every day I learn bot comments on ao3 are stooping lower and lower
anyway if you get a comment like this, chances are that they are bot and their goal is to do whatever it takes to get you to delete your work, most certainly (from what I’ve heard) it’s because they want to “safely” steal your work, use it to train their ai without you being able to rightfully claim ownership of your work since “there’s no proof that the work was stolen/was posted elsewhere first by you” because the original source has already been deleted.
THEY ARE ALL BOTS. at first it was “ao3 is deleting fics and your entire account will be affected unless you delete the fics yourself” then it was “this work contains contents that are illegal and they have already reported you and your fic to the police” (yes, that’s how desperate these bots are), and now it’s this.
report their comments to ao3 for spam—in this case, specifically, I think you may be able to report them for harassment too—and don’t pay attention to them, most importantly don’t delete your works, don’t feel discouraged by their comments. remember that they are bots and they mass comment something like this on people’s works at random to get people to delete their works. (or even if they’re not bot, they are still pathetic bullies who don’t deserve your time or attention.)
MORE ABOUT BOTS AND SCAMS PLAGUING AO3’S COMMENTS SECTION HERE
🎁 special order from @romantic-insomniac ♪ : we need more jack abbot tummy appreciation featured in smut fics!!!!
𓊆 cw: SMUT, tummy worship, dadbod jack to the next level !, dirty talk, oral sex, deepthroating, unprotected piv, slight feederism but reader just really loves to cook and bake for him, tummy humping, cumming all over the tummy, cum eating 𓊇 ‧₊˚ ┊ 1.5k words
“i think i need bigger scrubs now, sweetheart.”
“what was that?” you turned your attention from your vanity to see jack looking at himself in the full-length mirror. you watched him shift his body side to side, analysing — he looked fine to you. you had no idea what he was talking about until you followed his gaze down to his belly.
he ran his hands down his gut, cupped the softness beneath it. he gave it a little jiggle then released it, the recoil made you bite your lip.
it was mainly your fault — your damn cooking and baking were to blame. jack used to live off of subscribing to a meal delivery service. it was ‘okay’ but it was nothing like home-cooked food. apparently he’d rather dedicate his time for yoga and going out for a run.
even jack had gotten a little lazy for those. you insisted on staying in bed for a bit longer to cuddle, or a quickie. you always made too much food, and you always press him to finish his plate. it was a mindset that’s been passed on to you by your grandparents, to ‘clean up your plate’ because ‘someone had taken precious effort to make it for you.’
and there was also a sense of satisfaction to see jack enjoy your cooking. you already felt ‘full’ watching him eat.
you set your brush down and rose from your seat, making your way behind him. you pressed yourself against his back and wrapped your arms around him, your hands barely meeting at his belly. then you rested your cheek against the beef of his arm.
you looked at him seriously through the mirror. “jack–” you started before he interrupted you, “i’m not complaining, just noticing.”
he continued, “it’s just. . .not exactly comfortable, especially when we move around a lot. we’re in the emergency department — it’s like a medical survival show.”
you laughed softly, you agreed. you were ready to admonish him for talking down to himself, you were happy that was not the case. he would be always attractive and sexy in your eyes.
his growing belly excited you so much you didn’t realise you’d started running your hands languidly up and down, kneading and squeezing the fat.
jack looked down to your hands, raising a curious eyebrow. he felt your chest release heavy breaths, he turned his attention back to the mirror. there was a distant look in your eyes, glazed over. your mouth slightly agape. huh.
“uhh, hon? should we head out?”
you snapped out of it at the sound of his deep voice. when you came to, you saw him sporting a tiny smirk. you felt your face heat up with embarrassment.
jack started to connect the dots throughout the night — the way you stared at his stomach when he clasps his hands behind his back during handovers, the gentle pats of praise for his good calls, and, again. . .the containers of food you brought that could be shared between three people, all somehow ending up all for him.
it never occurred to him until now, you’d completely conditioned him into eating more than he usually did. oh well, you wormed your way to his heart through his stomach.
as soon as you locked the door after you got home, jack pulled you into a tight embrace. he’d done it on purpose, holding you against him until you felt his soft belly getting squished between you. you tried really hard to stop the small whimper that escaped you, but he heard it. cat’s out of the bag now.
“anything you wanna tell me, sweetheart?”
“umm. . .” you could sense blood rush to your face with humiliation again. how could you possibly confess the dirty stuff you want to do to his belly? you stood there quiet and frozen in place. you wanted to separate yourself from his grasp, run to the bedroom you share with him, and lock yourself in.
but jack had voiced it out for you. “i saw you eyeing my stomach.” he ran his palms slowly over the exposed skin of your arms, trying to soothe you. “it’s okay. you like it that much?”
“you like that it’s getting bigger? you like seeing the result of your care and how much you love me?” he continued talking, “fuck, baby. . . now that i’m thinking about it, the way you take care of me is making me sooo fucking hard.”
you gasped at his crudity. he suddenly held one of your wrists and placed your hand on the top of the fat, then he led it downwards to his raging hard on. the sound of your whiny moan made his hips buck up.
he rested his forehead against yours, you could feel his heavy pants fan on your lips. jesus, he’s really horny.
“s-show me. fuck—” he didn’t stop thrusting into your hand, he just kept going. “please, baby. please— show me what you wanna do to me.” he sounded absolutely pathetic begging you, and you fucking love it. you could feel yourself soak through your underwear and pants.
“use me.”
you instantly dropped to your knees, you bunched his scrub top and undershirt up until his tummy was revealed to you. you peppered it with open-mouthed kisses, licked it, bit it, sucked a hickey on it — all the while keeping your eye on jack completely losing his mind.
you were never good with talking dirty, instead you showed it through your actions.
you tugged his pants and boxers down, the heaviness of his cock slapping against the plush of his belly. it was, by far, the sexiest sight you’d ever seen.
you gave him one last kiss on the side of his gut before you enveloped the tip of his cock with your mouth. there was no teasing or patience — you pushed yourself towards the base until you could feel your lips kissing his mound.
jack never pressured you into taking all of him, he could cum just by licking on his tip alone. but you wanted to make him feel good and hear him praise you for being such a good girl.
most of all, you wanted to feel the fat of his stomach pressing against your forehead. you squeezed the flesh with your hands, so you could get closer to him as much as possible. if you could choose a way to go, this was it — death by suffocation due to his growing belly. maybe next time you could ask him to fuck your mouth like a fleshlight whilst you lie on the bed.
you pulled away before ramming his dick inside your mouth again a couple more times. your top had darkened because it was drenched with your spit. at some point, you involuntarily started to hump the air. you could reach your orgasm just by sucking him off.
jack had to forcefully pull away, stumbling back, and would’ve fallen on his ass if you hadn’t help stabilise himself. he didn’t want to shoot his load yet, he badly wanted to see what else you’d do to him.
you two had stripped down to nothing along the way. you were sitting on the meat of jack’s thighs and started bouncing on his cock. you placed your hands on his belly, in awe of the way the movement of your hips caused it to ripple.
jack held on to your waist, watching you stare at his abdomen. something awakened inside of him, he adjusted the position of his lower limbs, bended his knees, and rested the soles of his feet on the mattress. he started to pound himself into you, meeting you halfway. the ripples turned into stronger waves, making you moan out loud and sinking your nails into the flesh.
he brought one of his hands to his mouth — biting the back of it as he groaned at the combination of pleasure and pain. his voice was muffled when he grunted, “i’m cumming, baby. shit–! i’m– cumming!”
he was surprised when you pulled yourself out because he’d always cum inside of you. he didn’t have the opportunity to question you as he could not stop his release, making a mess all over his tummy.
you were almost at your peak as well, you rolled your hips against his belly — your wetness mixed with jack’s seed were used as lubricant to easily rub your clit on him.
“jesus fucking christ.” jack quietly muttered to himself, the scene was making his flaccid dick harden again. “yeah. . . make it messier, baby. make yourself cum on it.”
your body jolted, convulsing in shockwaves. jack could feel your hole clenching and more of your juices leaking out of you. the real thing was even better than you could ever imagine, you’d been humping your pillow wishing it was jack instead.
you dismounted from jack’s body to position yourself at his side, you bent forward to start gently lapping on your mixed fluids saturating his skin. you took your time cleaning him up while he watched, adoring. today, you made him feel more loved and cherished. ♡
🐑 : ask and you shall receive, my love ! tysm for nominating me to write this for you & everyone else who is a proud member of tummy nation ! 🩷
"going out to get milk" is a common turn of phrase used to describe a man abandoning his family.
the "milkman" is a common figure in stories depicting a woman's infidelity and adulterous affair.
this implies that the ability to provide milk would both decrease the likelihood of a man abandoning his wife and children, as it would eliminate the need for leaving to get milk AND would secure that man's marriage, as his wife would have no need to seek milk from an extraneous source.
therefore, all men should produce milk, through various means such as:
- being a cow
- being an almond
- being a woman
- being a coconut
- being in the omegaverse
- being an oat
(list is exemplary and not finite)
in this essay, i will redefine the nuclear family and explain the seductive and inflammatory nature of the 1993 "Got Milk?" commercials.
I got married last month! My dog is laying on me snoring. I’ve learned to have healthy friendships and relationships. I’ve learned that I’m not alone and that even when things are hard, I’m going to be okay.
This showed up in my notes again. And here we are. 2026.
I’ve been married a little over two years. I just got home from friendships that feel like home and family. My husband and I have our own place. I have a full ass book ready to be published.
I don’t know. I’m still in a good place and I can’t believe how far I’ve come from my original post.
I don’t know if this is an obvious take or a hot take, but I think people need to start re-framing feminism as the fight for body autonomy as opposed to whatever this second wave revival gender essentialist bullshit we have going on right now. Once you reframe it in this way, it’s easier to understand intersectionality and why cis women are not the only people who need feminism. The lack of body autonomy effects cis women, trans people, intersex people, disabled people, poc, homeless people, sex workers, etc. and your feminism needs to include and prioritise all of these groups of people (which will include men btw) because feminism is about autonomy, not about establishing a matriarchy. Body autonomy is the biggest threat to the patriarchy, both with reproductive rights, LGBTQ+ rights, and even the right to not be drafted into military services. Once body autonomy is established for everyone, the patriarchy no longer has a leg to stand on.
And body autonomy does include things that you don’t personally like either. I was prompted to write this post after a series of bad takes from progressives, but one of them was re-hashing the Sabrina Carpenter album cover drama with “I don’t think it’s conservative of me to think that the album cover is a bad look when we’ve seen images of women being abused in this way” because I do actually think you’ve failed to understand feminism by projecting your morals onto a woman who was consensually expressing her own autonomy just because she expressed it in a way that you didn’t like or that made you uncomfortable.
Body autonomy also means unhealthy choices. Body autonomy also means regret rates. Body autonomy also means freedom of sexuality. Body autonomy also means mutilation. If you believe body autonomy has limitations and exceptions, then your feminism is most likely surface level.
TERFs are some of the biggest opponents to body autonomy, and if you find yourself thinking “oh people can do whatever they want with their bodies as long as it doesn’t harm them or make others uncomfortable” then you are far more susceptible to TERF propaganda than you think.
On Saturday I said to my partner, as I have said for months, "A ten thousand dollar a year raise would solve so many of my problems."
As of this morning I was reluctantly looking for jobs because I love my job and don't want to leave it, but see: $10k raise problem solver.
As of noon today this was no longer an issue, because my boss called me with the news that I was getting a $10K merit raise.
I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. This is roughly $200 extra per paycheck. Enough to pay off debt faster, rebuild my savings, and spend a weekend a month in Milwaukee getting obscenely laid. The sex I'm going to have on $200 extra per paycheck. You can't even.
May all of you get the $10K raise your soul has yearned for. And whatever level of sex you can be satisfied with for $200.
"other people had it worse" bitch! I don't care! just from looking at you it's plain and obvious that you've had a time of it! a person can drown in six inches of water, it doesn't matter if someone else is drowning in ten feet! you're both still fucking drowning! show yourself a little bit of compassion before I come over there and do it for you. this is a threat
no matter how terrible my day is. i can always end my day in bed imagining fictional characters making out sloppy style and fucking raw. and that's beautiful. there's some good in this world mister frodo and it's worth fighting for
never be good at your job. it's a trap. they'll just give you more and harder stuff to do and it'll pull you away from your true passion of writing gay fanfiction for people on the internet
Robby probably struggles with his position of power because it was thrust upon him when Adamson died.
They probably joked that one day Robby would take Adamson’s job as Chief of Emergency Medicine. Robby was his protege, his shadow, his chosen son. But neither realized how soon that day would come.
In Robby’s mind, he only has the job because he was the only PMTC senior attending qualified for the position. He only had the job because the threat of an outside hire made the entire department uneasy. He only has the job because he killed couldn’t save Adamson.
Every time Gloria hunts him down to discuss metrics, every time the nurses ask him if their department is being sold, every time the residents look to him in chaos like he is omnipotent, Robby is reminded how unprepared he was and still is to be Chief of Emergency Medicine.
When Robby is walking home after his 15 hour shift in the aftermath of Pittfest, he can’t help but wonder what Adamson would have done differently. If Adamson could have saved Leah. If Adamson would have been proud of him.
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