#can't hear you over my yodeling

[mymangamemes]

My brain during any given conversation.

From Gosou Omega wa Chuu to Naku by Hanasawa Namio

[kenananamin]

Who's the better blonde?

Summary: Nanami gets jealous after hearing you talk about Howl Jenkins Pendragon so much. fluffy, jealous nanami, nanami x fem!reader, more fluff

It had been years since Nanami watched Howl's Moving Castle. You mentioned the Studio Ghibli Fest where your local theaters are showing different Studio Ghibli movies for the second half of the year and Nanami bought tickets to your favorite movie featuring a huge mechanical moving castle.

The movie started out great... until the character who's name is in the title appeared.

The whole car ride home, Nanami listens to you ramble about Howl. Howl this, Howl that, Howl treated Sophie like this, blah blah blah. Nanami has always loved listening to you speak, he thinks you fill his silence that he himself has never been able to fill. But he will admit, he can do without so much Howl specifically.

Nanami could not remember the last time he sulked so much. He hated to admit it, but he was sulking. Your girlfriend is thinking about another man. Maybe I should let my hair grow a bit. He's not that handsome, I look better... and older. Nanami can't help the invasive thoughts. He's not insecure about anything regarding you or the relationship, but if a man just like Howl existed, would he have a chance against him?

He parks and goes around the car to open your door. You step out and hold his arm as you always do when walking next to him. As soon as you hear Nanami close the front door, you latch yourself onto him and begin to kiss him to Nanami's surprise. You would often initiate kisses but he really needed this one and maybe you could tell?

He gently parts his lips and allows you to take the lead to begin this kiss. Well, it's not like Howl could ever do this or ever see you squirm because of him, Nanami thought. Nobody else can make you giggle or knows exactly how much honey you like in your tea. Nobody else sends you videos that make you fold in the loudest cackling that can sometimes sound like a yodel.

Nanami backs you up to the kitchen counter and lifts you up. He breaks the kiss and gently laughs, "Can I admit something ridiculous?"

You hum against his neck, not stopping your physical expressions of love and pulling him closer to you.

"I was slightly jealous..." he hesitates but continues, "over a fictional character and the effect Christian Bale's voice had on you throughout the movie."

You pepper soft kisses on Nanami's jaw and pull him down to kiss the tip of his nose. You wrap your legs around his waist and look him straight in his eyes, "You shouldn't be too worried," you move your lips to be an inch away from his and whisper, "you're the better blonde."

Nanami laughs and holds your face in his hands to whisper back, "That's my girl."

You giggle in response and Nanami knew he was right about being the only one to make you giggle that way.

Maybe I should get tickets for the next few movies too...

a/n: i LOVE nanami and i LOVE howl. it's like a battle of the blondes lol

[ray-jaykub]

Hi! I'm a new follower! @hagelpaimon recommended you for this specific request. If you're interested, I was wondering if you could write some Bayverse fluff for me.

F!Reader has a southern accent and even though it isn't thick, there are certain words she says that makes her sound like a country bumpkin. And her turtle S/O (lovingly, of course) teases her for it. You can make it for each turtle or just Donnie. And you can make it NSFW if you wanna. Whatever you think fits! Thank you and happy writing 🐢💙❤️💜🧡

Thought I would crawl out of my adult cave and answer an ask that spoke to me. And as a country bumpkin (hoot hoot, very, very south georgia), I can say this hits the mark. I'm gonna do a little of all the turtles and

--------------

Now, as someone who grew up around people who talked like me, I assumed I could hide it well. But that wasn't until I started sending audio messages back and forth with @moxfirefly did I realized how bad it was... Now I've never tried writing a southern accent, despite having one, so bear with me.

------------

Leo:

- He finds it so endearing and sweet and just can't find it in his heart to make fun of you

- Like, the way you call his name? The twang makes him smile because that means time with you

- His brothers and him obviously don't get out and talk to people, so I can imagine they're probably a lil stumped on why you sound the way you do

- Luckily, Leo is an old western movie fan, so at least he knows Cowboys.... please be patient with him

- If you're shy about the way you talk, he won't acknowledge it, but over time, he hopes you two get comfortable enough that you'll express yourself more

- Seriously, can't get over when you call him or his brother's names. Like omg they just said "Dawnie" and the way you pronounce Manhattan?

Raphael:

- Why you sound like that??

- Definitely believes you're from some weird part of New York, or God forbid Jersey

- Won't and will not understand unless you play country music for him and go like "these are my people"

- makes you a country mix, even if you don't like country. He's trying! You can't deny him that

-He says it's to make you feel "closer to home" and honestly, it lowkey works when you're feeling home sick

- He sees a cowboy film??? Prepare for him to throw a cowboy hat on your noggin

-Save a horse ride a cowboy, yeah? (I'm cringing)

Donnie:

- LOVES IT, ADORES IT

- He's really big on dialect and accents, especially for someone he fancies

- Will ask you to say certain words at random times of the day, early mornings when you haven't woken up, late at night when you're sleepy

- When you're angry???

- He has to hold out on bringing the recorder. But he's taking in every word

- Just imagine yelling at him, and he's looking at you with big doe eyes because wow... when was a country accent kinda sexy??

- He has to say one of his favorite things is when you both are whispering, and he leans down to hear you better, woof 😮‍💨

- He needs a southern girl 😤 GIVE HIM A TASTE OF THE SOUTH

Mikey:

- Will tease you, mock you, repeat every word you say... with love of course

- just expect to hear his lil giggle after you've said something particularly southern

- If you're the type to say our phrases (colder than a witches tit, you call undies breeches, you make crazy comparisons) he will adopt them and look stupid doing it

- Just imagine Mikey, surfer dude, New Yorker, saying, "I reckon"

- Like baby... please hush

- lowkey the one that helped Raph make the country mix tape, added a few personal favorites (the fucking wal-mart yodeling kid, for some reason)

- Gets you boots, even if you don't wear them, and tries really hard to convince you to dress like Barbie in her cowgirl outfit

- Never a dull moment with this doofus

........Go Dawgs

[bacony-cakes]

East German spy trying to tap the phone line but his numbers station radio won't turn off: Nein! NEIN! Schalte es aus! Den Mund halten! [fumbles the dial on the radio to maximum volume] NEIN! Scheiße! Scheiße verdammt! Schalten Sie es sofort aus! Es ist zu laut! Die Amerikaner werden mich finden! [the dial on his shitty soviet radio breaks off] NEEEIIIIIN! [his giant spy hat falls off in anguish]

The president of the United States of America: Hello is this the Pentagon? So i've been thinking... after i finish irreversably fucking over the economy, what do you think i should do next? Turn ketchup into a vegetable? Oh, i like that idea! Devilish as always. I've also been thinking that we should attach a laser that causes AIDS to a jumbo jet, maybe? I think it'd go well with that nuke-what-makes-you-gay project. ...Yes, i know the English are breaking new ground with their chicken-powered frozen wood plane, but trust me on this, AIDS Force One is the future of warfare. No, no, the laser gives who it's POINTED at AIDS, not the people operating it. Listen here, you son of an expletive, even if my brain is turning into a cauliflower, i am STILL the smartest man in the world, and I COMMAND you to build a machine that preserves me indefinitely like Mister House from Fallout New Vegas. ...Also, are you having an Oktoberfest party without me? I hear yodel music.

Guy who works at the Pentagon: No, mister president, we are not having an Oktoberfest party. From what i'm hearing, it's you who is having the Oktoberfest party. No, i'm not lying- I'm NOT a communist- DON'T put me on the no-fly list. Mister president, if you would- If you would listen for just one second, not only is a plane flying around and giving people horrible diseases cartoonishly evil, we cannot build a giant laser of any kind, because we've just used up our giant laser budget for faking the moon landings. Yes, but Neil Armstrong- Turn down your music, i can't hear you. No, Neil Armstrong- His name is not- He and those other guys got angry and went there for real. I don't know? Lock them in an airstream or something. No, the moon does not give you AIDS, for fuck's sake. There are not gay communist aliens on the moon that- We are- We are NOT building a "Hexagon" right next door to here that contains only people who listen to you. Also- God-emperor of the dominion of the United States of- Shut up, mister president. Fallout New Vegas doesn't release for what, thirty years? Mister pre- No, i am not going to wiretap the- Yeah, we could probably do that instead- And kill his wife too? That's kind of- Could YOU please turn down the music, mister president? For the last time, you're the one- Plan B? Ok, let's hear it. Hit me. Fly two planes into the- Mister president- What is this supposed to achieve- The good guys from Rambo 3? Mister president, what in the hell- And a third one into- A FOURTH one? Jesus Christ, what's wrong with- Can't you just use explosives or something? What do you even have against- Of course it's fucking about oil. It's all you think of. Every day it's "oil, oil, oil"- Pizza Hut is not communist- Mister president- Listen- No, don't you dare-

It will be done, my lord.

[worstvideogamesong-poll]

Worst Video Game Song Tournament - Round 2 Match 6

Mansion Basement - Resident Evil Director's Cut

VERSUS

Vacation Music 1 - The Sims 1

FIGHT!

I would recommend listening to as much as you can of each song before voting, but how you choose is up to you! Remember to be civil in the tags and replies!

Propaganda under cut:

Mansion Basement:

"this song fucking sucks. i love it."

"[Mansion Basement] is literally what letting my cat walk over my keyboard set on some particularly bad trumpet sample feels like. Spectacular"

"#This is so funny #Who made mansion basement?? #It's so sad!! #And pathetic!!"

"#whaat the fuuuck is up with [Mansion Basement]"

"#like NOTHING can compare to mansion basement #what the FUCK"

"#the mansion basement made me cry #ithink i know who the winner here is #🎺🔥🔥🎺🔥🎺🔥🎺🔥🎺🔥🎺🔥"

"#[Mansion Basement] THO HEEEELP.??? BABY ON FL STUDIO TRYING TO PLAY MARIO UNDERGROUND THEME...."

"#resident evil is a joke song for clowns"

"#I'M NOT LISTENING TO THE OTHER ONE I KNOW FOR A FACT IT'S MANSION BASEMENT #THE STORY BEHIND IT IS WILD TOO SO THAT'S AN AUTOMATIC WIN BABBBEEEYYY" (pollrunner's note if anyone knows what the story is please tell me i am dying to hear about it)

"#i saw the title of this post and literally IMMEDIATELY thought of mansion basement #felt emotionally validated when i saw it was an option #i love that song #in the worst way #like a drunk zombie looking for its keys in an orchestra"

"#im fucking obsessed with mansion basement. sweep"

"#what the hell that is not a real resident evil song #did they really just make that and put it in the game #what"

"#I ACTUALLY LIKE THE BASEMENT SONG because it perfectly captions how like- #the sneaky suspicion of getting diharrea feels"

"#fart basement ofc"

"#Mansion basement is objectively the funniest song ever"

Vacation Music 1:

"vagina pineapple + yodeling. need i say more"

"#can't stop replaying vacation music 1"

"#as for the vacation music it was the yodeling that did it for me #very uncomfy song"

Feel free to add more propaganda in the tags and replies, or send it to me in the ask box and I'll try to share it as soon as I can!

[invisibleraven]

'i don't have anyone anymore.'' ''you have me.'' for the willie pairing of your choice

Willie sat up slowly, tenderly touching his head, looking at the large crack in his helmet. His ears were still ringing, and everything seemed too bright, too loud, too much.

"I gotta be more careful," he muttered. "That car got a little too close."

He looked around, wondering if Theo and Simone were still around-he had skated way ahead of them, so they might have gone in a different direction. Only when he looked, they were sat on the curb, bawling their eyes out.

Willie slowly made his way over. He ached a little, but not nearly as much as he expected to after such a major wipeout. He knew he shouldn't kate in traffic, but what was life without a little risk? He finally plopped down next to Theo, but they just kept crying. "Yo, who died?"

No response. Which was... weird.

"Theo? Simone? Hello? You two gone exclusively deaf?" Willie yodelled. Nothing. He waved his hands in front of their faces, but no response.

But when Willie tried to shake them-his hand went right through. "The fuck?" he asked, holding his hand up-it looked as solid as ever, yet as he tried again, the same result. He pinched himself-a sharp pain coming at the site, so he definitely wasn't dreaming he didn't think. "Okay, this is freaky, what's going on?"

That's when the sirens finally caught his attention-the ambulance that was loading a body onto it-a body wearing the same crop top and funky socks as Willie. With a bloody, cracked helmet being gingerly picked up by the paramedic, a sombre look on their face. "Such a shame, he was so young."

A chill went through Willie as he crept closer, and felt his throat erupt in a scream when he beheld his own body-pale, bloody, lifeless.

Willie isn't sure he registers much after that-eventually the emergency personnel leave. His friends leave, and the only indication Willie was even here is the bloodstain still lingering amidst the broken glass that the street crew is now starting to clean.

It takes Willie a bit to adjust to the whole being dead thing. There's no angels come to take him away, no handbook like there is in Beetlejuice, no fiery pits. Willie had never thought about the afterlife much, but he had expected more than just haunting his old life.

He can't eat, he can sleep a little, and it seems no one living can see or even sense him. No one seems to notice him.

That is, until he meets Caleb.

Willie can't really remember what he was doing-moping most likely. He had tried following his friends around, hoping and desperate that this time they could hear him, see him, anything really. But no, they hadn't even mentioned his name.

"The lifers can't see you my dear boy."

Willie whirled around and there, lounging-well so much as someone could sitting on a park bench-was a well dressed man in a dark suit, filing his nails and only giving Willie the barest glance.

"Lifers?"

"The living," the man clarified, slipping his file into his breast pocket behind a purple pocket square. "They cannot interact with spirits such as us, it's futile to try."

"Never?" Willie asked, his voice wet and small.

"Not here," the man said, smiling a little. "I do know a place where ghosts and lifers can interact, but forgive me if it doesn't seem like the kind of place these two might frequent." He stood then, straightening hsi already immaculate outfit. "Caleb Covington, at your service, by the way."

"Willie. Willie Shotton."

"Nice to meet you William," Caleb said, giving a small bow.

Willie stared at his friends once more, aching at the distance that separated them-like a impenetrable wall. He was alone then, doomed to spend his afterlife just watching them grow and age-all without him.

"I'm alone," he said. "I don't have anyone anymore."

"You have me," Caleb replied, giving him a wide grin. "And I know a place you can go-lots of ghosts and lifers alike. Where you can sing, and dance, and eat. You'll never be lonely again."

The offer sounded tempting, almost too good to be true. But what other way was there? Forever on the outside looking in? Willie looked at Caleb, and asked very meekly "Can I bring my board?"

Caleb's answering smirk was all Willie needed and slinging his cracked helmet on his head, and clutching his board in his hand he gave the first smile he'd worn in weeks. "Okay, I'm in. Lead the way."

He had no idea how much he would regret that later-but for now, he followed Caleb in blissful ignorance. Anything was better than being alone right?

[papichulo-com]

Since we don't have any representations for the Covey's vocals other than Lucy Gray (Rachel Zegler) and Maude Ivory (Josie Hope Hall), here's what I think each Covey member sounds like.

I imagine Barb Azure sounding a little like Cass Elliot from The Mamas and The Papas. Nice, rich alto voice that's like borderline mezzo. Doesn't use vibrato much. Very simple but beautiful and classy.

Tam Amber, we kiiindaaaa know what he sorta sounds like from the beginning of "Nothin' You Can Take From Me", BUTTTT the singer isn't credited so imma create my own. I think he's a bass. Honestly, I can't think of a male singer who I can compare the voice that I have of him in my head. But I will say it's fairly similar to the one we do hear of him. The best way I can describe the way I hear is voice is light, soft, deep, and soulful. So...do what you will with that info lol.

Clerk Carmine I can see sounding like Mason Ramsey (yes the Walmart yodeling kid, shhh, his voice matured, people). A nice rasp to his voice ofc with that. I think he's a tenor all the way. (Listen to "Blue Over You" by Mason Ramsey and you'll see what I'm talking abt).

And now last and very much least, I think Billy Taupe is a baritone. Probably sounds something like Jim Morrison from The Doors. I'm sorry, don't ask me why. I don't wanna do good 'ol Jimbo the Lizard King like that, but...idk how else to explain his voice. Just imagine if Jim Morrison were a folk/country singer and...you'll have Billy. Womp womp. (Think "Riders on the Storm" but...a lot more bluegrassy 😭). But it's okay guys, cus that janky accordion of his drowns out most of his vocals >;)

That is all, thank you <3

[searsage]

[Killer instinct] Caribou [closed]

Thank you for your interest this lass has been purchased by Stitched Rabbit! Highest offer $95

Nick name: Carrie

Bio: Quirky cryptid loveing hermit, who lives alone in a secluded wildlife reserve, can be called eccentric, 100% believes in aliens and plans to date moth man one day, they are highly in yune with nature and after cam be found in the woods prefering the wilds over life in a small cabin.

Has a extremely low social tolerance and often becomes socially exhausted and distences self in such cases.

Will yodel at unsuspecting victims, getting lost in the woods is their favorite past time.. No not because they are lost and too proud to hand over the map they can't read.

They are the person who survives a horror moving and often look out for invisible rocks.

They are ruthlessly protective of their small circle and will not hesitate to pick a fight with someone they think stepped on the wrong person's toes.

Stunningly talented with an ax and by extension chainsaws, be weary she will try to fight wild life and has been sprayed by skunks on multiple occasions.

Brash, cocky, confident and outgoing within their circle, its only the rare times she breaks this character and you can hear her southern drawl.

Will get you into a horror movie scenario, luckily shell likely make sure the you two don't die first!

Romance: perpetually disinterested, or weary unless they are, in suchs cases they tend to be rather intense in their courting and possessive around those they like, attraction leans towards females but has shown interest in males.

Orientations: Bisexual/Poly

Likes: hunting myths, cryptids, horror pod casts, spooky stories, their crush moth man, yodling at unsuspecting people, writing poems and exploring the woods after sunset, cutting wood and patrolling trails afterdark.

Dislikes: classical music, tea, cooking, psychophants, myth busters, hunters, handing over the map, admitting their insecurities, heavy conversation, flattery.

AN: last adopt of 2022!

I lived this lass and she one me my first DD!

And the only female character whos boobs came out somewhat decent! >¬>

Haha shes been adopted off but i wanted to share her here as well because im proud damn it!

[sometimesanalice]

WHEN I SAY THIS FIC DID A NUMBER ON ME I MEAN ITTTT! I am so incredibly invested in the three of them! Can you hear me yodeling on the breeze about the dynamics? Because I am.

Like the SMUT and the FEELINGS and the DIALOGUE! (look I haven’t even started the reblog yet and my all-caps have been activated. this woogirl has no chill)

the threesomeissance is here and I am thriving

More for you below!

“Anyone would want to sleep with me. I’m the most fuckable person in this room. Ask anyone.” - plsss the fact this this is how you choose to start the fic? so many chefs kisses 

Honestly, you can't even remember who made the comment that got him so worked up, so defensive over his own sex appeal...Maybe Rooster, actually probably Rooster.- ok but the sound I made because this is so amusingly on brand

overgrown ferret on his upper lip.- shots have been fired, but also the inner commentary is giving me life

You'd gotten a call from the Domino's driver to come down and grab the pizzas from the front door before Hangman could ask whatever pointed – and alarmingly observant – question had popped into his scheming brain. -this poor girl, no good deed goes unpunished (but also, thank god he was set on causing chaos because BOY did it pay off)

"Fine. Hit me with your best shot, Hangman."/Fire away and all that.- YOUR MIND. I legitimately giggled when I read this the first time, and did it again when I reread it.

Rooster absolutely crows with laughter as Hangman goes into a full control-alt-delete shut down and reboot, blankly staring at you with disbelieving eyes and a slack jaw. - I can literally see it and there’s so much blinking happening as the 404 error plays across his eyes

You glance over at Phoenix, who is regarding both of them with a smug smirk. You don't dare look at Bob right now.- I love this moment, because she has her secret with Phoenix, but then she also has a little secret all to herself.

You smile, radiant and knowing, with a “Follow up questions aren’t part of the game, Hangman,”- I love her for this because I know this is going to keep him up for dayyssssssss

"Am I allowed to ask a follow question?" A nod, and Phoenix looks kind of self-satisfied. Kind of smug. "Did you mean it? Or were you just kicking the chair out from under Hangman? Because..." She lowers her voice, all smoke and velvet. "I had fun with you before. Just us." - the DECADENT LAYERS HERE! I love that Phoenix gets to be smug because their history is something that they’ve kept for themselves. But also, like the inquiry of if she was being serious or not. Like was it a one time thing or was that door still open for more. But also, the prequel I BEG (zero pressure begging, but also I’ll give you a kidney. lmk it’s yours)

Phoenix leans in more, brushing the shell of your ear in a puff of warm breath. "Meet me in my room in 20 minutes."/Her canine grazes your earlobe for a brief second./You blink, dazed, and Phoenix is already walking away.- and this is where I too start to get dazed because GOOD LORD

What about Bob? is the question on the tip of your tongue, but obviously, you can't call that out in this room. He is still here somewhere. - THAT THIS IS HER FIRST THOUGHT HAS ME SCREAMING. and plssss she knows EXACTLY where he is, i just know it

A little over 20 minutes later, Phoenix has your wrists pinned down on her soft sheets, nudging under your chin with her slender nose in search of the sensitive spot on the side of your neck. - the woman works QUICK 😮‍💨

"You said 30 minutes, right? Should I – I can come back. We can catch up another time."/Despite the words, Bob doesn't move. He looks down, cheeks pink and flushed, but doesn't move.- important things I need to know, did him and Phoenix also have a casual thing??!! INVESTED I AM INVESTED

electric blue bra and underwear set that looks downright radiant against her dark hair.- I am watching Fubar and I knowwww

"You want him here, don't you, angel?"/"You told me before," Phoenix prompts. "Tell him." - I love that Phoenix clearly has a good relationship with both of them enough that she can be bossy for the greater good in a way that is still very gentle. Like she *knows* but she doesn’t want to push too hard, just the right amount.

He's always felt a little out of reach, so damn nice. You didn’t want to freak him out – or worse, offend him with a casual invitation to very casually fuck your brains out and maybe, let you suck his cock before or afterward./You’re not picky. Whatever works for him.- ANOTHER DECADENT LAYER! Her knowing that she’s into him, but not being able to read him because he is an angel gem. but also she’s so fucking real for this. “whatever works for him” plsssss

but you're not so fooled. She's giving him a moment alone with you....He coughs into his elbow, messing with his lenses, which are fogging every so slightly. "I do. You're very pretty and nice, and I've... I mean, I do want you."- I am so soft for this whole section, I love this so much. Phoenix giving them a moment together so that they can get on an equal playing field with each other. just gentle admissions of genuine interest, i loved it

You must really want us," Phoenix murmurs, warm against your ear, licking the sensitive patch of your neck again. "Come here, Bob."- its the *US* for me here, its such a lovely, thoughtful, and hot moment. because Bob isn’t just a supporting player for either one of them

She pulls you back from him with a hand around your throat – squeezing once, hard enough to make you feel light all over – and puts her glistening fingers in his open mouth./His moan makes you even wetter.- okokokokokokokokokok

"He believes me now." - THE FACT THEY BOTH SENSED IT I CANNOT

You knew Phoenix was good in bed./You had a feeling about Bob./Together?/You were absolutely and without a shadow of a doubt right.- BLESSSSSSSS LOVE THIS FOR HER

"Six months? You've only been here for like six months."/You cut in, "And I wanted to suck your cock the whole damn time. Any other questions?"/He audibly swallowed, and Phoenix grinned.- THIS IS ME YODELING ABOUT THEIR DYNAMICS NOW FFS THE CHEMISTRY THE CONNECTION THE BANTER I LOVE IT ALL

"She's so fucking wet for you, Bob. Jesus Christ," Phoenix moans. A wet kiss is pressed into the curve of your shoulder, against the nape of your neck. "Should I make her come?" /God... and Phoenix says it like, What do you think, Bob? Am I clear? Should I take the shot?, in the same voice from the air. Asking him to weigh the pros and cons. Deferring to his decision.- MORE AND MORE DECADENT LAYERS! Like the essence of degradation (but also not?) here as P&B communicate in a way that they can as partners who depend on each other to keep one another alive. I just. It’s hot hot hot but also so meaningful? They have their own connection, and they’re still on the same page together even in this new territory. (albeit a very sexy territory, lol)

You would breathe a sigh of relief when Bob nods, except for... well, obvious reasons.- I need an ice water. or some holy water. or an ice cold holy water ffs

"I could edge her for you. Make her wait to come on your cock."/God, Phoenix can be mean in bed. You'd almost forgotten./You kind of hate her for it right now.(You really don't.)- MA’AM I HAVE NO WORDS blesssssssssss

"So Bob seems to like that idea," Phoenix observes, almost conspiratorially.- I love that they’re having FUN. l love the banter and the little moments in between the spicy bits, it just makes it all so good!

"Fuck," Bob breathes again./You've never heard him curse so much, not even in actual missions.- ALL THE LITTLE ASIDES OF HOW THEY KNOW EACH OTHER AND HOW WELL THEY HAVE BEEN PAYING ATTENTION TO ONE ANOTHER I CANNNNOOOOTTTTTTT

You melt at the praise- I would too tbh

oh god, so good, oh god.- oh look, it’s me yelling about this fic and how stunning it is

Holy shit maybe./We should definitely do that again even- I AGREE I LOVE THEM ALL AND I AM INVESTED IN THIS THROUPLE I EVEN WANT TO SEE THEM GROCERY SHOPPING

Wetness dampens the sheets underneath you, and Phoenix licks the cum that drips down your legs, some yours, some Bob's, and kisses you right on the mouth. - and I’ll need another 3-5 business days to recover after rereading this bit phhheeeewwwwwwww

You definitely mean to get your clothes and pee and everything after, but Bob is warm against your side. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck and passes out with an arm across your chest./Phoenix is the first one to leave the bed and even then, only to put on a quieter record and go right back.- THE SOFT SOFT INTIMACY OF IT ALL! like my heart cannot take thisssss. i am already in a weakened stateeee

I need a life alert because I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. I’d sue for emotional distress, but I’m so fucking obsessed with this all. Amelia, this was clearly spicy as shit (and OOF in the best way) but the lovely layers and the DYNAMICSSSSSS! So so stunning how you cultivated their relationship. I am so hooked.

supernova

synopsis: in a game of truth or dare, you reveal your dream threesome.

pairings: natasha trace x fem!reader x bob floyd

warnings: minors dni (18+) i am so serious, explicit smut, which includes... f/f/m threesome, oral sex, unprotected sex, blink and miss it choking, sort of dom phoenix, edging, cum eating, orgasm denial, overstimulation... and like, swearing lmao (wc: 3.2K)

notes: a little something something for my fellow bisexuals during pride month 🌈 and yes, i defeated awful writer's block with horniness and so can you 💖

much love to @sushiwriterhere @theharddeck @sometimesanalice and @roosterbruiser for letting me bounce many depraved thoughts off of them and i'm summoning a few people who might be interested: @princessphilly @seresinsweetie @rhettabbotts @lewmagoo @bradshawsbitch @i-wanna-be-your-muse @sebsxphia and also no one look at me

“Anyone would want to sleep with me. I’m the most fuckable person in this room. Ask anyone.”  

"What's Hangman so up in arms about now?" Phoenix asks, sounding unimpressed. She leans against the pool cue, waiting for Fanboy to make his shot, and cracks her knuckles with one hand.

You shrug. "Who knows."

Honestly, you can't even remember who made the comment that got him so worked up, so defensive over his own sex appeal. His general fuckability – which as a side note, you're pretty sure is not a real word.

Maybe Rooster, actually probably Rooster.

Regardless, Hangman has decided to make them all suffer the consequences, going on and on and on.

"Fine," Rooster manages, choking down a laugh, almost always given away in the unmistakable twitching of the overgrown ferret on his upper lip. "Go ahead. Ask anyone then, Hangman. This will be good."

You are minding your own goddamn business in the corner of the common room, sipping a canned red wine that isn't half bad for the price. It is sweet, a little bubbly, pleasant.

You press your lips against the cool edge and are in the middle of a sip when Hangman catches your eye, a sharklike gleam in his green eyes.

Is it worse to make eye contact or break it? Is that bears or sharks who see it as a challenge?

And in truth, Hangman is neither. He's more or less harmless with a sometimes sharp bite.

You lower the can, slow and suspicious, narrowing your eyes at him with a raised brow. “Can I help you, Hangman?”  

Smirking, Hangman drawls, “You owe me a truth from earlier, ain't that right? You ran out on the game before I could get my question out."

You roll out a red carpet of curses in your brain and swallow another mouthful of the sweet red wine.

You'd gotten a call from the Domino's driver to come down and grab the pizzas from the front door before Hangman could ask whatever pointed – and alarmingly observant – question had popped into his scheming brain.

Everyone else has forgotten the game with some pizza in their stomach and a basketball game on the big screen, but clearly, Hangman has a good memory. Bastard. 

"Fine. Hit me with your best shot, Hangman."

Fire away and all that.

His canines are gleaming white. "Who would you most want to have sex with in this room? No, wait, I should give everyone a fair chance of selection. Pick two."

"Together? Or separate?"

His brows raise, and Hangman's smirk deepens. "Well, damn. Someone's a little adventurous." Your eyes are practically slits now, staring him down. "Together. Who would you have a threesome with in this room? And unfortunately, no, I don't have a twin."

“My nightmare,” Phoenix mutters, and Fanboy shakes with silent laughter.

“Hmmm…” 

An answer had popped into your head the second that Hangman asked, but in the name of suspense, you pretend to mull it over and really contemplate.

You look around the room. Halo and Fritz are on the sagging couch with Yale and Harvard in the opposite chairs, watching the game too closely to overhear this cursed conversation.

Bob and Fanboy are strategizing in the corner, but Bob is definitely listening. His shoulders don't look quite natural.

Across the pool table, Payback shows you his wedding band with a faux scolding expression. You grin.

“I guess I'd have to pick... Phoenix and Bob."

Rooster absolutely crows with laughter as Hangman goes into a full control-alt-delete shut down and reboot, blankly staring at you with disbelieving eyes and a slack jaw.

Someone should commemorate this moment. Add it to one of the frames in the Ready Room. 

"Are you malfunctioning?" You drain the rest of the wine and drop the can into the nearest recycling bin. "You know I'm bisexual, right, Hangman?"

"But Phoenix and Bob?" Hangman splutters, as if recovering from an ordeal with a capital O. "I need the reason. Why would you pick them?"

You glance over at Phoenix, who is regarding both of them with a smug smirk. You don't dare look at Bob right now.

You smile, radiant and knowing, with a “Follow up questions aren’t part of the game, Hangman,” and breeze across the room for another can of wine, patting him on the shoulder.

"So..."

Five or so minutes later, Phoenix sidles up to you and sits on the arm of your chair, ignoring the perfectly good and empty chair in the corner. Her boot brushes against your leg.

She leans in, and Phoenix's familiar vanilla and amber scent washes over you.

"Am I allowed to ask a follow question?" A nod, and Phoenix looks kind of self-satisfied. Kind of smug. "Did you mean it? Or were you just kicking the chair out from under Hangman? Because..." She lowers her voice, all smoke and velvet. "I had fun with you before. Just us."

"Both..." You pause. "I kind of wanted to knock him on his ass, but also, I was very much serious."

Her smile widens, and Phoenix leans in more, brushing the shell of your ear in a puff of warm breath. "Meet me in my room in 20 minutes."

Her canine grazes your earlobe for a brief second.

You blink, dazed, and Phoenix is already walking away.

"What about...?"

What about Bob? is the question on the tip of your tongue, but obviously, you can't call that out in this room. He is still here somewhere.

She looks over her shoulder, dark eyes warm with want and promise, and mouths, "20," with a wink.

A little over 20 minutes later, Phoenix has your wrists pinned down on her soft sheets, nudging under your chin with her slender nose in search of the sensitive spot on the side of your neck.

Her bottom lip drags against it.

You bite down on a moan, and in retaliation, Phoenix bites the spot harder.

"I want to hear you," Phoenix murmurs, an order wrapped in a pretty bow. "You sound so pretty, angel."

She kisses you again and sucks your bottom lip between hers, making it impossible to bite down on.

And with intent, Phoenix slides a smooth thigh between your legs, dragging her knee against the red flash of fabric that covers your cunt and grinds down.

"Come on. Let me hear you."

A drawn out moan escapes your mouth, and right then, Bob walks in.

He closes the door behind him, oblivious, and then, spots you both and freezes.

"Phoenix?" Bob manages, sounding uncertain. His eyes are wide and blue behind the wire frames. "You said 30 minutes, right? Should I – I can come back. We can catch up another time."

Despite the words, Bob doesn't move. He looks down, cheeks pink and flushed, but doesn't move.

"Don't worry, Bob." Phoenix releases your arms and climbs over the edge of the mattress with a smile. Walks over to him in an electric blue bra and underwear set that looks downright radiant against her dark hair. 

She looks like a goddess. 

"You want him here, don't you, angel?"

She circles behind him, sliding the plaid button-down shirt from his broad shoulders. It crumples to the carpet without resistance as Bob raises his chin and meets your eyes.

"You told me before," Phoenix prompts. "Tell him."

He is watching you, waiting on your answer with bated breath.

A long breath releases from your mouth. 

You push up on your elbows, then your knees, wanting to see him more clearly.

“Earlier with Hangman… I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted both of you. I want you – both of you – to fuck me."

His Adam’s apple moves as Bob swallows, sudden and hard.

He looks surprised. He shouldn't be.

He's always felt a little out of reach, so damn nice. You didn’t want to freak him out – or worse, offend him with a casual invitation to very casually fuck your brains out and maybe, let you suck his cock before or afterward.

You’re not picky. Whatever works for him.

You were pretty sure Bob was at least a little interested, but now... Bob only stares.

Phoenix gives him a gentle push and strolls over to the record player. She looks casual and languid, flipping through the records, but you're not so fooled. She's giving him a moment alone with you.

"Phoenix and I have... before, but I want you as much as I want her. Do you want me? is the only question, I guess."

He coughs into his elbow, messing with his lenses, which are fogging every so slightly. "I do. You're very pretty and nice, and I've... I mean, I do want you."

A smile dimples your cheek. "Oh, I'm pretty and nice, am I?"

"Shut up," Bob mutters under his breath with a slight smile. His ears are a little red.

You reach out and pull him closer to the mattress, pulling until Bob has to plant a knee on the edge to keep his balance. He watches you with wide eyes and says your name in a rush of breath – like a sharp wind over the ocean – and leans in, gravitating.

He cups your chin, slow and careful, pulling you in for a slow kiss that fizzles in your bloodstream like champagne. He is still giving you ample time to pull back and change your mind.

You deepen the kiss, even as Bob holds back.

You're still not sure Bob believes you.

Music swells from the corner, slow and sultry and sensual, as Phoenix settles behind you. She unlatches your bra and pushes it from your shoulders, running her fingers in soothing circles over the muscles.

She reaches between you and him, moving to cup your breasts, but at the last second, Phoenix skims her hand down the curve of your stomach and down and down, dipping under the waistband of your panties.

Clever fingers glide through your wetness, glancing off your clit in a tease that makes you whimper into Bob's mouth. A satisfied hum vibrates your back.

"So wet already, darling. We haven't done anything other than kiss you. You must really want us," Phoenix murmurs, warm against your ear, licking the sensitive patch of your neck again. "Come here, Bob."

She pulls you back from him with a hand around your throat – squeezing once, hard enough to make you feel light all over – and puts her glistening fingers in his open mouth.

His moan makes you even wetter.

You watch, breathless, as Bob closes his eyes and licks your taste from her fingers. His pupils are blown, eyes almost black, when Bob opens his eyes again.

His groan against your mouth is a rough sound, drawn out and unrepentant. He kisses you like religion, like a prayer.

Phoenix's voice is smug in your ear. "He believes me now."

You've been paired with Bob and Phoenix on enough exercises to know that the Naval aviators are an unstoppable pair in the air, cutting through the skies with grace and precision.

You'd imagined – more than once – that Bob and Phoenix would be an unstoppable pair in the bedroom as well. Sue you, okay? Who wouldn't?

Phoenix had been a force on her own, pinning you down and making your thighs shake over her shoulders; coaxing you to the edge and kicking you over without warning with a razor sharp smile that bordered on mean.

Bob always seemed so quiet. Seemed so unassuming.

But Bob dated, and on the one and only occasion the WSO brought a date back to the shared apartment complex, all of the Daggers had heard about the dying cat sounds that'd been loud enough to bleed through the walls. Hangman had been relentless.

You were seemingly the only one who could put the admittedly horrendous moaning aside and remember the other sounds.

(Oh, oh, Bob, oh, Bob. Fuck me. So good.)

You knew Phoenix was good in bed.

You had a feeling about Bob.

Together?

You were absolutely and without a shadow of a doubt right.

Phoenix is in the backseat for once but never ever on the sidelines. She seems to sense that the WSO might still need more reassurance, might need some control to feel wanted here.

She focuses on you, nibbling your neck and pinching your aching nipples, as Bob rests on the red and orange pillows, watching you swallow his cock, mesmerized.

You pull back, keeping him half in your mouth and circling his base with your hands, and run your tongue along the sensitive underside of him.

He bobs in your mouth, letting out a rough curse.

"Are you sure?" Bob had asked before, stilling the hands that were reaching for his zipper, running a thumb across the veins at the base of your wrist. "We can start with something else. I don't want you to feel pressure."

"Positive. I've wanted to suck your cock for about six months now."

He blinked, looking even more owlish with his glasses on the nightstand. "Six months? You've only been here for like six months."

You cut in, "And I wanted to suck your cock the whole damn time. Any other questions?"

He audibly swallowed, and Phoenix grinned.

You could easily get lost in him – lose minutes, even hours with the weight of him on your tongue and the sound of his broken moans in your ears – but Phoenix is too impatient to let that happen.

She nudges your soaked underwear to the side and pushes one, two, three of her fingers inside of you. You're wet enough that Phoenix doesn't meet any resistance.

"She's so fucking wet for you, Bob. Jesus Christ," Phoenix moans. A wet kiss is pressed into the curve of your shoulder, against the nape of your neck. "Should I make her come?"

God... and Phoenix says it like, What do you think, Bob? Am I clear? Should I take the shot?, in the same voice from the air. Asking him to weigh the pros and cons. Deferring to his decision.

You'll never be able to be paired with them on a drill again and not remember.

You would breathe a sigh of relief when Bob nods, except for... well, obvious reasons. You swallow around him, and Bob leaks against the back of your throat.

You're already aching, and Phoenix is pressing the heel of her palm against your clit. Pleasure is building in the pit of your stomach, and you need, you need, you –

"Or..." Phoenix drawls, easing up on the pressure, all casual and unaffected. She works you open, steady and constant, pinching the thigh that tries to rock you against her hand. "I could edge her for you. Make her wait to come on your cock."

God, Phoenix can be mean in bed. You'd almost forgotten.

You kind of hate her for it right now.

(You really don't.)

You whimper around Bob's cock and clench around Phoenix's fingers at the same time, digging your nails into the pale skin of Bob's muscular thighs, already bruised with a small love bite from earlier.

An abrupt fuck spills from Bob's bitten lips.

He pulls out of your mouth without warning, squeezing a hand around his base and screwing his eyes closed to keep from coming right then and there.

"Jesus Christ, Phoenix."

"So Bob seems to like that idea," Phoenix observes, almost conspiratorially. Her fingers catch your chin. "What about you, pretty girl? You want to come now or on Bob's cock?"

You are a little out of breath but no less certain.

"Do I even have to answer that?"

As a reward, Phoenix slips her tongue in your mouth and starts all over again, ever careful to pull back at the exact right moment when your breaths are short and your gaze is glassy and unfocused.

You are shaking and warm all over when Phoenix is satisfied, running her fingers through the arousal that slicks the inside of your thighs, underwear long discarded on the floor somewhere now.

"Can I..."

You are on your back now, and Bob leans over and sucks your nipples in his mouth. You lose focus, running your fingers over the hard length of him, smearing his pre-cum over the head.

"Can you what?" Phoenix prompts, ghosting a knuckle over your swollen clit. You quiver.

"I want to eat you out. Didn't get to do that last time, remember?"

You seize Bob's shoulder, keeping him pressed against your chest, and Bob makes a pleased sound, content to lavish your breasts with licks and nibbles right now.

You continue, "I want to eat you out while Bob fucks me."

"Well," Phoenix replies, breezily, brushing her hair over her shoulder and bends to suck on your other nipple. "We can probably make that work."

"Fuck," Bob breathes again.

You've never heard him curse so much, not even in actual missions.

A content sigh pushes everything else from your brain.

You lick at Phoenix again, licking a stripe up the center of her cunt, drowning in the warmth and silk, as Bob pushes into you from behind, bare and hard and so goddamn big.

Fuck is right.

"God..." Bob moans against your damp skin, pulling out and easing back in again. His accent comes out in bits and pieces, smoothing the edges from his words. "Feel so good. S'good for me. So good for us, darlin'."

You melt at the praise and nuzzle deeper into Phoenix with a sigh of pleasure, circling her clit with a content hum that makes her breath go all uneven and shuddering.

Satisfaction slides down your spine, warm and consuming.

You could stay here for hours between them. You would.

She's quick to instruct and correct, but once you're in a rhythm with your fingers hooked inside, Phoenix is nothing but moans and sighs and oh god, so good, oh god.

She comes in your mouth with a sharp gasp and rolls out from under you, which leaves Bob with enough room to double his efforts now.

He presses praise against your neck, circling his fingers around your clit with precision and attention; urging you to come for him with gentle pleas and deep thrusts and blissfully, a well-placed palm against your aching cunt.

You shatter around him as Bob spills inside of you.

Oh my god are the only words that are forming in your head right now. You want to say something else.

Holy shit maybe.

We should definitely do that again even.

But Phoenix doesn't give you even a second of peace.

"You're a mess, angel," Phoenix comments, light and almost mocking. She spreads your legs wide and looks you over. "Let me."

You expect Phoenix to wipe you down, but instead, Natasha presses her mouth against your sensitive cunt.

Stars erupt in your vision. Galaxies.

She licks and licks every inch of you, holding down your shaking legs, until you come again, damn near crying from the overstimulation, shuddering.

Wetness dampens the sheets underneath you, and Phoenix licks the cum that drips down your legs, some yours, some Bob's, and kisses you right on the mouth.

You definitely mean to get your clothes and pee and everything after, but Bob is warm against your side. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck and passes out with an arm across your chest.

Sleep pulls you under soon after.

Phoenix is the first one to leave the bed and even then, only to put on a quieter record and go right back.

note: is she the filthiest smut piece i've ever written? maybe. she's named after red wine supernova by chappell roan, which is so fun and so queer and worth a listen 💖 leave a comment before i regain an ounce of shame.

[slothspaghettiwrites]

If you're still doing the Soulmates thing, how about S for Jake Jensen x Reader?

s...ongbird (any songs a person sings will get stuck in their soulmate’s head for the duration they decide to sing it).

Look if you haven't watched this film, I at least suggest you watch this scene. It always puts a smile on my face. 😂 Drabble isn't about this scene in particular, but it's the vibes man! Also I've decided when your soulmate sings, it's them you hear singing, not the original song.

Wheel In The Sky

Warnings: none, pure fluff, you're eating pizza

It was really too early for your soulmate to be screeching this loud. Most of the time, they mumbled along to songs, you'd be able to pick up a tune and a few words of whatever 80's rock they were singing along to. It wasn't too bad, they're choice in music could have been worse. You'd heard of people who's soulmates were monks, constantly sings Gregorian chants, or worse they yodeled as a hobby.

Your soulmate was average. Their singing voice was okay, you certainly weren't topping the vocal charts by any means. You did your best to broaden their horizons though. There was more to life than the 80s.

The grip on your travel mug tightened as they reached the crescendo of Don't Stop Believin'. Your eyes closing as you tried to count to ten to calm down a little, focusing on what you needed to accomplish today. You could swear they were standing right next to you though. It was echoing around your skull and when you looked around at the lobby you spotted a delivery man dancing... And singing.

Oh god.

No. Absolutely not. This was not the morning to meet your soulmate. Sure fate could be funny or down right cruel, but not today. Maybe this wasn't the guy. He could just happen to sound similar to your soulmate. He definitely wasn't the guy who listened to you sob through For Good when you saw Wicked the first time. He definitely wasn't the guy who sang a phone number to you in 10th grade in hopes you'd call him, only to find out when you did, it was an overseas number and your parents grounded you for a month because of the charges. He definitely didn't look like the type of guy to murmur lullabies when he hoped you'd be turning in for the night, to help you get to sleep even if it was 11:30 in the morning.

He entered the elevator on the other side of the lobby and you tried to not think about it for the rest of the day, which was an absolute cluster fuck. Someone had cracked, or hacked, or whatever the IT people called it, the company database and stolen a load of information. It was only when you got home that evening that you thought about the delivery man again. Your soulmate had gone radio silent before you'd even exited the elevator.

As you cooked dinner, the music came back. More Journey, this time though he was mumbling again.

"Haven't been home in a year or more // I hope she holds on a little longer."

You smiled, this is a song that you kinda liked at least. He's changing the lyrics, though you realised when you stumble over the chorus.

"Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin' // I know where I'll be tomorrow."

He goes through the rest of the song, telling you he'll be home in New Hampshire, what time he's gonna be there. You laughed as he switched songs again.

"You give me something I can hold on to // I know you'll think I'm like the others before // Who saw your name and number on the wall."

He was singing a phone number.

"Shit. Fuck. Who just does this? Jesus Christ."

You are just able to get the number down. Now, at least, you have the sense to look it up online before you start dialing. It's a cell phone number, the area code is where he says he'll be. Before you can chicken out you video call the number. You needed to know, was the guy from this morning your soulmate. While it rings, you can't help but fidget. This was really how you'd meet your soulmate for the first time and honestly you looked a bit exhausted. You rubbed your eyes.

"H-Hey," the person on the other end clears their throat, "hey, I uh didn't know if that would work."

It's his voice all right. You're looking right at the delivery guy from this morning. Seeing his face clearly now, you wondered how you got this lucky. He was gorgeous, about 30 maybe with the bluest eyes you'd ever seen framed by thin round glasses.

"I would have tried sooner, but my work has been really, really crazy. I won't bore you with details."

He smiled, a blush rising on his cheeks that made you feel heat rise in yours. His face was almost as pink as his shirt.

"Don't worry about it," you smiled back. "My works been crazy too."

"What time is it where you right now?"

Like clockwork, your oven timer went off. There's the quickest, cringiest tour of your kitchen as you pull out your dinner. You showed him your pizza and he grinned, twisting his whole phone around to show you his dinner. A cheeky grin spread across his face.

"So does this count as our first date?"

[pocketramblr]

oooo okay writing game - balter, linked universe, whichever character(s) who choose

Balter- to dance gracelessly, but with enjoyment

Ask game

"The others have a lot of musical instruments, don't they." The Champion mused as the two of them explored the caves.

"You mean how the Veteran could supply an entire orchestra twice over?" Link- Traveler, the others called him, but it was so hard to stop thinking of yourself by your own name. He had no idea how the princesses had managed it- snorted.

"Well, that too." The Champion nodded, then stepped out of the way of a large boulder. "But I mean, the Old Man's ocarina, and Sky's harp, and the Pirate's stick thing."

Link considered it. The Captain and Smithy too- did that only leave one? "I don't think I've ever seen the Rancher play."

"Oh, he howls."

Link stopped, and let the Champion take the next Keese.

"He what?"

The Champion looked back at him, brows knitted together. "Oh right, you- you and the Caption weren't there that night. Uh, it's a howling type of singing. They do it in Ordon apparently. It's called yodeling."

He remembered he and the Captain's detour to the Fairy Fountain, and was not quite sad enough to regret missing out on hearing something new.

"Shame. The Captain is probably glad for it though, imagine his poor ears."

The Champion agreed with a laugh.

Link caught his boomerang, and they kept waking on, silence light between them.

He'd miss it, when this journey was over.

"So, do you sing?" The Champion asked, and Link thought maybe he wouldn't miss it that much, actually, as his ears began to burn.

Bless the darkness of the cave hiding their color.

"Ah, not really." Not in this form, not in front of others. "I can carry a tune on my whistle, but that's about it."

"Oh." The Champion seemed almost disappointed with that answer.

Had he said something wrong?

What could it have been?

"Do you sing?" Link tried to keep his confusion from his voice, but it probably bled through anyway.

The Champion snorted. "Definitely not."

The silence returned, almost as light as it was before, until it wasn't.

"I can't play any other music either. I don't remember if I ever could."

Oh.

He wanted to take the whistle from his bag and give it to the other- the same instinct Link had had for years now, to part with a gift whenever he left a child or friend. The Hylian hospitality he'd learned after it saved his life on his first adventure long ago.

But his hands were full, and he could hardly teach the Champion how to play it without a second whistle, and it wasn't really something he knew formally anyway.

Not enough to teach.

A different idea stuck him like an Ache.

"Do you dance?"

"Huh?" The Champion looked like he was the one struck with no warning. "No, why?"

"Well, if the Rancher howling counts as music, I figure dancing does too."

"Oh. Probably, but like I said, no idea how."

"I can teach you." Link offered.

The Champion actually tripped.

Link took out the last bokoblin before it could capitalize on that opening, and sent a wave of fire to clear the last of the monsters in the cave.

"You can dance?" His formerly favorite exploring partner asked.

Like it was the most shocking thing in the world. Like they didn't all know the kinds of things and clothes he kept in his bag.

"I'll have you know I was brought up right, despite my best efforts." He sheathed the magical sword and put his boomerang away. Impa and Zelda Oriana had insisted on that, and learning to dance actually hadn't been so bad.

There were no fancy clothes or faraway nobels here to be the parts that were bad. So why not try?

"Where?"

"Why not here?"

"Now?"

The Champion looked dazed. Link would be worried about a concussion if he didn't know there was no cause for one today.

"Yeah. Here, I can teach you a simple one. You kick on your heal, then the other, the the first," he demonstrated with three kicks, then clapped his hands twice, "and clap. Then you repeat starting with you other foot, and just alternate like that."

The Champion gave him the same look the Old Man sometimes gave the moon- not completely trusting.

Link tried for his most earnest face, the one he made when talking to the Red Sisters about getting a healing potion.

Finally, the other nodded and repeated the meter Link had shown.

They'd make an odd sight, if there were anyone else to see. A sixteen year old Calatian heir to Hyrule, eons after his motherland vanished and his homeland changed forever, clapping his hands and calling steps as a Champion Knight both one year and one century older than him tried to dance along.

Magic brimmed under their skin, he could feel the similar lighting and protection and lift and healing that thrummed in both their veins, pushed as their hearts raced to keep up with their quickening steps.

Apparently, sharing the same hero spirit did not mean they were better at being in time with each other.

Breathing heavy- the Champion panting- he stopped. "Alright, good. So you do that like, eight or nine or ten times," no, it was probably an even number. "Well, eight or ten times."

It wasn't six, right?

The Champion huffed, but Link charitably chalked it up to being out of breath instead of doubting his instructor.

"And then, the next step,"

"There's more?"

"Just one!"

"I thought you said it was easy." He complained.

Link hadn't. "I said it was simpler. So, you take your partners arm like this, and spin while you step in- actually, just spin. Then you turn around and spin the other way. Then you go back to the first step."

They practiced that a fair while, and Link nodded. "Good. Ok, I'll play the tune on my whistle, you keep going!"

The Champion faired well until it was time for the partner step, and Link didn't move to help him.

He stared, waving his arms wildly to ask what he should do.

Link took a moment to wave his hand in a circle, and the Champion correctly read it as being told to figure it out solo.

The little spinning jump he did on his own could not be called graceful, or in time with the music, but it certainly looked fun.

He went back to the first step, and after one more set, Link lowered the whistle. He might not have been dancing, but he was just as out of breath for playing that long.

"Good job." He grinned, and the Champion's beam back was bright enough to light the cave on his own.

Which was useful, because they heard Wolfie barking outside irritably a few minutes later, and had to hurry back through the tunnels before they were dragged out.

[askvectorprime]

This next shot needed to count.

Demolishor was a soldier, not a tactician, and there was no doubt that his opponent had the strategic edge. He gritted his teeth. The battle was nearly lost.

"D… 3."

"Miss." Maxie's grin widened. "B-4."

Demolishor scanned the board, his gaze finally settling in the middle of his aircraft carrier—the last ship in his dark fleet, heretofore unscathed. "Hmm," he mumbled, and with a thumb and forefinger the size of tank barrels (not coincidentally) he reached down into the little plastic tray to retrieve a peg. More spilled out to join the growing red pile on the floor.

"Was that a 'hit' I heard there?" asked Maxie.

From where he was standing on Demolishor's shoulder, arms wrapped around an anti-aircraft missile, DJ piped up. "Hit. You want a hint, Demolishor? I can see all her boats from here."

"If I wanted a hint, I'd use my heat vision. Are you sure you humans don't have heat vision?"

"We don't. Which is so unfair," chimed in Eli.

"I'm not cheating. Cross my heart!" Maxie promised.

"Then how do you keep sinking my battleships?"

"Okay, fine, I'll tell you. You placed them all next to each other in a big bunch."

"And?" said Demolishor, immediately on the defensive. "Of course they are. If they were spread all over the sea, what would they do when they need to combine?"

"Uhh, dude?" said DJ, reaching over to tap him on the head. "Boats don't combine."

"What? I can see their Powerlinx ports right there."

Eli scratched his head. "Maybe you should have picked a different game, Maxie."

"No, it's fine," Demolishor said. "Err… H-8?"

"Missed me," Maxie shook her head. "But your aim is getting better. C-4."

"Hit."

"Here," said DJ, hopping down from Demolishor's shoulder and deftly putting a peg in the right spot. For just an instant, something about the motion reminded him of Blackout, and waves of feelings crashed over him all at once. Nostalgia. Embarrassment. Anger. Uncertainty. The Mini-Cons had played games like this, he remembered—tiny games of war. DJ had helped him, not as a servant, but…

"You're dead in the water, Demolishor," cackled Maxie, and the moment passed.

Demolishor answered her with a grin of his own. "Not finished yet, kid," he said. "How about… F-7?" Playing at war with organics. What would Snow Cat say? Demolishor could still hear him yodeling away…

"Yodelodelaaaaay!"

"Is that… yodeling?" asked Eli, and Demolishor turned just in time for someone to barrel into him, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Demolishor! It really is you! I can't believe it! Wow, I hate your new paint job!"

Demolishor switched his optics between spectral settings to check they weren't malfunctioning. The colors were all wrong, black and orange, but the form of the 'bot helping him to his feet was unmistakable.

"Snow Cat?" he exclaimed. "What- what are you doing here? I thought you'd-"

"Gone completely coocoo for energon chips?!" interrupted Snow Cat. "I thought so too! But there I was, freezing over a protoform orphanage, when the strangest thing happened!"

"Hello, friend Demolishor." A shadow fell over him.

Demolishor's eye widened, and his jaw fell open, as he heard another familiar voice. He turned to see a purple-and-tan mech with a pair of back-mounted cannons. But no, it couldn't be...

Finally, he spoke, his voice a hushed whisper: "M...Mirage?!"

Snow Cat laughed as he danced between them, pulling both of them into the most awkward three-person hug of all time. "Old Mirage here walked up to me plain as day!" he said. "It was the strangest thing! I said to him-"

"You're supposed to be dead!" Demolishor blurted out.

"Yeah!" Snow Cat exclaimed. "That's what I said, exactly! After I stopped screaming."

"Mirage was dead," the taller Decepticon said, "but then Mirage wasn't. Something changed. Couldn't find Galvatron, so he decided to look for other Decepticons."

Snow Cat nodded, finally freeing them from the embrace. "And when he found me, it was like... this fog opening up, you know?" he said. "So I decided—forget freezing orphans, let's get the band back together!"

"Demolishor, who are these guys?" said Maxie. Demolishor, now standing at full height, peered down at her. Her hands were clenched into fists. She and Eli were standing either side of DJ, who had his arms folded. For his part, Eli looked distinctly nervous.

"They're," friends, Demolishor almost finished, but the word had started to take on some kind of new meaning that he was still figuring out, "old friends."

"And who are these little humans?" asked Snow Cat. "Target practise? Kidding, kidding. Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Why are you here?" asked Demolishor, but it wasn't really a genuine question.

"To find you, of course," Mirage answered. "Heard of new Decepticon army forming on planet Mars. You'll join with us, yes?"

Demolisher glanced back down at the children. "Galvatron's not leading them?"

"Not yet," answered Snow Cat excitedly, "but we'll find him!"

"It means a lot that you came out this far for me," said Demolishor. "It's kinda like Mirage said, though—something, err, changed." He didn't know when it had happened, but things felt different. "I'm trying to change." Sometimes it felt like he didn't want to change, like the changes were being forced upon him, by the people around him, by the universe. Demolishor didn’t really know whether he wanted to change or not. He wasn't used to having to think for himself. But he was trying to change all of that too.

"We've all changed!" agreed Snow Cat, nodding vigorously. "Actually, Mirage, we should update your finish…" He looked around for inspiration, eyes settling on the board game. "How does gunmetal gray sound?"

"Listen, guys, I…"

"He's not going anywhere with you!" came a voice from below.

The three bots looked down to see a young human standing defiantly between them.

Eli pointed a trembling finger. "Demolishor's not a Decepticon any more.

"He's a hero," added Maxie.

"Which means he's got better things to be doing than sitting around on Mars with Galvatron's old goons," finished DJ.

"Goons? Why, you…" Snow Cat stepped forward, but suddenly there was a hand on his windscreen, gun barrels splayed up towards his face. "Demolishor? You serious right now?"

"They're my friends," he said.

Snow Cat studied him for a long moment. "This… this really makes you happy?"

Demolishor nodded. He wasn't always happy, but now he knew what happiness meant.

"Well… I guess that's all that matters," Snow Cat said, taking one last glance at the humans. "Come on, Mirage. Snow Cat, transform!" Yodeling farewell, he drove away.

"Mirage will see you later. Mirage transform!" he said, converting to Hyper-Mode and jetting after the other Decepticon.

"Sorry about them," said Demolishor.

"Don't worry about it," replied DJ. "C'mon, let's finish the game."

"Um, guys... I think that Snow Cat stepped on it." Maxie held up a piece of plastic as flat as a pancake, with white and red sprinkles. "So I guess it's a draw?"

At that moment, another vehicle drove up, converting to a sleek robot form with large wheels on its shoulders. "Eli! DJ, Maxie, Demolishor! Are you guys okay? Rhinox picked up Decepticon energy signatures in the area, but we couldn't get here any faster."

"You could have warned me," grumbled Demolishor. "With the radio."

"Well, uhh, we weren't sure how you'd-"

The brief whooping of sirens drowned him out as an ambulance pulled up, converting to robot mode. "Hot Shot, I said not to rush off ahead," she complained.

"Sorry, Red Alert, but I couldn't low-gear it. They might've been in danger."

"Yeah mate, that's why we don't blunder in without a plan. You're a right pain in the tailpipe sometimes. Everything hunky-dory here?"

"Yeah!" said Eli. "We were just playing this game when these two gearheads showed up, but Demolishor scared them off."

DJ punched the robot lightly on the tread. "Guess you're better at dealing with big space boats than teeny plastic ones, huh big guy?" he said, and the kids all laughed. Demolishor chuckled too.

They were giving him all the credit, but the truth was that Demolishor was not very good at saying 'no'. Part of him felt embarrassed that he'd needed them to say it for him, but mostly he was surprised at how nice it felt to have someone stand up for him.

"Rhinox to Autobots," came a transmission. "I hope you've shown our guests the door, because we've got a situation unfolding back in the city. Some kind of electric monster on a rampage. I need you to get the civilians to safety while I try to pinpoint its weakness. Prime's already en route."

Hot Shot looked around at the others. "You heard him. Let's be heroes," he grinned. "Autobots, roll out!"

They transformed, waiting just a moment for the humans to get in—Eli with Hot Shot, Maxie with Red Alert, and DJ with Demolishor—before driving off. DJ kicked back in the gunner's seat, and over the rumbling of the treads, murmured something to Demolishor, the kind of sentence that might be misinterpreted, or disregarded, or missed altogether. But Demolishor heard it.

[drabbles-mc]

Settling down to enjoy this with the BIGGEST fucking tub of popcorn that you could ever imagine. Cartoonishly large.

“Señorita! N— no puedes entrar ahí, por favor! He’s in a meeting. I can’t— If you don’t have an appointment, I can’t let you back there!” -> no but it's SOOOO not fair that you have me cackling right off the rip. I'm yodeling. Andrea doesn't give a FUCK if she needs an appointment. Nor should she!!! 😂😂

And this, ladies, is why it pays to wear sensible footwear. -> no but this is so true. on my days at the office I wear heels to be ~fashionable and professional~ and it makes me MISS my days at the school wearing my nikes sksksk

She turned back and kept on tearing down the hallway, closer and closer to the door marked, ‘Colonel Horacio Carrillo’ in block letters that were just as uppity and patronizing as he was. Or maybe it was just because it was his office, the arrogant prick. -> you're going to have me screaming for the ENTIRE 2.5k of this, aren't you???? I'm not upset about it!!!! I'm not upset about this. But this has me losing my shit in SUCH a way. Like. OF COURSE this is how she feels about him. Why wouldn't she???? 😂😂 She's so valid and right for her bitterness. I don't even need further context to know that she's right 😂

He wasn’t even threatening to slash her tires. -> I fucking LOVE the way you write her. All I'm picturing is

For a split second and against her own will, the image of him sitting at the bar flashed in her mind. -> GAGGED that we are getting backstory. I'm vibrating into the next plane of existence. I'm soooo 👀👀👀👀👀

Dressed like a dad, but in khakis and a grey polo that fit far too smartly for him to actually be anyone’s dad. -> there's a daddy joke to be made here but i shan't do it KEKW

car windows all smudged with insistent palm prints that said something like, ‘mmm, that’s right. Just a little closer.’ -> fuck OFF Kay this is so hot it's not fair. it's just!!! it's not fair!!!!!

Carrillo’s nostrils flared. Yeah, that’s right. Fuck off. -> these three sentences in successio of one another is just. so so fucking good. I'm pumping my fist in the air

Or is that how you rolled back in Colombia? You and your search bloc. -> my eyes are fucking MASSIVE!!!!!!!!!!! I'm going to rupture a fucking cornea!!!! Carrillo's gonna rupture one of the veins in his forehead!!!! None of us are safe!!!!!

It seems, despite her due diligence, Ms. Nuñez must not be that great a journalist because she doesn’t know how to take ‘no comment’ for an answer. -> my lord this man is SUCH a prick but god the way i can FUCKING HEAR HIMMMM!!!! this bastard man is rattling around in my brain!!!!!!! Andrea should swing on him. Just once. Sometimes violence really should be the answer :pasevil:

The other nearly tripped over his chair on the way out, seemingly unable resist the temptation to observe them with wonder like a couple of zoo animals. -> chismoso 😂😂 but i can't pretend that i would've been any better sksksk

Her eyes narrowed. What the fuck was he playing at paying her a compliment like that. -> she's so right for this because i, too, would be off-put if Carrillo said anything vaguely complimentary to me 😂😂

Oh, she was positively— she wanted— but no, she couldn’t— oh, but she fucking could though. She would if she could— she really could actually fucking punch him. -> she way I can just absolutely FEEL this entire paragraph. Like. I've had this exact train of thoughts in my head before I swear. I love it so much. Also she should DEFINITELY punch him 😂

“Do it,” he said again quietly, eyes virtually unreadable. “If that’s what you really want. Hit me.” -> DON'T LOOK A GIFT HORSE IN THE MOUTH, ANDREA!!!! JUST!!!! DO IT!!!!!

On reflex, she scrunched her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and yanked back so hard, he hissed. -> Carrillo getting his hair pulled is a song that slaps EVERY fucking time. Thank you can I have another. It just. It doesn't get old ever.

“Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I need you. I’ll never need you. And that’s why you love this.” -> WHAT A FIIIIIIIRE FUCKIN WAY TO CLOSE OUT THE FIC!!!!! MY GOD!!!!!!

The fact that these two mever got to share the screen is a CRIME. I need a bonus Narcos or NMX episode where they meet and they fuck and it gets horrid and messy!!!!!!!!

| OUR MAN IN MEXICO |

Pairing: Andrea Nuñez x Horacio Carrillo

For @narcosfandomdiscord Summer of Smut Alphabet: July 1 - [A] Angry sex

Word count: ≈ 2.5K

TWs: smut, biting, slapping, hair pulling andrea being her bestest, most cuntiest self

⁂

“Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I need you.”

⁂

“Señorita! N— no puedes entrar ahí, por favor! He’s in a meeting. I can’t— If you don’t have an appointment, I can’t let you back there!”

Andrea walked over to the door of the embassy office without a word and barged through, tearing down the hall. The secretary scrambled from behind the desk like a spooked rabbit, little kitten heels click-clacking on the tiled floor as she struggled to keep up with Andrea’s long, steadfast strides. And this, ladies, is why it pays to wear sensible footwear. The poor woman was just doing her job but her frantic puttering and cries of, “Señorita! You can’t be back here!” only served to build the rage in Andrea’s chest more.

She stopped so cold and turned around so fast, the woman’s forehead nearly slammed right into her own.

Andrea crossed her arms. “Mira, vieja. You haven’t even called security, so unless you’re going to tackle me to the ground and throw me out yourself, and—“ she glanced down at the woman’s heels, eyebrow cocked smugly, “—you could try but I don’t think you’d get far in those— I’m getting into that goddamn office one way or another.”

The woman sputtered something unintelligible. Andrea couldn’t be bothered to let her piece a proper sentence together before cutting her off with a curt, “ya eso es lo que pensaba.”

She turned back and kept on tearing down the hallway, closer and closer to the door marked, ‘Colonel Horacio Carrillo’ in block letters that were just as uppity and patronizing as he was. Or maybe it was just because it was his office, the arrogant prick.

Sure, he was a legend back in Colombia. Sure, he helped take down the biggest, baddest drug trafficker the world had ever seen. But if this asshole thought a gag order was gonna fly in the wake of Rebollo’s mess — which, oh by the way, she helped to expose — he was deader than General Jesus Gutiérrez Rebollo’s reputation. She refused to be cowed by the AFO goons who followed her to her car on late nights after work. She certainly wasn’t going to be intimidated by this Colombian haircut. He wasn’t even threatening to slash her tires. So, what was a bit of healthy confrontation between friendly colleagues? Making an appointment would’ve just spoiled the mood.

As her hand landed on the door handle, she smirked at the sound of muffled voices inside. Huh. So, he really was conducting business. In Mexico, “he’s in a meeting,” was usually code for he’s actually chain smoking at his desk, on the phone chatting away with his mistress on company time. But no, it seemed Carrillo hadn’t been dodging the press. Maybe just her calls.

For a split second and against her own will, the image of him sitting at the bar flashed in her mind. The night she met him. Well, not him, him. Not as she knew him now, no more than a stranger, dressed like a dad, but in well-tailored khakis and a grey polo that fit far too smartly for him to actually be anyone’s dad. She’d come to find out he was divorced, no kids, so a dad he certainly wasn’t which, if the rumors she’d heard about Search Bloc were true, made more sense and still wasn’t comforting in the slightest. But she didn’t know about any of that yet.

Around here, strangers in dimly lit bars were seldom safe and fewer troubled themselves to even establish a pretense of safety. But he was a different, safer kind of stranger. She didn't know how she knew but she didn't. He must’ve been anyway, since she didn’t usually make it a habit of taking strangers back to her car after some pleasant, cheap conversation and a few shots of even cheaper bourbon.

And yet, that’s where he ended up. The back seat of her stationwagon, his firm lips encased against hers, breath deliciously hot and sticky on her neck, fingers ruthlessly digging into the flesh of her hips as she ground them down onto his, car windows all smudged with insistent palm prints that said something along the lines of, ‘mmm, that’s right. Yes, just a little closer.’ A couple of months later and those stupid smudges were still there. She noticed them crossly when she’d parked outside, moments before accosting the man’s poor secretary. She'd wondered aimlessly if he’d even know what they were if he saw them. Would she want him to? Maybe that’s why she was in such a foul mood. She didn’t know.

Shaking her head, the indecent image dissolved noncommittally into thick, black ink behind her eyelids, like answers disappearing in a magic eight ball. Outlook not so good, ask again later. Oh whatever, fuck off. I don’t even have enough sense to regret the whole thing. So just fuck off.

The momentum of the door swinging open fueled her ire again, and she breathed it in, soaking it up., letting it fuel her. When the handle smacked against the wall, three heads whipped around to stare at her in shock. It looked so rehearsed, she couldn’t resist the urge to crack a sly smile. Carrillo’s nostrils flared. Yeah, that’s right. Fuck off. She strode between the two suits seated at each corner of his desk, to face him across it. He barely moved an inch, elbows propped up on the armrests of that big, obnoxious executive chair he sat in behind the desk.

Leaning forward, knuckles pressed flat on the papers strewn across like all of it was hers, she said cooly, “Sorry to interrupt, Colonel. But you’ve been dodging my calls, so thought it best to pay you a visit. Call it professional due diligence.”

He was fuming, dark eyes lit with indignation and what else was it? Maybe panic. But all that Boy-Scout-School-of-the-Americas training must’ve kicked in because he didn’t miss a beat. “Mm. Due diligence? About what, exactly?

“To ask you a simple but very important question.”

He waited.

“To ask how— after only a few months, just how is it that you think you already own the journalists in this city? I thought the point of bringing in an outsider was to avoid corruption, not perpetuate it by silencing the people’s right to free press. Or is that how you rolled back in Colombia? You and your Search Bloc.”

He knit his brows and, as if he just remembered they were there, glanced at the two men still seated, who watched them with a combination of confusion and the voyeuristic enthusiasm of a housewife watching her favorite novela.

“Gentlemen,” Carrillo cleared his throat and motioned to the door, “we’ll have to pick this up later.” His jaw hardened, eyes moving from the door to Andrea, going from resigned to livid in mere seconds. “It seems, despite her due diligence, Ms. Nuñez must not be that great a journalist because she doesn’t know how to take ‘no comment’ for an answer.”

That was a low fucking blow and he knew it. Well, what the man lacked for in hospitality, he more than made up for in emotional range. One of the men tipped his hat as he stood up and gave a sheepish shrug before heading to the door. The other nearly tripped over his chair on the way out, seemingly unable resist the temptation to observe them with wonder like a couple of zoo animals. Two fingers to her forehead, Andrea gave them a tiny salute filled to the brim with disdain.

Once the door closed, she rolled her head back around to face Carrillo, who looked like he could throttle her right there.

“If I were a man, you’d hit me right now, wouldn’t you?” she said like it was a dare. Ignoring the blaze of shock all over his face, she continued to press, still leaning over the desk. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Carrillo opened a drawer and rifled around for something. He came out with a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, lit it, and then leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

“Well?”

He took an infuriatingly long drag, and exhaled the smoke in her face, so that an opaque cloud now filled the space between them. On purpose. Naturally. This wasn’t his first rodeo with angry reporters. But this was his first rodeo with her. She straightened upright, waiting for him to speak.

“Well, before I can answer that, I have a follow-up question.”

She crossed her arms, swinging one hip out to the side, “O, sí?” inviting him to continue treading on dangerous conversational ground.

Nodding, “Sí, sí,” he flashed a cynical smirk that dissolved into a glare as he looked up at her and gave a perfunctory tap of his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk. “Just who the fuck do you think you are, barging into my office like this?”

“Just who the fuck do you think you are, putting a gag order on all press inquiries relating to Rebollo’s trial?” she shot back.

He dragged long and deep from his cigarette again like it was an oxygen mask, then said dismissively, “It’s a big case. A lot of moving parts. You know the judge makes that call, not me.”

“Wow, you really must believe I am that bad at my job if you think I’m naive enough to buy that bullshit. As if you have no sway with Mexican judges who can be bought for less than a few pesos.” She laughed bitter as battery acid, “Venga ya pues. No me shingües con esas mamadas, cabrón.”

There was a beat of silence before he stood up, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray, saying through gritted teeth, “No. I don’t think you’re bad at your job.” He rolled his eyes, grumbling, “That’s the entire problem. Cierto? Sí porque eres una cachorra con un pinche hueso entre tus dientes.”

Her eyes narrowed. What the fuck was he playing at paying her a compliment like that.

“What? What am I supposed to say? Thank you?”

A tacit desperation crept under his glare now, an equal measure of anger and pleading for her to understand.

Oh, no. That’s when she put it together. Oh, hell no. Her face fell and she dropped her arms to her sides. No. No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t dare.

“No. No me digas que t—“

His glare melted, eyes full of nothing but pleading now as he stepped around the desk to join her on the other side.

“Okay, yes I talked to the judge. But Andrea, I only sugges—“

“No.” She backed away, dropping her bag on the ground. “Don’t do that. You don’t get to say my name like you know me well enough to patronize me this way.”

“You have to underst—“

“Understand?? What do I need to understand??? Hmm? What? That I might get hurt? That my job is dangerous? That journalists in this town have a short fucking shelf life? Or oh, that you what? You care now? You’re what? Trying to protect me?”

“Look, Andrea.” She wished he’d stop saying her name. “I know you're tough. You can take care of yourself. But this is bigger than you and you're not bulletproof. The pockets this Rebollo had his hands in? They’re more dangerous than some thugs following you to work or harassing you in the street. They’ll ruin your reputation, your livelihood, take anything you have, maybe even have you killed.”

“That’s never stopped me before.”

Carrillo pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Andrea. After you’re gone, they’ll come after your colleagues, friends, family.” She could tell he was growing more defensive by the way he strained to keep his voice level. “Corruption on this scale does more than just ruffle feathers. The more you uncover, the further you dig, the easier it is to bury you and anyone you care for. And that’d be too hard to bear for anyone who might be starting t— well, maybe— who does care for you.”

Her chest burned. She was roiling with indignant fury, practically breathing fire, nostrils flared, hands balled into fists at her side. Este pinshe pendejo. They’d been working together for weeks now, and not once did it step outside the confines of professional conduct with the exception of the— well, it was just the one time. She’d assumed they were moving on because of course they were. What was one night in the backseat of her car when they were nothing to each other? Nothing. But now this, all of a sudden, out of the blue. Why? Because. Because he cared. Well, he’d neglected to fill her in on the feelings and the caring before taking it upon himself to violate a boundary, meddling in her work ostensibly on her behalf.

Oh, she was positively— she wanted— but no, she couldn’t— oh, but she fucking could though. She would if she could— she really could actually fucking punch him.

As she stood there, vibrating, ready to go nuclear, he stepped closer. “Now who’s the one who wants to hit someone?”

Barely beyond strangers, and yet, he understood her implicitly. It only made the whole thing all the more aggravating. He stepped closer again, until they were nearly chin to chin.

“Do it.”

She looked up, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“Do it,” he said again quietly, eyes virtually unreadable. “If that’s what you really want. Hit me.”

He was inscrutable. There was no more pleading. No humor. No anger either. Something else. Something baser. She thought about those smudges on her car window.

Her hand moved so quickly, he didn’t even have time to flinch. She slapped him. Hard. Hard enough to send him back a couple of steps. The blood rushed to his cheek, angry and red, as he turned back to face her with an expression of something like dazed admiration. He began to speak but before he got a word out, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him close to bury him in a kiss so deep, the force of it nearly hurt her teeth. She inhaled the rumble that escaped from the back of his throat like it was a breath of life, before breaking away and shoving him back to sit on the desk.

Hooking his fingers in the belt loops of her jeans, he yanked her close, positioning her between his knees. She felt a tug at her hair as he pulled out her hair band. Catching his hand on its way down her shoulder, she brought it around her waist, sinking into another brutal kiss that had them both gasping for air. As one of her hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair and the other traveled down to palm the bulge in his pants, his hips bucked against hers and she felt a sharp sting as he bit her bottom lip. On reflex, she scrunched her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and pulled so hard, he hissed.

Oh yeah, that felt good. She’d liked how it sounded and how he looked, head back like that, chin up, throat exposed. Getting lost in those deep, dark brown eyes, she kept him pinned in that position, regarding him for a moment. She suddenly found herself thinking about those nature documentaries on the Discovery Channel, ones where the lions take down gazelles, sharp canines puncturing their throats right there. His skin tasted salty as she tongued his neck in that very spot. If she were a wild animal, he’d be bleeding out on the floor for what he’d done. Trying to save the poor damsel-in-distress reporter from her own recklessness because oh, she can’t possibly know what’s good for her. That wasn't what it was until he made it that way. Co;onel Horacio Carrillo, our man in Mexico, nothing but a mouse in her trap.

Then she said, sincere but grave, “Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I need you. I’ll never need you.” To soothe the wounded expression on his face, she planted a soft kiss on his mouth and trailed a few more along his jaw, mumbling as her lips made their way back down to his throat, “And that’s exactly why you love this.”

═

taglist: @drabbles-mc @narcolini @ashlingnarcos @cositapreciosa @narcosfandomdiscord

[mavigator]

izzy

ahhhh my brother.

i cant think of anything for

z

z

yfortunately, deep in the forest, there's this HUGE locked door. and it's perfect for practicing knock knock jokes. so one day, i'm knocking 'em out, like usual. i knock on the door and say "knock knock." and suddenly, from the other side... i hear a woman's voice. "who is there?" so, naturally, I respond: "dishes." "dishes who?" "dishes a very bad joke." then she just howls with laughter. like it's the best joke she's heard in a hundred years. so I keep 'em coming, and she keeps laughing. she's the best audience i've ever had. then, after a dozen of 'em, SHE knocks and says... "knock knock!" i say "whos there?" "old lady!" "old lady who?" "oh! I did not know you could yodel!" wow. needless to say, this woman was extremely good. we kept telling each other jokes for hours. eventually, i had to leave. papyrus gets kind of cranky without his bedtime story. but she told me to come by again, and so i did. then i did again. and again. it's a thing now. telling bad jokes through the door. it rules. one day, though, i noticed she wasn't laughing very much. i asked her what was up. then she told me something strange. "if a human ever comes through this door... could you please, please promise something? watch over them, and protect them, will you not?" now, i hate making promises. and this woman, i don't even know her name. but. someone who sincerely likes bad jokes... has an integrity you can't say "no" to. do you get what i'm saying? that promise i made to her... you know what would have happened if she hadn't said anything? ... buddy. You'd be dead where you stand. hey, lighten up, bucko! i'm just joking with you. besides... haven't i done a great job protecting you? i mean, look at yourself. you haven't died a single time. hey, what's that look supposed to mean? am i wrong...? heh. well. take care of yourself, kid. 'cause someone really cares about you.

[skullreaped]

im not gonna stroke ur ego uhm i hate you :/// how dare you have fun here on tumblr of all places.

sorry nox i can't hear you, i'm too busy stroking leo cantus's ego

i'm only putting this under a cut because having ^ that be the only thing visible on the ask is too good to pass up. ANYWAY--

YOU!!!! HOLY FUCK YOUR ART!!!!!!!! LIKE I HAVE THE BIGGEST HEART EYES FROM THE SIDELINES ANY TIME YOU'RE ON MY DASH BUT I'M ALSO CONSTANTLY SITTING OVER HERE JUST

STRELI MARRY ME CHALLENGE

as an oc writer, especially as a female oc, you get so so so much respect from me. i came to beat from writing a (female) oc for years and the absolute struggle of having to!!! create all your own content!!!! frankly i think it's oc writer-phobic!!!!!!!!!

and??? catch me yodeling at the top of my lungs about oc x canon supremacy. i've always been a huge advocate for it so any time i see you on the dash with streli and sho please know that i am somewhere in the background cheering at the top of my lungs

[inber]

Giving Geralt a Nickname Imagine

"Snowflake."

Geralt grunts.

"Daisy."

He shoots you a sidelong glance.

"Moonhead."

"No."

"Starshine."

"Stop it."

"...Milkdrop."

He rolls over onto you on the bed, covering your mouth with one hand as you giggle.

"Fff-wy."

"Can't hear you, sweet." He rumbles.

You lick his hand.

"Oh, like that's going to stop me."

You bite his hand.

"Ouch! Little--"

"Fluffy." You grin, toying with a strand of his hair.

"I love you more than anyone that has walked this world, but I will lock you in the closet."

You consider this, silent, and he grunts contentedly as the victor.

"...Powderpuff." You whisper, and he growls, hoisting you from the bed, thrown over his shoulder. You squeal and wriggle in his grasp.

"That's it. You're sleeping in the stable with Roach."

"Sugarduuuust!" You yodel, and it breaks him; at the foot of the stairs, he starts to laugh.

"What the fuck am I going to do with you, hm?" He manages, pulling you from his shoulder and into a bridal-style carry.

"Tolerate me until the end of my days." You bat your eyelashes.

"Yeah," He sighs, smirking handsomely, "I suppose I shall."

Is this even headcanon/imagine? Idk. I'm sleepy.