puppy!chris humping your leg

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chris has been fidgeting for the past fifteen minutes.

at first, it was just shifting—pulling the blanket higher, adjusting his legs, reaching for the popcorn just to put it back down. but then you feel it: his hand, slowly creeping along your thigh. settling. staying.

you say nothing. not yet.

because you can feel the tension in him—like a wire pulled tight. he’s practically vibrating under your touch, breath just a little too shallow for someone who’s supposed to be watching a stupid rom-com. his knees are pressed close together, one foot flexing like he’s trying not to move too much. you don’t look at him yet. you wait.

then, finally, his hips buck up. it’s subtle—just the faintest roll forward. once. then again. “are you serious right now?” you ask, barely above a whisper. he freezes like a deer in headlights. “i—” his voice cracks. “no. i wasn’t— it’s not—”

your head tilts, a slow smirk curling your lips as you finally turn to look at him. his cheeks are already flushed. his bottom lip is caught between his teeth. you raise an eyebrow. “grinding on me during the movie?” you murmur, voice soft but dripping with amusement. “that desperate, huh?”

he whines. actually whines. you almost laugh—but instead, you press your thigh up just a little, enough for friction. the way his breath catches is filthy. “oh,” you whisper. “you like that, puppy?” chris’s head drops to your shoulder, hiding his face. “i—i can’t help it.”

you hum, brushing your fingers through his hair. “you can. you just don’t want to.” then, after a pause: “go on. show me.” chris’s hips jerk forward immediately, and you feel the need in it—raw, clumsy, aching. you don’t move. don’t help. you just let him rut against you, small, needy little grinds like he’s embarrassed to go harder but needs it too badly to stop.

“you’ve been sitting here all worked up,” you murmur, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “thinking i wouldn’t notice? squirming around like a needy little thing, trying to get yourself off on my leg?” chris lets out a choked breath, pressing harder now, grinding slow and deep as the friction builds. his fingers clutch your thigh like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“you’re lucky i’m letting you do this,” you breathe, nails lightly raking down his back. “look at you. fucking yourself on my thigh like it’s the only thing you know how to do.” chris moans—quiet, breathless, completely undone. his hips stutter, his forehead pressing into your neck. you hold still, hands guiding him just enough to keep him from falling apart too fast.

“that’s it,” you whisper. “you feel good like this, don’t you puppy?” chris gives a desperate nod. “so needy you’ll come in your pants just from humping me.” his breath hitches hard. he’s close. you can tell—his thighs are shaking, his grip turning frantic, his pace sloppy and urgent.

you tighten your grip just slightly, pinning him closer. “come for me, puppy. make a mess.” and he does—with a low, wrecked sound buried in your neck, body going still except for the trembling that runs through him. he clings to you, dazed and panting. you kiss the top of his head. “good boy.”

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𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 –

affectionate, approving, beaming, bright, brilliant, broad, charming, cheerful, compassionate, dazzling, encouraging, enthusiastic, friendly, gentle, genuine, infectious, innocent, irresistible, placid, playful, pleased, radiant, reassuring, sweet, soft, sunny, tender, warm, welcoming, windsome.

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 –

cold, condescending, cruel, dazed, devilish, dry, enigmatic, evil, feeble, fixed, forced, furtive, grave, grim, haughty, helpless, ingratiating, insolent, ironic, malicious, meek, melancholy, mocking, mournful, mysterious, oily, reluctant, rueful, sarcastic, sardonic, scornful, shy, slight, smug, sober, strained, strange, stony, thin, timid, tremulous, triumphant, ugly, vague, weak, weird, wicked, wistful, wry.

𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 –

amused, crooked, knowing, mischievous, quiet, quick, rusty, sudden, vacant.

𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗲 –

I have never looked up before.

I don’t particularly know why. I just haven’t. I had everything that I ever could’ve wanted where I am. My light illuminates everything around me, allowing me to see enough for food.

Then, one day, I did.

It happened without any warning or reason, just an impulse to look up.

There was more to my home than I had thought.

Creatures all around me swam up all the time. Why shouldn’t I?

As I continued to swim, stopping only when I needed to eat something, I noticed drastic changes.

The deep blackness of the water that I had needed to use my light to be able to see dampened. Slowly the black turned to a deep navy and then to lighter bluish colors.

The other bottom feeders in my depth weren’t all that lurked in the ocean, either.

Humongous creatures and slithering eels. Sharks bigger than anything I’ve ever seen, fish that looked absolutely nothing like me.

As I continued to swim and look up further, then I saw it.

Light.

I wasn’t the one creating it.

Whoever was had to be at least 10 times bigger than me.

I wondered if anyone around me knew what it was. Who was causing it?

Everything around me was foreign. Even the food hadn’t remained the same. As I swam even further into the lighter blue ocean surrounding me, I couldn’t find anything that I would be able to eat. Sure, there still were small plants and krill, but were they safe? I didn’t know.

As I ventured further and further, I grew exhausted and starving. I wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer.

But even if, I was weeks away from my home. It was over 2,000 feet below me. It was no use returning. I might as well find out who is causing the light.

As I continued to ascend, the amount of surrounding life decreased. The only things that had been at the surface were floating plants and other small fish.

I grew even hungrier and tired. I knew that it wouldn’t be long until I gave out.

I reached the top of the water, staring mesmerized at what was above me. Blue with white blotches had been above. It wasn’t wet, the animals that had been above didn’t look slimy and sleek like everyone else.

I stared up at the blinding light. It was beautiful beyond my comprehension.

PLEASE NOTE: Any writing advice is meant to be mixed in with other writing advice. You don’t want to use a singular piece advice without mixing in with other bits.

Want to describe something without stating it, but aren’t sure how to go about it - think of it as an illness, like a cold, and describe the symptoms.

Example: She was angry.

Vs.

The slow, deep breath she inhaled brought her shoulders up. Her eyes were closed as the heavy breath escaped from her nose with practiced control. The attempt to ease the building tension wasn’t successful, brows creasing as she opens her eyes and levels a pointed look at the buffon still rambling in front of her desk. White knuckles on her dominate hand threaten to snap the expensive pen curled against her palm.

In the above example, the “illness” is anger. The anger makes her body stiff, creases her brows, and you also explain more about the character too - she’s angry and she gets angry enough she’s got tools for trying to deal with it. Maybe the job requires it, or it’s a matter of personal pride.

You can almost see how she’s imagining stabbing the buffon with her pen even though it’s not mentioned.

Now, on the flip side, there is impact in stating something directly, as long as you aren’t doing it all the time.

In this case the “buffon” is the illness, instead of naming him we’re going to describe the symptoms - and when we do we can cut to the quick of her emotional state.

Everything about him galled. His suit was poorly tailored, speed over quality, and the shoes were sloppily shined. For all his quacking about money and good blood, he was either too obtuse to know when he was being swindled, or too self-absorbed to give proper attention to anything but his own pallid reflection. Considering how little concern he was giving her, she assumed it was a matter of being too self-absorbed.

She was angry.

(You can even add on the symptoms of her anger after this to lend more weight, but keep being direct.)

She wasn’t minding her expression, the deep breathing was not subtle, and she could hear the pen creaking in her hand - but he seemed oblivious to it all.

And in that way we dig into her being Livid, really, more than simply angry.

The lesson, separate a bit from the advice itself, is to mix it up when you’re writing. Sometimes you want to Describe, and sometimes you just want to State, and if you do just one all the time it’ll get exhausting.

Too much description and your eyes are cross and your brain’s mushy and you’re losing the plot because you’re trapped in the intricate 1620’s lace stitch pattern of the doily under the gold-trimmed hand painted porcelain charger that was on a white-gold trimmed —

😵‍💫