📢Tsubaki.3 — Tell Us What You Think! — 📝 【Tsubaki.3 — We Want to Hear From You! Survey Now Open】 Thank you for always using PixAI! It's been one month since th…
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- Original Prompt
- Amy Rose, Sonic, 1 girl, green eyes, pink fur, furry woman, short hair, pink hair, animal ears, animal nose, white gloves, gloves, gold bracelets, red dress, red boots with white stripes, sleeveless, red headband, pink tail,vore belly, samesize vore belly, ultra-detailed depiction,Belly vore showing the outline of the prey's back and arms inside the belly, vore belly, big belly, vore imprints, vore bulges, smug, evil smile, heart symbols, hand on hip, thick thighs, wide hips, from side, large belly, smirk, digestion
- Size
- 768 x 1280
- Sampling Steps
- 20
- Sampling Method
- Euler a
- CFG Scale
- 4
- Negative
- source_furry, panties, small breasts, athletic build, cum:2.0, nsfw, liquid on breasts, nipples, covered nipples, chromatic aberrations, cleavage, short stack, chibi, small body, clothes cutout, ass cutout:2.0, exposed ass:2.0, 2girls, chubby, pants down, undressing, modern, recent, old, oldest, graphic, text, painting, crayon, graphite, abstract, glitch, deformed, mutated, ugly, disfigured, long body, lowres, bad anatomy, bad hands, missing fingers, extra digit, fewer digits, cropped, very displeasing, (worst quality, bad quality:1.2), bad anatomy, sketch, jpeg artifacts, signature, watermark, username, simple background, conjoined, ai-generated, no fur, smooth skin, EasyNegativeV2, low quality, deformed limbs, blurry, cropped, cross-eyed, extra arms, speech bubble, extra legs, extra limbs, bad proportions, text
Model & LoRA used
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ks
White background, solo, alone, 1girl, front view, cowboy frame, looking at viewer, amy rose, standing tall with a confident smile, hand on belly, elegant, proud, calm expression, red skirt, short dress,red dress with white trim,white gloves, smug, looking at viewer , furry, animal nose, pink hair, green eyes, short ears, eyelashes, makeup, wide hips, big breasts, amy rose, short hair, sideways mouth, happy, hedgehog girl, furry female, hairband, bracelet, jewelry, gold bracelet, animal ears, red footwear, pink fur, sidelocks, body fur, ,AmyRoseSX, 1girl, bright pink fur, large green eyes, spiked bangs, white gloves, red boots with white stripes, Gold circular bracelets, sonic the hedgehog, red headband, amy rose
Kiri Sully V
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Amy Rose's Cozy Vibes 🎀
Daniel
1girl, amy rose, sonic \(series\), furry female, pink fur, short hair, green eyes, pink hair, red dress with white trim, cute sly expression, happy grin, giant muscular female body, gigantic muscles, hyper muscles, overpumped, overpumped muscles, hyper pecs, hyper biceps, hyper shoulders, tall, cute face, grey background, full body view
Little dino
do
Emy Rose — Exaggerated full body portrait
**The silhouette before the rest**
The first thing Emy Rose does when entering a room is not to speak: it is to occupy the space. Her silhouette arrives before she does, because her body is constructed with a logic entirely its own, with no intention of being "proportionate." Emy Rose is a figure of absurd curves, generous to excess, where every area of the body seems to have asked itself *"what if a little more?"* and answered *"much more."* She is one of those women who force the geometry of clothing to surrender and gravity to negotiate.
**The chest**
Let's start where everyone starts: her chest is, quite simply, immeasurable. We are not talking about "large," we are talking about a volume that seems to defy physics through sheer self-confidence. They are two enormous, heavy masses, with that soft and deep weight that is noticeable even when she is still: they settle, they adjust, they shift with a second of delay every time she turns her torso, as if they had their own inertia and their own criteria. When Emy Rose leans forward, the neckline becomes an involuntary spectacle; when she stretches, the fabric of any t-shirt tensions and creaks in silence, on the verge of resigning.
And the best part is that *she knows it*. She doesn't wear it with discomfort; she wears it with a mixture of quiet pride and habit: she is no longer surprised by her own body, and precisely for that reason, she is so magnetic. The upper curve is round, full, and descends with a heavy and soft fall; the valley between both is deep and warm, and the whole set moves with a slow elasticity that makes looking at her hypnotic even when she is just sitting.
**The thighs**
If the chest is her statement, the thighs are her final argument. Emy Rose has giant thighs, thick, massive, with a bluntness that turns any short garment into an event. They are wide from the hip, full, with that texture firm on the outside and very soft on the inside, and when they come together, they touch much sooner than any reasonable calculation would predict. When she crosses her legs, the top one rests on the bottom one with a plush pressure, and the silhouette it draws is so wide that she seems to occupy a chair and a half.
She loves to sit with her legs tucked in, knees up, and watch how her own thighs squeeze and softly deform against the edge of the table, against the arm of the sofa, against whatever. It is a body that occupies, that presses, that spills a bit over the sides. And every time she stands up after sitting for a long time, there is an instant where the thighs mark each other, pressing slightly on the inner part, and she doesn't mind at all: she shakes herself, adjusts, and continues walking with that wide, rhythmic, slightly swaying gait that only women built this way have.
**The little belly**
And then there is the little belly. That part is what gives her the final touch, the one that breaks any hint of hardness and turns her figure into something warm, soft, and welcoming. Emy Rose has a filled belly: round, tender, with a soft volume that curves outward below the navel and is especially noticeable when she sits, because that sweet little fold forms over the waistband. It is not hard or toned; it is a plush belly, of temperate and elastic touch, that yields a little under the fingers and recovers its shape when released. It is the kind of belly that invites one to rest their head, to bury their face, to stay there.
When Emy Rose wears tight clothing, the little belly is outlined with total clarity below the chest, rounded and proud, and it doesn't bother her at all: on the contrary, it is part of her charm. She touches it unconsciously when she is thinking, presses it gently with her palm when she is nervous or happy, and laughs with that soft and complicit laugh when someone tells her she is "soft."
**The palm that pampers her**
And here comes the scene: Emy Rose lying down, relaxed, with her arms abandoned at her sides —making it very clear that the hands touching her **are not hers**— while a large, wide palm, belonging to someone else, rests open right over her little belly. The hand arrives calmly, first posing with its full flat weight, and then begins to move in slow, wide circles, drawing soft spirals around the navel.
Under that palm, the skin of Emy Rose's belly yields a little, sinks barely a few millimeters and returns, and with every pass, the hand drags the skin with a delicacy that makes her shudder. The fingers open, press with the tip, squeeze the side of the belly very gently, return to the center, and she... she simply melts. A long sigh escapes her, almost a moan of pleasure, and a silly smile forms that she tries to hide and cannot.
Because Emy Rose is enjoying it **too much**. She gets goosebumps on her arms, her back arches a little seeking more contact, and when the hand stops for a second to start again, she lifts her hip just slightly, as if claiming for it not to stop. Her eyes are half-closed, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted, and she breathes deeper than normal, with her chest rising and falling in a visible and heavy way. It is a scene of pure pampering, of those that need nothing more to work: a palm, a belly, and a woman delighted to be treated like a spoiled cat.
And if the hand goes down a little, toward the side or toward the waist, she writhes barely, lets out a soft giggle from tickles, and becomes still again waiting for the next caress. She doesn't speak much; only some "mmm" and some whispered "oh, yes."
**The clothing**
As for the clothes, anything works as long as it is provocative and has no intention of being discreet. A short top with thin straps that stays halfway between holding and not holding, with the neckline pulling down and the hem rising above the navel, leaving the little belly entirely exposed just so the palm has a place to rest. Some panties or very short shorts, very low-waisted, that sink into the hip and mark the transition toward those impossible thighs. No sophisticated ensembles: soft fabric, warm colors, zero structure. Garments that seem put on by chance and are actually calculated so that everything else is more noticeable.
**The atmosphere**
Warm light, from a lamp, not from the ceiling. Light and wrinkled sheets, some cushion thrown around, the kind of comfortable disorder that says "it's good here." Background silence, or very low music. And in the center of it all, Emy Rose: giant breasts that are slightly crushed against her own arm, enormous thighs that occupy half a sofa or half a bed, a round and temperate little belly under a palm that pampers it with infinite patience, and an expression of absolute happiness, dazed, as if at that moment nothing else existed in the world than that hand on her belly.
**Closing**
Emy Rose is not a "balanced" woman: she is an *exaggerated* woman, and that is exactly her charm. Immeasurable chest, thighs that occupy too much, a soft and filled belly, and a huge capacity to enjoy being pampered slowly. Lying down, doing nothing, letting herself be loved, with that face of pleasure and that body that spills wherever it can. That is her.
David Ozoria
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