leather couch as toji's cock hits you just right. your cunt clenches around his length, waves of pleasure just about to crash over you and-

your eyes widen as toji's hand wraps around your throat, just enough pressure to make your head dizzier than it already was. "ooh yes that's a pretty baby." toji moans, hips stuttering as his own orgasm quickly approaches. you gasp for air as toji's hand tightens just a bit, and that's enough to push you over the edge. your legs spasm as you cunt squeezes toji's cock. wave after wave crashes into you, and toji doesn't relent his brutal pace.

if anything, he quickens his thrusts. "good fuckin' girl." he sighs, letting your pussy milk the cum from his balls. as toji cums, you feel it fill you from within, so much that it starts to leak down his length and onto the couch as he pulls out. you try your best to hold it in, not make a mess on his furniture, but his seed slides right down your inner thigh and mixes with your own juices to make quite a mess.

"o-oh god i'm so sorry-" you're immediately embarrassed and try to pull your panties back on to stop it from leaking but toji pulls you onto his lap and reaches for the end of the blunt. you whine as you feel the sticky seed leaking onto toji's pants. "sorry?" he cocks a brow, hands finding their way back to your ass again. "the only thing you should be sorry for is that now i need to keep givin' you free weed." he says with a chuckle. "i keep good pussy well taken care of." he whispers in your ear, earning a shudder that runs down your spine.

fuck...

never sleep with your deal. unless maybe he's hot.

[khimkhim]

Small Things

I’ve always found beauty in the quiet changes of life — the way a seedling cracks its shell with imperceptible resolve, growing from unassuming seed to delicate sprout; tightly coiled shoots of verdant flesh unfurling vibrant fronds that glimmer with confident repose.

My lover, Sara, was once a sapling: slender, careful, sharpened by years of self-restraint. But love, I’ve learned, is a greenhouse. Under its humid embrace, even guarded roots swell.

The first sign was her ring. A delicate silver band I’d sized down to fit her slim finger. I told her to wait until she fit the ring but her impatience could not be reasoned with. Within a month of the ring’s resizing, she could no longer fit into it.

She told herself, “it’s probably just hormones, a bit of swelling that’ll go away in a few days.” She left the uncomfortable ring off for a week and tried again after the water weight diminished — sure enough, it fit again! Wait, “oh no” she said to herself. It wasn’t wearable for more than an hour so she hid it away again, concealing a portent she wasn’t willing to accept yet.

A week or two later, I decide to finally ask her why she hadn’t worn her ring, joking that she must’ve lost it. She opened a drawer filled with rings and told me she thinks she’s gained a bit of weight. Almost none of her rings fit her. I feel my skin begin to flush as I look down at the rings. She began showing me how even her big rings no longer passed her knuckle. I looked down at the floor to compose myself before reassuring her that she looks amazing.

I said “Maybe it’s the summer heat that’s causing some swelling in the extremities. The same thing happens to me, especially if I don’t drink enough water.”

It was not a lie; she looked largely the same besides a subtle roundness to her face, hips, and arms, juxtaposing the petite, lithe girl I met a few months ago — but I’d be lying if I said my heart rate wasn’t piqued as I watched her struggle to fit into those rings that fit so recently.

She replied, “You think so? I guess I could be better at my water intake…”

“Of course, it’s not uncommon at all, don’t stress it.”

…

I have a feeling that feeders tend to possess greater powers of observation than most. Voyeurism seems to be an implicit aspect of our kind, except our type of voyeurism is more discrete than its usual form. We’re not watching people undress or have sex through a window; we simply observe people the same way everyone else does.

The contrast lies in our internal monologue:

“Did her side profile always have that little double chin? It seems like she no longer needs a belt for those pants… Am I crazy or have her arms started to get bigger? I know that dress is supposed to be tight but the fabric around the buttons is visibly stretching… Did she always burp this much? Wow, she really enjoys unbuttoning her pants after dinner almost every night now.”

As we progressed into a more exclusive relationship, her shift in eating habits was immediate. She was still a slow eater but a persistent one, leaving her plates empty before asking for my leftovers or another serving. With saucy dishes, she licked the dish clean, savoring every bit of flavor, punctuating a delicious meal with a modest belch.

It’s odd because our form of voyeurism is permissible — Sara’s existence is sensual to me in a way I can’t fully control, which means permissibility can easily drift into exploitation if one’s appetites lean toward excess.

I’m sure some of us relish the surreptitious aspect of this kink more than others; One might encourage a girl to wear clothes a size too small when going out, or arrange her laundry so that her large or athletic clothes are easier to access than her smaller ones, or continuously deny that you notice her weight gain despite your growing attentiveness towards her love handles and tummy while cuddling. Some might even go a step further, an awful, immoral step further, and become shameless servants to her every whim, craving, and fleeting desire.

Is it really so vile to find pleasure in giving pleasure?

To be honest, my convictions were loose from the start. I quickly took note of what her favorite foods were, what she craved when she was on her period, what time she took her lunch breaks, etc. In many ways, I simply wanted to be a loving and attentive partner. In more sincere ways, I couldn’t help myself.

I would make homemade teriyaki bowls and gyoza and take them to her at lunch, defer to what she wanted to eat for dinner whether it was takeout or cooking, never finish my plate and offered her what was left. I’d prepare whatever dessert she craved whether it was cookies, pie, brownies, French toast, etc. She never had to verbalize a craving or desire twice to me. I was and am a willing captive to her appetites, and she an eager patron of indulgence.

The rapture of our relationship concealed the growing number of changes enveloping her. Small changes began to compound. The range of her preferred clothes became noticeably smaller, as did the size of those outfits around her figure. It became a morning ritual to watch her hop and shimmy her growing thighs and ass into pants that were loose a few months ago. Belts were a necessity of a bygone era; in fact, she started to utilize the rubberband trick just to keep her pants closed as she could no longer button them. It was only a few weeks ago that I noticed her consistently unbuttoning her pants after dinner to let her tummy breathe — now her pants were lucky to still be buttoned by the time she got in the door. Large sweatshirts and baggy shirts became a necessity.

She sensed the growing softness of her body, a softness that was once a whisper capable of being shoved into a jewelry box, was now pleading to be emancipated from her strained skims. She stuffed her supple body into them, hiking the hem up below the bottom of her swelling breasts, before glancing in the mirror and realizing she still looks 7 months pregnant. “It’s bloating,” she said to herself as she hurriedly slipped into her technically socially acceptable sweatpants and sports bra (now a majority of her daily outfits).

She hurried into the kitchen, her breasts nearly bouncing out of her bra. I hand her a breakfast burrito which had become her part of her morning ritual, a habit that no doubt assisted in the colonization of her wardrobe by athletic wear. She flurried out the door before stopping and yelling “babe, can you bring me a McFlurry for my lunch today? Please?”

I smile and run to kiss her, “yes, of course, have a good day, baby.”

It’s funny that she even feels the need to ask politely. I suppose even the loveliest flowers practice humility in the morning twilight. Her soft new growth finally cresting over the edge of their stifling pot, ready to bask in the perfumed sunshine they’ve unknowingly sought since the first broadening of their leaves. Her smile was already arresting in its organic beauty; her body could commit excessive force without even touching you. Even small changes on a marmoreal body like hers could spell ruin for an empire, and I’m just a man! Yet in true Hellenistic fashion, I’d gladly follow her muse to the end of history and exalt her with my final breath.

God, I love admiring small changes, the stretch in the seams of her jeans, the steadily growing pile of clothes in our Good Will donation storage bucket, the soft imprint of her breasts spilling over the top of her outgrown bras whenever she wears thin shirts. I tell myself that I’m just a passive observer, a lover without ideology or allegiance. Perhaps this mantra protects me from the truth of my cravings, prolongs the story that I hope never ends. My denial facilitates her denial — if I’m a lover without cause then she’s a piggy without fault.

To her dismay, all of her clothes are starting to feel suffocating. Yet, she’s resistant to buying new ones — wasn’t it only a few months ago that she promised herself to get back down to 120lbs? Is she really on the verge of outgrowing her “chubby” clothes that she never even meant to keep?

At times, it seems as though she’s aware of what is happening, noticing my fascination and attention toward her growing body. She catches me looking at her belly when she leaves the shower before quickly covering herself with a towel. She notices that my hand prefers to rest on her stomach when cuddling, and in response, she’s now gently nudges my hand onto her belly without a word spoken. Sometimes she even openly acknowledges her weight gain, the tightening of her clothes, the swelling of her breasts and hips, while maintaining an almost playful tone.

We were laying in bed one night when she suddenly says, “Remember when this used to be loose?' she whispers, guiding my hands to her hips where her old 'comfy' pajama shorts now cut into her flesh. The elastic waistband had become a demarcation line, creating a soft roll of pudge that spilled over the top. I trace the deep imprints left in her skin, marking where she'd grown too plump for her loungewear. She shivers at my touch, and I pull my hand away, “sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She says “no, it just felt… good. I like when you touch my hips, maybe you could even kiss them…”

I bend down over the roll of soft pudge that was exposed and gently kiss it. She laughs, “sorry, that tickled, maybe bite it a little, like you’re giving a hickey.”

I did as I was told, gripping her soft thigh while aggressively sucking on her love handle. She moaned. She said “Hm, that felt good, maybe you should incorporate that into your bag of tricks for next time.”

She grins and rolls over to sleep, followed shortly by a soft snoring. “Huh” I muse to myself.

A few days later, I walk into the bedroom as she’s struggling to find what fits and what doesn’t. I debate whether I should tell her about my predilections or not. I’ve given most of my self to her already, but there’s still that awkward, unspoken crumb I’ve yet to give her. Small changes go both ways, right?

As she stood in front of the mirror, sighing at the way her sweater clung to her newly rounded hips, I linger in the doorway. “You’re staring again,” she says, not turning around. Her voice was light, but her knuckles whitened on the hem of the fabric.

“Not staring,” I say. “Admiring.”

She meets my eyes in the reflection, a flicker of vulnerability in her gaze. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you? If this… bothered you?”

I step closer, my hands hovering at her waist. “Does it bother *you*?”

She hesitates, then leans back into me. “Sometimes. But not when you look at me like that.”

My thumbs traces the curve of her love handles. “Like what?”

“Like I’m something to worship,” she whispers.

I grip her tightly, kissing her gently on her forehead.

“You have no idea how much I worship you, Sara.”

In that moment, I tell her everything, even the voyeuristic aspect of it. I admit that my obsession with pleasing her is both an expression of genuine love and an aspect of my sexuality that I genuinely do not know how to disentangle.

“No matter what, my infatuation is not transient or dependent on a single thing other than you. I have loved you from the beginning and I’ve loved you more every day since.”

She looks up at me and chuckles “You’ve loved me everyday since because I’ve been fatter every day since?”

“Stop, I’m being serious” I say while laughing.

“I know” she whispers as she melts into my arms.

Despite revealing everything to Sara, I did not feel the relief that I hoped to feel. We went about our days as normal, not really acknowledging what had happened. I still cupped her curves when we cuddled and kissed every part of her when intimate, but there was tension that existed where none existed before. I wondered if I had ruined things. If I had ruined us.

In order to reignite our connection, I planned an elaborate date night at home that included her favorite flowers, a sparkling tennis bracelet, her favorite meal, dessert, and a movie. She seemed caught off guard when she came home, followed by gratitude. Around midnight, we lumbered to bed without much energy for sex, just cuddling.

As we laid down, I noticed her shirt rode up as she stretched, revealing a sliver of stomach. My breath caught—not at the softness, but at three faint, parallel lines glowing pink in the lamplight. She followed my gaze and yanked her shirt down. “Bug bites,” she said too quickly.

I said nothing. But that night, I dreamt of roots breaking through soil, of bark splitting to make room for new life.

The next day, Sara wondered at her body as she washed herself in the shower. With small physical changes comes small psychological changes as well, and both begin to work upon the other, gaining more and more inertia before bursting into a new, spacious expanse. Anxious excitement swelled within her as she examined herself in the mirror as she began to dress herself for the day.

For years, she kept herself closed off and focused on moving forward, occasionally allowing herself to be accompanied by one of the many suitors that buzzed around her. After experiencing abuse in her youth, finding herself warped into an object of desire for another to use, she guarded every part of herself. Beauty, pleasure, desire — these concepts were things she craved, feared, and utilized for her benefit and maturation. Her power over them meant she had power over the way others perceived and treated her.

Then she met someone that had no interest in taking away her control, instead offering himself to her. She was invited to be seen and acknowledged as a whole person and not just a delicate, pretty flower to be admired and discarded. She resisted at first, unaccustomed to being treated with sincerity and reverence. Then, she blinked. She opened her eyes and found herself in a state of abandonment, her world usurped by love — their world.

This was the catalyst that cracked the small, unassuming seed deep inside of her. Their love strengthened as the days passed, providing more nourishment for the budding flesh inside of her. Her self-confidence was rooted in a new foundation defined by security and unconditional love. Had this not been the case, she probably would not have ignored her weight gain for as long as she had. Fears over her body faded whenever loving hands massaged her back, rubbing her knotted insecurities into oblivion as he’d dig into a tense spot with one hand and conspicuously rest his other hand on her love handle, kneading with both hands as she felt herself losing all resistance… slipping away…

*SNAP*

The sound of threading ripping jolted her from her daydream. She looked down just in time to watch the button of her largest jeans shoot across the bathroom like a silver bullet, pinging off the mirror before rolling under the sink. The denim gaped open, revealing the deep creases her softening belly had worn into the fabric's stress points. She ran her fingers over the reddish indent marks stretching across her hips, she held both hands around her paunch, grasping its heft.

“No wonder these pants finally gave up” she thought as she sighed and bent down to get the button…

*RIP*

“Are you kidding me,” she couldn’t help but laugh out loud to herself as leaned up, turned around, and saw a large tear down the middle of her pants revealing her purple panties.

She remembered something I had mentioned the other day about my kink, how she kept acting out his fantasies without even realizing it. She remembered me telling her that I had to hide my erection every time she struggled to put on clothes clearly too small for her. “Hmm,” she thought, before folding the torn pants, placing them on the bathroom counter with the tear facing up, and the button resting right next to it.

She took one of her lipsticks uncapped it, hand hovering near the mirror as butterflies danced in her stomach. Was she really about to do this? The torn pants on the counter seemed to dare her forward. She thought about how his breath caught whenever she complained about her clothes getting tight, how his hands seemed magnetically drawn to her softest parts. The lipstick touched glass and her heart raced as she began to write, each letter a small act of liberation, a reflection traced with crimson streaks like the stretchmarks she’d once resented.