#so many colors on such tiny toes

[evamostly]

The prettiest toes

[obsessivevoidkitten]

A Day In Blood-Swell Swamp

Yandere Frog Hybrid x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Noncon, non-human genitalia, oviposition, general yandere behavior, misunderstanding, reader stuck in mud) Word Count: 1.7k (The yandere in this is a cinnamon roll. A real sweetie. Needed another one like him. He misread the reader's intent and is not at all a bad guy. Really hope you guys like him)

You were an artist on a mission. You were traveling all over your country to sketch the flora, fauna, and landscapes of various habitats. You had already visited several different forests and a couple of prairies.

Now you found yourself in Blood-Swell Swamp. The waters of the swamp were a deep red color. Many people in nearby towns were superstitious about the place and its odd colored water, but you knew it was just a combination of iron filled water and algae.

You rowed the tiny boat you had purchased and found a dry outcrop of trees overlooking the water logged scenery.

When you looked at the impressive sanguine waters and wetland forest sprawling out in front of you, you knew you had made the right decision.

You got out and tied the boat to a tree, the waters were still, but better safe than sorry.

Once you decided on a good spot to look at you pulled out your sketchbook. The first thing you sketched was a frog on a lily pad beside a blooming water lily. The next thing was a cluster of unique purple flowers.

After that you began the larger task of drawing the landscape as a whole.

You had just about finished when you heard a splash and then an enthusiastic male voice behind you.

"HI!!!"

You turned around and almost fell over. If the sudden presence of an unknown man behind you hadn’t been enough to scare you, the fact that he wasn’t human would have.

He was crouched down on very athletic looking legs, wearing nothing but a loincloth. He had long webbed toes and fingers that matched, though he only had four fingers. His mouth was a bit too long and his eyes were large and purple. He was a bit shorter than you but he clearly had a strong and compact body.

But the most odd thing was the color of his skin. He was a deep cherry red with the color transitioning into blue on his arms and legs past his elbows and knees.

His medium length black hair dripped as he tilted his head and spoke again.

“Hello? Are you okay? What are you doing?”

You collected yourself, still frightened by his appearance despite his so far friendly demeanor.

“Uh…”

“Are you okay??”

You flinched backwards as he stepped towards you. He stopped approaching as he noticed you were uncomfortable.

“I just… never saw a… what you are before…”

“Oh! Well I am a frogkin. I have seen a human or two before, but only from a distance.”

You were about to respond but he cut you off, he seemed to be really excited to have someone to chat with.

“My name is Cobi, what’re you called?”

You mentally scolded yourself for your rude and frightened demeanor and forced yourself to calm down and introduce yourself. You were in his territory after all, and he had been nothing but polite to you. You gave him your name and explained to him that you were an artist there to sketch the beauty of the swamp. You showed him your sketches.

“Oh wow, we don’t have any artists here. I have never even heard of sketches. We have some wall paintings in some of our huts, but nothing like this!”

The frog man was clearly impressed.

“Oh, I couldn’t live without being able to draw all the beauty around me. Hey, could I draw you? Just a quick sketch!”

If the skin on his face wasn’t already red you would have been able to see that he was blushing. If you drew beautiful things then that must mean you thought he was beautiful. The notion made his heart flutter.

“S-sure!” Cobi said in his ever chipper voice.

You spent some time sketching him, despite your original plan to get just a quick one in, he happily let you get a couple extra. One with him in the water and one of him crouched on a dead log.

When you finished your sketching you fished some sandwiches out of your backpack and offered one to Cobi. He took it and sniffed inquisitively trying to figure out what it was.

“It’s food, it’s called a sandwich.” You took a few bites of yours and then he took a few cautious nibbles before his eyes lit up and he stuffed the whole thing in his mouth at once. You had to stifle a laugh.

"Thank you, that was super yummy!"

Cobi was blushing more. You drew him because you thought he was beautiful. Attractive. And now you gave him food. Surely that meant you were interested in him right? People of the swamp didn’t just give food away! You gave food to those you liked. Friends, family, and potential mates you were courting!

Even if it was subconscious you probably were trying to court him. And he really wanted to explore the possibility of being your partner too, you were so kind and interesting.

But he didn't want to jump the gun and assume before he had a bit more solid evidence. So instead of asking or acting on what he felt all the evidence pointing to he just hung around and chatted with you a bit more while you finished your meal.

You finished your food slowly, enjoying your time getting to know the inquisitive frogkin. You answered all of his seemingly inexhaustible supply of  questions.

When you finished and said your goodbyes he seemed sad, but you were a traveler. You couldn't really make lasting friendships. And then, when you started to get up, you fell right over your own feet. Your arm stuck in some thick mud with your face low to the ground and your ass pointed up.

And that was all the confirmation Cobi needed. Ass up and presenting. The universal signal to breed!

If you had been able to see his face you would have seen that he was flustered beyond measure. You were also far too preoccupied to notice what Cobi was muttering.

"Oh... well I thought that maybe you just wanted to c-court and get to know one another better... I thought.. I j-just um... well it's just that... I-I have never even done it before... but... it seems like you really want to..."

Despite it being a bit fast he supposed he had become quite smitten with you. And, well, maybe humans coupled faster than frogkin. And he really didn't want to hurt you or offend you!

"O-okay, I'll do it!" He exclaimed loudly.

You were finally almost out of the muck and were about to ask him what he was going to do when he suddenly pulled your pants down and slid his huge tongue right into your entrance. You shuddered in shock and ended up with both hands stuck in the mud.

"Wh-what are you doing!?"

Cobi wasn't paying any attention to your words, not as lost in his efforts to loosen up your hole in preparation for the main event as he was. He gripped your legs with his webbed hands as his tongue probed you as deeply as possible, kneading and throbbing and gently stretching out your insides.

The pleasure was indescribable. You wanted Cobi to stop, but time you tried to articulate a protest the only sound you managed to produce was a loud moan or gasp.

And of course the only possible reaction Cobi could have to that was to think that he was doing a great job making his new mate nice. And he wanted to feel good with you.

He removed the slimy tongue from your entrance and removed his loincloth. Cobi then aligned his engorged cock and drew circles against it with before tip before slowly sinking into your tight heat. He had held reservations about making love to you so soon into courting, but now that he was inside you the last of them had melted away.

"Oh, oh, ooohh, you feel so amazing! I-i think you were meant for this pretty artist~"

Much in the same way that your resolve had melted away under the burning flood of pleasure Cobi was drowning you in. Judging by how it felt it was no human cock. It was much longer, a little thicker, and felt a bit slimy. With every thrust you lost a bit more of yourself until you were moving back against his movements, desperately trying to chase the orgasm you were building up to.

You had just come here to help along your art and now here you were in the mud mounted like a bitch in heat and enjoying it. It would have been humiliating if you had the capacity to dwell on such matters.

There were more important things to think about right now. Like the cock breeding you. The feel of unnaturally heavy nuts smacking into you. The soft and attentive lips kissing up your backside, straining to reach your neck.

You arched your back as you had the most mind shattering climax of your life.

"I can't hold back anymore. You sketched for me. L-let me just paint your insides for you~"

And then you learned why his nuts felt so heavy as they slammed against you. As he filled you he deposited much more than just normal cum. Over dozens of small round objects flooded into you and adhered themselves to your walls.

"Wh-what the?"

Cobi plucked you out of the mud with ease and pulled you into his lap as he sat down, with his prick still buried snugly inside of you. He held you close to his sweaty body and caressed your belly lovingly.

Now that you had a moment to process your predicament and the events that had just transpired you were completely dumbfounded. One moment you were trying to get out of the mire and the next you were being fucked.

"I'm so glad you wanted to be mates~"

Your mind was reeling trying to come up with a response to such an outrageous claim. When had you expressed anything resembling such a des-

"Mmmm~" Instead you could only reply with a pathetic pleased whimper as Cobi began rolling his hips, grinding into you and very slowly fucking you for a second time.

"Don't worry, I have plenty more eggs just for my sweet artist~"

You could only lean back against him and drool as he wrapped his arms around you possessively and temporarily fucked your mind away once more.

[orimuraa]

ᯓ᪥ Would you kiss me? Mwah! - OT7

(synopsis) ּ ֶָ֢.kissing enhypen with lip gloss on ᰔ

ot7 enhypen x fem!reader ּ ֶָ֢. tooth rotting fluff ּ ֶָ֢. kissing, petnames ּ ֶָ֢. wc 737

𝑳𝒆𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈 - 이희승

heeseung had just been scrolling through his phone when you decided to play a little trick on him. applying your favorite lip gloss (and his favorite flavor), you casually walked up to him, trying to hide your laughter. suddenly, you leaned in, crashing you lips against heeseung's. when you pulled away, heeseung was left shocked, but soon realized what you had intended after feeling the reminiscence of the lip gloss. "i like the flavor, baby." "thanks, it's your personal favorite!" you laughed, liking the pink, glossy color now coating your boyfriend's lips.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 - 박종성

today, you had decided to kiss jay. not that you haven't, you have many many times, but you were gonna do this with a little fun. you smiled to your reflection, seeing the fresh and vibrant red that now decorated you lips beautifully. you were going to do a little art project. jay was just lounging on the couch when you suddenly hugged him. he was a bit suspicious of the sudden hug but nonetheless, still hugged you back. quickly pulling back, you pecked his face all over, until you were satisfied with the amount of kiss marks on his face. "i'm a very talented artist." you giggled. indeed you were.

𝑺𝒊𝒎 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒚𝒖𝒏 - 심재윤

"jakey? can you help me test my new shades of lip tint?" you asked jake, who was sitting beside you. "sure baby, anything for my princess," he winked, making you blush. clapping your hands, you grabbed your first new shade and smoothly applied it to your lips, jake watching intently. then you turned to face your boyfriend before planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "hmm, i think i like this shade!" you smiled. and of course you needed to test all the others! let's just say that jake was a very happy and colorful test subject at the end of this,

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏 - 박성훈

"hoonie? can i test something real quick with you?" you called out to your boyfriend, holding two shades of lip gloss in your hand. "sure angel, what is it?" he smiled. instead of answering, you took out one of the shades and applied it to your lips before pressing your lips to sunghoon's cheek. "just making sure that these are still my favorite shades," you replied, already applying the next color. hey, who was sunghoon to complain? he had it all right here. kisses, you, and new decorations on his face!

𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒐 - 김선우

"sun!! can you help me real quick?" you asked, sitting at your vanity with all your lip products lined up. "yeah? what's up sweets?" he answered, plopping down next to you. "i need to figure out which shades to keep or toss," you said, picking up the first shade. you smoothly applied it to your lips before applying your lips to sunoo's lips. "ooh! i still love this one!" you exclaimed, the color looking beautiful on sunoo. "glad i could be of assistance sweets," sunoo chuckled, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. oh, it was a really nice shade!

𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒘𝒐𝒏 - 양정원

"jagi! guess what i got you?" jungwon smiled, holding up a tiny bag. "i got a new lip gloss for you!!" he giggled, not letting you answer. "try it on!!" he exclaimed, jumping up and down like a little kid. "thank you wonnie! give me a sec," you pulled out the beautiful shade of pink and applied it onto your lips, immediately falling in love with the gloss and it's smoothness. but you wanted to see how it looked, so, you went on your tippy toes and pecked jungwon's lips, catching him by surprise. "it's such a pretty shade! thank you so much wonnie!" you cheered, hugging him tightly. "anything to make my jagi happy."

𝑵𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒊 - 西村 力

"riki riki riki riki riki riki riki!!! come here!!!" you shouted, not being able to contain your excitement. you had recently bought a new shade of pink lip gloss and you wanted to try it out on your boyfriend self. "what's up little love?" he asked, walking through the door. "i got a new gloss and i wanted to try it out!" you replied, already putting it on your lips. you then stepped towards your boyfriend, going the highest you could on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to ni-ki's lips, attempting to color them as well. "pretty color! pink suits you ki!" you winked, knowing ni-ki's hatred for pink. looking in the mirror, he saw his lips slightly pink. maybe for you, he would tolerate it.

this was inspired by my new lip gloss so everyone, give the lip gloss all the credit! anyway, i hope you enjoyed it! it was so cute and fun to write! likes, reblogs, and feedback are always appreciated! <33

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬: @en-diaries

⚘. Perm taglist: @vmpivory, @yuvany

[amirasainz]

Can you write a Yn Alonso story where George and her have a proper British tea party. Geroge tells Yn that she is now a true princess. .ame it fluff and cute 🙏😭❤️

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💕

Unky Georgie

Three-year-old Yn Alonso, the tiniest bundle of joy in the paddock, bounced on her toes as she held onto her uncle George’s hand. Her rose-colored dress swayed with every step, layers of tulle billowing around her like the gown of a true princess. She gazed up at George, her eyes wide and filled with excitement. Uncle George, or “Unky Georgie,” as she liked to call him, had promised her something very special that day while her dad, was away at a meeting. Today, Yn was going to have her very first Princess Tea Party.

George knelt down to her level, smoothing out her dress a bit. "Alright, Princess Yn," he said in a very serious tone, his British accent making her giggle, "are you ready for your royal tea party?"

Yn gasped, nodding her head enthusiastically. "Yes, Unky Georgie! I'm ready!" She clutched a tiny pink purse to her side, her other hand wrapped around his fingers.

"Right this way, Your Royal Highness," George said, guiding her to a little setup he’d created just for her near the back of the paddock. He had found a small table with two chairs and had decorated it with a pink cloth, a little flower in a vase, and a selection of pastries piled high on a plate. In the middle, he’d set a small teapot with a delicate floral design and two matching cups.

Yn’s eyes sparkled as she took in the scene. "It’s so pretty!" she gasped, looking up at George with a mixture of admiration and disbelief. "Is this… is this really for me, Unky Georgie?"

George nodded, his face lit with a proud smile. "All for you, Princess. Only the best for royalty, of course."

He held out her chair, and she carefully climbed onto it, smoothing out her dress like she’d seen princesses do in her favorite storybooks. Once she was settled, George took the seat opposite her. He poured “berry tea”—actually a bit of berry-flavored water he’d prepared—into each cup, trying his best to look as dignified as possible.

Yn picked up her cup carefully with both hands, peeking over the rim to look at George. "Do I look like a real princess, Unky Georgie?"

George smiled warmly, nodding. "You look like the most real princess I’ve ever seen." He raised his cup as if to toast. "To Princess Yn, ruler of the paddock kingdom!"

She giggled, clinking her tiny cup against his. "To the paddock kingdom!" she repeated, trying to sound very grand. Then she took a sip, her face lighting up at the taste of the berry water.

George took a pretend sip as well, lifting his pinky finger dramatically. "Now, tell me, Princess Yn, what does a real princess do at a tea party?"

Yn thought for a moment, scrunching up her nose. "Princesses talk about their… about their kingdom!" she decided. "And about the animals and… and the fairies and… and the horses!"

"Ah, yes," George said, nodding along. "Do you have many fairies in your kingdom, Princess?"

Yn nodded, her face very serious. "Lots! And they’re all pink and blue and sparkly, and they love tea parties. And they sing songs to the horses so they can go super fast!"

George chuckled, absolutely charmed by her imagination. "Just like your papa and his car! Maybe the fairies help him go super fast too?"

Yn’s eyes lit up. "Yes! Papa has fairies too. And… and maybe you have fairies, Unky Georgie!"

George gasped in mock surprise. "You think so? Maybe that's why I’m so fast!"

Yn giggled and reached for a tiny pastry from the plate. It was almost too big for her little hands, but she managed, taking a small bite and grinning at the taste. "Mmm, this is my favorite," she declared with her mouth full, looking at George as if they were in on a big secret.

"I'm glad, Princess. We have to keep the royal princess well-fed, after all." George pretended to munch on one of the pastries, savoring it dramatically. "These are delicious! Fit for a queen."

Yn looked delighted, holding her little pastry like it was made of gold. She glanced around as if worried someone might interrupt their special party. "Do you think Papa will come soon?"

George took her little hand in his, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Don’t worry, Princess Yn. He'll be here soon. And when he sees you looking so beautiful in your princess dress, I bet he’ll be so happy he might even want to join the tea party."

Yn’s eyes widened at the thought. "You think so? Papa will be a prince with us?"

"Absolutely," George replied confidently. "And you know what? He might even want to be your knight, protecting the kingdom."

Yn looked at him with all the wonder of a little girl who thought her papa was already the greatest knight in the world. "Papa would be the best knight!"

Just then, a familiar voice called from nearby. "What's going on here?" Fernando had returned from his meeting, and the sight before him nearly stopped him in his tracks. There was his daughter, perched like a little princess in her rose-colored dress, holding court over a tea party with her “Unky Georgie.”

Fernando’s heart melted instantly. He walked over, a soft smile spreading across his face as he took in the joy radiating from Yn’s face.

"Papá!" Yn squealed, jumping up and running to him, her arms open wide. Fernando scooped her up into a big hug, her tiny fingers clutching his neck. "Look, Papá! I’m a real princess now!" she declared, pulling back to show him her dress.

Fernando looked at George with a soft chuckle, his eyes full of gratitude. "A real princess, huh?" he asked, looking back at Yn with admiration. "Did Uncle Georgie make you a princess today?"

Yn nodded with pride. "Yes! And we had tea and pastries, and he said I have a kingdom with fairies!"

"That sounds wonderful, mi amor," Fernando murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I’m so happy you had fun."

George stood up, giving Fernando a mock bow. "Well, I was merely following orders from Her Royal Highness."

Fernando laughed, shaking his head. "Thank you, George. This was… perfect." He looked back at Yn, his face full of love. "You know, Princess, if you need a knight, your papa is always ready for the job."

Yn’s face lit up, and she reached for Fernando’s hand. "Can we all have tea together? All of us, Papá?"

"Of course," Fernando said with a smile, taking a seat beside her and picking up one of the tiny tea cups. "For my princess, I’ll do anything."

George grinned, raising his cup again. "To Princess Yn, ruler of all the fairies and horses in the paddock kingdom."

Yn raised her cup with a giggle. "And to Papá, my best knight ever!"

As they sipped their “tea” together, Yn looked up at her father and uncle, feeling like the happiest princess in the world. And for Fernando, seeing his little girl so full of joy made him feel like the luckiest dad in the world.

[revelboo]

Omg pls we want more of ratchet x reader 🥺<33

The Weakends pt 2

TFP Ratchet x Reader- getting sick

• Yes, you were supposed to be helping Ratchet organize his supplies, but waking up with your head trying to split open as you start coughing, you know that’s not happening. As much as you won’t miss inventory duty, you do enjoy being around the surly medic. Especially his salacious recounts of the other’s mishaps over the decades.

• Fumbling for your cell phone, you message the kids to ask them to tell Ratchet you’re taking a sick day before succumbing to the warmth of the sheets and sleep.

• Sick? Frowning down at Jack, Ratchet rumbles to himself. It’s not that he doesn’t know humans get sick, he’s just never really bothered to learn about human illnesses. Slumping at his desk, he connects to the human’s internet and- ah. WebMd. Curious, he begins scrolling.

• Cracking an eye, it takes a minute for your tired brain to comprehend that the pounding isn’t just your head. Someone’s trying to tear your door down. As far off the road as your house is, you doubt it’s a solicitor. More likely a robber casing the place. Anger mixing with the exhaustion, you slide out of bed in your robe, a pair of shorts, and the soft tank top you sleep in. You grab the bat you leave just behind the door before turning the handle.

• Whatever you expected, it’s not Ratchet kneeling at your door, scowling. His optics skim your face before dipping to the bat. Sighing, you chuck it to roll around on the floor behind you with a clatter. “Everything okay?” Your voice is a tired rasp and his frown deepens.

• There were so many things that could be wrong, and Ratchet’s almost frozen with indecision. If you were a Cybertronian, he’d know what’s wrong. You’re staring up at him, your color off and dark smudges under your eyes. It’s the sudden coughing fit wracking your tiny frame that shatters his paralysis. Reaching through the narrow door, he hooks a servo around you to pull you through the gap so he can pick you up as you cling to his servos, eyes streaming while you wheeze.

• The alarm on his face is masked so quickly you can almost think it was just your imagination as he cradles you in a palm and brings out a scanner. Flinching at the bright light passing over you from head to toe, you try to protest that you’re fine. It’s just a cold, but he just frowns at the screen then at you. Like his tech has betrayed him somehow.

• Weak protests are ignored as Ratchet tucks you to his chassis and transforms around you. Brings you back to the base and to his medbay. It might in fact just be a cold, but after learning everything that could go wrong with humans, he’s not letting you out of sight. He’s requisitioned supplies and pleased that Fowler’s delivered.

• Please not the dumpster couch, you plead to all the powers that be as Ratchet transforms and carries you to his medbay. Thankfully he brings you to his desk, setting you carefully down in a chaotic nest of blankets, pillows, and, underneath, an air mattress. Nearby there are bottles of pedialyte, cough drops, and cans of chicken soup you have no way to heat even if you could open them.

• It doesn’t matter, though. You’re just floundering that he was that worried about you. That he came to check on you and is trying to care for you. A big servo touches your neck below your jaw- trying to feel your lymphnodes? You’re not sure, but the serious frown as he examines you with feather light touches sends your heart racing. That frustration so evident inhis optics is just growing and you reach up to catch one of his servos with your hands. “Thank you.”

• “I don’t know how to fix this.” That gruff admission costs him, you know it and your heart melts a bit. Because he wants to help you and he doesn’t know how. Because he cares. And you’re so tired. You press your forehead against his servo, relaxing as his hand shifts a bit so his thumb can slide up and down your spine, the touch cautious and unsure. Soothing.

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[enchantedanimal]

All of the QSMP eggs as dragons!

Now for my design notes/headcanons! (There's a lot lol)

- The color pallettes are (for the most part) based off of their parent/parents. In lore terms, l'd imagine that more time they spent around their parents before they hatched, the more their color developed to mimic them. It would usually be used as a survival strategy with their dragon parents, however sometimes their personality overcomes this and they develop their own color.

- Being dragonets, none of them can fly due to their currently underdeveloped wings.

- Tilin's yellow spots would make Quackity think that Wilbur was supposed to be the other parent.

- Tallulah's colors/features are close to that of a duck. It would likely be a coincidence, but it'd be enough to Quackity to feel like the island was mocking him.

- Tallulah's "hair" is feathers. She's the only one with feathers, and it may either be a cause or effect of her being left in the attic (possibly being mistaken to be an egg from a different species and not a dragon, or the coldness of the attic caused feathers to form).

- Tallulah and Tilin have the same colored eyes since Quackity once said that she reminds him of Tilin.

- Chayanne has fins bc he likes doing mlg water bucket clutches and fishing with Missa.

- Chayanne's tail fin, Leonarda's ear, and Richarlyson's wing are ripped in a spot due to loosing a life. Bobby lost one of his after I designed him but one of his horns would be chipped, and forgot Ramón only had one as well so let's just pretend he's got a scar on his left leg lol.

- Its kinda subtle, but Chayanne has protruding bottom canines, similar to my (and many others') Techno design.

- Fun fact that usually in my style I have the neck spines start from the top of the head. Ramon is purposely "bald".

- Ngl I don't have much to say about Trump bc he died so quick (rip) and I never saw much about him; but his hat is too big for his head.

- Bobby is a wyvern bc it's easier to slap everyone with his wings. He also headbutts and slaps ppl with his tail (those hurt more).

- Bobby's colors are less based after his parents, but the orange/blue complementary colors are kinda more of a nod to Jaiden being an artist (which doesn't make a whole lot of sense now idk my brain just defaulted to that), but feel they match his personality as well. Also his scleras (part of eye that's not the iris/pupil) are black unlike the rest who's are normal.

- Leonarda has a tiny mushroom pin on her hat and their back has mushroom-like spots for the hat she always wears.

- People keep saying that Leo somehow looks like Foolish which is funny bc that wasn't even intentional- in fact was worried that she would be one of the only ones who didn't resemble her parents enough. I did try to make her slightly taller but I'm going to guess that it's the jawline lol

- [Edit bc I just thought of it] Leo's wings are bigger bc they've grown faster due to using them more to glide off of Foolish's/Veg's builds

- Dapper is built to be more bipedal than quadrupedal (their dewclaws on their back feet act more like a normal toe for better traction/ stabilization). This makes it easier to grab (or steal) things for their collection. And hold a taser.

- Richarlyson is based after an iguana! thought it would fit well (it's kinda hard to base him off of 5 different people lol)

- Had to go off of a secondhand info + auto translations (I can understand a decent amount of Spanish but have no idea when it comes to Portuguese so this could be off) but think there was something about Richarlyson having a bad leg both in and out of rp, and think maybe Cellbit said something about him having a prosthetic for it and I thought that was so so cool! It's based semi loosely off of a dog hind leg prosthetic and a human running one; probably wouldn't actually be functional but tried to keep the general shape of the leg.

- Richas and his dads cover it in stickers :)

- Juanaflippa's tail and probably the lower half of her front legs (which aren't visible) are semi transparent from Charlie (yellow comes from Mariana), and it shifts around a bit! It looks more like slime than it feels like it. I've been calling her Bananaflippa endearingly

- Gegg intentionally looks like Juanaflippa a bit (but he's way more slimy)

- Gegg's inventory basically consists of him absorbing random things which are sometimes visible (he is so full of avocado toast). He's like Bob from Monsters vs Aliens or smth idk haven't seen that movie in forever.

There some smaller less exciting details and other headcanons I have for them (such as extra accessories they'd have like Tallulah wearing sweaters) but that's about it! Feel free to ask about anything I like talking about them lol

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ LMLY ♡

♡ Pairing: boyfriend!jackson wang x songwriter!chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: fluff/smut

♡ Summary: On the evening before one of your boyfriend's parties you confess to him that you've been doubting yourself lately and he has his heart set on easing your mind.

♡ Word Count: 1.7k-ish

♡ Warnings: oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, pet names (baby) & that's about all, bbys

♡ A/N: This is my first Jackson Wang request which I'm really happy about because no one ever really requests/write for him (like, y'all, this man's a certified baddie. let's get it together). Thank you @writhingwrecked for putting this request in. I hope you get the comfort you needed from it!

People usually have one of two ideas about who your boyfriend is. They either categorize him as this dark, brooding artist who’s trapped in the spiral of an existential crisis or some frat boy who spends all of his time partying and drinking. If they took the time they’d see what a sweetheart he is, especially when it comes to you.

Seated opposite you on the couch of his penthouse—one of many he has tucked away in different countries—he keeps your feet balanced in his lap, laser focused on painting your toenails your favorite color. Nothing could possibly be cuter than Jackson is with his hair pulled back into the two tiny space buns you put them in earlier, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he applies the final touches to your nails. 

Tonight Jackson’s having one of his infamous parties, this one on a scenic beach in Thailand. It’ll be the first you’ve attended since joining his songwriting team and your first since the two of you began dating. Anyone who’s anyone will be there and you’re determined to look perfect for it. So, needless to say, you sent yourself into a panic when the nail tech canceled on you last minute.

But it was Jackson to the rescue as always, quieting your fears and insisting that you let him take care of you. That’s the Jackson you know. The one who’ll do anything to keep his girl happy. It gives you butterflies watching him be this patient and attentive with you. It makes your heart race a little faster just feeling his fingers brush your skin as he tilts your foot to inspect his handiwork. 

“That tickles!” you giggle, toes wiggling as he tries to keep you still. 

“Hey, stop that! You’re gonna mess it up” he whines, tickling the arch of your foot on purpose this time. 

You twist away from him, jumping up from the couch to go finish your makeup. There’s two hours until you need to head out for the party and the two of you are still lounging around in your towels. It’s about time you pick up the pace anyway. 

“I don’t have time for this. Some of us have to get ready.” 

Catching you by the arm, he carefully pulls you down onto his lap, peppering kisses all over your face. You resist at first but quickly give up the act, relaxing into his arms to soak up the love he so openly pours into you. “Jackson, I’ll never get dressed if you keep this up.”

Running a hand down to your thigh, he gently rubs it, taking in the beauty of your figure as he does so. “Who says I want you to get dressed?” he asks, the sexy rasp of his voice tickling your cheek. You let out an almost weightless moan at the sensation of his lips skimming your jawline. You rest your hands on his bare chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath, lean muscles flexing beneath your touch.  “Aah, baby, we don’t, mmm, have time for this right now. If I don’t look perfect for this—” 

Jackson tilts his head up, gazing into your eyes, “Don’t say that, you always look perfect.” 

“To you because you love me but…” you sigh, shoulders dropping under the weight of self doubt, “Jackson, I have to look good so at least it seems like I’ve done something to deserve to be there with all those talented people. With you”. 

Jackson sits back on the couch, his brow scrunching at a statement he couldn’t disagree with more. “What are you talking about? You are ‘talented people’. The songs you helped me write are beautiful”. 

“What if no one else thinks so? What if the album drops and everyone hates them? What if…I’m just not good enough?”

“Baby, look at me” he begs, scooping your cheeks into his hands, “You are more than good enough. Don’t you ever question that. You’re here with me because you’re the best of the fucking best, because…”

He clears his throat, choking back the sentimental side of him that has him wanting to tear up. You see it anyway, the moisture across his irises that make them shimmer like raindrops catching sunlight. 

“I doubt myself too,” he confesses, “I fear the future, worry if what I’m doing is enough, but as long as I have an amazing woman who loves me like you do I know it must be.” 

“Why are you trying to make me cry?” you pout, sniffling back tears of your own. 

“No, it’s not that, baby. I just want you to know how special you are and that we’re in this together. You belong here.”

His lips meet yours in a quick, sweet kiss. “You belong anywhere you want to be.” The next kiss lasts longer, your lips parting to welcome his. “And I will literally fight anyone who makes you feel any different.”

You giggle but Jackson doesn’t. He’s a softie but he’s cutthroat when it comes to protecting you. 

“You’re so cute when you’re serious.”

“Hmm? Just cute?” he asks, kissing you with everything he has.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he lifts you from the couch, his tongue refusing to leave the fluffy warmth of your cheeks. You shake your head, shivering as the air from the open window blows gently against your now exposed core. “More than cute. Really, really fucking hot.” 

Jackson lays you back on the couch, spreading your legs to slip in between them. “Now who’s being the cute one?” he teases, draping one of your legs over the back of the couch. His right hand moves between the two of you, tracing all the finer details of your pussy. Your slick folds, so soft against his fingertips. Your stiffening clit, twitching as he circles it. Your dripping entrance that clenches at his presence, growing wetter the deeper he kisses you.

“Mmm, I think she wants some attention, baby” he coos, fingers pushing into you, “Can I taste her?” 

Your head falls back against the arm of the couch, eyes fluttering closed as he works his fingers deep into your core. “Yes, please” you moan, nails faintly scraping his shoulders as he ventures down your body. Pushing your towel away, he takes his time massaging your plush figure, praising your form, soothing your worries.

When his head dips between your legs, he kisses your soft inner thigh until his breath’s warming your core. Jackson’s eyes flick up to you, watching all the pretty faces you make as he teases the ridges of your walls. “Oh my god!” you cry, hips lifting from the cushion as he purses his lips around your clit, suckling at the bud with the perfect amount of pressure.

Jackson locks an arm over your waist, gripping your belly as he pins you back down. “Don’t run from me, baby. How am I gonna make you feel good if you can’t keep still?” 

You grab onto the cushion beneath you, pleading with your body to cooperate but she writhes and arches against his hold, simply refusing to listen. Your walls clamp around his fingers, threatening to push them out, but Jackson only sinks them in deeper, your wetness audible as his soaked wrist comes flush against your slit.

“Jackson…” you moan, glancing between your legs to find his face almost completely buried in your pussy. "Hmm?” he hums, staring back at you with those puppy dog eyes you always melt for. Slipping his fingers out, he drives his tongue into you, slurping your juices down, grateful to taste more of you. 

All you’ve done leading up to tonight is live in your head—stressing, worrying, doubting yourself. The pressure of it all was unbearable but gradually it lifts. With every curve of Jackson’s tongue, a sense of euphoria flows through your body, washing away anything that makes you question the woman that you are.

Jackson needs you, can’t get enough of you. Your body. Your spirit. Your mind. This is what you deserve, to lay back and be pleasured, juices flowing down his throat with not a single thing for you to worry yourself about. Nothing except the pulsing in your core, the pressure building inside of you gradually, letting you bask in each level of intensity before being pushed to another.

“Jackson, mmm, close” you moan and Jackson lets go of your belly, reaching up to hold your hand. Your stomach muscles contract at the return of his fingers. There’s more this time, you aren’t even sure how many, but they’re stretching you so wonderfully, hitting your sweet spot every single time.

“Go ahead, baby. Come for me. Let it all go” Jackson coos, dragging his tongue up your clit. 

Seeing the love in his eyes, the passion, how badly he wants to please you, sends you crashing over the edge. You hold onto his hand, fingers interlaced with his, and ride out your high, letting your body move as it wishes. Jackson keeps dipping his fingers in and out of you, tongue flicking your clit, until you’ve come back down.

“You feel better, baby?” he asks, resting his head on a thigh more comfy than any pillow.

“Mmhmm” you answer between shallow breaths, “I feel wonderful.”

Jackson smiles, leaving a wet kiss on your other thigh, “We don’t have to go tonight, you know? Not if you don’t want to.”

“Actually, I…I wanna go.”

“Oh? Really?” he asks, equal parts shocked and curious about your newfound excitement for tonight. You sit up to pet his cheek, guiding him on top of you. You feel so safe under the weight of him, comforted by the arms now caging you into your little dip in the couch. 

“You believe in me so much, Jackson.” 

“I do.” 

“So, I guess it can’t hurt for me to try to believe in myself a little.” 

Jackson kisses you on the forehead, the nose, the lips. “And never fear the future. Whatever happens, I've got your back. I’ll do anything for you, you know that?" He shifts between your legs and you feel the head of his cock brush your clit. You bring him in for another kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ya know, I might not wanna skip the party but it’s okay if we’re a little late, isn’t it?”

“Anything” he whispers, hips rocking against you, “For you.”

[impala-dreamer]

The Way My Hand Looks On Your Face

A Short Story 

~It's not like Y/N doesn't find her husband incredibly sexy, but something about his new character is doing more for her than any other...~

Jensen x F!Reader; Soldier Boy x F!Reader

3,248 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Role Play, Rough Consensual Sex, Choking, Slapping, Overstimulation, Degradation, Breeding Kink, Dom!Jensen, SexyBastard!SoldierBoy

A/N: This was a commissioned story. I hope you love it!

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Lightbulbs flashed over and over and Y/N wondered how he never got a headache from photo shoots.

She stood off to the side, her tiny frame hidden in the shadows behind the crew. Despite being married to the man, visiting sets like this wasn’t something she did often, and she relished every moment.

It was always fascinating to see just how much effort went into something simple like a photograph, how many hands it took to get Jensen looking as perfect as he always did.

Not that he wasn’t always handsome, always deliciously attractive, but when he was working, it was something else. Every hair was perfectly in place, his beard was meticulously trimmed, his lashes were darker and his lips a little pinker. Even his eyes seemed different, more colorful under the bright lights.

But seeing him that day was something she’d never seen before.

Watching Jensen’s face darken, his demeanor shift from lovable actor man to… this… impossibly sexy yet infuriating anti-hero was doing things to Y/N that she hadn’t anticipated.

Jensen stood against the dark backdrop, his hands clasped at his waist, his chin dipped down. His muscles strained against the tight, dark green fabric of Soldier Boy’s costume.

The flash popped.

Jensen cleared his throat and scowled at the camera.

Y/N gasped, her body tingling with sudden arousal.

Another flash.

He leaned back and flipped the bird.

Her mouth watered.

The camera clicked.

Jensen spread his legs.

Y/N stared at the large bulge in his tights and shivered.

The photographer moved around, repositioning the camera and Jensen looked toward Y/N. He picked her easily out of the shadows and cocked a brow. He could see how much she was enjoying the show, how much her face had flushed and her pretty eyes narrowed, glassy yet focused on him.

He winked and she quickly shied away, caught and embarrassed. Jensen swallowed a grin and got back to work, instantly becoming the villain once more.

He let the character take over, but tucked an idea in the back of his mind for later.

She liked Soldier Boy.

She… really liked Soldier Boy.

The back door creaked open and a tall, dark figure stepped through. A gloved hand closed the door carefully, and heavy boots stepped onto the tiled floor.

The kitchen was dim; the only light coming from the glow of the oven. The large room was warm and the air smelled sweet like vanilla and melted chocolate. A long bank of cabinets and counters was cluttered with bowls and spoons; flour sprinkled the top. Music flowed gently in from another room, but otherwise, the place was quiet.

He moved quickly and quietly like a snake slithering across wet grass. The shadows hid him well.

A small timer shaped like a chicken clicked to zero and a bell rang loud and free.

Tiny footsteps approached and Y/N appeared in the doorway. She flipped on the lights and grabbed an oven mitt from the drawer beside the oven.

The door opened and warm, delicious heat wafted through the room.

“Now those look good,” she said to herself, smiling at the perfect chocolate chip cookies lined up on the tray.

He stepped out of the shadows as she closed the oven door.

“So do you.”

His deep voice burst through the kitchen and struck her ears like a gunshot. She spun around with a gasp, startled and unprepared for what awaited her.

Clad head to toe in forest green and polished brass was Soldier Boy. His jaw was clenched tight and a wild look filled his eyes.

Y/N relaxed. “Jesus, Jen- you nearly gave me a heart attack! What are you doing?”

A smirk played upon his plump lips. “Don’t act like you’re not happy to see me, Sweet Cheeks. I saw you starin’ at me the other day.”

Something was strange; his slight Texan accent was off- gone, really.

She glared up at him. “Sweet Cheeks?”

He ran his eyes down her body, stripping her with his gaze. “What can I say? I like your rump. Saw it when you bent over just now. Nice and… round.” He motioned with his hands, cupping them in the air. “Wanna take a big bite.”

He snapped his teeth shut quickly and Y/N jumped. He wasn’t usually so… forward.

He took a step closer and she felt the heat flood her system. She countered, taking a step back until she was flush against the counter.

“What are you doing?” she laughed, awkwardly aroused.

“Just watching you. Enjoying you.” He licked his lips. “Ya know, I love seeing a woman where she belongs. Barefoot in the kitchen.” He paused and eyed her middle. “Too bad you’re not pregnant. Then we’d really be cookin’.”

Her pussy fluttered. She squeezed her thighs tight.

“Jensen- I-”

He lunged for her and caught her cheek in his big hand. Bare fingertips swept backward through her soft hair and tugged. Her chin lifted and he bent himself over her; a predator adoring his prey.

“Jen-”

“Name’s Ben,” he corrected roughly. His fingers tightened in her hair and she let out a breathless cry. “Learn it,” he whispered. “You’ll be screaming it soon.”

Her jaw trembled, her insides melted, her voice trickled out in a pathetic whimper.

“I… um…”

With a blink, Jensen was back and his hand fell from her hair. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I should have called first or something. Are you OK?”

Y/N relaxed, her body slumping back against the counter. “Fuck, you are… wow.”

“Baby-” He reached for her, tentative fingers hovering over her cheeks.

She smiled up at him. “I’m fine. You just caught me way… way off guard.”

Guilt painted his face and he turned away, ashamed. “We didn’t discuss it, I know. I just- I saw the way you were staring at me during the shoot and I thought I’d be… I don’t know… I stole the suit for the night.”

Y/N caught his hand, tiny fingers barely able to wrap around each of his.

“Jensen- It’s OK. I… I kinda love it.” She chewed her lip and shrugged when he looked back over his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I mean…” Her hand slid up the spandex covering his big bicep and squeezed. “It’s really hot.”

He raised a brow.

“You,” she corrected, letting her arm travel even higher, “are really hot.”

In an instant, Jensen was gone again, replaced by the cocky, misogynistic, sexy asshole that had broken in through the back door.

He flipped his wrist and caught her arm, pushing her back against the counter again.

“You think so?” He smirked and dragged a hand down her body, slowly surfing each curve like a tidal wave. “Kinda hot yourself.” He stopped and pinched her right nipple through her shirt. “Real hot.”

Y/N moaned desperately as he twisted her nipple.

“And a slut, too, huh? Fuckin’ perfect.”

She arched her back a bit, shoving her tits out for him.

Ben took full advantage and cupped her breasts in his massive hands. He squeezed them hard and tugged at her nipples until she let out a little pained cry.

“What’s the matter, slut?” he asked, towering over her, totally in control. “Little bitches like you need a little pain. It’s good for you. Keeps you obedient and wet.”

Again, she clenched her tights together, but it wasn’t enough to stop the wetness from dripping into her pretty pink panties.

“Obedient?” she questioned in a whisper.

Ben sneered, perfectly white teeth gleaming. His upper lip quivered. “Obedient,” he repeated. “Respectful.” He fisted her hair and yanked until she was almost off of her feet. “Submissive. Like all women should be.”

He let her go and she stumbled across the tiled floor, half playfully, half truly retreating. He was scaring her a bit, but she liked it. Somewhere deep inside, she needed it; wanted him to rip her open.

“You’re crazy,” she said, grabbing the far countertop to steady herself. Her fingers slid through flour and a light dusting floated to the floor like fresh snow.

Boots fell loudly behind her.

“I’m crazy?” he mocked, stalking across the room. “And you’re a mouthy little slut who needs to learn her place.”

Again, a giant hand reached for her, this time wrapping around her throat. He pulled hard and Y/N fell back against his chest, her throat locked against his palm. He was solid and warm and she nearly bounced off of him.

She grabbed his arm, tried to pry him loose.

He squeezed and bent his lips to her ear.

“You think you can get me all worked up and then run off?” He tisked and her knees buckled. “You can’t do that. Can’t give a man blue balls.” His fingers dug in a little deeper. “It’s bad for the reproductive system.”

His free hand tore at her shirt, ripping the thin cotton away.

Y/N’s eyes went wide as she gasped for air.

Ben pawed at her tits, roughly massaging until she could feel his dick press into the small of her back.

“That’s better,” he laughed, rolling his hips against her. Dropping from her chest, he slid his fingers down to her waist, plucked open the button on her jeans.

Anticipation and deprivation swirled in her head and her eyes fluttered, pupils rolled back. She clawed at his suit-covered arm.

He squeezed tighter, wrapped himself fully around her, pressed his hand between her thighs.

She tried to moan, but there was no air to push out, no way to make a sound.

He thumbed her clit, pushed two long fingers into her dripping cunt.

“Damn…” He sucked his teeth, whistled in approval. “Fuckin’ wet as Niagra.”

Y/N shuddered. Pleasure and searing pain raced through her body and the edges of her vision went white.

Ben scooped up her juices and rubbed her clit hard and fast, pushing her without ceremony right to the edge.

The kitchen was blurring, floor and ceiling switching places in her head. She felt her legs give out and she hung in the air against him, held up by his hands and the grip she had on his arm.

“Go ahead and cum, sweet cheeks. Want you nice and ripe for me.”

Y/N’s body went stiff as the orgasm struck and her grip slipped from his arm. Her body went slack and at the very last second, Ben released her from his grasp and oxygen rushed back into her lungs.

Her head was spinning, her limbs tingling. The pleasure intensified as the air flooded through her and woke every cell, every numb muscle. She gasped and thrashed against him, safe but shaking in his arms.

“Such a fucking slut,” he growled, pulling his fingers from her panties. “Getting off with me damned near killing you.”

Y/N floated, lightheaded and drunk on the pleasure.

Ben lifted his fingers to her lips and pressed them inside. “Suck.”

She licked at the tips and moaned at the taste of herself.

“I said, suck.”

He pushed his fingers in deeper and Y/N had no choice but to suck. She swallowed hard as he fucked into her mouth, nearly choking her again.

Her head fell back against his chest, her eyes rolled deep.

“That’s it. Stupid little slut does what she’s told.” Slowly, he retracted his fingers and a line of saliva fell down her chin. “You’re an obedient slut, aren’t you?”

Y/N could do little more than moan and nod her head, so she did.

Her answer wasn’t good enough and Ben roughly flipped her in his arms and grabbed her face, squeezing her mouth between his index finger and thumb.

“I asked you a question,” he sneered.

Her eyes went wide and arousal trickled down her thigh. Her panties were soaked; her legs were weak.

“Answer me.”

Y/N took a breath and nodded again, this time eeking out a soft “yes”.

Again, he wasn’t happy, and Ben yanked her face upward and glared down into her eyes. “Try. Again.”

A hint of a smile prickled her lips as he released her. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

Ben grinned. “Better.”

She swayed on the spot when he backed away, shrieked with awe as he shoved his hands beneath her arms and lifted her up onto the flour-covered counter. He shoved her down onto her back and yanked at her jeans, tugging every bit of fabric away.

The marble was old, but his hands were warm, sliding up from her ankles to hips and spreading her wide. Ben knelt down and kissed her pussy, gently at first before diving in like a hungry beast.

Y/N screamed behind tight lips as he sucked hard on her clit. His beard scratched her thighs and swollen lips, his blunt nails scraped across her belly. Once his fingers were back inside, she felt the flood return. She knew she’d be cumming again soon, and she reached a hand down to tug on his long hair. Jensen always loved it when she played with his hair like that.

Ben slapped her hand away. Hard.

She gasped and meant to say something but his tongue fluttered so warm and fast against her clit that she couldn’t remember what words were.

She groaned and rocked her hips into his face.

He sucked harder; jabbed three fingers in deep.

She broke, thrashing on the marble and squeezing her thighs around his head.

“Fuck, this pussy is delicious. I could make a lot of money selling you off.”

His voice made her shudder and the orgasm struck every inch of her, from the tips of her ears to the back of her heels.

“Please…”

Once more, she reached down for him, but Ben reprimanded her. He shoved her hand away and rubbed his nose over her clit. She was aching and raw, her muscles still pulsing on his fingers.

“No more, please… fuck!”

Ben sat back, his face gleaming with her wetness. “You’ll get what I give you and you’ll thank me for it.” He clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes at her. “Won’t you?”

She shook her head, begging. His touch was almost too much, but his thrusting hand would not slow.

“Jensen, please-”

He was on his feet in an instant, leaning over her, crushing her into the countertop. He stared down and cocked his head, examining her, daring her.

“What’d you call me?”

She trembled beneath him. “Baby-”

A heavy palm came crashing against her left cheek and Y/N gasped.

“What did I tell you to call me?” he growled, grinding his covered erection against her spread pussy. “What did I tell you you’d be screaming later?”

Her mouth hung open and she blinked up at him, consumed with the feeling of the thick fabric rubbing against her sex.

Another crack against her cheek.

“Well?”

“Ben!” she gasped out. “Ben! Soldier Boy! Ben!”

He smirked. “Good.”

His lips came down swiftly and he licked into her mouth, sucking hard at the air that was left inside her lungs. She turned to jelly, barely able to move to meet his dry thrusts.

Just for fun, he hit her again, this time leaving his hand against her face. She felt the outline of him burn into her skin and he laughed to himself when he pulled his palm away. Her cheek was bright pink, the ghost of each finger clearly defined.

Almost tenderly, he caressed the spot, dragging his thumb across the top. “I love the way my hand looks on your face…”

Y/N was panting, shaking with arousal or pain or renewed orgasmic power, she couldn’t tell which. Whatever it was, it was driving her insane. She whined and reached down to grab his hips, pulling him closer.

“Please fuck me,” she begged in a quick whisper. “Please.”

Ben bared his teeth, tiny fangs peeking out from beneath perfectly ruddy and swollen lips. “You don’t get to decide that, you little bitch.”

Three hard thrusts between her thighs had her screaming and she slapped at his chest, tugged at the golden embroidery.

“Sorry! Sorry! Please! Fuck!”

He grabbed her hair.

“Who decides?” he asked, yanking hard.

“You do!”

His hand relaxed and Ben dipped his chin, looking down at her with a devilish stare.

“Lucky for you, I don’t wanna wait any more.”

He was gone for only a quick moment, stepping back to fumble with the costume and shimmy the leggings down.

“This fucking… thing…”

The fabric clung to his thick thighs and he stumbled forward, fighting with the pants and his dick which was making things very difficult.

Jensen looked up and gave her a little shrug. “Be right with you,” he laughed.

Y/N popped up on her elbows, watching him struggle. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Take your time.”

He managed to get the tights down to his calves before she attacked, unable to wait any longer. She hopped down from the countertop and lunged at him.

The hard tile floor came up to greet them both, but neither seemed to care. Y/N mounted him, fitting her tiny legs around his trim waist and wiggling down onto his cock.

Jensen moaned and bit his lip hard as her ass bounced on the top of his thighs, her cunt swallowing him whole.

“Fuck, baby- oh, fuck…”

She smiled down at him, grabbed his hands and placed them on her tits. “Don’t go soft on me now, Ackles. Where’s that bad boy?”

He took a breath and the cockiness took over, shifting his features like a mask had been fitted into place.

“No fucking way I’m going soft, bitch.”

Ben twisted her right nipple and she bounced faster. He slapped her left breast and she rolled her hips. He grabbed her throat and she shook, entire body trembling as the pleasure crested once again.

“Fuck, Ben- Put a baby in me. Fuck!”

He sucked his teeth and squeezed her neck. “Oh, yeah? You want that? Want me to flood this little cunt with my cum? Knock ya up good?”

She nodded quickly, her jaw slack, her eyes wide.

“Yes!”

Holding her in place, he bucked his hips hard.

“Gonna drown you. Filthy sluts need to be bred-”

There was more he wanted to say, so many more disgusting insults raced through his head, but there wasn’t enough blood there to support them. He dropped his hand to her hips and held on as he came, thrusting slowly up into her dripping pussy.

Y/N trembled; her tight cunt milking him dry.

“Fuck!”

Jensen’s eyes rolled back and his back arched up off of the floor. “Jesus Christ!”

A sweet moment of blissful silence passed over them and their breathing steadied.

“You OK?” he asked, blinking up at his beautiful bride.

Y/N nodded. “Amazing. Damnit, you’re good at that. Too good.”

Jensen blushed and licked his lip. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

With a satisfied sigh, she fell down over him and into a deep kiss.

The suit was ruined, the kitchen was covered in flour, but they were happy and riding the afterglow.

Y/N snuggled into him, nuzzled her face in the crook of his sweaty neck. “Hey, babe?”

He wrapped his arm around her. “Hmm?”

“Can you keep the suit?”

Jensen laughed and kissed her forehead. “I’ll give Eric a call and see what I can do.”

“Perfect…”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

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[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔱

Mike Schmidt x male reader

A request that I received from a friend on tumblr. ‘The reader has to leave for a week roughly, when he comes back Abby is obviously excited and wanting to play with the reader the rest of the day. But all Mike wants to do is have you under him writhing in ecstasy. Basically it's Mike having blue balls for most of the fic until the end when it's night and he *politely* hugs the reader while they frantically make love’

Tags: Part 10 of this miniseries of Mike Schmidt x male reader. No use of Y/N. Age-gap (5 years) between you and Mike. Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Mike is missing you deeply. A tiny bit of jealousy. Mentions of phone sex. Smut. Top Mike. Bottom reader. Anal sex.

Words count: 3000 words

Part 1-Part 2- Part 3-Part 4-Part 5-Part 6-Part 7-Part 8 -Part 9

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

The moment you stepped through the door, Abby's squeal echoed through the house. You barely had time to set your bag down before she came bounding toward you, her little arms outstretched. She wrapped herself around your waist in an enthusiastic hug, nearly knocking you off balance.

"You're back! You're back!" she cried, hopping on her toes as if to emphasize the sheer force of her excitement.

You laughed, ruffling her hair affectionately. "Missed me that much?"

She pulled back, her face a mixture of indignation and joy. "Of course I missed you! You've been gone forever!" She tugged at your hand insistently, her small fingers gripping tightly. "You have to see what I did while you were gone. I drew a lot! And I made one for you and you have to see it."

"Abby, take it easy, you're going to knock him over," Mike's voice came from the kitchen, casual but unmistakably warm. "He has been gone a week and you've got him chained to you already?"

"I missed you too," you said with a grin before kneeling down to meet Abby’s eye level. "Have you been good while I was gone? Not driving your brother too crazy, I hope?"

Abby giggled, then held out her pinky. "Promise I've been super good. Except maybe when I made Mike drop the spaghetti last night because I tried to do a cartwheel in the kitchen."

You glanced up at Mike, your smile widening. “Sounds like I missed quite a week.”

Mike rolled his eyes, though the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Sorry about her," his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "She's been talking about you all week. You'd think you were gone for months." His voice sent a pleasant shiver through you, low and steady but edged with amusement.

"She's fine," you said, smiling. "Honestly, it's nice to be missed."

He leaned against the doorframe, the dim lighting catching the tired creases under his eyes. Black hair messy t-shirt that clung to his lean but sturdy frame. His gaze lingered on you and only now did you realize how much you had missed him.

Abby, oblivious to the silent tension, kept tugging at your hand. "Come on! I need to show you something!" Her excitement bubbled over, her small hands pulling you toward her room with surprising strength. "I drew so many things while you were gone and you have to see them all!".

You glanced over at Mike, offering him a half-apologetic smile as his sister guided you by her room. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his lips twitching between amusement and thinly veiled frustration.

Mike's brow arched slightly as though to say, ‘Really? After a week away, you're prioritizing her?’ But he didn't speak his protest aloud. Instead, he pushed off the doorway with a grunt, muttering, "Guess I'll just... wait my turn."

The room was a kaleidoscope of colors, with crayon drawings taped to the walls, scattered across the floor and piled on her tiny desk. Abby flopped onto the carpet, pulling out a stack of drawings with the urgency of someone sharing top-secret information. "Okay, okay! Look at this one first. It's Chica but I made her of a different color."

You chuckled, sitting cross-legged beside her as she thrust the drawing into your hands. “A total masterpiece."

Her eyes sparkled at your praise. "You think so? Look at this one!" She shuffled through the pile, pulling out another one that she eagerly handed to you.

"This one is us at the park," she explained, holding up a crayon drawing of the three of you surrounded by flowers and trees. "Those two are you and Mike holding hands! I drew it because you're always together."

You couldn't help but laugh softly, feeling a tinge of embarrassment but also a deep sense of affection. "You're quite the artist, Abby. I look amazing here. You're going to be famous one day."

Her eyes lit up at the compliment, and she beamed with pride. "Really?"

"Absolutely," you assured her, glancing at Mike. "Right, Mike?"

From the bed, where Mike had sprawled out with all the ease of a man trying to keep his patience in check, a low sound of approval erupted. He smirked at the question, his gaze flickering between you and Abby. "Yeah, kid. You've got some real talent. Be careful, though. Keep going like this and his ego's going to get too big." His dark eyes watched you intently, softening ever so slightly every time Abby smiled at you.

Abby's grin widened and she immediately dove into her stack of drawings to find more to show you. Mike's smirk softened into a fond smile as he watched her animatedly interact with you. He loved seeing you and Abby bond, though his gaze kept drifting to you, lingering on the curve of your back as you leaned forward, the way your lips quivered when you laughed and the soft glow in your eyes as you encouraged Abby.

A part of him felt guilty for how often his mind wandered, but he couldn't stop the flood of thoughts. He knew he should focus on the moment, but his body's reaction to having you so close after a week apart was impossible to ignore

He clenched his jaw, trying to focus on the mundane but his gaze kept wandering back to you. Your fingers brushed hers as you helped her shuffle through the pile of pictures, your laughter soft and genuine as you let her talk about her latest dream.

‘God, those hands...’ his eyes lingering on the way your fingertips moved. He didn't mean to stare, but the memory of those same hands clutching his shoulders, clawing at his back, sent a flash of heat straight to his core.

He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, feigning disinterest as his thoughts betrayed him. The view of the way you leaned slightly forward, the curve of your spine visible through your shirt made it ten times worse. He wondered, for the briefest of moments, what it would feel like to have you there on the floor, pinned beneath him, the softness of your moans muffled against his lips.

Abby leaned against your shoulder, holding up another picture. This one was clearly meant to be Mike, his hair a chaotic swirl of black scribbles. "This one's you, Mike! I made his hair messy because it's always like that." she exclaimed, holding up a surprisingly decent rendition of his perpetual frown.

"It's not always messy," he protested half-heartedly. He was leaning against the bed frame, one leg propped up, his head tilted lazily against the wall. You turned toward him with a grin. "She's not wrong, though."

Mike shot you a glare, though there was no real malice behind it. "I see you've both decided to team up on me. Great. Just what I needed after a long week." he muttered.

Abby giggled, unfazed by his grumbling as she kept eagerly pulling out new drawings she made

His eyes softened at the sight of you and Abby together. She was sitting so close to you, practically in your lap, her small hand tugging at your sleeve as she babbled on about her next masterpiece. It was enough to make his heart ache, both from the warmth of seeing you bond with her and the sharp sting of jealousy that you weren't paying attention to him.

He let his head fall back against the wall, staring at the ceiling as he tried to shake the frustration bubbling in his chest. He shouldn't feel like this. Abby was a kid and she deserved every bit of your attention. But damn it, he'd missed you. A week without you had felt like an eternity and now that you were here, he had to sit back and wait?

His fingers twitched at the memory of the previous night at work. Alone in the security office, watching the flickering monitors, the silence stretching endlessly. It had been another slow, uneventful shift, the kind that made every second feel like an hour.

One second he was leaning against the chair, the next he got up and grabbed the nearby phone and dialed the number of the structure you were in.

He'd called you on impulse, not even sure you'd pick up so late.

"Mike?" Your voice had been groggy but laced with concern. "It's, like, two in the morning. Are you okay?"

The sound of your voice had been a balm to his frayed nerves. “Yeah," he'd said, leaning back in the chair, the phone pressed tightly to his ear. "I'm fine. Just... bored. Wanted to hear your voice." His tone had shifted, growing rougher, more deliberate.

There'd been a pause, and then a soft chuckle. "You miss me that much, huh?"

He hadn't denied it. He couldn't. Instead, he'd let the words tumble out, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as he told you how much he'd been thinking about you. And God, the way you'd responded, your voice growing softer, breathier, as the conversation took a turn he hadn't dared hope for.

By the end of it, he'd been a mess, stroking himself as your whispered moans filled his ear. He'd closed his eyes, picturing you on his lap, your hands clutching his shoulders, your body rocking against his as he thrust up into you over and over. He could still hear your voice, the way you'd gasped his name when you came. It had been enough to leave him breathless, slumped in his chair with his hand still wrapped around himself.

The memory of your voice, the way you'd whimpered his name through the phone, sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through him even now.

"Mike, you're not even looking!" Abby's voice snapped him back to the present. She was holding up another drawing, her brow furrowed in mock frustration.

He adjusted his position on the bed, praying Abby wouldn't notice the tension in his body, forcing a smile. "Sorry, kiddo. Let me see."

The hours dragged on, but for Mike, every second felt like an eternity. He loved how natural you were with her, how effortlessly you fit into their little world. But the selfish part of him, the one that had spent countless sleepless nights imagining your body pressed against his, was losing the fragile grip it had on its patience.

Night had finally fallen and Abby, despite her earlier determination to stay awake and keep playing, had succumbed to exhaustion. She lay nestled inside the fort she had spent the better part of the evening constructing, pillows stacked precariously, blankets draped over chairs and furniture, her breathing slow and steady. Mike had taken care to tuck another blanket securely around her, brushing her hair back gently before stepping away.

You stood near the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene with a fond smile. There was something endlessly endearing about seeing Mike in dad mode, his gruff exterior softening as he ensured Abby was warm and comfortable.

"She's out cold," he murmured as he joined you at the door, his voice low to avoid waking her. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he gently shut the door behind him.

When he turned back to you, there was a shift in his expression. Without a word, he reached out, wrapping his arms around your waist in a firm but measured embrace. His face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his stubble brushing against your skin as his breath came hot and steady.

"Finally," he murmured, his voice husky. "My turn."

You chuckled softly, though your breath hitched at the weight of his tone. "What, you missed me that much?" You tried to keep your voice light, teasing, though your heart raced as he held you.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his dark gaze smoldering. "You have no idea." His fingers pressed into your lower back, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush. "No more interruptions. You're mine now."

Mike's hand never left your waist as he guided you down the hall toward the bedroom. His grip was firm but not rushed, his thumb stroking small circles through the fabric of your shirt. Once inside, he kicked the door shut with a soft thud, the sound sending a thrill down your spine.

He turned to you, his eyes tracing over your face before sliding lower, drinking in the sight of you like a man starved. "I've been waiting all day for this," he said quietly, voice low and rough. "All week, really."

He leaned in and captured your lips with his own. The kiss was deep and consuming, tongue brushing yours, coaxing a soft moan from your throat.

He broke the kiss only to press his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven. "God, I missed you," he muttered, his hands sliding under your shirt to touch the bare skin of your back. "Every damn second you were gone, I was thinking about you."

Mike eased you onto the bed, his weight settling between your legs as he kissed you again. His hands worked your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before his lips moved lower, trailing down your neck, your chest, each kiss deliberate and hungry.

His fingers skimmed the waistband of your pants, pausing for a moment to look up at you. "Let me take care of you," he murmured, his voice thick with longing.

He leaned down, his lips pressing against your collarbone, your chest, the soft skin of your stomach. Each kiss was hot and deliberate, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His stubble grazed your skin, a delicious contrast to the softness of his mouth.

When he reached your waistband, he paused, glancing up at you through his lashes. "Can I?" he asked, his voice rough but laced with tenderness.

You nodded, your breath hitching as his hands worked your pants and boxers down in one smooth motion. The cool air against your heated skin made you shiver, but that sensation was quickly replaced by the warmth of his hands as they smoothed over your thighs.

He took his time, his gaze never leaving you as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, his stubble brushing against the sensitive skin.

"So perfect," he whispered, his voice barely audible, his breath hot against you. "I've missed this so much."

His hands spread your legs wider as he continued his exploration, his lips and tongue teasing you until you were trembling beneath him.

When he finally pulled back, his pupils blown with desire, he reached into the nightstand for the small bottle of lube you both kept there. The sound of the cap clicking open sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

He poured a generous amount onto his fingers before setting it aside. His eyes met yours as he coated his fingers, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch in your throat.

Your body was trembling with anticipation as you felt his hand slide between your legs, his fingers gently parting your thighs. The first touch of his slick fingers against you made you gasp, your hips instinctively arching off the bed as he began to prepare you. His movements were slow and careful, his fingers working you open with a patience that made your heart swell with affection.

"You're so tight," he murmured, his voice dropping to a near-growl as he worked you open. "God, I've missed feeling like this."

He took his time, making sure you were comfortable, that you were ready, before he added a second finger, then a third, each one stretching you further, preparing you for what was to come.

You could feel every nerve in your body alight with pleasure, every touch sending sparks of electricity through you.

When he finally pulled his fingers out, you couldn't help the whimper that escaped your lips, your body aching for more.

He reached down to unbutton his own pants, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes until he was just as bare as you were.

He settled between your legs, his body pressing against yours. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh.

His words sent a flush of heat through you, your hips moving involuntarily as you chased the feeling of his touch. His free hand gripped your thigh, holding you steady as he added another finger, his movements deliberate.

"You're doing so good for me," he said, his voice softening for a moment. "So good."

The first stretch was intense, a mix of pressure and pleasure as Mike slowly pushed inside. He let out a low, guttural sound as he buried himself to the hilt, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Fuck," he muttered, his head falling forward against your shoulder. "So tight. Feels even better than I remembered."

He paused for a moment, letting you adjust, his breathing ragged as he fought to hold himself still. "Tell me if it's too much," he said, his voice low but tender.

"It's good," you whispered, your hands sliding up to his shoulders. "Go on."

You clenched around him, drawing a sharp groan from his lips. His movements started slow, his hips rocking gently as he let you adjust. But as your hands found their way to his back, your nails digging in slightly, he couldn't hold back any longer.

Mike's pace quickened, each thrust deep and deliberate, his breath hot against your ear. "You feel so good," he rasped, his voice raw. "God, I've missed this. Missed you."

Your moans filled the room, mingling with the sound of his ragged breathing and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. Every movement, every touch, felt electric, the built-up tension of the past week spilling over in waves of pleasure.

Mike leaned down, his lips brushing against your jaw as he murmured, "You’re taking me so well... so perfect."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he drove into you with a newfound urgency. His hands roamed your body, touching, gripping, as if he couldn't get enough.

By the time you both reached your peak, you were a mess of tangled limbs and breathless moans. Mike collapsed beside you, his hips stuttered, grip on you tightening as he buried himself to the hilt. His groan was deep and guttural, his body shuddering against yours as he spilled into you, pulling you close against his chest as you both tried to catch your breath.

His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his lips brushing against your temple. "Don't ever leave me for that long again," he said quietly, his voice still rough from exertion as he tightened his arms around you, his breath evening out as he held you close.

Note: If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3. Up next i’ll post another Mike Munroe fic ;)

[doestalker]

in smoker geto we trust 🛐

yes we dooo so here's more smoker!geto !!

your legs wobbled and seemed to have a mind of their own as you tried to navigate through the sweaty bodies in the nightclub. the colorful lights blurred your vision, and you were pretty sure you stepped on more than a few toes with your heels. the music's heavy bass thudded in your chest, and instead of pulling you in, it made you feel more disconnected. the air was thick with a mixture of perfume and the smell of too many bodies together, it was all too much. fuck, i need some fresh air, you thought as you pushed foward towards the inviting green sign that read 'exit'.

as you stepped outside, finally breaking free from the chaos of the club, the cool air hit your face, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat inside. you fumbled with your coat, trying to slip it on, and staggered slightly before finding your balance. leaning against the rough brick wall next to the entrance, you took a moment to steady yourself, savoring the crisp night air as it began to soothe your senses.

out of the corner of your eye, you could see someone was standing a few feet away from you, on the other side of the door. you turned your head a little, it was one of the kitchen staff taking a smoke break, judging by the basic white tee under a black apron.

he wore his long hair like a cloak of jet black, while his weary eyes were framed by faint dark circles, revealing a depth of fatigue—evident even from a distance. a cigarette, halfway burned, dangled from his lips. the glow of ember lit up his face amid the darkness of the street as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke, his head resting against the wall, watching it swirl up into the night.

for a moment, he caught you staring and you blushed. despite his tired looks, he was undeniably attractive and you were sure you looked a mess of frizzy hair and sweaty makeup. he gave you a lazy side smirk.

"can i have one?" you asked, voice cracking a little mid sentence. you cleared your throat.

he looked you up and down, then let out a soft, amused laugh. "what's the magic word, princess?" his voice was like velvet—soft and deep, as if the cheshire cat had stepped out of the shadows and become human.

you ignored the heat burning in the pit of your stomach. "please?"

his smile widened, accentuating his monolids and wrinkling the outer corners of his eyes. with a casual grace, he reached into the front pocket of his apron and pulled out a pack of menthol cigarettes. he picked one and handed it to you.

as you put the filter over your lips, you turned to him, a touch of embarrassment on your eyes. "do you have a lighter?" you asked, your voiced tinged with shyness from asking him for something again.

he chuckled softly, brushing off your embarrassment with a reassuring nod as he walked over to stand in front of you. he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver lighter. with a flick of his thumb, the metal wheel sparked and a tiny flame flickered to life. he held the lighter steady, the warm glow briefly illuminating your face, as he brought it closer to the cigarette on your lips.

you breathed in the intoxicating blend of his cologne and nicotine as you took a deep drag, and he watched with a faint, satisfied smile, his eyes still twinkling with that lazy, knowing glint.

"what's your name?" you asked, exhaling the smoke through your nostrils.

"suguru geto," replied the tired man in front of you. you couldn’t help but think that exhaustion had never looked so attractive on anyone else. "my break's over, but here," he said, pulling a pen out of his apron pocket and taking your hand. he scribbled his number in black ink on your forearm before giving you a mischiveous wink. "in case you're out of lighters."

[nihildenial]

On the Nose by nihil-denial (wc: 1,465)

Pairings: Special Ghoul & Copia's Rats

Rating: Gen

Tags: Fluff, No hurt, Animal love, Copia's rats, Rigatoni the Rat

Summary: Special Ghoul believes he won't enjoy pet-sitting Papa Emeritus IV's twelve pet rats. Perhaps he shouldn't make assumptions that quickly.

It’s difficult to continue daily tasks in a quiet Ministry. Special Ghoul’s routine of sweeping, paperwork, and media management was typically easy because of the flurry of activity that kept distracting him. However, with Papa Emeritus IV, the Ghouls, and Papa Nihil out on tour, Phil was left in charge of most of the ghoul’s daily chores. The Siblings stepped up for a lot of it, much to his relief. 

So, that meant he could keep his normal schedule of document reviewing, instgram and email wrangling, sweeping…and now, rat babysitting. He wasn’t looking forward to starting that task today. Rats were considered pests in New York City, only an hour’s drive from the Ministry. Sure, the Rats song was fun to shoot and the cartoon stickers Copia handed out were cute, but the real animals were probably a mess of dirty vermin that the man has managed to look past to find something adorable in.

He probably would get dirt all in his tunic. 

Special Ghoul straightened his belt and hung his mask by his fascia as he neared Papa Copia’s room. He closed his deep amber eyes and took a deep, settling breath before he pushed through the heavy velvet curtains. 

He feels for the light switch, jumping when it triggers the large lava lamp on the side table. “Fucking hell,” he mutters and continues through the small living area to the bedroom. He switches on the overhead lights and sighs at the large metal structure taking up the entirety of the right wall. 

Special stares at it then looks to where he presumes the Anti-Pope sleeps. It’s a twin mattress on the floor, pushed up against the middle wall. The fire Ghoul knows that the man’s coffers are more than full enough for a nice bedroom set. They’re satan worshippers for fuck’s sake; Special needs to convince the man to put his selfish wants first for once. 

Special sets the several bags of things on the neatly tucked bed. A packet of paper is sitting innocently on the Star Wars pillow. 

He then walks to the floor-to-ceiling cage and comes eye-to-eye with the rodents Copia so dearly loves. Special flips to the first page (it’s a motherfucking table of contents) and then the next, which has a picture and description of each of the twelve pet rats. 

Alfredo

Allegro

Buccatini

Crescendo

Farfalle

Gemelli

Gemini

Legato

Minestra

Opus

Rigatoni

Toccata

A star sticker was placed next to Rigatoni’s picture, designating him as Copia’s ‘heart rat’ or whatever that meant. Phil closes the packet and sets it aside. He toes off his shoes outside of the baby crates that surround the cage and carefully steps inside, trying not to step on any of the toys. 

Squeaks of all pitches meet his ears. He finally looks up to meet the excited gazes of the rats. They’re squirming, jumping, wrestling and going between the many different levels of the cage. A bunch of them gather on the floor nearest his face. There’s little dirt or visible poop on the colorful blankets and dig box. In fact, the longer he stands there, he notices how they use their tiny arms to lick and wash their faces and bodies.

“Why are you all actually cute?” He asks quietly as a pink nose pushes between the thin bars of the enclosure. He boops it gently. “I can’t let Papa know he was right.”

The black and white rodent jumps away from the bars, scurries up onto one of the hanging hammocks, then bounces back to press against the bars. It repeats it when Special touches the pink nose again.

Oh, it wants to play. 

“Okay, okay, let me make sure this is secure before I let all of you out.” He checks the corners of the playpen, fills the thin bowl with water and most of the frozen peas and carrots, then steps back up to the cage. The latch on the bottom area is simple. 

As soon as the doors are open, the rats are eagerly scurrying down the short ramp to the cushioned floor. Copia’s instructions say he can let them go by themselves for a bit, so he steps out to observe them.

Special watches their fuzzy, avocado-shaped bodies move with such a feeling of excitement that he finds himself smiling down at them. Geez, he’s turning soft. 

A large, golden rat pauses in its place at the platter of peas and pellets to stare up at him. It crawls around its packmates and tries to jump onto the playgate. Surprisingly it makes it almost to the top. Special falls to his knees and grabs the rodent to keep it from escaping. 

The animal is squishy, warm, and wiggly. It calms as it relaxes in the radiant warmth of his palm, closing its beady but cute black eyes. According to the papers, this is Rigatoni, a special rat. 

Special ghoul carefully pets the rat’s head with a finger. When the rat relaxes more, he caresses the animal’s pudgy body. 

It’s calming. Special is holding a tiny life in his hands, and is being trusted unconditionally . He’s a scrappy fire ghoul meant to fight in the pits of Hell and this little creature finds something good enough in him to relax. He has to wipe the hot tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic. 

“Hello, Rigatoni,” he croaks. 

The rat opens its eyes and stretches its delicate pink arms and legs, climbing up his arm to sit on his shoulder. 

Special has seen Copia walking around with a few of the rodents like this. Sometimes he even puts a basket on his stupid tricycle for several rats to ride around in. 

More of the rats have finished fishing for peas to hop at the gate to gain his attention. He reaches down and picks up one of the docile black and white ones. Allegro paws at the embroidered ghoul symbols. 

“Yes, I’m a ghoul,” he answers the rat.

He has to put the rat back down when it tries chewing off the patch. “No, no. No nibbling off my patches. I know it was a few of you little shits that did that to Papa’s favorite pants.”

He tries to look at them sternly, but their tiny, curious faces make it extremely difficult. Special reads a few more pages of Copia’s instructions. 

“You guys want some treats?” He says and laughs at the eager frenzy that causes. He presses the rectangular bits of sweet potato, peas, and walnut pieces in the different balls, snuffle mats, and hammocks. 

Rigatoni crawls down his arm to hop back into the playpen to join the search for treats. When he tries to take one of the balls to put more treats in, Toccata grabs it and starts an impromptu tug-of-war. When Phil carefully tosses it in, the grey rat pushes it around with it’s pink nose like a dog. 

-

“Have you seen Special Ghoul?” Sister Gwenyth pokes her head into the Siblings’ communal kitchen.

Brother Ezra shakes his head from where he’s stirring in a large pot. “Not since this morning. He said he was going to feed Papa’s rats.”

She purses her lips and looks to the few other Siblings in the kitchen. All of them give her equally unhelpful answers. She turns and heads back out into the cloister, checking the empty Ghoul crypt once more. She goes back upstairs to the main level and heads towards the papal wing. 

She tries not to think too hard about the empty bedrooms as she passes them. She stops outside the curtain, a line of light spilling from under the doorway. “Phil?” She calls.

When she gets no answer, she cautiously steps inside. The living room is empty, so she moves on.

The bed is filled with the Ghoul’s duffel bag and discarded silver mask. She looks over the edge of the playpen by the open rat cage (not seeing any rats or squeaks, which makes her panic) and sees the most adorable sight.

Special Ghoul, asleep in the middle of the large space, with twelve rats snuggling in the junctions of his neck and on top of his chest. He looks so peaceful, his sharp, charcoal grey features relaxed. The rats on his chest are snuggling under one of his hands, their tails sticking out from his fingers. In the crook of his neck is a bunch of curled up rodent noses pressed against each other and moving with their breaths. 

She has to physically restrain herself from making noise. Gwenyth frantically captures the moment with her phone and sends it to Copia. She checks that all of them are indeed breathing and snaps another picture before leaving them alone. The tax documents can wait until tomorrow.

[pinkpigtailsprincess]

₊˚📟✩; Hot Summer Dayz … Style Guides⭐️

HI! HI! Welcome Back 2 Hot Summer Dayz! ☀️2day’s Theme is SUMMER STYLE GUIDE! im quite the fashion expert if i do say so myself and i especially love summer fashion bc of the bright colors and fun cuts,patterns & styles ! so today i’ll b talking about and giving inspo for summer fashion!! so lets have some fun! 🫧

₊˚👙✩; Bikinis !!

Bikinis are literally the main fashion item people where in summer so obviously we have to start with that now for me personally i don’t mind wear a two peices or one peice as long as its super cute i especially love the ones that have the little mini ruffles on them and sarong skirts are THE CUTEST!! 🎀 so i think for me personally i would choose

Two pieces w/ the little ruffle skirts

Bikinis with the gingham kinda of pattern

one peices bathing suit with the bows on the straps or w/ ruffles all through out

SARANG SKIRTS !! 🌸

⋆🫧˚⊹ added 2 cart ˙𓈒 𓏸

₊˚☀️✩; Tops n Bottoms ! 👖

I LOVE MINISKIRTS!! they’re literally so cute and so stylish and that literally what im all about my main favorites are denim ones,frilly ones,pleated ones and super tiny pencil ones they’re seriously adorable but my main favorite ones it a JELLYFISH SKIRTS Jellyfish skirts are so beautiful and not only do i love jelly fish but i also like skirts so it’s literally perfect and it flowy so it’s not too hot it perfect!!

Now for super cute tops now personally im a suck for any with glitter,diamonds,crystals,rhinestones & sparkle and i feel like BUTTERFLY tops are just perfect for a summer wardrobe and theyre stylish,unique & glamorous its so me coded tbh so those a definite yes along with halter tops i mean its a classic who doesn’t love a good halter top?! & also short sleeve crops are also a no brainer theyre w classic and one of my all time favs are the tops that like kinda have the ties in the middle (i forgot the name😭) ESPECIALLY with little jewels and sparkles!!

halter tops

butter fly tops

tied tops

crops tops!

tube tops

jelly fish skirts

denim minis

ruffled micro mini skirts

micro mini pencil skirts

⋆🫧˚⊹ added 2 cart ˙𓈒 𓏸

₊˚🏩✩; Accsessorise it !

If you couldn’t tell by my blog im a HUGE MAXIMALIST and accessorizing is my ultimate favorite part of putting together an outfit and nit even just my clothes but my hair and my body i LOVE to decorate my self in things that are over the top and stand out from head 2 toe

I love to look shiny so body glitter,waist chain,colorful jewelry,rhinestones are absolutely in the table and for my hair HAIR CLIPS EVERYWHERE barrets,star clips,starry clips,unique claw clips rhinestones are a MUST! and for a little extra sprinkle unconventional materials can be absolutely perfect for an over the top outfits i seriously just love looking like a underwater alien its fun and its so me !!

Rhinestones

Colorful Jewelry

waist chains

dangly earrings

TONS OF HAIR CLIPS

unique claw clips

body glitter

rhinestone body art

sparkly temporary tattoos

⋆🫧˚⊹ added 2 cart ˙𓈒 𓏸 > would you like 2 check out?! ‼️

I hope yall enjoyed this posts bc i did i would’ve made it longer but i didn’t want it 2 be too long but i could definitely make a part 2 bc i love fashion so much its one of my many hobbies bye bye 4 now … ai’ya has logged off. 💿

[suniix]

perfect match | (botw) link x reader

synopsis | you find a rock that perfectly matches link’s eye color

word count | 2.2k

note | saw this trend on tiktok and thought it was adorable :((

UPDATE my amazing moot rain made like an angsty continuation to this AND YOU SHOULD LIKE TOTALLY GO CHECK IT OUT!!

Summer had hit Hyrule, hard.

Of course, the heat was not as bad as it was on Death Mountain, but it was damn near close. Fanning yourself was proving to do nothing, but you liked to think it helped just a little bit.

Link walked not too far ahead of you, seemingly unaffected by the heat. Despite keeping a steady pace you could see sweat beginning to drip down his neck. He was feeling the heat too.

“Link,” you called out, jogging a bit to catch up to him. “Why don’t we take a break for a bit? This heat is killing me.”

He paused, contemplating your words. Sensing his hesitation you leaned into him to look at the sheikah slate in his hands. “Look!” You pointed at the map. “There’s a river nearby! We can rest there for the rest of the day then head out at first light!”

You knew you won him over when he sighed. Giggling, you gently tugged him to follow you. “Come on! The river awaits us!”

Link can’t help but laugh at your excitement, allowing himself to be pulled along by you. The sound of running water is quickly heard as the two of you make your way past the trees, revealing the river.

You quickly dropped your backpack and Link did the same, squatting down to look for ingredients for tonight’s dinner. “Craving anything specific tonight?” He asked.

“Mm, not really. I’m fine with anything you cook! It always comes out amazing.” You replied, clumsily taking off your shoes before running off to the water.

Link is shocked for a moment but plays it off by laughing. He never got used to you complimenting his cooking, no matter how many times you told him. He’d gladly cook you any meal if you wished it.

Nearing the river you noticed the water was crystal clear enough to see a couple of tiny fish swimming by. You could also see various small stones littering the riverbed, painful for your feet but it was a small price to pay to cool off.

Cautiously dipping your toes in the water you nearly scream at the cold feeling. Although it was cold you gladly welcomed it. You take a few steps, slightly wincing at the feeling of sharp rocks digging into your feet. You were about ankle-deep when you heard Link clear his throat from behind you. Turning to look at him you see him standing a few feet away from you, quiver filled with arrows and a bow in hand. “I’m gonna go hunt, we don’t have much and I doubt you wanna eat mushroom skewers again.”

You made a disgusted face. “You’re right, as much as I love your cooking, if I have to eat one more mushroom I think I’ll vomit, no offense!”

Link merely laughs, shoulders shaking slightly as he does so. “None taken, I won’t be long.” He begins to walk away from your temporary camp.

“Stay safe!”

For a moment you think he’s too far to hear you, but to your surprise, he turns around and gives you a small wave. It’s a small gesture, but it’s enough to make you feel butterflies.

Once he’s out of sight you continue to walk into the river, bending down to roll up your pants so they wouldn’t get too wet. You’re about knee-deep when you stop, looking up to admire the scenery around you.

The branches from the trees extend about halfway across the river, if you walk any further you’d be in the sun. Despite the branches being long beams of sunlight manage to peak past the leaves and create patches of sunlight that reflect off the water. You look down, feeling the water rush past your legs. Beneath the surface, something catches your eye. Reaching down into the water you pull out a dark blue rock that shines once it catches the light.

Suddenly, an idea hits you.

To say Link was surprised was an understatement.

He knew you were going to cool off in the river while he was out, but he didn’t expect to come back and see you fully drenched from head to toe while digging around in the river looking for something.

When you notice him you’re quick to stand, greeting him with a giant smile. “Oh, you’re here! Welcome back Link! Did you catch anything good?”

Link dropped his quiver and bow and walked towards you. “What happened?”

“I stepped on a big rock that wasn’t sturdy so I ended up slipping.” You shrug. “You should get in! I promise the water feels amazing!”

Before Link has the chance to respond you’re quick to splash him, a giant grin making its way onto your face when you see his pants had gotten soaked. He smirks before quickly kicking off his boots. “It’s on!”

He quickly ran into the river and chaos ensued. The two of you splashed around for a couple of minutes before you noticed the day was nearing its end. Knowing there was no way the two of you would be able to dry off properly in the dark, you both walked out of the river.

You get a fire started as Link rummages through his backpack for a towel. Once he finds it he walks over to you and crouches, placing the towel over your head and ruffling your hair. You can’t help but laugh at the action. “You don’t need to do that you know, I can do it myself.”

“I want to do it.”

His response is quick, which catches you off guard. You look down, feeling your cheeks and ears begin to heat up. If Link notices (he does) he doesn’t comment on it.

He leans down to catch your eyes, intentionally leaning in closer so you can’t escape his gaze. “You’re shaking, are you cold?”

It’s then that you notice a teasing smirk on his face. You punch his shoulder and he dramatically grabs it. “Ouch!” He pretends to cry out in pain.

“Stop teasing! Aren’t you supposed to be cooking?” You quickly try to change the subject.

“Yes yes, I’m on it. Are you ok with meat skewers?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You say and stretch your legs by the fire. You place the towel over your shoulders and wrap it around yourself. Link was right, you are cold.

As Link throws ingredients onto the fire you fish around in your pocket, momentarily panicking when you don’t feel it. When you find it you breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Hey, did you lose something today?” Link asks while placing the cooked food on a plate.

“Mm? No, why do you ask?”

“Earlier in the river, when I came back it looked like you were looking for something.”

“Oh! I was actually looking for something for you!”

Link raises an eyebrow. “Me?”

You nod your head enthusiastically. “Hold out your hand.” He looks at you confused for a second before doing what you asked. You pull out what is in your pocket and place it in his palm.

Link immediately feels the wet and rough texture of the item. When you pull away he sees a blue rock in his palm.

“Tada! I found a rock that’s the same shade as your eyes!”

Link’s eyes widen upon seeing the small stone. “This is what you were looking for while I was gone? The whole time?” He questioned.

You sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck, thinking he was mad at you for wasting your time looking for a rock. “Well, yeah, but if you don’t like it that’s fine I just thought—”

“No!” Link quickly cut off your rambling. He clears his throat and you swear you see a hint of blush on his cheeks. He holds the rock close to his heart and looks at you, eyes overflowing with an adoration you thought only existed in fairytales.

“I love it, thank you. I’ll cherish it forever.” His tone was serious, you knew he wasn’t lying.

You quickly look away in embarrassment and grab the bowl of food he placed down. “You’re welcome..” You mumble, eyes refusing to leave the bowl.

He only chuckles before the two of you eat in a comfortable silence.

You wake up to the sounds of splashing.

Groaning, you slowly sit up while attempting to rub the sleep out of your eyes. “Ugh.. Link?..” You call out, expecting him to respond.

When he doesn’t you look around and see his sleeping bag is empty and the fire has long been put out. “Link?” You call out again, this time a little worried when you don’t immediately spot him.

The sound of a yelp followed by a giant splash is heard and you immediately head to the river, sword in hand. You half expected to see him fighting a bokoblin or some other sort of enemy, but when you spotted him he was nearly fully submerged in the river. The only thing peeking out was his head, and judging by the look on his face he had taken a nasty fall.

You immediately run into the river, not caring if your shoes or pants got wet. “Are you ok?” You ask, holding out a hand for him to take. He nods and accepts your hand, allowing you to pull him up. You couldn’t see before, but now you can see he was completely shirtless. You clear your throat and quickly pretend to inspect him for any injuries. “What happened?”

“I stepped on a rock and.. ended up slipping..” He sighed, keeping a hand on his lower back.

You hold back a giggle, but Link spots your (very obvious) smile and pouts. “It’s not funny..” He grumbles while you walk him out of the river and back to camp. “It’s kind of funny..” You snicker.

He rolls his eyes and playfully pushes you away while you laugh. “What were you even doing in the river? If you craved fish you could’ve woken me up and I would’ve gotten some for us.” You asked while handing him a towel.

Link accepts it and wraps it around his body. “I wanted to get you this.” He says, fishing something from out of his pocket and holding his hand out for you to take it.

Hesitantly, you accept what’s in his hand and gasp when you see a rock. The color was scarily accurate to your eye color, with patterns swirling beautifully all over the rock. You wonder how long it took for him to find it. “Link, you didn’t need to!—”

“I wanted to.” He says while turning away, pretending to look for something in his bag so you wouldn’t see the very obvious blush on his cheeks.

You smile, holding the rock close to your heart. You felt warm inside, almost like holding the rock close to you was causing the feeling, but you knew better. Link always made you feel this way by doing the simplest of things, but for some reason, this gift had a bigger impact.

Walking over to him, you lean on his back and wrap your arms around his neck. “Thank you, Link.”

He turns to look over his shoulder, seeing you smiling against his back. If it meant seeing that look on your face again he’d find you a million rocks just like the one he’d given you. Anything to see you smile like that again. Chuckling he fully turns around with a flint in hand, not even attempting to hide his blush now. “Don’t mention it, now, how about you catch us some of those fish?”

Extra (because I had I cute thought last minute)

“Hey, you still have the rock I gave you?” Link asked, turning to look at you from over his shoulder.

“Of course I do! Why?”

He held out his hand and made a grabby hand motion, wordlessly asking you to hand it over. Confused, you pull out the rock from your pocket and hand it to him. He gently takes it from your hand and turns around so you don’t see what he’s about to do.

You try peaking over his shoulder. “Link, what’re you doing—”

“Don’t look, I’m almost done.”

Still confused, you take a step back and let him do whatever it is he’s doing. After a few seconds, he looks over his shoulder. “Close your eyes.”

You do as told and close your eyes, feeling him get closer to you. You feel something go over your head and your heart begins to beat faster at the thought of what it could be. “Alright, open them.” Link tells you.

Your hand immediately reaches to touch your chest and your previous thought is proven correct when you look down and see. The rock he had given you was now wrapped in thin rope, being held together at the top by a small knot and the rope continued upward around your neck. It had turned it into a necklace.

“Look, now we’re matching.” He grinned, showing you his own necklace.

Having no words, you could only stare at him in awe. He laughed at your reaction, tugging you forward so the two of you could continue your journey together.

thank you for reading till the end! reblogs are greatly appreciated :D

masterlist

[ladybirdswritings]

Silken Webs & Pirouettes - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary - Miguel has plotted the entirety of his adult life to perfection, always in control and always respected. He owns a successful business that he buries himself in to forget what he left behind. People fear him, women throw themselves at him. Yet one thing remains strong for Miguel, order. When a clumsy little ballerina twirls into his life with no skills other than looking pretty and standing on her tip toes, Miguel is in for more than just pink ribbons and flushed cheeks. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333

next chapter

one:

“Good, now turn.”

The strawberry blonde with bevelled locks complies, adorned in curled tresses and lilac cloth. It inches just below her bum. A twirling starlet for his hungry eyes. She catches them in a quick glance as she rounds her turn. Oh... Never mind then, they're unimpressed. She halts.

"Did I tell you to stop?" His voice is firm, cold, devoid of any sweetness like the warm and awfully bitter joe her father drinks this time of year when the ground is colored cream and the snowfall kisses flushed cheeks. The southern drawl peeks through her sweet, mousy little voice to greet the man before her. The suit he wears today is far too tiny for the muscles laced into is carmel skin, just like the rest of the ones stuffing his closet full.

"Well no but... I only did cause I can tell you don't like it."

He raises a sharp brow, fingertip scratching at the fresh stubble greeting his skin.

"You're right. I don't... but that doesn't mean I gave you permission to stop."

Lacy turns red, and yet the doll gives him another turn immediately. His eyes fall upon her bum. It's small and shaped prettily. Petite like the rest of her. But this lilac, ribbon clad number isn't pretty like her. Not to his eyes.

"You look like a slut."

Miguel is bold with his words, never once allowing his brain a second to gloss them over with second thought. Pretty, poor little Lacy gulps. She is flushed again.

"Well ain't that how you like me to look?"

He stares for a moment, tapping his index against his chin. He blinks slow, and assess her words for a moment. Then he stands, no- he towers rather over her small frame. She would cower if it wouldn't make her look so pathetic in front of the man she loves. He walks closer, words lacing each step he takes.

"Men like to imagine what's underneath. Like a Christmas present, Lacy. No one gets excited when it’s already been torn open... unwrapped.”

She gulps, icy blue eyes raising to meet his as he finally reaches her. A warm hand, even in December's icy clutches, meets her face. So gentle for a man so rough with her in silken sheets. It's why, of course. Why she loves him, a thing he can never know. He would kick her to the curb, and that's even scarier than keeping it a treasured little secret for her and her alone. She knows this because of Amber, the auburn haired girl and Rowan... the other blonde. Only three of the dozens that whispered those dreadful three words and got kicked to the concrete curb. It's just sex, that's all it is and ever allowed to be. That's what he told them all from the beginning, so they should know better.

Yet even through following these cruel rules, smart, sexy lacy adorned in lilac knows much better. She pouts, pink lip fighting not to quiver at the thought clutching her frozen and cold. His thumb gently strokes her alabaster cheek, and she whispers.

"You're growin' tired of me, ain't you?" She whispers it like it's the most heinous thing a human could say. His silence, the gentle exhale of breath that she hears just above the mandatory office Christmas playlist humming very quietly behind his oak door, to his dismay of course, all of it confirms her deep rooted fear. But maybe? He parts his lips to speak, her hope sprouts like springtime flowers in snow. But then?

"Sir, excuse me but this is urgent."

He stares at his pathetic little Lacy for a moment longer, eyes still pouring into hers as he responds to the pencil skirt peeking through the oak.

"What is it, Cindy?"

She pauses, "Sir, Javi had to leave due to an unfortunate family emergency."

Lacy's eyes drop, another moment longer of this torture and she's certain to start watering up. The dormant space between his eyebrows is pinched, almost pitiful looking. Yet his thumb still grazes her soft skin. So capable of focusing on his torn open present and the pencil skirt all at once.

"Okay?" He sounds annoyed, and he is.

"Sir, he was set to interview the new hire today. She's been waiting downstairs for about an hour."

He lets out another breath, sharper and more poisoned with undeniable annoyance. His hand drops from Lacy now.

"Then have one of my many other capable employees get the job done, Miss Moon. It can't be that difficult."

She winces, staring at her cautious reflection in his shiny tiles.

"Sir, tonight is the company's annual white elephant, remember? Morale? Miss Drew is hosting?"

He hates this time of year, truly and utterly despises it. And stupid little Cindy Moon? He hates her too, right now. His index and thumb lift to pinch at the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in exasperation.

"Then tell the hire to go find another place to work. We don't need any more useless hands around here."

Cindy frowns at that.

"Sir, with all due respect, we really could use extra hands around here... s-she's been waiting for an hour and it's the holiday season, she left twenty voicemails in the past week alone. Besides, after Daily Bugle's smear campaign about the lack of morale here, we would be stupid to make more enemies for them to put under the spotlight."

He hates her more now, because she's right. Lacy's head is still bowed but her peripheral is engullphed by emptiness once Miguel leaves her, collapsing onto the Italian leather throne tucked away in is desk.

"The stupid music and blue elephant wasn't enough, huh?"

Cindy Moon, she is payed enough for this of course, yet she is still frowning nonetheless.

"S' white elephant..." she cautiously corrects in a near silent whisper. His chocolate eyes narrow as he looks upon the girl. Her rapunzel-like, jet black hair tied up in a neat bun atop her head.

A moment passes, then another. Her horribly true words echo in his mind on repeat until he finally gives in.

"Send her up in five, I'll handle it. Get Lacy's coat, have someone escort her to her car."

If strawberry Lacy's frown could be any more prominent, it would. Yet that doesn't seem possible. He ignores her well, stacking his scattered papers into a neat pile and shaking his head as Cindy leads Lacy out.

Then? He waits for the mystery girl waiting anxiously downstairs... you.

chap 1 song 🎧 :

[letteredlettered]

@popqorn asked me what I know about dinosaurs.

Scientists no longer debate that birds evolved from a dinosaur. Almost all of them agree on this; they just debate about which dinosaur. (Most scientists agree that birds only have one common ancestor, so it's not the case that different dinosaurs evolved into birds. It's just one.)

Almost all scientists agree that birds evolved from a therapod. They just debate about which therapod. Therapods stand on two feet, have shortened forearms, and are carnivorous. T. Rex, Deinonychus, and Velociraptor are all therapods. Scientists don't think any of those evolved into birds.

If you don't know Deinonychus--you probably do, actually. The "Velociraptors" in Jurassic Park are actually Deinonychus. Velociraptors were about the size of chickens.

Do not tell children that the Velociraptors in Jurassic Park are not Velociraptors. They will think you don't know your shit and lose all trust in you as a dino expert. And if you convince them they have been fooled for their entire tiny lives, you will break their hearts and their trust in the world. Some people do not think this is a dinosaur fact, but it is perhaps the most important one of all.

Archaeopteryx is important for two reasons: 1) it has sometimes been classified as a bird, sometimes a dinosaur. Now most scientists agree it is a dinosaur. 2) For a while, it was considered the ancestor of all birds, but now many scientists think that Archaeopteryx is only a cousin to the ancestor of birds (sort of like Lucy [the australopithecus afarensis, the fossil that was once the oldest, most complete, biped hominid] is considered the cousin to the "missing link" in human evolution)

A big reason that scientists think birds evolved from dinosaurs is that fossil evidence shows that many dinosaurs had feathers.

Feathers are very similar to scales, and fossil evidence shows scales that are more feather-like and feathers that are more scale-like. Dinosaurs had scales, but birds have them too! Bird legs/feet have scales.

Speaking of bird feet, therapods and birds have similar feet--three toes in front and one big toe in back for balance. If you've seen Jurassic Park, the big "Velociraptor" claw that Dr. Alan Grant draws across the young boy's chest at the very beginning of the movie is the back claw of a Deinonychus.

Birds have hollow bones. Some dinosaurs have hollow bones.

Some birds swallow rocks to help them digest. Fossil evidence suggests some therapods swallowed rocks. These fossils are aptly called gastroliths. Disappointingly, they just look like rocks.

For a long time, scientists had no idea what color dinosaurs were, but in the last decade or so, they have been able to find fossil evidence of pigment. Pigment (such as melanin) is a molecular structure, which is why this took scientists so long to find--you need a pretty powerful microscope to find this data. That said, even when they have found evidence of a certain pigment, it's not clear that they've found all the pigment for a given dinosaur, meaning they still don't know what color the whole dinosaur was. But the first pigment they found evidence for was a reddish brown.

Scientists also don't know what shape dinosaurs were. We know what the skeleton looks like, but some animals can look extremely different than the shape their skeleton suggests. A great example is a whale. A lot of the shape of whales is actually due to their blubber; looking at a whale skeleton, you would probably never guess what some whales look like.

Dinosaurs lived during the Mesozoic Era, which is comprised of three periods: Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous.

There are a lot of different ideas about how and why the dinosaurs disappeared. A famous idea is the asteroid that hit Earth at the end of the Cretaceous Period. Evidence for this impact include a huge crater in the Yucatan Peninsula and a layer in the strata of the Earth. Almost anywhere you dig on Earth, you will come to a very thin layer that contains a bunch of iridium. Iridium, you may have learned from movies, is rare on Earth but common in meteorites. If a huge asteroid containing iridium were to hit Earth, the asteroid would vaporize on contact, and eventually the iridium would settle back onto the ground all around the globe. This layer in the Earth's soil is known as the K-T boundary, aka the Cretaceous-Paleogene boundary. The time of this boundary in the Earth's strata marks a huge extinction event.

That's about all I remember about dinosaurs.

[joannasteez]

with me, the world is yours

pairing: roman reigns x black reader authors note: i wrote all of this late summer/early fall and after breaking away from it for so long, i've kind of lost the drive to finish the story in the original way i'd intended to write it, BUT, i am willing to add to it in small ways with little drabbles and such. so whoever reads this, please consider it as background/exposition and or a prologue to whatever gets added to it. if anyone wants to see something added to this specific story please drop me scenarios in my inbox!! word count: 8k

he liked to walk the floor

carpet smooth beneath the expensive drop of his heel and toe. hubris a limitless force, the broad width of his chest swelling. pride, unsullied, raw and ever simple in its existence. it was a deep elegant staining streak along his being that refused to leave him, unless of course he willed it so. and the casino floor of The Summer Isle Hotel, his hotel, filled with this great thundering of rage and joy and desperation. tiny drops of poker chips like small striking claps. the flipping of cards giving that easy slipping swoop against padded black jack tables. the hum of the room was loud, because the room itself seemed, to his eye, to never end. a tenacious buzzing that simmered his blood quick, excited. 

the night was young. restless. ruby red suede heels moving, clever and seductive. the color of champagne at every corner his eyes took him, bubbling rich in flutes and set in the sweet form of silk dresses. pearls sitting tempting over cleavages and diamonds dressing the sturdiness of fingers that roamed the figures of excitable women. emeralds, jades and sapphires, taking every shape against the skin that would have it. 

earrings, anklets, rings, bracelets......

whiskey and brandy swishing in glasses......

dry champagne hitting the tongue just right......

bodies hugging, lips kissing, eyes glazed over and just so damn greedy......

this...this ceaseless atmosphere. the un-quelled need to have. to take hold. to win. 

roman loved to walk the casino floor of his hotel. 

but he hated, absolutely hated cheaters. fucking thieves, cunning-less and eager. their tact lacking just as much as their ambition. roman figured, if their schemes were anymore complex, then he'd feel somehow better about their stealing. he'd at least respect their finesse before using their heads to shove them out the entryway doors of the establishment. and what a fine establishment it was, built off the sweat of his brow, his, others, blood and many tears. owning a hotel on the vegas strip was no easy feat and he'd be damned if someone disrespected it. disrespected his work. his vision. 

...so then why?...

your eyes flit over to a table just some feet away. 

...why did he let you play your games?...

a man in muted clothes gives you a signal. many silent signals, ones roman was once oblivious to, but now overly familiar with, as if he created them himself. 

...four seconds of a stare. one mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four. four meaning spade, given they were following the alphabetical order of the suits. 

the man, face more punchable by the minute, touches his nose. meaning, the spade is a face card. 

and the fucking dealer is young, flips up his card too easily, exposing just before he deals.

roman wants to do many things. to the man, the dealer, and the other pairs around the other blackjack tables following the same system. his fingers curl, ball inward till his palm pains him but his eyes remain as they always did. fiercely void, teetering delicate on some fine line of violence, until you move. speak. 

"blackjack", you call. with just enough disinterest that prides the flow of his blood. makes him smirk.

"they've all been at it for days", paul bristles. 

"end it", roman calls, walking away. 

---

you despised most men, despised their presence, looking at them, unnecessarily speaking to them, breathing the same air as them. they'd bred more trouble than they were ever worth and always, without fail, served up to you, on some disgusting dish, half baked and ill formed, the least discreet of charms, to win even slivers of your attention. it was the usual lousy song and dance, artless and heavy handed. you despised most of them, because they led you to places like these with promises too alluring to ignore. all you wanted, want still, is the money. its all you need. 

and they'd all but manhandled you from the casino floor to a room. two men, one barely distinguishable from the other, but then again...they donned shades that matched their disapproving looks. lips turned in scrutiny. but what the fuck did they know anyway?... fuck them and this...this room. a holding of some sort. walls white, chairs black, a purposeful minimalistic touch crafted to intimidate. and it was working...even if just slightly. 

your chair creaks, wooden and anxious. you hated this, always would. this forceful feel of surrendering. 

and you don't speak first, but because of that neither does he. 

grey's scattered about his beard, scarce but still there. slight face lines...stress maybe?...and tawny specks living as freckles. he's groomed to perfection but still there's something about him, a flare in his eye that lends itself to a buried ruggedness. a meticulous sort of brutality. 

and he's just sitting there... 

...close to you but not too close. enough to open you with his eyes, but not enough to leave you breathless...

he's practiced in this. patient. 

...he can't do this all day... you think, till his body sits more comfortable than before. he will if he has to, and he will. to prove a point. to win. 

the room is cold. sterile. you shiver some, the first to say anything. 

"i didn't do anything wrong". 

"then why so defensive?"

you felt some ways away from lethal and the reasons for such a feeling mounting more every second. forming knots in your belly, heat and pressure. guilt and a sickly intrigue. his voice was rich and deep. smooth and commanding. if in another place, at some other time, you could see yourself falling for that voice, lulled and taken by it. you hate it, the hot twinge it drives into your skin. you grow sharp, words throwing like daggers. 

"if you were me, sitting where i am, you'd be defensive too". 

"i could have you brought up on charges", he presses. toying really. flip and flopping between seriousness and sarcasm. the heels of his shoes click the floors, and you fall slow into the creak of the chair, pulling away from the size of him as he approaches. he bends, levels with you, but even this feels like a looking down upon. "cheating and swindling. maybe even restitution". 

"what?" you start. you cant help your self. "not nice enough for a little jail time". 

you see his jaw shift. "smart mouth". 

you move in with a sudden spell of boldness. "fuck you". your lips twist to spit against the floor. "and fuck your casino". 

it's quick. harsh. his fingers long and curling at your jaw. he's warm, grip steady despite the push of your hands. he feels the fight in you, regardless of how soft you are to the touch. skin tender, like untouched feathers. 

but still... that damn mouth of yours. 

"you tried remember", mirthless but not. 

"don't fucking touch me", you rant. hitting at him harder. attempting without end to pry away his fingers, until finally he lets go. 

and it's rather shortsighted but brave nonetheless, the way your feet carry you to go at him. to do what exactly? you're not to entirely sure. but it doesn't matter much anyways, not when he's this mountain of a man. herculean and spiting. resolute in fucking with you a little for whatever enjoyment he can get out of the situation, and you know this to be true when your momentum to him is soured, a scream bleeding coarse through the walls. 

the dense walls block most of the action, but the scream of pain is undeniable. the faint crush of bone breaking through to where you are, fixing you to the floor where you stand in some sickly mixture of fear and surprise. 

"the money or their fingers i asked them". his stare is heavy. daunting. "some of them chose money, but of course they get to keep neither". he walks to the single entry-exit door. body taking up most of the frame. "paul, escort the young lady back to her room". 

you scoff on instinct. hating the condescension his tone takes. you shift by them both in a way that knocks your shoulders into their arms. paul's chalky, round face as amused as his boss. 

"i can escort myself". 

---

amongst the other's lining the vegas strip, The Summer Isle Hotel is the second largest. and where the floors lack that bold blood red carpeting, there is laid instead a fine marbling, in the endless halls and walkways, polished enough to see even the faintest of facial details. the ceilings venture high, littered with crystal chandeliers and in the walls and on ceilings are engraved these renaissance inspired paintings. there is this rhythm to the place, something archaic and forever far away, that is meant to always be desired. as people sip champagne, drunk and more verbose by the second, bleeding their pockets dry to their hearts content, the artistry of the hotel leaves them wondered and greedy. that even as they eat the finest food and drink the oldest wines, there is more to indulge in. more to have, to reach that unreachable place of pure luxury.

it was extravagant and all consuming, and pieces of you wondered what it all felt like. to never want or lack for it, because it was just simply there, at the edge of your fingertips. 

the hotel was big enough to get lost in, big enough to lose others in, so when paul sits himself at your table for two, security detailing not too far, just at the edges of the bar, you grow weary and annoyed. he'd been looking for you. 

you swirl your drink with a cocktail straw. feeling the pressure of his stare. "im being babysat now?" 

his hands fold with an instinctive diplomacy. 

"just call it reassurance". 

reassurance...that was bullshit. you didn't need to be told things more than once, especially when the talk was as loud and showy as it was earlier. "he made it pretty clear what can happen. i'm a cheater, not stupid". 

"there isn't always much of a difference between the two".

you hum, sipping what's left of your drink. "if you're gonna chat me up, buy me another drink then". his brow raises, as if in waiting. you sigh, annoyed at having to perform niceties. "please". 

its expert and concise, a look and just under a handful of gestures to the bartender, but his awareness never wavers from the already empty cocktail glasses where vodka-cran once filled. three to be exact. this fourth, he hopes, would be your last, as it was now that the glazing over of your eyes was coming underway. and he'd originally been an advocate for roman's earlier display of brutish prowess, and still is in all honesty, but seeing you, it did unsettle him in very few but poignant ways. he knew enough to know that you were attempting a drowning of frenzied nerve. sitting here, he hopes you understand, like everything else on the strip... its just business. 

paul shifts. bringing his chair slightly closer. "the system you use on the blackjack tables, how long did it take to come up with it?" 

"not long, maybe a few minutes", you start. sipping and thinking on whether to indulge him or not. but it seems to you now that the whole trip has gone to complete shit so why not. "it's all about assigning basic signals to cards but it's the memory part that fucks people up. memory and performance anxiety". paul chuckles at the absurdity and you grin, slightly pleased at his interest. "practicing in a warehouse versus being on a casino floor, at a table. it's different. anything can happen". 

you push away the drink. satisfied. paul's eyes turn soft, with what you think is relief. why relief?

"and then theres the whole finding a weak dealer situation", you continue. "no offense, you guys have a better looking hotel but the venetian runs tight security". 

"noted". 

its your turn to shift in your chair. asking the question you've been wanting the answer to since the moment happened. "why didn't he break my fingers?" 

"who knows. maybe he's waiting for you to get stupid", paul jokes. 

"you either are or you aren't. no in between". 

"that means you'll stay put then?" 

you scoff. "what, i'm on lockdown?"

"the boss says you're free to do as you please. just no stealing".

you smile coy, standing to leave. "you wouldn't mind covering the tab then? can't seem to find my wallet". 

---

thief. cheater. schemer. you've heard many names and resented none of them, because at their root, the truth remained what it was. it was artistry. and if you're clever enough, sharp enough, quick enough, finessing could be masterful. the constant putting together of a challenge, a game. and it was practical to love games, because good players win. 

but this? this was not practical. he was not practical. 

he seemed to be playing a different game entirely. you figure solely to spite you. a figurative spitting in the face if you will. 

every waiter of every bar in every corner of the hotel knew your cocktail order. vodka-cran with lime, extra ice. a splash of club soda. 

the security detail seemingly doubled overnight and each of them never failed to greet you. a smile and a head tipping nod. 

casino floor personnel, always with a subtle but sudden direction, pointed out to you the slots that paid out the biggest and the most often. 

the restaurants you dined in refused to give you the check and when you asked why, flustered and confused, they gave the same answer every time. 

"because the boss said so". 

complementary goods in your hotel room. aged wines and sweets. 

tickets to shows you neither wanted to attend or cared for.

if you were a different woman, who lived a different life, you figure she'd find this every bit as enticing as it was. enchanting even. grand gestures made out of some sickly sweet distant admiration. but you were not her and most men you knew or had known only did things; provided, loved, cared, with condition. so only one questioned remained. why? and after days of guessing games, a stomach turning foreboding shifted swiftly to irritation. he'd upped the ante finally, moving from these fairly small gestures, which to you were not small at all, to something a little bit too much for you to take. 

and you wonder now if he knows that he's reached your end, knocking hard at the ceiling of your limits. body simmering hot with this slow to finish unraveling feeling. as if at any moment unknown to you, you'll break in some uncontrolled fit of rage. he was becoming more persistent, silent still but more persistent and the affects of such persistence were all around you. soft wool carpeting where marble floors ended, a detailed fretwork spanning every corner of the ceilings, and french sliding doors connecting you to a wide stretched pool looking over the vegas strip. 

"the boss sends his regards", housekeeping said after it was all said and done. 

from the 6th floor straight up to the 39th, he'd gotten them to move everything you'd bought with you. your clothes, shoes, purses, from a studio room you could just barely pay for, to the penthouse suite. 

all of this, and a tiny note atop the dresser. 

enjoy your stay - roman

"roman", you try aloud. 

it isn't till the next day that you realize he's quite fond of leaving these little letters. words thin and cursive. messages brief enough to never reveal even a semblance of his thoughts. 

friday morning his words scribble a small card stuck to the center of a bouquet of white roses. 

white desdemona's. enjoy the roses - roman

you struggle for sometime in the bright silence of the morning. the busyness of the vegas strip bleeding a hum in through the sliding french doors. it wouldn't be hard, indulging him. cling fast and easy to soft petaled gestures, quelling finally that wayward need for a romantic sort of fascination. buried so long ago but clawing upwards tirelessly still, begging for relief. but it would be more sensible to deny yourself, which in the same breath meant denying him. tearing that pristine white card in two and setting the roses out to sit just in front your suite door. to send a message, simple but strong, enough for him to understand. 

a sudden knock urges you to settle into a resolution quickly. quicker than you were prepared for. the white card now in your hand tearing into two pieces with a twist of your wrist as you go to open the door. 

its house keeping. 

you place the torn paper in their hand before stepping out of the suite, furthering more down the hallway to the elevator by the second. the roses themselves were too lovely to get rid of anyways. 

"tell your boss i send my regards". 

---

would you believe them?

a less than modest woman from the north east, standing above the illustrious wonder of the vegas strip. and from your glass flute a slow, smooth sip, along with some restless awakening of a dream, even if it last only for a moment. an imagining from this high place, that with a deep sure breath like some figure from beyond with a vast primordial power, you gave life to this idle desert, and with sun and sand, birthed from pure will what they call fabulous las vegas. but this must be what he feels, day after day, night after night, standing above the rest, the staunch rush of pride, like something simmered well into the run of his blood. for you it was this endless day dream, the money, the power, the access, but for him, it seemed real. it was real. 

and still the question remains... would you believe them? a cunning woman, wrapped strapless in leather fine enough to please even the most marred skin, and heels that extend the vicious form of your legs. 

just tuesday you were cursing the good name and fortune of this place with your dna splat just mere inches from his shoes, and now here you are friday, waiting for him. 

if they, whoever they are, told you sometime ago that you'd be here, you wouldn't have believed them. 

he'd done well to send another card, and with it, another gift. 

the rendezvous. 7pm - roman

he'd gotten house keeping to do more of his dirty work, the poor bastards, but even their precision was daunting. the placement of the card, and the gift, and the complementary wine, and a single blooming stargazer. the petals dainty and blushing. it'd left you standing deep in a well of emotion, finding everything he'd left, and your bed taken by a box. the lid pulled off quickly by that gnawing urge to indulge him. and despite his initial brutish behavior and persistence, it was safe to say that the man was not void of taste. 

but it would be more sensible to deny yourself,  like a chant, it'd echoed, and your fingers ran over the plains of something silky. a dress, cool raven color, strong and subduing, but the fabric was so fine to the touch it'd felt criminal to hold. and with it had lived perfumes, bottle after bottle, as if he feared you'd somehow go without. and... fuck... sitting, waiting really, in a satin pouch... two pairs of goddamned diamond earrings. one pair smaller than the other, but both far more delicate than most things you'd ever owned. and soon the short warm swell of excitement had grown cold and hesitating. why was he doing this? what did he want from you? 

they were questions you intended to get answers to and it seemed if they weren't answered now then who knows when, unsure if you'd ever see him again. 

"you didn't like the roses"

your heart takes to some quick instinctual beating. a ragged fraying of nerves just off the simple sooth and strength of his voice. before, in that silent white room, you were sharp, aware of him but the power of his aura did nothing to sway your wanting to see him pained by your indifference to him. now though... it was so damn different now it seemed, as you were a small ways away from a purely formed nervousness. 

you turn just enough to give him your profile, sipping slow at the flute, steeling one buzz under your skin away with another. "i'd like them more if they were red". you face him finally, staying leant up against the balcony railing of the restaurant. "but it seems i don't have much option or choice here". 

"no need to choose when everything is the best". 

"that doesn't sound self important at all". 

"doesn't make it any less true". 

champagne has never tasted so good, you think, sipping and fighting the impulse to look away from him. his eyes softer than before but still lying in them are traces of searching for some unspoken truth. it was a much more subdued attempt compared to before, every pass his eyes made about your own, short flickers to your lips, the way you clutched the glass, your hair, your jewelry, the dress you were wearing, like a gentle pealing back of a layer. less scrutiny out of a short bout of anger and more of a learning. he'd come to the conclusion after watching you leave the white room all those days ago that he wanted to learn you. 

here now, watching you sip champagne, he wondered if you'd let him. 

"listen", you start. taking a closer step to him, with some new found form of resolution, and its hard to keep this will strong and steeled away when he's this close. scent heady and soothing to your senses. "i don't know what you're thinking, but i do know that you got me a lot of fucked up for just hauling my shit-"

"the suite is yours for as long as you want it" 

"i'm not paying for it"

his grin is warm. inviting. long fingers slipping the flute from your hold after its been emptied to set it down at a nearby table. "it's yours anyways". 

your confusion is palpable, lives in the way you retreat closer to the banister again, for fresher air void of him. in hopes to think more clearly. "just the other day you practically had me hemmed up and now you're-"

"that was different. it was business". 

you scoff. "business my ass, fuck you-"

"and fuck my casino, i know". 

it's your go to insult it seems, this time having less of an affect on him, but still there is something there. a small stinging pain bruising the very large stain of ego. 

you look to him with searching eyes of your own. "so the wine... and-and the roses and just... everything, i mean thats?..."

"gifts. just gifts. not to be payed back ever". 

your face fixes in a fashion similar to the first time you spoke to him. eyes defensive and unsure, brows pulling in for a full measure of scrutiny. "why?"

"have dinner with me". 

you press again. "why?" 

"because", he starts, with a streak of vulnerability. "all of my attention is taken up by a casino resort on the strip of one of the busiest places in the world but for some reason, for the last 72 hours or so i've only been able to think clearly about you".

your eyes roll off instinct despite the flutter feeling in your gut. "am i supposed to be flattered?"

"its the truth". 

roman hadn't been a man who lent himself to believing in chance or possibility for sometime. if he wanted something, or hell even someone, it simply happened, because thats the way it had been, since the first burst of the resorts success till before this very moment. when he spoke, the world of the resort opened and bent, twisted and curved till it formed to his liking, so much until the effects of his wants rippled through the whole of the strip till they echoed miles away, through the rolling of nevada desert dust. but you...

the click of your heels, the soft sway of your hips, the way words twisted from your lips comfortable because you knew yourself well enough to know that regardless of his capabilities you'd do something drastic and a bit ways away from reckless before ever letting him get the best of you. 

that bravery, an unflinching flame, new and unpredictable and different and more exciting than anything he'd seen in sometime. 

whether you were leaving or staying, he follows you and savors even the cut of your eyes. it's quick and fierce, unsure of its power but stripping the resolve of him all the same. and of course a curt look is all you give him, as he opens the door to the rendezvous and follows you in, not a word to him as waiters and well off patrons pass the both of you by. a leisure walk around pristine white cloth dressed tables and velvet chairs, each of your steps like some small conquering of a widely secured territory. his territory. you move more sure of yourself by the second and it rushes his warm and wanting. 

with no real hurry, roman pulls out the chair you've picked to sit in just before you can make to do it yourself, finding himself closer than he needs to be, just some inches from your face. each breath in, sweet and tempting. the perfume he bought you...

you sit without a word, not even a thank you, and he finds himself more drawn in by the second. 

it isn't until he sits himself that roman realizes you've chosen a seat at the center of the restaurant. and whether it's purposeful or not, it's damn sure fitting. 

a trivial orbit of faces and voices. 

"you don't take no for an answer do you?"

"when you're where i am, after a while, you stop asking and getting asked. you never even have to hear no". 

its arrogant, eye roll worthy even, but you don't miss the truth in it. the pull of his brows together, lending themselves to a pure honesty. and it's hard, quelling that pull up of envy. to be so well off, so rich, never having to answer to any one. i wish, you thought. i wish

your finger trails along the fine table cloth. "i must have you so out of sorts then, how rude of me". 

"it's fun", he grins. a single finger signaling someone. " 'm learning my manners again". 

and there was this fidelity to his words ......everything is the best because i am the best...... a quality that spilled over into everything that he touched, spoked to, looked at, and did. it was this undeniable thing, a force, that caused such a natural hesitation in you, but also this impulse to fight. you wanted to struggle against him, war with the easy diligence of him till he folded. cracking under the weight of his hubris till large fragmented pieces ground to dust. but you would not win that battle today, no, not as waiters execute their level of precision, plate after plate set atop the table in such a meticulous manner that it seemed to be planned. a well thought scheme with the intent to impress. dish after dish, revealed, one after the other smelling more divine than the one before it. 

the waiter, an adorably eager young man, falls into a spiel about the wine you can't be bothered to care about. his work of a perfect pour all for nothing. it nearly pains you. "i'll take a water please". 

the waiter flattens. a curt nod as he hurries away. 

"it's vintage", roman says. seemingly unaffected by your disinterest in old aged wine. 

" 'm sure it is". eyeing him. the sip his lips take. "seems you've had things all planned out. what if i'd said no?" 

"someone else's lucky night then. a free meal on the house".

"do you have a ready made answer to everything?". 

"i am who i am. it's impossible not to".  the cut of your knives into plated steaks reveals this smooth buttery finish. the meat tender against the blade and more so to the taste. and it takes everything in you not to moan or go cross eyed, not when he's watching your every move. seemingly studying and committing your eyes and lips and words to memory. no, you simply chew. sip at your water and live as quiet in your delight as possible. till of course it hits you, not as hard or sudden as one would expect, but it's more of a washing over. a stilled piecing together that quickens your pulse and frowns out the apathy on your lips. 

you stare down at your plate. a short ways away from dumbfounded. "you know how i like my steak".  even the way he chews is perfect. measured and steady. a luxurious sort of etiquette steeped into the make of him. but you find that his manners are selective, as he doesn't even bother to meet your eyes. low sitting and accusing. he chews as you did, but with more leisure. the slice of his knife and the clink of his fork fighting against the waiting you do in the silence. even when he works to indulge you, he abides in his own time, lets you wrestle with the trivial chatter of the room the way you did not so long ago with the abundance of his gifts. 

he wipes his mouth with a cloth. a feigned unawareness about him. 

"the chefs know how you like your steak".

you scoff. maybe your tenth eye roll of the night. " and the bartenders so conveniently know how i like my cocktails too". 

he sips his wine easy like he would water. "they have an eye for detail, thats why they work here". 

"or maybe", you start. fork an obnoxious clinking at the plate as it drops dramatic from your fingers. "just maybe it's someone else's eyes they're looking through. someone else's words they're following". 

"maybe". 

...so fucking goddamn frustrating... you think. eyeing the full table of food. and it's less anger and more confusion, that slow to finish fraying of nerves. these things that he does, says, that leave you emotionally inconvenienced. 

"you don't know how insane it feels, night after night, trying to pick up a check for dinner and the waiter refuses your money. it feels like stealing". 

he chuckles. "something you should be used to then". 

"fuck you. i only steal out of necessity". 

and this was it, the thing from which his curiosities where born, feverish in his fingers. an ache to flex broad and wide, to do and make till need was just a distant word laying dead at the recesses of your mind. necessities were strange, and if it became flesh and bone with legs and the will to speak it too would be a stranger to him. roman had not wanted for anything in some time, and if he felt in himself that he needed something, the readiness by which it came to him revealed only that he did not need it, but that he wanted it, in that covetous way that a man wants another mans woman. and so it became natural, that others around him would not need for anything either. 

the way he's settled into the velvet of the chair becomes less leisure, leaning in slightly with a more focused determination. "what do you need?" 

your smile is wry. unconvinced. "like you care". 

"if you could have anything, what would it be?"

the list was endless it seemed, a question you'd asked and answered thousands of times and then thousands of times again. cars, houses, shoes, clothes, jewelry, yachts, boats. trivial and obnoxiously expensive things even, if it meant that you could feel the freedom of just being. it was an easy thing to answer, but so hard still when all the answers were far away from you, never even brushing faint at your fingertips. 

and he thinks in this moment, your eyes softening, this is the most serious he's ever seen you. 

"i wanna be comfortable. enough not to worry about anything". 

"and why aren't you there yet?"

"i tried", a finger of yours slipping against the grip of the cutting knife. "but you stopped me". 

but how could he question you? was your drive, your diligence to get what you wanted not legitimate because it was not legal? and with this, the question forms clear again, why the fuck were you here? 

"a man at the top asking me why i'm all the way down here", your head shaking in this sly build of indignation. he had some nerve. "you don't see how shitty that is?" 

roman feels something in him lessen. a deep pulling away that reflects in the flare that takes to your eyes. an edge that leaves the room a bit cooler than before. how could he have been so stupid and blind? judging you for the very thing that had left him in this whirl of curiosity and admiration. 

" 'm not tryin to offend you". 

"but here i am. offended". 

he shifts, reaches the wide stretch of his palm to lay open against the table. an olive branch close enough for you to reach out and take. "let me make it up to you". 

you consider him. the outstretch of his palm. fingers strong and waiting. the way his eyes settle into this mild sort of kindness that still lends itself to something not so pleasing. the warm lights amongst the crystals of hanging chandeliers casting along his face in such a way that it shadows his eyes some but still shines against his features. speaking so clearly to the deepened well of his hubris, always revealing and hiding itself in his own time. he is a sure man, wanting only what he wants, but seeks it in such a diligent way that it suffocates the things, the people that he desires. but maybe, just maybe, if you leave him wanting, challenged and needy, he would give you everything. 

your finger tips move to tease at his. this faint dancing along his palm. "if you're gonna send me gifts, make sure it's things i like". touch a sly caress at his wrist. "i'm not a wine girl, and i hate seeing flowers die". 

he lets your touch play along his skin. revels silent in the rush it sends, a jetting stream into his blood. 

"what do you prefer?"

you slip off a ring that shines against his pinky. fitting it onto your middle one. your stare is this rapturous thing. hypnotic and breath taking, and he understands why you've probably gotten away with so much till now. 

"i have a sweet tooth". 

"i can work with that".

you hum into a sigh, considering still. your hand balling his own to close that reaching opened palm before you settle back into your chair. more eased now than you've been the whole night. 

"i hope so for your sake". 

and roman does not hesitate often, certainly never out of fear. he doesn't mind the manner of his words much, or their phrasing and the life it breathes into his expression. he doesn't suffer much to care for the thoughts of others and their own words, unless of course it somehow seeks to exist against his money, the resort or the greatness of his name. roman wasn't fearful, no, but being here with you, caution takes him all the same. like those tentative seconds where the lucky struck gambler is suspended in possibility, waiting for the dealers reveal. 

his words take to a mindfulness, as if each word is brought out selectively. "has anyone ever offered, to take care of you. buy you things. take you places". 

you laugh in that small uncontrollable way, when something, after so much confusion, becomes clear. because of course this is what he wants. of-fucking-course. 

"some have. i always told them no".

"why?"

to think of it, even if just slightly, annoyed you. "conditions. restrictions. rules. you can't go there, you can't do this. that's not care". 

"control is an acquired taste". 

a grin slips into the seam of your lips. curious. "is it yours?" 

his tongue peaks, a short run against his teeth, and something deep within, this buried and slow to rise feeling tightens at your core. maybe it wouldn't hurt to have a taste of wine.

his grin matches yours. "not if it ain't yours". 

"out of all the woman everywhere, why me?" 

"you try to steal from me, you spit on my casino floor, and you ain't missed a chance yet to tell me how you feel". 

"we're into degradation i see", you joke. and it gets a laugh you think not many have experienced. it's something sincere, crinkling for some seconds the corners of his eyes. and despite the short bout of fondness that forms at hearing him laugh, he's got to be joking right? pulling your leg hard for an even bigger laugh. "i'm a thief roman". 

"a very transparent thief. i don't meet people like that a lot". 

it's a losing fight but still, it's hard not to push back. 

"you barely know me". 

"i could know you, if you let me". 

"what's in it for you?" 

sex, you think. when he's given you enough of his money and access, he'll ask for sex. 

"your company". 

---

riverside, california was not the vegas strip, and by all intents and purposes did not claim to be the notorious sin city. the breeze here was something warm and patient. a soft flowing about, satisfied only by its own directionlessness. but in a small whispered taunting way, it was unadulterated. the vegas strip was loud, this harsh numbing sort of droning that buried the more subtle, truthful noises and those skittish undercurrents in the skin that lent to fervent thoughts and ideas. the silence of riverside and the quaint rooftop air of antonella's was this exposing thing. and you'd come west to unashamedly connive your way into some money, but now you were here, unsure of the minutes, hours and even days to come, with him. sipping at coffee, and picking gentle but anxious at his diamond ring, feeling as aimless as the riverside wind. 

and then, seemingly from no where, his shoes click against the cobblestone, steps slow and uniformed, a pace all his own. and as he sets down a fine spread atop the table; meats, cheeses, fruits, and small cakes, he can sense rather acutely this refusal to acknowledge him. from you, an amusing fight; one leg crossed over the other, a fidgeting in your fingers and this far away look else where, feigning indifference. 

antonella's at noon - roman

he'd written as he liked to do, and yet it was a little passed two in the afternoon. the drive over to riverside lengthy and unknowing. 

"you're late"

" 'm sorry?"

roman is amused but taken a back all the same. in the years of his success, lateness was not something to treat with avoidance or fear but just another trivial idea. something purely subjective. or maybe it was because things just ran on his time, started and stopped when his desires had not been met or when they'd exceeded his expectations. it was new to think that something like that was so bothersome for you. 

he sits in the empty space of a double seated chair beside you. the wood fine and stripped, carved with intricate designs. his arm falling against the top. your bodies closer now than they've ever been. 

"if i'm-", you shift to face him. eyes taken by the tan of his cheeks, sprinkled with freckles. lips full, and beard thick. his eyes softer than normal but still traces of an intensity to them. he's beautiful, even in his arrogance and persistence. "if i'm gonna do this. whatever this is, you have to be on time. i'm not a woman who likes to wait". 

his eyes drop to the plump of your lips. existing there this thin tempting line of gloss. "yes ma'am". 

and his stare lingers, a gentle taking in of the slight pout forming into the line of your lips and the soft round out of your cheeks. your eyes under the cast of the sun, more ethereal than not, but guarded some still in this impatient game of waiting for something that will quell that burden of unknowing. the small tells of your anxiety live in the way you play aimlessly at that ring you took from him, or rather the ring he let you take. even with your demands that fight against his own desires and your quick wits and your curt looks and your own bouts of teasing, you still hesitate for fear of the feelings that come with great disappointment. he wonders now if his words for you are not enough, and that though it had been enough for mostly everyone, you are not them. you are new and different and he'd have to treat you as such. 

roman cuts a piece of cake easy, and on a fork it waits for you to indulge in it. 

"taste this", he gives, handing you the fork. 

"what is it?" 

"panettone". his voice deep and delicate about the shape of the vowels, taking on a slight accent in reverence of the treat. italian?, you wonder. 

the cake is buttery and sweet, a taste of fruit with each pass it takes over your tongue and theres something there as you sit with the taste of it that tells you that it's homemade. its a perfect mixture of everything, as if the baker had made it a thousand times, and then a thousand times more. 

he reaches to pick off a piece of fruit with a slim pick, sleeves loose and revealing the beginnings of what you think is a full arm of connected tattoos. you wonder how far they travel, and where they possibly might end. 

the strength of espresso wafts against the flow of a simple breeze as he takes to refilling the teeny size of your cup and then a splash of his own to taste. 

he sighs, satisfied at the warmth of it. "you like it?". 

"mhmm", you give. a sincerity lining your lips as you give him a small smile. it's something new, relaxed. an earnestness lacking that natural wary look you wear when you look at him. "you're taking my words to heart. i like a man who listens". 

"i aim to please". 

you slip the ring back onto your finger, less fidgety with it now. an easy settling of the tensity in your shoulders that allows your body to rest closer to him. facing inward so that the cross of your leg touches his. and it's this innocent, dainty step towards intimacy. where the gentle quiet of the day fills the air with a more tender possibility. guards are fallen away, more than before if anything, and your eyes shimmer warm and a little more accepting. i'll try, you think to your self, to believe him even if only for a moment. i'll indulge him. 

"you like that ring?", he asks. staring at the way it shines against your finger. 

at the mention of it, you twist the band about your finger. 

"my mother thought the best thing a woman could do for herself was have jewelry. it's the only thing that doesn't disappoint". nostalgia a fine thread in your words. remembering the woman that taught you everything. and he sees the soft way your cheeks turn up. feels a need to keep them that way, but even more so when you look at him. "it's a little big, but it goes with my earrings". 

my...my earrings. claiming fully the things that he'd gifted you. 

his longer, stronger fingers reach for yours, for the ring, seemingly possessed by memory. and his touch is a light caress. featherweight and reverential. a shiver strums your skin there. teeming with the want for a heated relief found only in another pass of his finger, till it folds, along with the others, his over yours, to lock in an embrace. 

"i had it made ten years ago", he tells you. "about a month after the resort opened. a gift to myself". 

his thumb dances with a sweet brushing along your skin, with nothing particularly amorous, but there is comfort here, in your touch, a stranger. the way skin passes slow and steady to feel the other, lax and patient. 

"it's still beautiful", your hand dropping to your lap, locked with his still, and the pull brings him just that much closer. a comfortable leaning in that gives way to him taking in more readily the heady sweetness of your perfume. his eyes and his mouth something like a foot away, but feeling so very close, so much so that it steals breaths. kickstarts that harsh beating in your blood, a drumming pulse in your fingers. you wonder if he feels it. 

"it doesn't disappoint". 

you smile. interested in him. "how old were you then?"

"28. you?"

you can see him at 28. untainted by the burning pace of vegas. his eyes ever intense but in them more of a smolder. his hair longer, with no flecks of grey. more unsure and less persistent. grasping at things that come to him so easily now. 

"24". 

and he'd love to meet 24 you. maybe not as quick witted but clever still. fast in your schemes with a maybe not so predictable temper. but still, a covetous touch to the things you wanted. needed. 

"causing trouble where?", he chuckles. 

"new york". 

he looks at the ring. loose on your finger. 

"ill have the ring resized to fit".

you shake your head. unsure. "it's something special. i don't wanna take that from you". 

"you don't ask and you don't say thank you. if i give it, it's yours. simple". 

he is as serious now as the day you first met him, and beyond all of your own doubting, there's this burden to believe him. the quiet fervor of his words and his touch, the warm glow of him amongst the day light and the unwavering hold his eyes take to yours. and his thumb runs a simple caress over where your pulse quickens harsh at the inside of your wrist, from surprise and need. a soft lulling that only seems to stoke the flame of a slow but sure to rise desire. it's yours, words promising and unfazed by the endless unknowns of tomorrow. so much so that he proves it, slips an envelope from his pocket till it finds its way into your hand. 

and the envelope is mere trash compared to whats inside. a sleek black card, engraved with his own name. 

your fingers slip at it. failing somewhat to hide the growing excitement. but there is disbelief here also, coming alive quick but dying quicker the more you feel the fixed weight of his decision, heavy in his eyes and warm at his touch. his intensity is a power all on its own, working well to lull you in. to subdue. a twinge at your core tells you that you are not immune. "is there a limit?" 

"why would there be?" 

you chuckle. "you're serious?"

"dead serious". 

there's that twinge again, lingering hot and teasing. scares you away from his eyes and the tender hold of his touch, but he doesn't falter, even when your fingers leave the tangle of his. and then, caution breaks against the luxurious sort of excitement teeming quick, tightens into your fingers so that the card feels heavy. too fine to hold in your hands. but still, he remains, sitting with an endless patience, sure that he will win you over fully. if not today then soon. 

the moment still seems too good to be true for you. 

you sigh. "this all isn't just some round about way of trying to fuck me is it?" 

but he doesn't hesitate. amused even. 

"that only happens if you want it to sweetheart". 

and it takes courage not to imagine it. the details of a daydream where his lips slip against your skin, hands strong and leading as they push and prod to his will, till you're just how he wants you, playing in these fast to leave flashes in your minds eyes. you think though, under his heavy gaze, that it's something to wonder about when he's not this close and determined to commit your every expression to memory. so you steel your face, fingers grabbing his cup to sip at his espresso, the curiosity of your daydreams attempting with a desperate sort of vigor to run away from you. they barely succeed. 

with roman, you were in for something interesting.