Expansion (Commission for Strowh/SpikesDraolf)

“So... explain to me again why you decided this was a good idea?”

At no point did the feline think they’d ever have to question why their roommate-slash-lover decided to take time out of their lives to fill their ass up to the point where it was now, but there they were. 

In the short span of two months, the Rena had gone from completely flat to carrying around a bust that made them bump into things on a regular basis, resulting in not only a significant uptick in the amount of moaning per day, but also ensured that trying to live with them in the house rapidly turned into some kind of ironic hell.

Had anyone asked the lynx, before all of this started, if they would’ve minded if Spikes decided to “grow up” a bit in the bust area, they might’ve actually said they welcomed the change, maybe even would’ve encouraged it. Being a shapeshifter themselves, it was of course natural for them to be more open to radical bodymodding; it’d be complete hypocrisy otherwise. On seeing what became of the Rena, however, that attitude and outlook were challenged and strained to the breaking point, until eventually they found themselves being the voice of reason between the two of them.

And when Tim was the voice of reason, things were truly halfway to hell.

Spikes had grown to a prohibitive size, in that moving around in any space not specifically designed for hypers made life hell for him… or would, if he didn’t love every second of it. It was honestly disconcerting how little the impediment actually worked as one, given how eagerly the Renamon threw himself into just about any activity that might have the most remote chance of squeezing him or making those creakers produce their trademark noise; rather than demonstrating the slightest amount of care for a pair of tits that were very obviously hanging on the very brink of stability, Spikes demonstrated a frankly stunning lack of care for his own personal safety, often requiring the lynx to hold him back from doing something particularly stupid, such as trying to ride on bumper cars or wrapping rubber bands around himself.

For Tim, it had turned into an endless marathon, one that saw its finish line move further and further away the more he tried to get to it, leaving the lynx feeling so exhausted by the end of each day that they just felt like sleeping every time the Rena wasn’t in the house or by their side. At some points, it felt like babysitting a toddler, it being that Spikes had completely lost any sense of self-control and was governed almost exclusively by whatever random whim popped up in his head.

It was therefore with a certain measure of annoyance that Tim had to remind themselves that this had been one of the reasons the two of them even got together; if not for that spark of madness having been clearly visible, even back when the Rena was flat, the lynx doubted the two would ever have gone on to live together like they did. They just wished they didn’t have to constantly be worrying about bursting, truth be told.

And then, the Rena came to them loudly announcing they intended to go even bigger than they already were, an endeavour that not only they would “never ever super duper ever” be dissuaded from, but which required active coordination from the both of them thanks to its requirements. At the size he was at, Spikes could no longer simply inflate himself to an even larger shell grading; his entirely artificial tits just weren’t stretchy enough to accommodate the amount of saline he wanted to pressure-hose into himself. Thus, rather than stopping, like most sane people would, the Rena instead procured a special lotion, courtesy of the medical staff, that was designed to make his skin be more pliable the longer it was applied.

Now, this wasn’t an immediate effect, as Spikes himself pointed out; the lotion needed time in order to work its magic, time in the order of days or weeks, during which it had to be applied multiple times daily, at the exact same intervals, in order to maximize its efficiency. And seeing as how the Rena couldn’t be trusted to do that without losing himself to the pleasure of rubbing his own tits, it fell on Tim to make sure things were done properly… which obviously meant taking up responsibility for applying lotion whenever needed.

The first few times this had to happen, it was at least bearable, if nothing else. Spikes still moaned like a slut, as befitting someone who took every opportunity they had to make their roomie’s life a living hell; their sensitivity wasn’t even that high, but the Rena insisted on being as loud as possible just to make the whole rubbing be even lewder than it already was. It made for an interesting couple of hours every day, when they had to walk into the bathroom and go through the complicated process of getting whatever Spikes was wearing off of him just so he could air-dry, but as the first few days turned into a week, Tim had to put their foot down.

Truth be told, they were enjoying it a lot more than they let on, to the point where they’d already synchronized their inner clock to the lotion rubbing sessions; whenever they began feeling friskier for no real reason, they knew Spikes wouldn’t be too far away, ready to tell them they were due for a good rubdown. That said, the lynx could no longer deal with the overwhelming amounts of horny that flowed between the both of them, and thus imposed a brand new rule: there would be no more direct rubbing from that point forward.

Of course, the alternate solution was just as bad, if not even worse: rather than applying the lotion directly, Tim instead had to fill up the bathtub high enough that the Renamon could lean over the edge and bathe his tits directly in it, a move that not only made them go through several times more bottles than they should, but didn’t really change much of the issues that made them change approach in the first place. Unless they wanted to suddenly spend several hundred dollars every week in lotion every week, the lynx still needed to slather some of it on the Rena’s rotund creakers, just not as much as before, while Spikes kept on moaning just as loudly as they always had been. The one consolation that Tim had was that their partner promised to take a very long break in between their planned upgrade and the next one, even assuming there was another one down the line; with the fill-up they were intending to get it was very likely that their life would be too heavily affected for them to afford going even larger. Despite their obvious desire to keep going until they could barely move (if not even beyond that), even the lust-filled Renamon had to admit that some measure of normalcy was required in order for him to carry on with his life; had to keep his job, after all.

Thus, Tim was content in the knowledge that, after the Rena’s implants were pumped fuller, then they’d at least get some wiggle room away from their partner’s constant, incessant need to make the cat feel like they were hanging on the edge with every step they took. It was such a relief to finally make the drive over to the clinic, thinking to themselves how, after the new creaking got old, the two of them could get some rest and appreciate some decent peace and quiet. The lynx even dared to smile as they perused through some old magazines, waiting for Spikes to leave the operating room.

Unbeknownst to the feline, the Rena had no intention of living up to his promise… not yet at least. They did say that there wouldn’t be any more rubbing of lotion after their breasts were pumped fuller, but at no point did they tell Tim their next operation would be aimed at their breasts specifically. In fact, they had no intention of filling their tits up until at least a month or two from that day, precisely so they could take advantage of the lotion’s stretch-enhancing capabilities to ensure they could go even further than normal. No, that day’s appointment was directed at an entirely different, yet no less arousing part of himself, one that had been neglected for quite some time after Spikes embarked on his titty quest, hence why the lynx was already waiting for him with an angry look on his face and a tapping foot when they left the operating block about five more hours after they “should” have.

“Because I had a chat with the clerks and they told me you weren’t getting a fill-up on your implants,” Tim continued, “so I need you to explain to me why you thought it’d be alright to lie to me!”

Rather than waste time trying to come up with an excuse, Spikes chose to shrug and hip-check the lynx with his brand-new expanders, walking towards the door with a bottle of lotion in one hand and a suspicious-looking slip of paper in the other, swinging his hips from side to side as if to entice every eye to follow him while he made his theatrical exit.

Unfortunately for the Rena, he wasn’t the one who drove themselves there; Tim found him five minutes later, sheepishly standing by their car looking like he’d just forgotten something incredibly important. The ride home was awfully awkward, given that Tim wasn’t exactly in the mood to accept anything that wasn’t a direct apology. Of course, this was made slightly difficult by the fact that the Renamon besides them now creaked from two distinct places, his ass implants complaining loudly about having to be sat upon after such a short time after being installed. Given the volume, and how uncomfortable the Rena looked, the feline sighed and conceded.

“Do you need me to stop so you can rest a bit?”

“I can make it home,” Spikes grumbled, “just don’t go too fast.”

Half an hour later, the Rena was wincing his way up the drive and through the front door, having to be exceedingly careful not to touch anything that was particularly sharp; thankfully for him, his experiences with his first expanders meant that most edges in the house were either filed off or covered with plastic, making his adventure into secondary upgrades be a lot safer than the first one had been.

As much as Tim wanted to say something about being lied to so brazenly, they had to admit that it was a good look on their partner. With such colossal, overinflated balloons stuck to their chest, it was only normal for the Renamon to want to balance themselves out, even if the lower shells were significantly smaller compared to the first two. Knowing him like they did, the lynx was more than certain Spikes would go down the exact same path, which of course meant more lotion rubbing, redoubled and relocalized. This realization came with an extra surprise as well, with the feline finally putting two and two together by understanding just what kind of wordplay Spikes had pulled on him. Of course he’d do something like that; damn bastard probably derived more pleasure from teasing people than he did in whatever he used to tease them.

At least their everyday routine didn’t change that much, apart from the need to rub Spike’s saline-stuffed asscheeks whenever the Rena was attending to his own tits all over the bathtub. He’d gotten quite good at that, to the point where he didn’t really need the lynx at all, and given the necessity for secondary rubdowns, both of them agreed to let the Rena take the wheel when it came to his chest. Now if only they could find a way to make up for all that money they were dumping into the damn lotion, then Tim might be somewhat less grumpy than they were; even Spikes’ (presumably) jokey offers to turn himself into a dairy cow weren’t enough to lighten up the lynx’s mood.

Most of that, to be fair, was entirely due to the conflicting emotions fighting one another inside the feline’s head. As much as they wanted to be mad about the deception and the constant need for attention and the teasing and the moaning and the theatrical affectations… it was still Spikes, and it was still him with a pair of tits big enough to obscure their chest and now an ass that would overflow from their own hands if it wasn’t stretched so much. It was difficult to be angry at someone whose mere sight made one’s legs quiver and mind race with the possibilities, especially when both of them knew that they had every intention of going even bigger in the future. It wasn’t so much a dance or careful balancing act as much as it was an attempt at juggling gone horribly wrong; it was effectively a coin flip whether or not Tim would wake up needing to have morning wood taken care of or so unbelievably grouchy that they self-isolated just to keep themselves from fouling Spikes’ mood.

All of this would smooth out with time, as even the grumpiest of cats couldn’t help but be swayed by the genuine enthusiasm and childlike glee that exuded from every one of Spikes’ pores. It was so obvious that they were having a great time that whenever Tim wanted to yell at them for one reason or another, they ended up making themselves feel like the bad guy for removing that wonderful smile off the Rena’s face. Besides, after their compromise, the rubbing sessions weren’t as bad as they used to be; at long last both their brains got used to the process, to the point where even Spikes’ moaning didn’t get on Tim’s nerves in the best way possible. It became just another part of their day, something they did to pass the time. Plus, the expanders in the Rena’s ass were delightfully taut and provided the best tactile sensation Tim had ever experienced; so many times they felt like squeezing, only to find no give whatsoever underneath their fingers.

As the days went on, the lynx began wondering just what exactly their partner’s plan was. After such a long time slathering their bosom up, it was finally squishable again, something that should not be happening given how full up his implants were. Or rather, it was obvious that the Rena wanted to go massively big, but at no point did they tell them when their operation was. It became even more suspicious once Spikes began to take extended trips to “the clinic” without prior warning, leaving the feline to wonder if they’d come back several times larger than when they left, though at no point did that actually come to pass.

The answer came a full three months after the secondary set of implants was installed, when Spikes left the house after lunch and only showed up again at dinnertime, after several ignored calls and about a dozen text messages or so. Tim was about ready to call the police when the familiar knock at the door roused him from his panicked state, the lynx flying to the front of the house and practically pulling the door off its hinges, only to see the Renamon beaming with pride at… nothing in particular, really. He wasn’t bigger, fuller, didn’t have any implants… but he was carrying something behind him.

Tim didn’t want to believe it at first, considering the implications for their daily routine, but Spikes had somehow procured for himself a set of breast pumps and enough saline that the two of them had trouble finding some place to store it all. The lynx avoided asking any questions, knowing they’d hate having the answers to them; besides, all they needed to do was wait, and their partner would blurt out their accomplishments the moment they had a chance. And like clockwork, Spikes recounted his very long session at the clinic, where he somehow convinced his physician to sign off on the Rena being the one taking over the top-ups from that point forward. Tim didn’t want to think how that happened, nor did the Renamon truly explain, but one thing was for certain, at least: it was all in their hands now.

The two of them refused to use the saline pumps for a good week after it had been brought in. it was too much and they both knew it, to be able to increase the Rena’s size like that whenever they wanted. It was something they had to think about very carefully, lest they lose control and either end up with an immobilized Spikes or, heavens forbid, some kind of bursting incident. Wouldn’t be the first time that someone struck by growthlust ended up overfilling to the point of critical failure, resulting in not only a significant mess but a lot of questions about who was responsible. For Tim, it was less a matter of legal accountability and much more their relationship with Spikes to begin with; they’d never forgive themselves if something bad were to happen to him. Thus, it was important to take things one step at a time, carefully monitoring both of them for signs of impulse control issues.

All of this would of course be thrown out the window one day when Spikes, knowing exactly what would happen, requested his partner rub his tits for the first time in a while, resulting in the two lovers becoming so wrapped up in their mutual exploration that both of the saline pumps were hooked up to the injector ports and ready to go before either of them had any real say in the matter.

The cylinders were dragged to the living room, the one place in the whole house that had both enough room for the two to truly test the Rena’s limits and the comforts required for them to actually enjoy it rather than have to lean onto their inflating breasts and risk premature detonation. They were in a daze, unable to think about anything but size and creaking as their minds were taken by the prospect of giving in to their innermost desires. That it carried with it a significant risk of injury no longer mattered to either of them, doubly so when the pumps were actually turned on.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to make it as easy as it was. Rather than a complicated, multi-stage process requiring safety precautions and proper training, all that was needed of the lynx was the aim and manual dexterity to fit a round peg in a round hole and then twist it around, locking the tubes to the large injector ports at the base of each of Spikes’ breasts. As soon as that was done… that was it. No further preparation was needed beyond plugging the whole apparatus into a wall socket and then hitting a button, and thus it was that the saline in the tanks began to be drained directly into a pair of breasts that, for once, were prepared to deal with the sudden influx of extra mass and volume.

It was genius, really; as much as it had been a pain to deal with, Tim had to admit that overdosing on lotion to the degree that Spikes did had left his body just malleable enough that it was taking a surprising amount of time for it to show any signs of strain. Having been there for all the other fill-ups, the lynx was genuinely surprised at how quickly both the expanders and the breasts around them took to being boosted in size so brutishly, covering up more and more of the Rena’s body while poor Spikes himself was gasping for breath, his lungs compressed by him shifting his weight onto his back. It took the feline helping his partner lean forward to prevent a complete disaster, at which point they simply invited another when those saline-stuffed orbs began to rub against the floor.

It was either going to be suffocation, bursting or something else, because at no point was that body ever going to be able to go through life without some degree of complications. If anything, the best they could hope for was setting up some kind of ceiling rail and then attaching a couple of tarps so Spikes could walk around the house with his bosom held firm in the air in front of him… or maybe they could just invest into a large wooden board with some wheels attached, that could also work; it was hard to think about the practical implications of what they were doing when it all just felt so right, so good.

Even for the lynx it was a transcendent experience, what with being able to see as their partner overcame milestone after milestone for weight and girth, his body becoming increasingly irrelevant in comparison to the two massive mounds attached to his chest. It would take scarce few minutes for each breast to become as tall as he was, even less for them to smash through that limit and keep growing while the Rena leaned against them. It was now perfectly safe for Spikes to do so, seeing as the rest of his body barely equated to a fraction of the weight of a single tit; even if he jumped on one of them, it was doubtful it would do anything beyond make it creak even louder, their surface being stretched so tightly that their skin felt like smooth, hardened concrete underneath Tim’s fingers.

And the noises as well, adding to the glunking and the churning of the saline being pumped from their pressurized tubes, filling the house with the kind of sonorous obscenity only the Renamon could really provide, sounding like the deranged lovechild of a ship’s hull grinding against an iceberg and a metal girder being bent out of shape by an industrial press. Whatever was happening in those room-dominating tits was not something that should be happening, and if not for the both of them being too far gone to really appreciate that, they might’ve actually done something about it.

As it stood, neither the lynx nor the Rena had any intention of stopping, especially since the canisters were as low as they were; with only a quarter to go and Spikes’ breasts approaching the ceiling, why should they stop when they could go the full mile and force the plastic-obsessed Renamon to be stuck inside their house for at least as long as it took to call a construction company to cut him out? This was a question that Tim asked themselves when the droning noise of the pumps was shut off and they could suddenly hear themselves think again, even over the ungodly sounds emanating from within that body-eclipsing bust next to them.

For a while, the feline was worried that saying anything might cause some kind of unintended side-effect. Surely, if Spikes had turned the pumps off, then something had to be wrong; perhaps they suddenly became aware of a limit they didn’t know they had, maybe even found themselves to be satisfied with their size, or any other number of alternatives the lynx lacked the mental capacity to formulate. The only thought in his mind was that something big had taken place if Spikes suddenly changed course like that, but there was always a lingering fear that anything might set off disaster.

Each of the Rena’s breasts was stretched so taut that even the frequent lotion baths weren’t enough to keep it from nearly tearing itself apart. It was very clear that the only reason those things hadn’t already burst was precisely because the two of them spent so long slathering them up every day, and even then Tim felt like they might just pop and leak the moment he pushed a claw against them. Their skin had transcended pink and gone straight into red, stretch marks clearly visible in so many places that, for anyone else, it might have genuinely appeared grotesque; for the two of them in the room, however, it was culmination of their desires, something they had worked towards for years even if they weren’t aware of it.

So why did Spikes stop?

Fighting through their urge to rub themselves against the creaking mountains, the lynx took a few tentative steps around them, finding their partner kneeling on the ground with his back bent at a painful-looking angle; rather than be flattened underneath the tide of saline, Spikes had done his best to keep himself in that position, even if it meant arching his back hard enough to qualify for a contortionist act. But it wasn’t painful, or at least it didn’t appear to be; the Rena’s eyes were half-lidded and his tongue was lolling out of his mouth, a thin trickle of drool rolling down their chin while their steamy breath created short-lived clouds on every exhale. He looked up at the lynx, and for a moment Tim felt like they were about to be devoured; there was hunger behind those pupils, a gnawing one that could only be fed by the most filling of meals, the kind that kicked and screamed on the way down while struggling against their fate. Perhaps the Rena believed that such an injection of mass would be required to finalize whatever dreadful transformation they were planning for themselves, but much as before, they were utterly unable to act on it; kind of hard to when one’s body is attached to a set of tits that were very much locked in place from all the weight.

Instead, he nodded. Not towards his partner, but towards his rear, making it obvious in a single motion why he had stopped the pumps.

In all honesty, Tim understood why. With a bust that size, it felt criminal to leave his ass in the pitiful state that it was, so undersized and (relatively) deflated that it didn’t even look like it belonged on the same body. There wouldn’t be any chance for it to equate to the Renamon’s tits in terms of absolute size, not until they acquired more saline at least, but at least they could work on padding out his bottom a lot more than it was at that point. And as soon as the tubes were disconnected from their injector ports and plugged into the ones on the sides of his asscheeks, Spikes’ constant, low-key moaning turned into the closest equivalent of a purr, the Renamon having all of his muscles relax as he allowed the realization of what was about to happen to wash over him.

As for Tim, there wasn’t much of the lynx left in that head of theirs, only a burning, eternal desire for more. It was amazing how much Spikes poked at buttons even the feline didn’t know they had, how he gave them every reason in the world and more to discard sanity and indulge in the same kind of obsessively self-indulgent shenanigans the cat used to before settling down. It was a return to form, really, after so long without being able to tap into those primal instincts; if anything, it was a disappointment that the saline canisters didn’t have nearly enough to make the Rena’s ass inflate as hard as his breasts did, but then again, they hadn’t had the opportunity to smear some lotion over it for as long either.

Not that it mattered, really; the danger was the biggest reason it was so good in the first place.

The switch was flipped and the pumps began to work again, buzzing quietly and vibrating just enough to make Spikes’ rear jiggle with each load of implant material being pushed into him. Both could hear the second set of expanders groaning a lot louder than the original pair did, owing to their much smaller size and overall lack of “stretch training”, as the Rena liked to put it; but rather than deter them from their goal, it only solidified the need to press forward as much as they could. Spikes had turned off the pumps precisely so he could fill his ass up with what remained, and that’s exactly what he was about to get, even if he had to straddle the line between safety and bursting to do it.

In a daze, Tim walked out of the room, ignoring their partner’s confused cries and only returning after they procured a bottle of the ever-precious lotion, the one thing that allowed them to be experiencing such extreme excess at all. The Rena looked confused for a few moments before their tired, lust-addled brain made the connection, then simply lay there with his body about to be squeezed between his two assets while the lynx buried their hands as far deep as they could go after dumping the contents of the bottle all over Spikes’ reddening cheeks. This wasn’t a lot; even in their current state, it was hard to even get a squeeze in, much less have their fingers find any kind of plush, but that just made the whole experience that much better as far as Tim cared; nothing but stretchiness, nothing but artificiality, nothing but saline and implants to fill their lover and main source of arousal.

Spikes had long since given up trying to remain cognizant of his situation, doing so mostly thanks to external stimuli rather than any attempts on his own part. As soon as the lotion was applied, then whatever was left of the Renamon that made the conscious effort to stop the pumps was completely gone, replaced by a mewling, sweaty mess whose only words were “More” and “Bigger” repeated in odd variations and wildly varying tones. If Tim didn’t know better, they might think the Rena’s mind had been pumped full of saline as well, leaving him the exact same airheaded, size-obsessed maniac that he so liked to portray himself as. It was only fitting, seeing as Tim themselves were feeling their personality fade, giving way to a pliable kitten whose only job was to ensure their lover could grow as big as possible as quickly as possible. They were truly made for each other in that regard, even if anyone with half a brain would say otherwise considering the blatant safety violations.

Mercifully for the both of them and the very flustered neighbors, the last stage of their filling didn’t last nearly as long as the first one did, though thanks to the much lower threshold on the newest set of expanders, they were probably making more noise than their larger cousins despite being a fraction of the size. At least if Spikes remained still then his breasts only really slorshed the slightest amount, kept in line only by months of lotion application, but even the calmest and most collected of postures could only do so much for a pair of ass implants that were overfilled to about thrice their safe maximum capacity. Once more, the only reason the two weren’t experiencing a sudden flood was precisely because that rubbing cream gave the Rena just the edge he needed to stay ahead of his own limits, even if he insisted on crawling back to them just so he could rub all of himself against their sharpness.

Or something. Neither of them were in any fit state to think about metaphors too hard.

What mattered was that the cylinders were empty, all the saline was drained, and now the Rena was free to enjoy themselves in whatever way they wanted to… which, unsurprisingly, amounted to very little, considering they were entirely immobilized. They could still walk if they wanted to, but even the insensate Spikes knew that trying to move was just begging for a disaster to happen; and besides, it was enough fun just basking in his own size for once, feeling his tits rub against both ceiling and floor while sitting on an ass that threatened to burst open any time he readjusted how much weight he put on it. To him, it was his highest achievement, hence why the satisfaction was enough to quite literally put him to sleep after he got accustomed to the noises; poor thing was so tuckered out that he just failed to contain himself, dozing off into a peaceful rest.

Not Tim though; the lynx was still very much awake and now feeling like they’d been denied a prize of their own with the Rena having gone under. They were still happy for them, but it lacked a certain something now that they couldn’t indulge or tease them any-

… unless…

It was a stupid plan, a dangerous plan. A plan that hinged on nothing more than desperation and a random comment made by Spikes when the both of them were stone-cold drunk one night after watching too many bad movies and participating in one too many drinking game. But it was a plan nonetheless, and one that helped bring back some of the mad debauchery that had characterized the two’s early relationship.

The lynx was a shapeshifter, after all; nothing was stopping them from being as big or even bigger than the Rena, something he could very easily do without any help whatsoever. It was only their mutual love for excess that kept the two lovers in the dynamic they were currently stuck in; hard to appreciate what it meant to be on the edge if one doesn’t have an edge, therefore making Spikes’ proclivity towards self-enhancement be one of the best gifts Tim could receive. But there was always something more, something that they could do that no one else could.

There was always the possibility that they could feed themselves to the Rena; the lynx saw those eyes, they knew what was hiding behind them in Spikes’ head. They had no doubt their partner would be more than able to find a way to transform pudge into more boob, even if he had to break the laws of physics to do so, but that wasn’t the idea Tim had in mind. No, the two of them needed to find some novel degree of intimacy now, had to negotiate new limits and lines, especially considering how fragile the Rena was at that point.

Tim allowed their body to fall gently onto Spikes’ bust, their fur melding against theirs as the feline’s form seemed to melt into a thin, shiny surface spread over those blimped-out tits. The gooey mass travelled all around before finally settling in one place, nearly waking the Renamon up several times as it struggled to hold onto any section of the saline-stuffed udders attached to the Rena’s chest. It ended in resignation, with the lynx-blob spreading themselves around the full circumference of both tits, stretching out dangerously thin, before beginning to add mass onto themselves, thickening their form and doubling over in weight before solidifying into what was, unmistakably, a fur bikini.

Figuring that no other form would ever satisfy the Rena enough, Tim more or less gave up pretending and turned themselves into exactly what Spikes wanted. Encompassing their lover’s full girth was now a living, breathing lynxkini that was nonetheless still revealing enough that it only added to the overall “bloated plastic doll” look rather than detract from it; certainly didn’t help that it seemed to highlight the Renamon’s nipples even more than they already were, or that it was definitely doing its best to squeeze down those titanic orbs, deliberately pushing Spikes to the edge with every motion.

The Rena, in the meantime, was having none of it; it wouldn’t do for Tim to do that to them while they were asleep and unable to do anything about it. So clearly, the best solution was to wake up.

And start moving forward.