#gazelle legs

[meltedsatin]

[larrylimericks]

20Aug24

Fans in place, short shorts on, paps are booked As a new round of H-SLOT’s afoot: Harry Styles: Legs On Tour! Very mindful, demure ... Hontent’s flowing as HS4 cooks.

[starsandgutters]

KateKevAaron cohabiting and Katelyn and Kevin automatically putting things up on high shelves just because that’s where there’s space/they’re things they use less etc without considering Aaron can’t fucking reach the top shelf

Aaron constantly having to haul himself onto the counters to reach things down (and also things going unused/buying duplicates frequently because if he can’t see what’s on the top shelf he forgets it exists)

Katelyn gets him a little foldable kitchen step and she even gets it in green for him but it’s too late he’s been a counter climber all his life (and who even has the patience to go get a step every time you need something!!)

Of course if she’s present she offers to get it down for him (he’ll allow this). Kevin thinks it’s funny to watch him struggle but he’ll step in sometimes as an excuse to press himself against Aaron (Aaron is less accepting of Kevin’s help and will try and race him to grab said item because he can dO IT HIMSELF OK)

Basically Aaron Minyard being a victim of his considerably taller partners 😔 extra suffering as he’s the main cook in their house

[rabbit-exe]

rewatched exu calamity and brennan really rocked up to the critical role studio and said "I'm gonna hurt that paladin So Bad"

[pretty-idol-hell]

New Valentines profile skin added! Featuring Pepper!

[fuzzyspiderpawz]

I wanna have big horns/antlers so I can run around and toss people into the air for fun

[opiumvampire]

when im out with my boyfriend and i start walking too fast he goes ‘can shawties please go stroll mode’ to tell me to slow down

[paarksunghoon]

ok but jake forcing your thighs open while he eats you out bc you won’t stop shaking and closing them..

enjoy :)

***

Jake doesn’t know when to quit. He never has and you doubt he’ll ever learn. He stays up until the late hour to study his ass off and runs marathons during soccer practice. He never gave up following you around campus like a lost puppy until you agreed to go out with him and didn’t stop until he became your boyfriend. You really don’t know how he does it.

Even now, you don’t know how he hasn’t suffocated.

You’re a shy little thing, like a gazelle out in an open field where lions could pounce at any second. Jake’s forward personality startled you when the two of you first met. He was juxtaposed to your calmer demeanor, talking to you like he’d known you all his life whereas you tried your best to keep up with the conversation. When Jay, the soft spoken guitarist in your economics class, said he wanted to introduce you to a friend of his, you weren’t quite ready for Jake’s boldness.

It’s 12am and you really should be getting sleep because you have a shift at the library in nine hours. Your boyfriend remains between your legs, however, tongue and nose buries so deep inside of you that the two of you might as well become a single entity.

Jake’s bold personality follows him when he’s kissing and touching you, hands wandering upon your waist until he’s pushing his hands down your underwear. It’s only been three weeks since he asked you to be his girlfriend and he’s been keeping himself in check whenever your breathy moans fan across his face when your lips are on his. Jake wants to fuck, but he’ll wait until you give him the green light.

Only, he’s so far gone right now that he doesn’t think he could stop now. You taste so much better than he could’ve ever imagined. Even from between your legs, he can hear the way your moans above him despite his ears ringing.

Jake tried to be gentle about it. He really did. But your body is too delectable and he’d rather die than never eat you out. It’s not his fault you’re too enticing. It’s definitely not his fault that your pussy’s so wet.

“Stay still,” he commands with his tongue against you, hands prying your thighs open when they shake against his head. He doesn’t let you say a word because he’s already diving back in.

You try to follow his directions and keep your legs as still as you can, but his mouth expertly moves across your hole like he’s always known how to push your buttons. Jake nudges your clit with his nose and you can’t help but close your legs shut around him.

Your boyfriend grunts and forces your legs open. His usual soft and gentle demeanor is replaced by something a little more primal, and you feel it in the way his fingertips grip your skin. It’s so hot—you finish right there with a loud screech and Jake laps up everything you give him.

You have a morning shift at the library in nine hours, but Jake’s so hard in his pants that it makes your mouth water.

Truthfully, you don’t know when to quit either.

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[talaok]

Acting Normal

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader

Summary: Javi’s been thinking about that night every minute of every day, while you're acting like it never even happened, and if he doesn't do something about it, he's gonna lose his mind.

warnings: smut| fingering, protected p in v sex, dirty talk, javi being a simp, sex in the workplace, (it's not public but there's a possibility of getting caught)

a/n: I already know what to write for part 3, this couple is my new obsession lol

This is a part 2 to this story, but it can be read alone

Javi

This was really important stuff

He was really supposed to be listening

He was paid to listen to it,

that's what he kept repeating himself,

and yet- yet if someone asked him to repeat whatever Carillo was saying, he couldn't have spit out one singular word.

But it wasn't his fault, not really.

You must have been doing it on purpose, there was no way you were doing all that just accidentally.

Your lips were wrapped around the lollipop in a way that left nothing to the imagination- he could feel those lips on him, he knew how soft and sweet they were from kissing them, but around him... oh they would feel even sweeter, he was sure-

"If you're not gonna listen to me then why am I even here?"

It took Javier much too long to realize what Carillo had said

"I'm listening" he stated with enough confidence to fool anyone- except he was talking to one of the few people that could see right through his bullshit.

"I'm surprised you haven't done it yet" the Colonel shook his head, blowing out a cloud of smoke "I thought she would have given in by now"

"I don't know what you're talking about"

Carillo couldn't help but laugh.

"You've been obsessed with her since she first arrived"

Javier hadn't even noticed that his gaze was back on you... or that his colleague had spoken again.

"yeah," Carillo chuckled, patting Javi's back "I'll just talk to Murphy"

And that was that, Carillo was gone, and Peña was left at a desk at the corner of the room, staring at you with the intensity with which a lion watches a gazelle.

He didn't know what the fuck to do.

To be completely honest with himself, he'd made a fucking mess.

He'd always been attracted to you, I mean there's not much of you that any man could find not hot, and sure, he'd spent about a year flirting with you as you rolled your eyes at him... but that's just how he was- he never thought it'd ever actually happen- and now...

Now he was fucked

You seemed so incredibly normal around him, like that night a week ago had been just a perfect dream, while him- fuck he couldn't even look at you without picturing how perfect you looked from between your tighs.

He'd thought he could manage to just do it that one time, to get it out of his system... what a stupid fucking bastard- he'd only made everything ten times worse.

And the worst part was that you didn't seem affected by it, not even a little bit- like now, there you were, looking all concentrated and everything, your brows furrowed, your bare legs crossed, one of them swinging ever so often, and your lips... your lips wrapped around the candy were an image sent straight from heaven.

Fuck- he was half fucking hard just by looking at you.

He needed to do something- now- or he was gonna go fucking crazy.

__ __ __

"can I have a talk with you for a moment?"

He was leaning over your desk, not doing a great job of masking his desire.

You, on the other hand, hadn't even looked up from the paper before you.

"what's up?"

what's up?

He'd made you squirt on your boss' desk for fuck's sake, and you tell him what's up??

"Just something I think you could help me out with, in the evidence room"

"now?" you winced, finally looking at him

"Yeah now"

__ __ __

"so what is it? did they misplace a file again-"

"How are you acting so normal?"

A gasp fled your mouth as you turned around and found him but an inch from you

"Jesus" you breathed "what are you talking about?"

"and who even eats lollipops past the age of five?"

He took a step closer and you took a step back, only for your back to hit the wall.

He'd cornered you.

"what is going on with you?" you hissed, only for him to take another slow step, and place his hand on the wall, right next to your head

"you, that's what's going on with me" his breath was fanning over your mouth, images of last week's night flashing both your minds "I've had the best sex of my life with you, and you're acting like it was just another Tuesday night"

"I-"

"I can still taste you on my tongue, I can still feel you around me, and you look at me like I'm nothing more than a fucking colleague y/n"

"Javier-"

"And then" he chuckled darkly, interrupting you once again "and then you have the nerve to suck on a fucking lollipop right in front me-"

A soft laugh couldn't help but bubble up your throat at that.

"Did that seriously... turn you on?"

"So what if it did?" he purred, his left hand finding your waist and forcing you off the wall and flush against him, against the blatant proof of his arousal.

You gasped, your hands clutching the shirt covering his chest.

"you're worse than a hormonal teenager"

His eyes sparked with malice as he bent down, his mouth skimming your mouth and cheeks, leaving shivers in his passage, until he pressed his lips right below your ear.

"A hormonal teen that made you squirt for the first time in your life"

"Javier-" your voice had already reduced to a thread of a whimper.

Fuck him and his irresistible sex appeal.

He was right, no one had ever made you feel as good as he had, and as much as he thought you weren't affected by that knowledge, he'd be shocked to find out how difficult it proved not to squirm every time he merely looked at you.

Yes, of course you were constantly thinking about that night too.

"Tell me you don't think about it"

He was like a mind reader

You stayed silent, conscious that any response you could give would inevitably give you away.

"That's what I thought" A snicker rumbled from his chest, his hand moving from your waist to slide underneath the hem of your skirt.

You hummed, your brain only half functioning as he continued to trail hot wet kisses down your throat.

"W-what are you doing?" you tried to speak normally without success.

"what does it look like I'm doing?" he smirked, his hand now fully cupping your clothed core, making you whine "What I've been thinking of doing for a whole damn week- so I don't lose my mind"

Two of his fingers were circling the wet spot on your panties when a phone rang from the other room, making your eyes snap open.

What the fuck were you doing?

You were at work- anyone could come in at any moment.

"Javier wait," you said, finally getting your voice back to normal.

"what is it, sweetheart?" from the way his eyes were still a thousand shades darker and blatantly staring at your mouth you could have guessed the danger of being caught didn't trouble him one bit.

"We can't"

He groaned frustratedly then, his head falling between your neck and shoulder

"why not sweetheart?"

"are you serious?" a quick laugh bubbled up your throat "we're at work"

"so?"

"so?" you parroted, only your voice was heightening with exasperation "so anyone could catch us at any given moment"

A soft smirk pulled at his lips, the hand that was still on your wall going to your waist to get you flush against him

"Are you ashamed of me sweetheart?" he teased

"Well, to be completely honest having sex with the biggest slut in Columbia isn't exactly my highest moment"

He feigned a gasp, his hot breath fanning over your own parted mouth

"Me? A slut?"

"yeah, you" You couldn't fight the smile pulling at your lips.

There he was, doing it again- making all your common sense fly out the window with his godforsaken charm.

"c'mon baby, I'll be quick"

And although you didn't want to, you could see yourself starting to consider his proposal.

"that's supposed to convince me?" you arched a brow, an amused smile pulling at your lips

"What, you think I can't make you come quickly?" he purred, his hand going to your ass in a swift move to grab at it.

You bit down a whine "Well I don't know"

"tell me you don't want it" he teased, the fingers on your core starting a torturous path up and down your still-clothed, but unbelievably drenched, slit "That you don't want this"

His fingers had trespassed your panties and had now found your raw skin, making you gasp

"anyone could come in us, including Messina" you added breathlessly

"I locked the door" he promised, his forehead on yours as his ring and middle finger gently found their way inside of you.

"a-and what if someone needs to get in?" you tried your best not to moan, but the way he curled his fingers made it so very fucking difficult

"then we'll tell them to fuck off" he murmured, his mouth now touching yours, but still not kissing you.

"If we get caught I'm gonna kill you, we clear?"

"yes ma'am" he smirked, his breath mixing with yours

"now- may I kiss you, baby?"

You rolled your eyes before answering "Yes, you may"

And just like that, he was devouring you, his lips crashing with yours and his tongue sliding into your mouth to explore every inch of it, gaining dominance on your own in a matter of seconds.

"fuck I missed this" he groaned, his fingers suddenly speeding up and robbing you of all ability to tease him about his words "these fucking lips are gonna be the death of me"

Your mouth was open as you desperately tried to get oxygen to your lungs, but he didn't care, he took your bottom lip into his mouth and started sucking, his fingers fastening their pace as the filthy sound of your wetness bounced off the walls of the room.

"tell me you thought about it too" he growled, his palm making contact with your clit and forcing you to gasp as your hips started grinding onto it, onto his hand, sparks of pleasure staining your vision. "tell me I'm not the only crazy one baby"

You bit your lip to stifle a moan as you felt yourself grow closer to a release.

"shit- you look so fucking hot when you're about to come"

"I-" your eyes were squeezed shut, but you could feel the heat of his stare on you, the way his eyes never left you, not even as he kissed your neck, the soft stubble of his mustache tickling your skin "I've thought about it too javi"

The satisfied groan he let out told you just about everything you needed to know.

"When?" he asked, his voice hoarse, his fingers relentless

"A-always" you whimpered, "e-everytime I look at you"

shit- maybe you shouldn't have said that

"yeah?" a wolfish grin tugged at his lips "You think about me? about my cock? my fingers? my tongue?"

You mewled at his words, at the memory they brought with them, at how fucking good he was making you feel-

"J-Javi please"

"what?" he breathed, his mouth on yours again, your hips grinding shamelessly onto his hand "You're gonna come baby, 's that it?"

"y-yeah- fuck- I-"

he knew the signs by now, he knew those desperate breathless sounds you made just as you reached your peak- and god did he fucking love them

"come for me- come baby" he murmured, his lips crushing with yours to stifle your moans just as your walls spasmed around his digits- wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body.

Oh how he loved seeing the strong fiery woman he saw every day come apart beneath him, all your walls crumbling down 'till there was just pure lust and pleasure beneath your eyes, 'till your body went limp and clung to him for support.

"fuck" you breathed your eyes finally opening again, only to find that his had never left yours. "I-" you gulped, but his lips were on yours again, his hands holding your face on each side, his fingers now out of you.

"w-we should get back," you said, mostly trying to remind yourself, of where you really were, of what you were really doing... but it was all so difficult when he was looking at you like that- when you could feel his hard cock straining against his jeans- the same one that had felt so fucking good inside of you.

"we should" he agreed, although a twisted grin played on his lips.

he was already kissing you again, exploring you again, and in no time you found yourself caged between him and a shelf filled with boxes of evidence, your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck.

Damn him

"People are gonna start wondering where we are"

"we're here... looking at evidence," he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, his hips grinding onto you, his mouth on the corner of your lips.

"fuck- fine," you murmured, the need for him stronger than anything at this point, even than the fear of getting fired.

He didn't waste a second- his dick was out in a heartbeat, and your panties were pulled to the side before you had even time to breathe.

His tip, his red, glistening tip found your entrance, making you gasp.

"c-condom" you suddenly remembered, your voice so feeble it was almost inaudible "Please tell me you've got a condom"

"fuck- you're right" he muttered, frustration tracing his tone "I should have one in my wallet"

Of course he had one in his wallet

His left hand reached into his back pocket, finding his wallet and taking the condom out of it as quickly as he could, throwing the wallet somewhere to the side.

You were supporting yourself all on your own as he rolled the condom onto his dick, which might sound easy... but seeing the state of your leg it really was a miracle.

It was all so fast, he seemed desperate as he guided his tip to your entrance, as he gripped your waist and kissed your lips while entering you.

He was so fucking big, definitely the biggest one you'd ever encountered, and not only that... but he fucking knew how to use it too.

It was impossible not to moan, and for him, it was impossible not to groan- let's just say the possibility of getting caught wasn't first on the list of things in your mind at the moment.

"fuckfuckfuck" you whimpered, letting out a soft cry when he finally bottomed out

"Jesus Christ you feel fucking perfect" he growled, his eyes on yours, his hands gripping your waist as he tried his best to give you a moment to adjust and not start to fuck you like an animal right away.

"J-Javi"

And that, that little plead in your voice was all he needed to hear.

There was no way the sound of your skin slapping with his couldn't be heard from outside.

He felt so fucking good- criminally so.

"oh my g-" you had to bite down on something, and the little sliver of skin his shirt didn't cover right where his shoulder met his neck seemed much too perfect for your need.

He groaned, the bastard fucking groaned in pleasure as your teeth sank down into his skin, and you swore to god you could have come from that sound alone.

Your hands were laced between his neck, fingers taking hold of whatever hair you could grab, as he thrust up into you like a man starved, and you did all you could to meet his movements with the same urgency.

It had only been a week, and yet it felt like it'd been an eternity- a torturous, awful eternity of daying yourself of this.

"been thinking about this every fucking minute this week" his voice was breathy, hoarse, as he whispered to your ear "about this perfect fucking pussy of yours- about your mouth, about how- Fuck me-" his own growl interrupted him, your walls were squeezing him much too fucking tight "how good you taste, how hot you look when I'm eating you out- about this fucking perfect body of yours" he purred "Jesus christ you make me lose my mind"

You couldn't help but moan, moan at his words, at his pace, at the way his touch sent sparks flying in your belly- it was all too much.

"You've gotta be quiet baby" he murmured as you raised your head to look at him, to beg him for something- anything.

"I know sweetheart, I know" he breathed, his lips skimming yours "I know issa lot"

And to think you couldn't even stand him seven days ago... look at you now- looking into his eyes pleadingly as he fucked you in the evidence room.

"Javi" you could only breathe as his mouth crashed with yours once again, "I'm gonna-"

"I know"

Of course he knew

And just like that, you were over the edge, his tongue in your mouth muffling your cries as his thrust got more erratic, and somehow even more powerful.

Once again, he'd given you the best orgasm of your life.

He tried to hold off to let you ride it out, but fuck him it was proving to be real fucking difficult.

And then you opened your eyes- your beautiful, dreamy, eyes that he'd been dreaming of for days and there was no point in fighting it anymore-

"F-fuck y/n- fuck-"

There was a loud thud somewhere behind you, but neither of you cared enough to look, or god forbid stop- there was only you, you, and the spectacular groan Javier fed you into a kiss as he finally reached his climax.

There was only the sound of your breathing, both your heavy breathings as you looked at each other- and then you smiled, and he couldn't help but do the same.

And then all of the sudden the sounds from the office started flowing into the room again.

Oh right

"we really have to get back"

"yeah" he halfheartedly agreed, slowly setting you back on your feet, only in doing so, something caught your eye.

"fuck"

There were files on the floor- there were files on the floor because you'd knocked down some of the boxes of evidence- and you hadn't even noticed.

Javier followed your line of sight, but while panic was setting in your heart, he began to smile

"don't laugh!" you hissed, "what the fuck do we do? How do we explain this?"

"we don't" he simply shrugged, closing his zipper back up as you quickly tried to make yourself presentable.

"What?"

"we were never here- now, get back out there"

"I-"

"trust me" he said, retrieving his wallet from the floor.

And for some fucking reason, you did- you trusted him.

"I hate you so much" you muttered, finally exiting the room.

Tg:@fallout-girl219

[itneverendshere]

rafe watching milo for the first time by himself. he probably woke up from his nap early while you’re in the shower . but it’s so cute to see rafe with him

this was so adorable to write😩 love writing little fluff moments for them 💘 thank you for the request! hope you like it🫂

don't you ever grow up just stay this little - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

Rafe wasn’t the type of guy you’d expect to be spending his Saturday babysitting. And yet, there he was, sitting in the living room of your sister’s place, half-watching TV, half-watching the clock while you took a shower upstairs.

The plan was simple: you’d help your sister out by watching Milo while she worked her double shift, and he’d stick around because, well, he was practically glued to your side these days.

Milo was cool, though. For a little dude. He was into dinosaurs and trucks and had this way of talking about everything like it was the most important thing in the world. Rafe liked that energy.

Reminded him of when things were simpler, before his life became one long list of bad choices.

He glanced at his phone, checking the time. You said your shower would be quick, but it had been a little longer than that. He shrugged it off; you deserved a break. Plus, Milo was still down for his nap, and Rafe wasn’t about to wake him up early. He knew better than to mess with a sleeping kid—learned that lesson fast the first time he’d stayed over officially and Milo had woken up at 5 a.m., screaming about monsters. The sound of the shower running upstairs was the only noise in the house as he flipped through the channels, half-watching some random show.

Milo had been asleep for a solid hour, and he’d figured there’d be no problem keeping an eye on the kid while you got cleaned up. Easy enough.

He leaned back into the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him. He was about to settle on some mindless reality show when he heard a soft creak from the hallway. He sat up, eyes moving toward the sound. The door to Milo’s room was cracked open, and a tiny figure stood there, rubbing his eyes, clutching a stuffed dinosaur. The kid looked half-asleep still, his hair sticking up in all directions.

“Hey, bud,” Rafe said, keeping his voice low so he didn’t startle him. He got up from the couch and took a step toward Milo, but stopped when the kid blinked up at him, confused.

“Autie in the shower?” Milo asked, his voice all groggy, like he wasn’t fully awake yet.

His bottom lip poked out, and Rafe could tell he was on the edge of either crying or just being pissed about being awake. It was a fifty-fifty shot with kids this age, right? At least that’s what he figured.

“Yeah,” Rafe replied, crouching down so he was on Milo’s level. “She’ll be down soon, don’t worry. You wanna sit with me until she’s done?”

The kid shrugged, his grip tightening on his dinosaur. Without another word, he waddled over to the couch and climbed up, his little legs struggling to make it without help. Rafe sat down beside him, giving him some space because you know, kids were weird about personal bubbles and shit, but keeping an eye on him just in case he decided to get all emotional.

Kids were unpredictable like that—one second, they’re fine, the next, they’re melting down over something random.

They watched the TV in silence for a minute, some kind of animal documentary playing now. He glanced over at Milo, who was wide-eyed as a lion chased down a gazelle.

“That’s crazy, huh?” Rafe said, nodding at the screen. “That lion’s fast.”

Milo nodded, still watching the screen with intense concentration. “Lions are kings,” he whispered, clutching his dino tighter. “But T-rexes were kings too.”

“Yeah? You think a T-rex could beat a lion?”

Milo turned to look at him like he’d just asked the dumbest question in the world. “Course! T-rexes are the strongest. Lions are just cats.”

Rafe laughed under his breath. “Fair point.”

He was something else. Fiercely opinionated and convinced of everything he said, even if it didn’t make sense. Halfway through a scene where a shark was doing its thing, Milo scooted a little closer, almost absentmindedly, and leaned into Rafe’s side. The kid didn’t say anything, just rested his head against him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He froze for a second, not sure what to do. He wasn’t used to this. But then, instinct took over, and he relaxed, resting his arm on the back of the couch, careful not to make it weird. He could hear your voice in his head: "Just go with it, baby. Don’t overthink it."

So, he didn’t.

They stayed like that for a bit, the quiet sound of the TV and Milo’s soft breathing filling the room. Rafe wasn’t gonna lie—he kind of liked the weight of the kid leaning into him. It was...nice. Calming, even. He’d never thought of himself as the kind of guy who’d be good with kids, but Milo didn’t seem to mind him. Maybe he wasn’t as terrible at this as he thought.

“So, uh… that’s a pretty cool dinosaur,” Rafe said after a while, nodding toward the toy in Milo’s hands. He was trying to make conversation, but he wasn’t exactly sure what you talked about with a child.

Milo perked up slightly, looking down at his stuffed dino. “This is Rexy,” he said, his voice soft but a little more awake now. “He’s the strongest dinosaur. He eats meat.”

“Rexy, huh?” Rafe smirked. “Yeah, T-rexes were pretty badass. What else you know about ‘em?”

Milo's eyes lit up at the question, and Rafe knew he’d hit the jackpot. The kid went off on a whole tangent about dinosaurs, talking a mile a minute about everything from their teeth to their tails to how they fought each other. Rafe found himself listening, actually getting into it. It was kinda funny how into this stuff Milo was, rattling off facts like he’d spent years researching dinosaurs instead of being, you know, practically a fetus.

As they kept talking, he noticed that Milo was slowly waking up more, his energy coming back. He started squirming in his seat, clearly not content to just sit still anymore. Rafe figured it was only a matter of time before he’d want to get up and do something more active.

“Hey, you wanna play with your trucks or something?” Rafe asked, gesturing toward a pile of toys on the floor by the coffee table.

Milo’s face lit up. “Yeah!” he said, hopping off the couch without hesitation. He darted over to the pile, grabbing a couple of toy trucks and zooming them across the floor like his life depended on it.

He watched him for a second, then got up and sat on the floor beside him, not really sure what he was supposed to do but figuring he should at least pretend to play along.

Milo handed him a bright red fire truck. “You be the firefighter,” he said, very serious about it.

Rafe took the truck and rolled it across the floor, mimicking the sound of a siren. “Alright, I’m the firefighter. What am I supposed to do?”

Milo grabbed a dump truck and rammed it into a pile of blocks he’d built earlier. “You gotta save the cars! They’re stuck in the mud!”

Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Mud?”

“Yeah, like quicksand mud,” Milo said, clearly making this up as he went along.

Rafe played along, pushing the fire truck toward the pile of blocks, doing his best to sound heroic. “I’ll save the cars.”

Milo giggled, clearly entertained by the whole thing. He couldn’t help but smile a little, too. It was stupid, but there was something fun about just letting go and playing make-believe for a minute. He hadn’t done something like this since he was a kid himself, and, honestly, he’d forgotten how much fun it could be.

They kept playing for a while, Rafe getting more into it as Milo directed the whole operation, barking out orders like a little drill sergeant. At some point, he ended up being both the firefighter and the dump truck driver, while Milo decided he was in charge of the bulldozer that was “fixing the road.”

“Alright, we gotta clear this mud,” Rafe said, pushing his fire truck through the blocks again.

“No! Wait!” Milo interrupted, holding up his hands dramatically. “The T-rex is coming!”

Rafe blinked. “The T-rex? I thought we were saving cars?”

Milo shook his head, eyes wide. “No, now we’re fighting the T-rex! He’s coming to eat the cars!”

He chuckled under his breath but didn’t argue. “Okay, if you say so.”

Just as the two of them prepared for their imaginary battle with the T-rex, you finally made your way downstairs, your hair damp from the shower and a soft smile on your face when you spotted the two of them on the floor. Rafe glanced up at you, feeling a little caught, but you just smiled wider, eyes glimmering with that look you always gave him when you thought he was being sweet, even if he was trying to act like he was a tough guy.

“Looks like you boys are having fun,” you teased, leaning against the doorway.

Rafe glanced up at you, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, we’re, uh... saving cars from mud. And dinosaurs. Apparently.”

Milo joined, grinning. “Auntie! Rafey’s the firefighter! He’s really good at it!”

You laughed softly, clearly enjoying the sight of your boyfriend— brooding Rafe Cameron—playing trucks with your nephew. “I see that,” you said, sitting down on the couch and watching them.

He stood up, brushing off his jeans like he hadn’t just spent the last half hour pushing toy trucks around. “Don’t get used to it.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, I won’t. I’m sure this is a one-time thing.”

Milo looked up at Rafe, clearly not ready for the game to end. “Can we play more, Rafey? Please?”

He sighed, looking at you for help, but you just shrugged, clearly amused by the whole situation.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Rafe muttered, sitting back down on the floor. “But next time, I’m picking the game.“

“Can we go to the park tomorrow?”

He sighed, not having the heart to shut the kid out, “Fine.”

You leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “You’re doing great, baby.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but deep down, he didn’t mind. Not really. Because, yeah, maybe this wasn’t what he’d imagined doing with his Saturday. But being here with you and Milo? It felt... good.

He sat there, watching Milo zoom his trucks across the floor with intense focus, and yeah, he was in it now. It was weirdly nice, playing along, even if he had no clue what he was doing half the time. But then, as he glanced up at you sitting on the couch, grinning like you were watching the best show in town, something hit him.

He’d go to the end of the world for you.

He leaned back on his hands, eyes flicking up to meet yours. You gave him a sweet smile, one of those looks that told him you were proud of him—proud of this version of him. He'd done a lot of stupid shit in his life, but being here, with you? That didn’t feel like one of them.

He smirked, letting out a low chuckle. “You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he teased, his voice dropping just enough to make you pay attention, “and ’m gonna give you a baby of your own.”

Your eyes widened a little in surprise, and you laughed, shaking your head. “Rafe,” you tried to scold him, but he could see the way your cheeks flushed, and he knew he’d hit the spot.

“What?” he shrugged, his grin widening. “I’m serious.” He gave Milo a quick glance before his eyes settled back on you. “You look at me like that, and I start thinkin’ about it.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face didn’t fade. “You can’t just say stuff like that while you’re babysitting.”

 “Why not? You think I wouldn’t make a good dad?” There was a playful glint in his eyes, but there was something real underneath it too. He didn’t have to spell it out. You knew about his dad—about how Rafe had grown up in the shadow of someone who cared more about money and power than being a dad.

You bit your lip, glancing at Milo, who was too absorbed in his trucks to notice, then back at him. “I think you’d surprise yourself.” You reached out, gently brushing your fingers along his arm.

 “Yeah,” he murmured, more to himself than you. “I think so too.”

[zappedbyzabka]

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I think I’m gonna lose my mind

[alchemistc]

Donato spots it first - Tommy's been fidgeting with the just-too-short sleeves of his shirt for the past ten minutes, fingers curling into the ends of the arms, thumb sliding along the hem like maybe he could make them long enough to fully cover his wrists just by thinking really hard about it. It's stretched tight across his shoulders, the neck hole feels too high, biting into his skin, and Tommy is absolutely certain it's been hemmed in at the fucking waist, because he can barely keep the damn thing tucked into his pants.

(The cost of having those fucking magnificent gazelle legs is apparently torso space.)

"You shrink your shirt in the wash again, Kinard?"

Tommy's been begging their vendor to switch to a jersey blend for years because 100% cotton undershirts are a goddamn bitch and a half to maintain.

Tommy thinks about ignoring the question entirely. They've been razzing him for weeks about the way every single smile line in his face has been putting in overtime lately.

And then she gets a closer look at it. The merch is usually the same cross-department, but every once in a while some probie will get stuck with the task of ordering a few extras to have as backups around the station and they'll go a little too hard on customization. Like, for example, the one he'd picked off the top of his clean laundry basket without looking in his rush out the door this morning.

Lucy's eyes narrow. She reaches forward, pinches the 118 emblem blazing across the breadth of his shoulder, takes in the color and sturdiness of a shirt he definitely can't play off as being old enough to have been from his own time at the One Eighteen.

Donato grimaces so mockingly Tommy nearly warns her that her face'll get stuck like that. "Christ, Kinard, how fucking domestic are you two?"

(Three days off together after a week of getting by with random texts, their schedules nearly opposite, and when Evan had stared at his overnight bag on day two and realized he didn't have any spare undershirts he'd pouted up a storm about the fact that if he had to go back to his place it didn't make a lick of sense to turn right back around to Tommy's, so Tommy had just thrown Evan's dirty undershirt in with the rest of his own laundry. And then prompted Evan to throw all his other stuff in the wash too. Halfway across the city, Evan is definitely rolling too-long sleeves over his palm with the tips of his fingers and Tommy does not have time to think about how much he likes the idea of that )

"He doesn't even know my how I take my coffee," Tommy snipes, like that avoids the question, and across the locker room Johnson slams his locker shut with a snort.

"Because you've been using his increasingly more desperate attempts to figure it out as some weird intricate mating ritual for three months now."

"It's about --."

"--the journey, not the destination," they both interrupt, eyes rolling, and Tommy doesn't bother to try to hide the grin in his face.

"He just wants to get it right so bad."

Donato's face is unimpressed. "Ugh. Can you please stop being so smitten right in front of me? I'm gonna throw up."

Tommy leans in for the kill. "Your wife ever buy you flowers, Johnson? Because I've been trying to decide how much thought went into the arrangement he brought me on Saturday, and I figure -." He dodges the palm Johnson extends towards his face with a bark of bright laughter.

---

Evan 2:15 PM

Boyfriend privileges are a SCAM

Evan 2:15 PM

Why is YOUR NAME on the back of this shirt? There's no way that's standard

Evan 2:16 PM

Chimney's being homophobic

Evan 2:19 PM

Nvm Gerrard saw it and now I'm just sad he didn't actually have a heart attack about it

[shotmrmiller]

tw: simon's mean and a sexist.

Simon who doesn't like you. He respects Laswell, who's intel is vital to their missions. Price as the leader of the Task Force. Gaz because he's proved his mettle time and time again, and Soap whose stubborn self has burrowed under Simon's thick, knotted flesh.

Not you, though.

You've yet to do anything substantial.

As a sniper, your job is to aim and kill; provide overwatch. Why Johnny insists on giving you praise for doing what is required of you is beyond him.

You aren't taken to below-zero temperatures as emotional support. Why you're taken at all is also another mystery.

Without your gun, you're utterly useless. And Simon proves it, time and time again during training spars at base.

He comes at you as if you're the enemy, with dangerous precision and quick movements. Simon gets enjoyment out of seeing your eyes widen when he moves, like an injured gazelle who's just spotted a ravenous lion.

His grip is bruising— the force that he slams you to the ground with devastating.

Simon can hear the air punched out of your lungs once your back hits the mat, and the time it takes for your vision to sharpen, he's already pinning you down viciously with a knee to the sternum.

Useless. Women don't belong in combat. He's seen that big brute from KorTac. He'd crush your pathetic little head under his palm, he'd kick your ribs hard enough to crack and the splintered ends pierce your lungs.

He'd kill you without a hint of effort.

And Simon intends to remind you that there is no place for weak, bitty things like you in the front lines. Unless you're to be used as a distraction by flashing your tits at the bad guys.

Out of place.

Every time you go up against him, he uses his size and strength against you, just like every other person will. He launches you across the floor with a single arm, only to watch you struggle to get up and continue this sham of a fight.

Confidence born of ignorance.

As if sheer will would ever beat physical prowess.

If your feet won't touch the ground, then the rest of your body will. Through spilled blood and bruised flesh, may you learn.

He whistles at Johnny, gesturing at him to take his place, only for the end result to be the same, albeit much more gently.

Simon watches you through half-lidded eyes as he leans up against the wall. You fight against inevitability.

Pathetic.

And then one day, you come at him with a snarl on your lips. Blunt teeth that have never had to sink into someone's neck and rip a throat out, out of utter desperation. An unblemished face that's never felt the sting of a sharp blade as it's sliced open contorted into 'rage.' Frothing at the mouth like a lap dog with rabies, barking out words that are as empty as your future.

A forceful wave of his hand abruptly halts you mid-sentence, causing you to involuntarily flinch in response. Good.

"If ya have a complaint, take it to Price. I am not obligated to humor your stupidity."

He spins on the balls of his feet, leaving you to sputter indignantly.

Then on a mission, you get shot. Simon grabs the handgun that's holstered on his chest, and places it in your bloodied hands. "Keep them off of us, or we're both dead!"

His fingers are curled around the thick strap of your tac vest as he drags you toward the LZ; his pace never faltering even while getting clipped by stray bullets. But you?

He'd think you got your legs cut off. Wailing like a cat in heat over a wound above your hip. A clean in and out, nothing vital hit.

Simon has seen Gaz fall out of a helicopter, dangle from a rope, and still use his gun. He's seen Johnny cross a town full of Graves' Shadows bleeding from his shoulder, armed with nothing but the makeshift weapons he crafted on the way to the church. Price inhaled toxic gas and made it out just fine. Even Laswell was taken hostage and didn't crack under the pressure, going as far as killing her captor with her bare hands.

And you're decomposing in front of his very eyes over a superficial wound.

Landing at base, he walks out without a glance back and heads straight for Price's office. He didn't join the 141 to babysit anyone, least of all someone who belongs in either intelligence or a kitchen.

[yeyinde]

piggybacking off of @ceilidho 's dog soap idea with something awful lmao

You first notice it when you catch him staring at you from the crack of your bedroom door.

He's sitting in the dimly lit hallway, only half of his face peering into the sliver of space between the white wood of the door and the frame. Just—

Watching.

In the bluegreen glow of the flickering screen (Robert Stack paces down a blue hallway, bathed in that hazy, neon glow of early 80s television), he looks more like a lurking shadow than an animal. Eyes dark, and glinting in the soft light like the surface of a placid lake. You think of the dangers lurking beneath the murk when his muzzle dips, the slow refocus of an apex predator acclimating to a sudden change by its prey. The motion almost entire too human, and—

Not.

Not at all. It rides a razor's edge between anthropomorphism and the uncanny valley; the middle a strange, unfathomable realm of eerie discomfort. Something is wrong. The notion prickles against the nape of your neck. Crawls slowly down your back, the spindled gait of a languid spider tickling your skin as it walks over your flesh.

Something is wrong with your dog.

He was fine ten minutes ago. Had his dinner. Went for his walk. You were lazing on the bed flipping through the channels when his ears perked up, head pointed toward the back door.

You didn't think much about it. He had to go. Maybe he heard a rodent rummaging in your garbage. You slipped out of bed, his soft, fuzzy body sliding against your calves as you walked him to the patio, pulling it open and letting him out. He seemed to hesitate at the threshold, though. And while it didn't stand out to you then, it does now. He froze, ears pinning back, flat to his skull, as his fur lifted. Raising high in the air. A whine slipping out—

There was a rustle in the bush. A low noise. A growl. It was probably just the other dog sniffing along the fence, you thought. Your neighbours husky. He placed one paw on the deck, and then turned to you, eyes wet and glossy in the flushed porch light, and—

(and he looked so scared.)

Your breath hitches. Heart twisting in your chest. He's still staring at you from the hall. Unblinking. Expression wild. Wide. Pinning you with his stare. But he's panting. Chest expanding as it heaves through it's snout in quick, shallow breaths. Maybe the other dog scared it. Maybe the husky bit it's paw through the fence. You should check on it—

Him.

Check on him.

He went outside after a moment. Tail flattened between his legs. Drawn toward something you couldn't see, couldn't hear. And you turned around with a smile, waving him off as you walked back to bed. And now—

It's—his—lip curls.

He's never so much as bitten you much less—snarled. The suddenness of it paralyses you. Roots you to bed. Useless and unable to do anything as your dog, your baby boy, lifts his muzzle up with a growl, long, sharp canines dripping red—

"Baby?"

It's a warble when it slips out. Shaky. Scared. The sound of voice makes the dog drop his jowls, cherryred tongue lulling out. Pink, foamy drool spilling to the ground as he pants. His teeth look sharper than they did before. You brush them every night before bed, cooing at him as you scrub his canines clean. Singing some off-key song about dogs and their pretty teeth. He watches you with nothing short of adoration etched into his big, brown eyes. Wide and so trusting, so loving—

It's a harsh juxtaposition to how he looks at you now. Hungrily. Like a starving lion looming over a tired, sickly gazelle. Tongue out, jaws dripping with saliva. Your heart lurches.

"Baby?" You call again and he huffs. The rough noise filling the room, echoing through the hall. Deeper, somehow, than the snarl on his lips. The halfbitten growl booming in his heaving chest. You curl your legs inward under the covers, drawing them tight to your chest as he blinks, slow. Languid. As his lips split wider, wider, and for a moment, you almost trick yourself into seeing a maniacal grin pushing at the corners. Frenzied and full of teeth.

But the lake ripples, and the thought is tucked away. Hidden under a blanket of numbness that spreads, mushrooming over your thoughts. Cobwebbing over the unease that saturates your mind; tiny fangs of a spider piercing through, liquifying them.

He keeps his eyes pinned on you, mouth open wide with his tongue out the side of jaw, and slowly raises himself off of the floor. It's something you've seen him do hundreds of times. Agile flicks. A big stretch. A yawn. A shake.

You wait for it. And wait. Wait—

Something cools on your cheek. Wet, sticky. You don't have to reach up to know that it's tears. They roll down in an endless stream, cold against your frozen face. Unable to move as your mind bends, and bends, but refuses to break. To snap. Shatter. To admit that what you're seeing is real.

That he doesn't shake. He doesn't yawn. He jerks. He twists. Unfamiliar, you think. Like he isn't used to moving with a body this shape. Distorted. Wrong. It snaps. It twitches. He hunches over with his spine bowed and his head slung between his thick front legs, low to the ground but his eyes—

His eyes are on you.

Pinning you down. Glowing in the artificial blue light.

You can't watch him move. Try to walk. It'll skewer through the molasses you let trickle over your fear, curdling in your belly like sour milk. You drag your gaze away from his jerking gait instead, staring, unseeingly, at the television as he limbers onto the bed.

You can smell something on him when he moves close. Rot, you think. Ozone. Pine. Dead leaves. The wet, mossy bark of a fallen tree. Blood. Bad meat.

He looms over you. Snout inches from your cheekbone. The puff of his ragged breath glues uncomfortably to the sticky tears on your face. The air that rattles in and out of his lungs is uneven. Choppy. Inhale too deep. Exhale too shallow. It morphs into snarling rataplan. In-in, out. Inout. In, ininin, out.

Your eyes burn. If your heart beats any harder, any faster, you think you might go into shock. Cardiac arrest. Killed by—

Fear.

That there's blood on his muzzle. You smell it when he leans in close, snout pressing cold and slimy against your cheek.

You're not sure why you do it. Muscle memory, maybe. But your hand lifts. Falls to his head. Nails scratching through matted, oily fur.

He's still staring at you. Whale-eyed. Something inside you whispers not to look. That if you turn your head, all the things hidden under the silk web will bubble to the surface. Things like—

He's big. Too big. Your growing boy.

He smells. He reeks. Got into the garbage again.

He's acting strange. Wrong. He's just scared.

He's going to eat you alive. You love him.

This thing isn't your dog—

He swings his head toward you suddenly, maw open wide, peeling back from those sharp, stained teeth; tongue lulling out—oh god, oh god—and he licks your cheek.

Panic bubbles out of your throat in the shape of a laugh. A giggle. You're going crazy, you think. Hysterical. But you let him lick your face, swiping his too hot tongue over the tears on your cheek. Your nose. Licking into the corners of your eyes. Over your forehead, chin. Jaw.

Its only when his muzzle slides up to your lips do you flinch back. Pull away. "No. N—no. Bad bad. Go—go to sleep, baby."

He huffs, and you stare—resolute, empty—at the blankets when he drops his head down, licking slowly at your rabbiting pulse. Teeth grazing the soft skin of your neck. Nibbling, pinching with his sharp incisors. The gossamer falls. The sheet is pulled back.

The thing stares at you with a hideous, devastating want on its borrowed face. Primordial. Archiac. It's hunger. It's greed. Its a lamb in the lion's den. And you—

You pull the sheet back up. Slowly slide back to the pillows below. Eyes fixed on the ceiling as he looms over you. Your baby boy. There's a huff. A quiet exhale through its nose, and then you feel it move. Twisting. Turning. Curling up against your side, body supine and made of strong, hard muscle. The rough scrape of its fur feels like a beard. Coarse. Wry. Spread out and matted down against its canine body. Burning like a furnace. Reeking of brimstone.

As he settles in his spot, resting his heavy head on your belly (possessively—owner, pet; the lines blur as he flicks his gaze toward you, watchful now and still as heavy, dizzyingly intense as before), you lay awake staring at the ceiling. It'll pass in the morning, you think. He must have eaten something bad. Got into the garbage again. You'll take him to the vet, maybe.

(leave him there—)

He's fine. He's just a little sick, is all. Agitated. It's going to storm tonight. He can feel it in the air. In his joints. Everything will be fine—

Outside, something yowls. The patio door rattles.

Scratch, scratch, scratch—

He huffs, lifting his head with a small snarl pulling on his waxy muzzle. Eyes narrowing into slits. Glaring into the hallway. To the patio.

"Easy, baby," you quaver, and curl your hands into his damp fur. "It's just the wind. It's just the wind—"

Another huff. It sounds rougher this time. Deeper. Masculine. Human.

When he settles back against you, you feel bare skin sliding along your thigh, and realise that the nightmare has just begun.

"Baby? Could get used tae tha'. Are ye gonnae ca' me a good boy too?"

[marigold-hills]

@into-the-jeggyverse | prompt: roar | words: 759

NSFW minors do not interact please

In the lazy quiet of the morning, the chime of the incoming text message is like a sudden roar of a deadly, wild animal.

James should know just by that - maybe a lion’s roar is, after all, a warning to the unsuspecting gazelle. A head start, a countdown to being devoured.

James wouldn't put himself in the position of prey, but Regulus didn’t ask him, made the decision for him, unilaterally decided.

Barty: did Potter fall for it then?

Barty: if I owe you that 50 quid I hope he at least did a good job

Barty: if not come by after, you know no one can fuck you like I do anyway

(The night before their fingers were intertwined, foreheads together, lips only apart enough to give space for words to form: Jamie, and please and so good, just like that, so good for me. Then later: again, again, again, and next time I’ll take my time with you.)

They’re phones are identical. James didn’t notice until he picked up what he thought was his. Regulus must not have noticed when he took the wrong one with him to the kitchen.

(Let me make you coffee, he said, so sweetly, so unlike the usual cold shoulder he would give in response to James’ advances. You deserve it after last night. And this morning. Keep it up and I’ll make you coffee every day.)

(It’s a deal, James responded and thought of all the dusks and dawns ahead.)

“One coffee, sugar and milk, because you’re a heaven,” Regulus comes back into the bedroom, hair still bed-mused and dressed still only in James’ T-shirt. Nothing different than he was when he left. There’s still that spread of pink across the delicate arch of his cheekbones.

(Last night James kissed him right there, right over the little freckle that sits under his left eye.)

“You took the wrong phone,” James tells him. Surprised himself when his voice sounds the way it always does. Like nothing had changed.

Regulus laughs at himself and switches them, takes his phone from James’ hand and then sits in his lap, legs on each side of James’ thighs.

(Last night he rode him like this, perfectly tight and perfectly eager, eyes bright and pleading. Fuck me, fuck into me, he begged, breathy and lovely, please, I need you. Need you Jamie.)

“Sorry. I accidentally read your text,” James tells him. The space between Regulus’ waist where his hand should be and the bed where his hand is feels like magnets repelling each other.

“Barely a night together and you're already going through my phone?” Regulus teases. “If I knew you’d be so jealous—”

He stops because he’s read the texts. That lovely pinkness disappears. Regulus is always pale, but not this pale.

“Jamie…”

“You fucked me for £50?”

“No, wait— not like that, wait.”

James doesn’t push him off, but the feeling of Regulus’ skin on his own becomes unbearable.

(Last night, he kissed the delicate spaces of the inside of Regulus’ thighs, each and every beauty spot and line and perfection. The scar he got on his knee as a child, the one by his hipbone from a drunken stumble.)

James doesn’t have it in him to put his hands on Regulus and lift him up. He doesn’t think he’d let go, if he did, and there’s something in him that won’t stoop to begging. He wishes he found it the night before. “Can you get off me please.”

Regulus, at least, gives him that. James gets up from the bed (rumpled sheets, a tear where Regulus bit into the night before to muffle his cries as James had him on his hands and knees) and puts on his trousers.

His wallet is in the back pocket. He carries cash with him because you never know - something could go wrong, someone could need help, someone, apparently, could count up how much James’ heart is worth.

He puts £50 on the bedside table.

“Jamie please, just— I’m so sorry, I didn’t, that’s not—”

He thinks to ask why Regulus is crying, why there are tears in those beautiful eyes of his, but they look the same as the ones he coaxed out the night before (just one more time for me, you can do it, show me again how you look when you come).

In the lazy quiet of the morning, the starting of James’ car engine sounds like the last roar of an animal dying, calling out to leave one last mark on the world.

***** I don’t know why I wrote this. Please don’t hate me.