averse-raven
All the Things I can't post to Main
· she/her · 30+ · bi · grey-ace · writer ·
· into whump and other kinks · might post nsfw · no rl kink · enter at your own risk ·
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Back in the Maze!
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Strong/powerful whumpees being held as trophies. They are showcased in front of anyone the Whumper wants to in-still fear in.
Whumper doesn’t ask Whumpee to do anything. Just stay silent. Stay still.
Maybe Whumpee is chained up, kept in a glass box?
Maybe Whumpee is muzzled?
Whumpee is kept weak so they can’t fight back. Drugged? Starved? Your choice.
Whumper wants them displayed to show their dominance. The ability to contain someone so powerful like it’s nothing.
Do with that what you will, besties x
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I’m such a sucker for serious characters who try to hide it when their stomach hurts but someone sees through them anyways
A business-type trying to stay on task and get things done but their belly is cramping and a split-second hesitation when answering a simple question prompts the other person to ask if they’re alright, studying their pale face with concern. Bonus points for form-fitting professional clothes that strain a little over a slightly-bloated middle…
Or maybe a hard laborer, just in from a long day’s work, eagerly eating just a bit too much of the dinner their partner has waiting for them when they come home. They’re a tough-on-the-outside-soft-on-the-inside kinda soul and trying so hard to nap off the painful too-full rumbles and heavy ache so they won’t ruin their loved-one’s evening, but they can’t bite back a moan when shifting a little too suddenly on the couch.
or my favorites — responsible types, the ones always looking out for everyone else. They’re shepherding their group of friends in a crowded place as usual, keeping a count of every head and their tummy is torturing them. They’re not sure if it’s something they ate or if they’re coming down with something but it hurts so much and they feel really sick and all they want to do is lie down. But they just can’t drown out that little voice that says they’re letting everyone down if they can’t be their best responsible self for the rest of the group. They have to stand there and hold things so everyone else can go on the fair rides. Best to lock their knees and stare straight ahead and hope desperately no one can tell they’re shaking with the effort it takes not to bend double, holding their stomach and sinking to the ground.
the best part?
The usually serious/tough/responsible types get the most attentive and loving care once everyone realizes how much they need it. ♡
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A List of Popular Tummy Tropes
If you’re a tummy kinkster in any capacity and enjoy hunger, stuffing, emeto, or stomachaches, there’s a good chance you’ve seen some popular “tummy tropes” floating around in kink writing. (; So I’m taking it upon myself to create a compilation.
I’ll be curating this list under the cut! There are Many of them, so this post would be a mile long if I didn’t, and also because this enables me to update it without creating multiple versions. Hope you enjoy the read!
Keep reading
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Narcos: Mexico S1 E10
First time creating gifs thanks to @aceofwhump 's great beginner's tutorial! There is certainly room for improvement, but I didn't want perfect to be the enemy of the good.
Also there is way too little Diego Luna whump out there and not all of it is giffed yet as far as I could tell. So there might be more, depending on how this goes...
#whump#narcos: mexico#diego luna#miguel angel felix gallardo#sick#in pain#stomach ache#coughing up blood#sick from stress#emeto#sort of#tw: blood#tw: emeto#my gifs
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Open Range | 2003 (-1- / -2- / -3-)
Soo many good tropes here;
- ambushed unbeknownst to caretakers
- left for dead
- worried fatherfigure
- fading in and out of consciousness
- bridal carry
Found this movie through @whumpywhumpas 🌟
More gif sets for this movie coming!!!
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I Know You Remember Me
John recognizes a wealthy client’s stolen pet immediately, even filthy, with two black eyes. He moves quickly to buy him back from the box truck driver in possession of him, and then must think what to do about this. Meanwhile, he looks after the abused pet in a motel room.
CW: lay it on thick hurt/comfort, pet whump universe (not bbu), caretaker has some ulterior motives but is largely sympathetic, offscreen noncon with multiple whumpers, sti mention, underweight whumpee mention, whumpee offering sex, bruises, burns & cigarette burns, nonsexual nudity and bathing, platonic bed-sharing, medically inaccurate care I’m sure, one shot probably
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“I know you remember me. I’m sure I remember you.”
The unfortunate creature— for he looked more a creature than a boy in the low light, in the filthy west Texas motel room John had rented for the night with cash— dared to steal a glance up at him.
His eyes were dark, and bright with fear. Bruises ringed both of them like an unlucky fighter, purple as the Easter cloth draped on all the crosses they’d driven past. John knew from the taut look of the eyelids they’d been swollen shut a day or so earlier. The boy pet had dried blood caked in his nostrils and on one side of his downturned mouth. His hair was a matted and filthy mop that fell over his forehead and ears in greasy, wavy sections crusted together with more old blood.
The boy looked at him cautiously. There was too much fear in his posture, in his eyes. It was impossible to tell if he recognized John, too.
John squatted down to be eye level. As he thought it might, this made the frightened pet drop his eyes and flatten his spine as best he could against the nicotine stained paint of the motel wall.
“Hey, now,” John murmured, as if to one of his racehorses. They were spirited, flighty things, nothing like the quarter horses he’d grown up with. He talked to them all the same, though, from the spring colts to the swaybacked veterans.
“I’m not gonna hurt you. I know you’ve seen a lot of people lately, huh? You probably don’t remember me. That’s okay. I remember you. You were at Jack Kinsington’s place before all this.”
The boy did not look back up at him, and his dirty hair gave away his trembling, but he was listening.
“I came by with a couple of horses. Bays, both of them. Soaked in sweat and prancing all around, you remember them? They’re high strung, they don’t like to ride in the trailer. Anyway, I told Jack he ought to let you stretch your legs. He did, but you were so numb you couldn’t stand for a while. You looked right at me.”
The boy turned his head an inch, so he could glance up at John’s face again.
“You remember that day. Sure you do. I thought you were in rough shape then, but I have to say, you look worse now.”
That lost him the eye contact. That was okay. The boy remembered. If not his face, then the incident.
“I thought it was awfully cruel to keep you in a space that small,” he went on. “I don’t know how some people do to a person what they wouldn’t do to an animal. They justify it, I guess. They project things onto these pets they buy and then they punish them for it. Gives them their kicks. Even Jack Kinsington, who I have to admit I respected up until that day.”
He stopped that train of thought.
“Why don’t we get you up off the floor there and let me take care of you, huh? No offense, you look kind of like roadkill.”
The boy made no sound, no indication that he’d even heard except for the way his chest expanded a little faster with his quickening breath. The poor thing's heart must be pounding. John had a knack for fixing things up, be it a business his brother had fucked up or a lame horse, a broken water heater or a vehicle. He spent less time fixing things now and more time delegating what other people needed to fix, but this boy was downright hurting his innermost, rarely expressed tenderness of heart, and he wanted to fix something for him.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said again. His knees were getting tired in this deep squat, and his boots had no give in the toes for it. “I’m gonna clean you up and look after you. You don’t have to do anything, just don’t fight me too much. Can you do that?”
He reached out and laid a hand over the boy’s. The abused pet flinched but didn’t jerk away. John encircled the boy’s wrist in his hand and pulled it slowly away from his body, towards him. “Can you stand?” he asked, pushing himself to standing and bringing the boy with him.
He made it to his feet, and was nearly as tall as John, but stumbled when he tried to take a step.
“Please,” he whispered reflexively as John moved closer, flinching to protect his battered face.
“Please what, baby?” John muttered, lifting the boy’s arm over the back of his shoulders and wrapping his arm around his slim waist to help him walk. “You’re okay, you’re right here. I’ve got you. Let’s get you in the tub.”
Slowly, they staggered to the motel bathroom a d John flicked on the staggeringly white lights that buzzed and hummed to life. He sat the boy on the lip of the low bathtub as gently as he could.
“I’m going to give you a bath,” he said matter-of-factly, turning the taps so warm water began to fill the tub. “Where did all this blood come from?”
The boy was watching him warily, dark eyes following his every move.
“You hear me? Where’s all this dried blood coming from, huh?”
“I don’t know.”
John nodded, pleased the boy had spoken. Some didn’t, or wouldn’t, he knew, not once they looked like this one did.
“Did they beat you? Is that what all this is from?”
He gave a small nod, blinking in discomfort at John’s bluntness.
“Did they hurt you in any other ways?”
He nodded again.
John felt a tug of adrenaline in the pit of his stomach. “How?”
Jack’s pet looked evasively at the rising bath water.
“If you tell me how you’re hurt, I can help you better.”
Nothing.
“What’s your name?”
“Paulo.”
He put the emphasis on the au, and there was a way he said his L that positioned the tongue differently than he did when saying other words.
“Paulo,” John said, putting the emphasis on the vowels of the first syllable too, but with no attempt at altering his very American L. I’m John. I bought you from that man, the one with the box truck. I take it Jack Kinsington sold you? Or were you stolen?”
Tears shimmered in the boy’s dark eyes, swollen and purple still like a raccoon mask. He bit the inside of his cheek to steel himself and keep from letting them fall.
John gentled his voice. “Paulo. I only ask because it’s important. If you legally belong to Jack, I gotta bring you back to him.”
Paulo’s head snapped up. He lost control of the tears, which spilled down his bruised cheeks. He grabbed hold of John’s sleeves, pulling himself closer as if his whole body was not bruised and sore. “No,” he begged urgently. “Please. I’ll do anything. Please. I-I’ll do anything you want, I can’t… please don’t….”
An idea dawned on him and he let go of his latest captor’s sleeve in order to lift his trembling fingers to his own tattered shirt. He pulled it over his head with a barely-suppressed whimper of pain. His torso was bruised like his face and arms, dark black and purple impact points on his warm toned skin like fists or boots, some that looked like electric burns left from a cattle prod and others more reminiscent of the yellow, oozing wounds cigarettes tended to leave. He was ribby, in a dehydrated, sudden sort of way that looked like he hadn’t eaten much of anything in the last few days.
He started on the button of his pants and John reached out to stop him. “Hey. No. What’s this?”
“Do- do you prefer girls? I can be just as good for you.” His glittering eyes were simultaneously like a starving animal and horribly blank. “They all say so.”
Ah. There was an answer to one of his questions. He pulled Paulo’s wrists away from the opening of his pants, held them in his own on the cool edge of the tub between them. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not interested.”
“I could take a bath,” he whispered hopefully.
“You will take a bath. But I’m still not interested. I need to know— were you given to someone by Jack Kinsington rightfully, or were you stolen?”
The fear was back. John didn’t know which was worse on this one, the dead eyes or the fear. “Don’t take me back to him.”
“He hurt you a lot, then? Jack?”
John already figured as much. Despite his admiration for the man’s business sense, he was a cruel and sadistic pet owner. Once he’d seen a boy shoved into a cage fit for a fox, he’d reconciled that much in his mind. It was like that often, when it came to human pets, and never quite who you’d expect.
The boy begged miserably. “Please, Sir. I’ll do anything.”
“You mentioned that. He didn’t sell you, did he?”
Paulo glanced down.
So he’d bought a stolen pet. That’s what he more or less suspected when he’d seen the boy at the rest stop, weeks after he’d seen him in the cage at Jack’s and much worse for wear.
Jack Kinsington would probably be even more open to buying more of John’s racehorses in the near future if he returned his favorite boy-pet to him. Don’t worry what it cost to get him back, Jack. Less than the yearling I’ve got for you to look at this spring, I can tell you that. Call it even.
John turned off the taps and tested the water with his fingers. He’d wondered if the boy would be willing to take those filthy clothes off in front of him, but seeing as he’d just offered himself, he thought it more likely now.
“Take those off,” he said of the boy’s remaining clothing. “You can borrow some of mine when you’re cleaned up.”
Despite his offer less than five minutes ago, Paulo was modest to the point of shyness once he was naked.
“It’s okay. I’m not even looking at you,” John assured him a little gruffly as he helped him into the water. “I just want to get you clean.”
Paulo flinched as he submerged, undoubtedly feeling every burn, cut, and bruise as he did. He was so dirty that tear tracks were now visible on his face from his crying. John wet a rough motel washcloth in the warm water and brought it to his face. He dabbed and nudged the dried blood from Paulo’s mouth and nose. The boy tried very hard not to flinch and shy away, and in return he tried to be very gentle. “Good,” he said quietly, wetting the cloth and returning it to the blood and swollen tissue. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
Paulo made brief eye contact with him at that, probably because it had become a foreign concept that someone would make an effort against hurting him. Just as quickly he slid his gaze away, back to an indeterminate point on the bathroom tile.
“You wanna do this next part?”
Paulo didn’t answer.
John moved as gently and quickly as was prudent over the rest of his body, knowing he was hurting him when he passed over the yellowed cigarette burns on his legs and hips.
“I know. You’re gonna be okay. Almost done. You’re doing really well.”
Paulo let John wash his hair, using some of the hotel shampoo that would likely sting some cuts but was desperately needed. He closed his eyes as John worked his fingers through the blood and dirt, the snarls coming apart slowly with gentle patience. As he rinsed the boy’s dark hair clean, John noticed he had stopped shaking.
He drained the now red-brown water and wrapped Paulo in a white hotel towel. He looked better clean, though there was nothing to do for the bruises but wait. He sat on the side of the motel bed as John went through his black duffel bag, pulling out sweatpants, a gray cotton T-shirt, and ibuprofen for him.
Paulo dressed in the bathroom and accepted two of the pills. He came out and sat on the end of the bed afterwards, staring at the pattern on the comforter.
“Does Jack know who had you?” John asked as he set up his phone charger. “The guy with the box truck out there?”
Paulo shook his head. “That man wasn’t the first.”
So he’d been bought and sold multiple times since being stolen—kidnapped— from Jack's property. It was possible Jack knew the original perpetrators, but had no idea where his pet was now. John sighed. His mind was working analytically, trying to understand every facet of the situation before he acted— trying to understand how he could manipulate it most in his favor. But that all felt shallow and cruel when he truly saw the boy in front of him, his damp hair and his bruised face, his narrow chest and the way he was nervously picking at a scab on the inside of his wrist.
“Don’t do that,” John said softly. “I don’t want you getting any infections.”
Paulo stopped immediately but looked intrigued by the care in that statement. Likely no one had said anything like it to him in a long while now.
“Are you hungry?”
Paulo shrugged. John raised his eyebrows and he went with a more committed shake of the head. “No, Sir.”
“…Are you scared?”
The boy swallowed, touched the scab on his wrist without picking it.
He’d said it before, but he knew he’d have to say it a hundred more times, and show it a thousand, before it sunk in. He likely would not end up doing that, but he’d say it as long as the pet was in his possession. “I promise I'm not gonna hurt you.”
“What, then?” Paulo asked, shrugging one shoulder to his ear in what felt like embarrassment at his own question.
“If I’m not going to hurt you? What then?”
He nodded.
“Nothing. I'm gonna take you back to Tennessee.”
“To Jack?”
“For the time being, to my place in Lewisburg. I have a farm.”
“What kind of farm?”
“Horses. You wanna come?”
He said he did. Not that he had much of a choice. John suspected they both knew that killing him on the side of a dirt road in west Texas would be better than what might happen if he took him back to Tennessee and failed to promptly return him to Jack. Jack would take it out on his lost little pet as much as he did John.
“I can’t believe you’re still even sitting up and talking. Come here.” John stood up and pulled the corner of the bedsheets down. “Lie down.”
Paulo did as he asked.
Before John would cover him up he asked, “Can you tell me if anyone kicked you in the back or abdomen, or if you feel any pain when you move or breathe?”
He thought about that. “I don’t know. I’m sore.”
“Any sharp pains, anything feel broken?”
“No?”
“Can I touch your stomach right here? It won’t be for long.”
A little apprehensive, Paulo agreed. John placed his hands on his abdomen and prodded his way along, trying to feel anything amiss or to get a sharp yell from Paulo. None came.
“Does this hurt anywhere more than soreness?”
“No,” his patient said in a small voice.
“Okay,” he said, and covered the boy to his chest with the blankets. “I’m done. Thank you. I was worried you might have internal bleeding, or broken ribs.”
“I don’t think so.”
“We’ll need to get you checked for other things too, soon. Make sure you didn’t contract anything.”
It took a moment for this to register, but when it did, Paulo blushed scarlet.
“It’s okay,” John assured him. His next gesture surprised him. Tenderly, he brushed the back of his knuckles to an unbruised spot on Paulo’s cheek. He was quickly becoming endeared to this unfortunate little pet. “You’re probably alright. And even in the event you did, it’s not your fault.”
“Is that why you didn’t want to?” Paulo asked, leaning his cheek almost imperceptibly into John’s knuckles.
John retracted his hand. “No. I didn’t want to because I am not interested in hurting you.”
“I said you could.”
“You and I both know it would still be hurting.”
Paulo laid his head back on the pillow. “I don’t understand what you want.”
“For starters, I want you to tell me what you want to eat.”
He didn’t eat much, but he did make an effort. John got the impression he was suspicious of every simple kindness, every time there were footsteps outside their door in the breezeway.
When he turned out the light and put a partition of pillows between them to sleep, he felt Paulo start awake every time a car pulled into the parking lot, or the AC beneath the window kicked on with a rattle.
“You’re okay,” he said drowsily from across the pillow divide, which made it feel more like bunking together and less like sharing a bed. “Nobody knows you’re here. Nobody knows where you are at all. That door is deadbolted. And I’m here between the rest of the world and you. You can sleep tonight. Nothing can hurt you.”
He doubted words would actually help, since the boy's nerves were probably completely shot, and who knows when was the last time he’d had a good nights sleep, and felt safe enough to do so? Still, he thought it should be nice to hear. It was the least he could do. He didn’t make any undue promises. Just tonight.
Paulo was quiet for a minute, and then John heard a wet sniff that was the unmistakable sound of crying. He didn’t think he should say ‘don’t cry’ to someone in his position, so he didn’t. He just listened from across the pillows until the little pet fell asleep.
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i found a meme
I was watching a Lifetime Movie, and the female lead brought the male lead into her kitchen to treat a wound he just got… and a meme appeared.
I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. Could you, like, at least rinse that wound under water? Or maybe, I dunno, center the butterfly bandage properly?
Obviously, this is just a meme waiting to happen right here.
Feel free to have fun with it XD
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Another question/ fic request when Sel comes back will Isaiah be completely fine or will he still be tired or something similar, and if it’s the latter will he lie to her about what happened or tell her the truth.
If he still doesn’t feel good when she comes back could you write something fluffy for them, maybe cuddle or something similar. (If this feels like it isn’t in character for either of them feel free to ignore this request or tweak it so it fits.)
Omg! A fluffy thing between Isaiah and Sel was precisely what I felt should happen next when this ask came!!! 💕 You felt the story going the same way, I love this! ✨️
Isaiah with a bloated stomach is a thing caused by the heart episode, his digestive system shuts down when it happens. This turned a bit sexy towards the end, so be warmed.
Unsaid, undone
Seline was so so happy to reach the entry door of the building.
Like sure, being with her parents was nice, she found a new way to coexist with her brother - very much in puberty phase of toilet humor - but still a lot nicer and warmer to her than before. She was giddy to get back though.
Her mom could be a little overwhelming with all the attention-seeking, Seline was afraid to even look in the direction of her phone or she would not hear the end of it. Her father's random explosions of anger about a bad email or stupid coworker were...ehhh headache induced at best, scaring the skin of her knuckles at least.
Yeah, time to go home.
She froze as she was entering the elevator, giving her mirror reflection a startled look.
Oh. She totally called that place 'home' in her head. Wow. When did that happen?
Isaiah never commented on her weekends at home or her trips with her family during the holidays. Was that a good sign that he was giving her freedom or a bad one that he didn't miss her?
The whole thing about touches and affection was a bit...obscure.
Sometimes it was obvious, like he went to her room and wanted her to lean against him or touch him. Or when they watched a movie together on the sofa or all three fell asleep there.
But the more they lived together, talked and stole a kiss or a hug here and there, the more she wanted it. The touches, the hand holding, the affection. And it kind of scared her, cause now this was a thing that she needed an another living being for, that wasn't her dog or her dad or her mom who had it in the job description.
She didn't want to be overwhelming and didn't know how to ask or how to tell if Isaiah wanted that too. He was not repulsed, of course, but he was always so controlled and held back and waiting for her to decide whatever was comfortable...like it was great, the tempo, the slowness, the old-school courtesy.
But this was getting to be painfully slow. How many mistakes could she afford trying to explore this? How many points had she in her favour to attempt it?
The elevator dinged as she arrived on her floor, her school bag and laptop bag each on one shoulder.
The door was thankfully unlocked, as she went inside, dropping things unceremoniously on the floor while putting away her jacket and boots.
"Hey. You are back." Isaiah was in view from the entry hall, leaning one hand against the sofa like he just stood up from it. He always stood up to greet her, when she came.
Her heart fluttered at the sight. Deciding to go with the impulse, she hurriedly got her slippers on and went to him, all but throwing herself into a hug.
Isaiah stumbled back a bit at the force, grunting, frozen for a terrifying moment, but then wrapped one hand around her back and cupped his head from behind with the other.
Seline melted in his arms, squeezing him with a little more strength than usual.
She leaned back, not quite letting go to get a look at his face, never getting tired of it, indulging in his high cheekbones, the way his black hair had a wave to it at the back, his green eyes of such clear colour this close...
He looked paler than she remembered, with dark circles under his eyes like he didn't sleep since she left. There was tension in the way he held himself, like he could fall if he didn't strain himself.
Seline stepped back, not leaning all he weight against him, but leaving her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes still searched, questioning and open about it.
That well known silence stretched between them, when realization came into his eyes. He knew the question she didn't ask and opted not to answer it.
"Sorry," she said sheepishly. She was allowed to get a hello hug, right? That wasn't inappropriate.
The corner of his lips lifted up in a half-smirk. "Nothing to be sorry for. How was your ride?"
She rolled her eyes. "The same as always, nothing exciting. How have you been?"
"It was...okay. Sorry about the mess, I didn't get a chance to clean up yet."
That was weird. Seline only noticed when he mentioned it, but the living room was a bit cluttered and there was a blanket and a bathrobe just thrown around and not put together...which wasn't a big mess by her standards, but a huge one for Isaiah.
"Did something happen?" Seline went to the blankets, noticing another set of it and their extra pillow.
"Hector stayed over. Left just this morning."
Seline sat down on the edge of the sofa. There were teacups and empty glasses of water on the table. No coffee, no alcohol, no food. Did they have a fastening party?
"That's great though. I'm glad you are getting along better. Maybe he and Arnie could come more often, for lunch or sleepovers. I don't mind. How did it go with Matthew?" Seline turned to look at Isaiah.
Isaiah shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "They are still a bit...explosive around each other. But it was better than before."
"I'm glad."
Isaiah sat down next to her on the couch, but two hands away. Not close enough. Was that on purpose?
"I'll go wash my hands and change up. Did I interrupt you at something?" The TV was off and Isaiah's ereader and laptop were missing? Did she wake him up or something?
"No, I just couldn't decide what to watch. Taking an easy day I guess." He said it with such an unsaid little scoff that it had her eyebrows jumping up. Isaiah and a day off? What?
"That's a good idea! We can watch something together if you want, I got new movie recommendations."
She cleaned up her things, changed into her best sweatpants, tight enough to be pretty, but comfy, and a shirt of that rosey red colour. It stood out with it, but it had a classic cut, so she wasn't too weirded out. She liked wearing blue and teals, but her mother always said it was too gloomy for a girl and she wasn't sure how Isaiah would take it yet.
The idea of dressing for a guy to like it was still angering her, but a compromise was good, right? Where was the line between doing an effort and being yourself?
Not that Isaiah would ever complain about how she dressed or did her hair or did her minimalistic make up. She trusted him not to, at this point.
That would have pissed her off and she didn't think Isaiah ever saw her that way yet.
She went back to the sofa, with Isaiah already with two steaming cups of tea.
"I went with black for you, no sugar, and a little bit of milk," he said as she sat down next to him. That was how she liked it. It flooded her chest with delicious warmth.
"But if you want-"
Seline hugged him. Again. Just wrapping her arms around him from the side.
Isaiah stiffed, turning his head to to the side. Farther from hers.
Seline let go as if burned. "Sorry, sorry. It's too much? If you want some space..." she slid back until she reached the corner of the L shaped sofa, tugging her legs up to hug them instead. Her face was beet red and she couldn't meet his eyes.
It was okay. He didn't feel like telling her what happened, he didn't have to feel like touching her so much, he had every right to ask for space instead of being attacked by her all the time, it was completely normal, maybe she should ask for permission-
"No, wait. I'm sorry," he said quickly, because of course he would. "That's not what I meant. Sel."
She turned away, staring at the turned-off TV, eyes itching. Not about to cry for something so small and stupid, she wouldn't be that pathetic.
"Hey. Seline. Look at me, please."
"It's okay. You can tell me if you don't want to- I didn't mean to- it's okay," she cut herself off resolutely.
Isaiah sighed, then slid on the sofa towards her. Waiting. She did nothing, glaring away.
Isaiah tried taking her hand, tugging at it a little to get it free from her grip on her drawn up knee. "It's not you. I'm sorry. The hug just squeezed me and..." He hesitated, so she looked up.
"My stomach's just been feeling a little off all day and I didn't want to be gross the first thing I got to see you," he said quietly with a self-deprecating smile.
She frowned. "How off?"
"It's just bloated and not digesting anything and I was a hair away from burping into your face. I'm sorry."
He pulled at her hand again, gentle but stubborn and she relented this time. He took her palm in both of his. "It's not you. It's never you. I'm so glad to see you, you have no idea."
She blinked back the hurt hotness, meeting his eyes a bit hesitantly. "You swear?"
He chuckled. "Yeah." Then he leaned down to brush his lips against her knuckles. A feather-light touch.
Seline relaxed. "That was mean. How should I know if-"
He leaned over vehemently, kissing her on the lips this time. "You can never go wrong there. I swear. If you knew all the things I would love to do to you..."
Her cheeks all red for an entirely different reason, she leaned forward, knees hitting the sofa. She took him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him close for another kiss. Then she pushed against him.
Isaiah flopped on his back, one hand around her waist, taking her with him with a soft chuckle.
The sound tingling all her senses, she pressed their mouths together, wanting a taste of it. His hand went into her hair, threading it lightly.
Then he stopped, turning his face slightly away and his hand shooting up against it. There was a breathless burp making his throat bob. "Ah, excuse me."
Seline giggled. "My fault. I'm lying on your stomach." She leaned closer, cupping his cheek with her palm and turning him towards her. "Do you want me to stop?"
His eyes darkening, he lifted himself up to kiss her again. She was on top of him entirely, running her hands down his chest and then exploring lower, to his sides and to his stomach.
He stiffened a little, breaking the kiss, though their noses were still close enough to touch. She could feel his stomach against hers, bubbling. "Sel," he gulped, "I'm really-"
"Does it hurt? Does it feel bad?"
His smile was partly a grimace. "No. But I don't want you to be-"
"It's fine." Seline hid her face against his neck. "I don't mind."
His chest rose and fell under her ear. She put her hand to his stomach. It gurgled under her palm.
He took a shaky breath and then took her hand, sliding it under his shirt to naked skin, towards his navel. It was tout and bloated to the touch, though not too hard, just sloshy.
"Hmmm," he made a pleased sound, "your hand's cold. Stay like this."
She smiled to herself, kissing his neck.
He jerked at the sensation, his grip on her waist tightening. "I can't guarantee-"
"I really don't mind having a human for a boyfriend," she said in a lowered voice. She could hear the air traveling up from the soft spots on his stomach and up to his throat as he fought them down with another gulp.
"In fact," she whispered into his ear, "I kinda like it."
Isaiah turned his head to look at her with a puzzled frown, opening his mouth only for a little burp to escape. His face went red as if on command and she giggled, lifting herself up to loom above him.
"You are so cute, so out of control. Just in front of me," she said breathlessly.
He gasped, eyes wide. Then he went ahead, capturing her lips in a deep kiss.
There wasn't a part of her body left that wasn't touching him. He was warm and squishy underneath her, the smell of his cologne filling her nostrils.
Somehow palming his stomach like this felt like having the most vulnerable part of him open and offered to her. She still rested her hand there, rubbing her thump up and down near his belly button.
His chest hitched, when a bubble of air rolled out and he scrambled up, but let her stop him. She kissed him on the cheek as the air escaped. The sensation filled her stomach with intense butterflies.
He looked at her in confusion and wonder, red and flustered. His hair was all tousled. The way his breathing quickened, because of her, had her head spinning.
Her whole skin was crawling with the need for him.
Isaiah's groan vibrated against her lips, both hands on her back, clutching her tightly. Like skin-close wasn't enough.
@bellysoupset
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Stuffing/Tummy Kink Ask Game: Which Do You Prefer
burps or hiccups?
tight, hard bellies or soft squishy bellies?
nausea or achiness?
tight, revealing clothes or loose, cozy clothes?
food or liquid?
hungry rumbles or overstuffed gurgles?
comfortably full tummies or achingly stuffed tummies?
a very noticeably distended belly or a more subtly bloated belly?
upper belly bloat or lower belly bloat?
art or irl?
huge appetites that require a lot of food to satisfy or small appetites with small capacities?
stuffing or gaining?
innies or outies?
hairy bellies or smooth bellies?
gentle belly care or rough belly teasing?
fantasy scenarios or realistic scenarios?
a lot of complaining about an upset belly or silent suffering?
noisy tummies or quiet tummies?
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ok themed tummy prompts: sleepy😴🛌
Your character finds themself feeling hungry late at night. It's just about their bedtime, and they have a choice to make: stay up a little longer to eat something, or go to bed with their belly empty and rumbling.
For whatever reason, your character's belly isn't feeling good. They're tired and miserable, and all they want to do is curl up in bed and sleep it off. Are they able to?
Your character ate far too much and is still feeling uncomfortably stuffed by the time they get to bed. As they tuck themself in, they find themself struggling to get comfortable with their taut, achy tummy.
After a huge dinner, your character is desperate to get out of their now-too-tight clothes and into their comfortable pajamas.
Your character wakes up absolutely ravenous in the middle of the night and decides to creep off to the kitchen for a big midnight snack.
Maybe they've eaten too much or maybe they're just sick, but your character's upset stomach is giving them weird dreams.
Your character wakes up hungry one morning and sleepily makes themself a nice big breakfast.
Your character wakes up not hungry in the slightest one morning, their belly feeling bloated and unsteady, to find that somebody else has gotten up early to lovingly put together a beautiful breakfast for them.
Following a big, warm, heavy meal, your character finds themself struggling to stay awake.
Your sleepy character is reluctant to get out of bed in the morning, but their hungry belly is begging them to get moving.
Your character has eaten far too much, but they don't notice just how much their belly is bulging out until they're getting undressed to go to bed.
Somebody dozes off using your character's belly as a pillow. Hopefully they didn't have plans to get up any time soon.
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Politely requesting a link to the fic you mentioned on the magic euphoria post, please and thank you.
Hi anon, I would love to, but apparently I can't answer anonymous asks privately (why, tumblr, whyy), which defeats the whole purpose.
Oh, you know what, to hell with it, nobody important will read this anyway. Here you go: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1432768
These are bits and pieces of different BoB AUs set in a world where witches are real and enslaved for their powers. You don't really need to know the source material to understand the important parts. Also this isn't exactly what that other post talked about, but there were enough similarities to make me go !!! :D
If you know me, no, you don't. (And also, the devil's sacrament and all that.) Might delete later.
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Whumper that treats pet whumpee like a lapdog meets whumpee who had lived their whole life touchstarved and hated equals the most toxic but enjoyable relationship either had ever had.
Whumper likes how whumpee leans into their touch, the way they panic when they leave the room.
Whumpee relishes the “best” treatment they’ve ever had, and chalks up the overly close and possessive nature of it to love.
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We all know about magical fatigue as a whump trope for magical overuse. Now I raise you: Magical euphoria.
Magic that feels good to use. It leaves the user dizzy and lightheaded, a giddy energy rushing through their entire body. It's enough to leave the most stoic whumpee giggling madly, to make the most obedient soldier go rogue. It's a power that ultimately, inevitably, controls its user.
Mages aren’t trusted to act on their own. They can’t be, not when each spell costs them their sanity. Not when, in a daze of manic joy, they’re just as liable to destroy the enemy as their allies.
And so they need a handler.
Imagine Caretaker in this situation. Forced to watch Whumpee throw themselves into madness, to turn themselves into an unthinking weapon under the demand of some uncaring general. Having to put aside their affection for Whumpee as a person, and analyze them as a tool.
It’s Caretaker who decides when Whumpee is still fit for battle. It’s caretaker who has to look into their dazed and distant eyes, blood dripping into a too wide smile, and decide if Whumpee has anything else to give.
It’s Caretaker who decides when they’re too far gone, when Whumpee needs to stop. And if Whumpee can’t, it’s Caretaker’s job to make them stop. Even if that means using force, even if it means hurting them, because letting them run wild isn’t an option.
And when the battle’s over, when Whumpee is either led or dragged away to the medical wing, Caretaker’s the only one brave enough to tend to their injuries. They wrap bleeding, scorched fingers without a word, the only sound being Whumpee babbling, mad ramblings. Caretaker knows they won’t remember any of this. They still talk to Whumpee anyway, soft, comforting words they hope will bring Whumpee back faster.
And when whumpee’s eyes finally clear, when their body sags with exhaustion they’re just now able to feel, Caretaker feels nothing but grief, because it’ll start all over again tomorrow.
#whump#I love stuff like this#wrote some AU stuff similar to this a couple years ago#ask if you're interested but I'm not gonna link them here bc I'm trying to keep stuff separate#which is so hard bc where is the line#between normal writing and whump writing#the whump just bleeds jnto everything I can't help it
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im kind of interested, as a person in the whump community under the age of 18, what percentage of this community is under 18. i see a lot of whump blogs that say minors DNI, which is a struggle for me since i literally thrive off reading whump. is it weird for me to enjoy whump since im underage and the topics we write about are typically quite fucking disgusting?
pls reblog, just because it helps with the purpose of the poll <3
#I liked whump since I was a child#before I knew there was a word for it#I kept a list of whump scenarios in my pillow in case I ran out of ideas when trying to dleep#yes I was a little weird...
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Wolf's Rain - Ep 05 & 06
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