#let's call it a drabble...

[wildskissed]

@waterdepths gets a lil' bit of fluff

She's been sketching him for a long while.

Some nights when he's out enjoying the evening, stardust in his eyes as he's mapping out constellations to his heart's content, she watches. In moments like those she believes there is a time to be alone with one's thoughts, and yet he captivates her in everything he does, so she watches, wonder in her eyes as he lets the night calm him. Other nights, she'll retreat to the edge of her tent after dinner, still watching everyone compliment Gale on his meal of the night, and she'll sketch, smiling to herself at how deeply their compliments to him seem to affect him. It's not ladylike to stare, and she knows that, but it's too much not to let it all out, especially when he does so much for all of them.

When he does so much for HER.

Eve has never felt she was one for poetry, so writing him something in her deep appreciation for him, could never stand alone--so instead, she's managed a sketch to accompany it. She's spent far too long on his eyes, wanting him to feel something when he looks at it, always wanting to be swallowed whole by those deep brown eyes of his. He's ENCHANTING, and while she never would have thought she'd say that of a wizard given the other couple she's ever met, he holds a special place in her heart, which was why she was putting forth the effort in the first place, trying to capture him on parchment in the middle of a storm, with eyes that could command anything.

Once all is quiet, she finds herself rolling it all up with a quite literal bow, slipping it just through the flap in Gale's tent so he'll see it later. There's no rush, and she certainly can't leave it outside to get stepped upon, but she wants him to have it. She knows enough from all these magic lessons together, that he needs someone to look at him as if he's the world all on his own, and he is. He deserves every bit of affection and appreciation that she can give him, she just hopes the poetry lives up to the standards she's sure he places on himself with his own, as her skills there leave much to be desired...but every word comes from her HEART:

His eyes are deep as caverns, hidden treasures guarded tight. His hands strong and rough from all he's endured, yet gentle in their plight. There's a great wisdom nestled deep within him, desperate to break free, for all he desires is affection, and fulfillment in just being allowed to be. His power erupts like a volcano, dangerous and true, but he handles it quite expertly, and keeps each motion steady as a rock. He can taste the sparks the lightning brings as it licks along his skin, and he's never felt more alive as when his nerves are feeling every shock. There's an unadulterated passion that beats deep beneath his chest, and he's too devoted to ascertain just how beautiful he is. He's every color of the sunset and every star up in the sky. His smile lights up every room like the brightest firefly. The sadness deep inside him helps him to mask his pain, of the rot that's there within him, hiding what he's come to trust as shame. But to be in his presence is to truly feel alive, as every breath he takes will make your heart take flight. If only he could truly understand the great tempest that he is, for every moment he's around, brings naught but utter bliss.

It rhymes, and it's SAPPY, but she knows that it's the thought that counts as she retreats back to her own tent to read a book she's borrowed from him. What's a little embarrassment when it comes to showering someone with compliments and affection? He'd do the same ten fold and perhaps with a little more decorum, and it'd sound far more like a sonnet, but she's CONTENT and that's what matters.

[meowmeowriley]

Unhinged and unnecessary HC to rationalize the punk Ghost skin incoming!

It's not Ghost. Ta da! Listen. Listen. I understand. Ghost, being someone devoted to the crown, wouldn't wear the anarchy symbol. And if given the comic backstory (as I always will) Ghost most likely would hate punk music because of his father.

So why punk Ghost? It's not Ghost. It's his son. His and Johnny's. Maybe he's blood, maybe not. Doesn't really matter. They raised the boy. He's theirs. And he resents the crown and the military for how it broke his fathers. Maybe he lost them both, either together or at different times. Maybe they died in the field, or in the hospital due to complications from an injury they got on the job. Maybe they didn't even die, they were injured and dismissed and tossed aside like trash. Whatever the reason, he's angry.

So he joins up with some men who stand for everything his fathers didn't. Fuck their militaristic peace bullshit. It starts small, protests and parties mostly. But then as he finds himself getting closer with the others, he's asked to take part in some extracurriculars. Raids on police and military caravans. Harmless, he tells himself. Good even, they're preventing those in power from enforcing their tyranny, he rationalizes. Things get more radical the longer he's in. Things escalate. He's in too deep. They're a resistance group. They fight back. He looks back on the combat training his fathers pushed on him at a young age more fondly now, as it served him and his purposes well.

He doesn't see how he's exactly like his fathers, won't let himself. But he is. Just a man who follows orders and fights tooth and nail. But he does love his fathers. He misses them. He takes up Simon's mask and Johnny's hairstyle, incorporates them into his look. Makes them his own. An attempt to honor them, despite their different stances on how to do good.

A mission, he's stopped hating when they're referred to as missions a while ago, has himself and his team breaking into a military research facility to investigate and destroy what they found. A new weapon to hurt innocent people, he was sure. Except it wasn't, exactly.

Teleportation? Couldn't be real. He read the files with an air of disbelief. He was distracted, rookie mistake, a scientist gave him a shove, he fell into the teleporter. The man shouted something about finally having a human test subject and slapped his hand down on a button. A flash of blinding light enveloped him, and suddenly he found himself in a hallway. Disoriented, he walked about, trying to figure out where he was.

A man in a bucket hat rounded the corner ahead of him and stopped, looking him up and down with an exasperated sigh. "Ghost what the fuck are you wearing this time?" Ghost. His dad's callsign. This man thought he was his dad. What would his dad do in this situation.

He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. That should do it. Thankfully his sleeves were down covering his tattoos. They were different from Simon's and could've given him away.

"Whatever. Come on then." The man kept walking and he did his best to imitate Simon's walk. His mind raced, an obvious military man thought he was his own dad was worrisome, as the old man was gone, and he needed to get away without arousing suspicion. He'd have to play along then.

That plan went tits up the second he followed the bucket hat man into a room and found himself face to face with his fathers. His fathers who were able bodied and young, same age as himself.

The teleporter hadn't just sent him somewhere else, but had sent him back in time as well.

Johnny roughly ripped off his mask and slammed him against the wall. "Who the FUCK are you?!" Simon menacingly slid a knife out of his sleeve and deftly twirled it around his fingers. Right. They weren't his dads yet, just the crowns attack dogs.

[aennasan]

imagine johnny being a pain in the ass whenever he sees you. always going out of his way to tease and annoy you wherever you are. it seems like if he doesn't see your frown, chest puffing, nostrils flaring in frustration and anger, it will not make his day.

then there comes the day when you finally snapped back at him. you dared and taunted him back. about something you can't really recall what. his eyes were wide with surprise, mouth agape, shock written all over his handsome face as you yell at him. you thought you have won when he raised his hands in surrender, apologized, and accepted your challenge.

however, as you stare at his blue orbs, a glimpse of excitement passes through them. it went out as fast as it came. a realization finally hits you, and a shiver runs down your spine. meanwhile, a knowing smirk graced his lips when your face fell and understanding dawned on you.

all you can do is mumble "fuck" as he burst out of laughter.

[callsign-songbird]

"Bleeden' Jesus, bonnie!" Soap yelps, drawing his hand back suddenly from where he had reached to grab his sweet birds hand. Casual, sweet, nonchalant.

"Mind tellin' meh why yer hands feel like you've been fondlen hot coals like a right fucken' bawbag?" He mumbles, brow furrowing as he reaches just a bit further up to grab her by her upper arms so he can look her over, the flesh bare beneath his fingertips in her tank top.

Much to his surprise, the skin there is concerningly cold, and his look of worry only deepens as he stands, pulling his hands away and beginning to rifle around for her pants, knowing that she'll put up a Hell of a fight if he tries to drag her to the doctor in those cute little pajama bottoms he loves.

But his bird isn't even mildly concerned, softly gripping his bicep and murmur soft words of placation until he comes back to the couch with her. After all, she feels fine. This just happens sometimes, and the game just came back on. He wouldn't want to miss it, right?

Not even a week later, Soap is getting ready for his impending deployment the next day, checking everything over and making sure he has all of the pretty pictures of his bird that he can't leave home without. That's when he feels a presence behind him from his seat perched on the edge of their bed and a nose nuzzling sweetly into his neck.

A damn cold nose at that.

Two absolutely frigid hands wrap around his midsection and pull him back just a bit until he's flush against his girl. "What in the name oh' tha' Pope is wrong wit' you, bird?"

The question isn't meant to be insulting or have nearly as much bite as it did. But Johnny is SURE that it isn't normal for the body's hands and nose to be freezing while the torso is absolutely burning up, especially not when you apparently fall on both ends of the spectrum, depending on the day.

At this point, it's a little harder for his bird to convince Johnny that she doesn't need to go to a doctor. After all, she's already slung over his shoulder and halfway out the door. His jaw is set stubbornly, and his brows have that determined furrow that means no one can talk him out of it.

*SMACK*

The sound reverberates through the room as Soap pauses mid-stride, processing that just happened. "... Bonnie... Did you just?-..."

The only answer he gets is a fit of soft giggles as she presses a hand to her mouth. Well, she can't be feeling THAT bad then, not when she knows what she just signed up for.

"... Aye? So, that's how it's gonnae be then? Alright, princess. Let me show you how it's done." His smirk borders on menacing as Soap turns on his heel with near deadly precision, prowling towards their shared bedroom with his hands gripping the bird on his shoulder just a bit tighter.

Fucked up internal temperatures or not, the doctor will still be there once she has a few less braincells melted out of her ears into the mattress, right? Maybe it will help her regulate?

Oh, he'll find out all right.

[circusinthewalls]

SFW König Ramblings - 18+ MDNI, AGELESS BLOGS DNI

[Masterlist]

Keep thinking about Eldritch Monster! König.

I don't mean like a scary man with tentacles. I mean you came upon him in an old cathedral, something entirely beyond your comprehension but near enough to reality that you can understand when the air itself warps to envelope your body in a gesture of comfort. He is the dark and the fractures in the stone walls, tainted black from decanters past.

No one has visited him in such a long time. You can't help yourself anyway. The architecture is grand, and the energy of this place fascinates you. How could you not return again and again?

Be it for some quiet, for shelter, for, really, any number of things. You are no disciple, and he would never seek to influence you. He himself is enthralled by your curiosity. It never wanes, and for the company, the gifts, the conversation - He is grateful.

Yes, he's.. taken quite a liking to you, actually. Dearest creature, oh how he hopes you'll visit him again.

Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.

[scribblestatic]

Because I like to make stuff up just from the most vague of associations, I recently talked about COTL and I'm writing an SVSSS fic on my other AO3 account, so now, we have Sheep Yuan.

Basically, Shen Yuan transmigrates and is gonna get put into Shen Qingqiu at an earlier time, but Shen Qingqiu's soul is a tenacious motherfucker, so it doesn't give up despite his qi deviation. Without a good vessel to put Shen Yuan's soul in, the system finds the nearest body that can accommodate him.

It ends up being in the body of a spirit sheep on Xin Ya (fan-made) Peak with all the rest of the beasties being studied and/or eaten (they do animal husbandry and farming, too).

Sheep Yuan doesn't quite remember his past life at first because yeah, the little lamb brain needs time to process human thought. Like, sheep are smart, but not quite able to compute to the same level as humans, so the sheep body's gonna have to adapt. So, he kinda follows through the usual sheep things after he manages to stand up, not realizing he'd been a stillborn lamb just a few moments ago.

He also doesn't immediately realize that his "mother" in this world died during childbirth until later because he was supposed to be a twin. But he and his twin got impacted and the spirit sheep couldn't handle it. All three had died, but somehow, he survived. So, now, he gets hand-fed. Despite the peak lord of Xin Ya telling the disciples not to name the animals or get too attached since they provide food for many of the peaks, one disciple does start calling him Shēng Huán (生还 = To Survive).

He's being raised and monitored on Xin Ya like other farmed spirit animals, and he's alright as long as he gets his food and has a nice place to sleep. Despite spirit sheep being herding creatures, he's not the most popular amongst his peers, so he tends to dwell around the humans more. But as he becomes more aware, he realizes that some of the lambs and sheep have gone missing, and because he's not only a sheep, he puts two-and-two together and realizes he's on the menu.

So, he starts trying to escape, despite the fact he's not even fully weaned off his milk yet. When he can't manage to escape, he tries acting cute so no one thinks about eating him just yet.

Also, as a spirit sheep with more intelligence, he figures out how to cultivate, which is something most spirit and demonic creatures figure out naturally. Since he was born a spirit sheep, he got a head start rather than a mortal cat or dog or something. So, he starts cultivating to try and acquire a human body to avoid getting eaten.

One day, he's finally put on the roster for slaughter because of a larger meat order (Dammit Bai Zhan!! Stop eating so much meat!!!). In his panic as he's led to the slaughter room, he uses qi and manages to escape, fleeing the mountain as quickly as possible.

The problem now, though, is that he's terribly lost and he's not sure he got away from Cang Qiong. In fact, he's almost certain he's still on the mountain somewhere because the qi is still quite dense! He has to escape before he's put on someone's plate!

What he doesn't realize is that he fled to Qing Jing Peak.

The grass there is tasty, so he gets a bit distracted while eating it. But then he hears a scuffle and, despite being a prey animal, goes to see what's going on. There, he sees a fluffy-haired boy getting beaten up by a bunch of older kids while a younger girl cries out beside him.

I'm sorry, human girl, but I'm sure this "A'Luo" whose name you're calling out would very much appreciate it if you did something other than that! Maybe throw a punch or a kick or something!

Anyway, he sees the boy get pretty beat up and watches as the group leaves, satisfied. The boy and girl talk, and he only kind of understands human language--he's still learning, okay? He's looking for some sort of jade guanyin? There's so much greenery around, how is this A'Luo supposed to find that?

But, well, 'Yuan,' as he calls himself (not sure why he insists on that...hmm) decides to help. With his superior animal senses + cultivation combo, he sees the guanyin hanging off a branch. He's not sure how to get it down, though...

Well, he has horns, so maybe he could knock it down!

Once the children head off, he starts knocking his head against the tree. And, yikes, it kinda hurts a bit, but good thing he's got a thick skull and nice curved horns growing in! So he smacks the tree until he manages to use qi through his horns and crack the trunk. The branches shake, and finally, the jade guanyin falls!

...Now, how is he supposed to get it to that A'Luo? And why does he even care that much? Sure, the kid looked so cute and sad, like a little bun, but he's a prey animal and those children are predators that could eat him!!

Still...just the thought of leaving the fluffy black sheep without the guanyin made his little heart hurt. Maybe he felt kinship toward that fluffy little boy.

Following the boy's scent as he trailed through the bamboo and forest, he found it strongest at a woodshed of all places. How strange...he must go there often. It's almost night time, so he likely wouldn't return. Anyway, he'd just leave the guanyin on the ground in front of the door and--

Luo Binghe returned to the woodshed with his unhealed bruises and ruddy eyes, having spent some more time searching for his guanyin. But he stopped, seeing a sheep on the mountain. Different animals went around the peaks as they pleased, but there definitely weren't any spirit sheep on the peak. So why was--

But his thoughts stopped when he saw the guanyin in the sheep's mouth.

Caught in the act, Yuan gives up and slowly approaches the boy, keeping his head low and legs ready in case he needed to run away. The boy felt...strong somehow, and it made him feel cautious.

Feeling too afraid to get too much closer, Yuan put the guanyin on the ground and backed up. Of course, the boy practically pounced on the jade, making Yuan stumble back and almost bolt. But he managed to wait, watching as the boy sobs profusely over the guanyin and thanking him.

Yuan stared at him for a bit, then his nerves get to be too much, and he fled. He needed to find his way off the mountain, after all.

[moongreenlight]

Greek mythology/the Olympians has been my hyperfixation for going on two decades now and I just… Soap as Dionysus.

Always brings a good bottle of wine and a few rooted cuttings of ivy as a housewarming gift. If he’s fixed his attention on you, he’ll also put a few sex toys in the little bag he brings. Puts them right on top for the pleasure of seeing your scramble to try to shove them in a drawer or tuck the whole gift in the closet.

He’s a great time. Has this intoxicating way about him. Like life is a stage and he’s the director. Playful and fun, though a little too enthusiastic at times. Handsy when the two of you hang out. You assume that’s just his nature and excuse it accordingly. Hard not to, gorgeous man that he is. A divine kind of handsome. Like his features are an eons-old amalgamation of all the most beautiful features humans have ever had.

And he gets strangely possessive, even after you’ve been nudging back his wandering hands or putting your hand between his mouth and your neck all night. Borders on vindictive and aggressive if he’s not in the right headspace.

It’s a bit terrifying to see him snapping his teeth in the face of some man at the bar who had only just asked you if you’d wanted a drink. You swear later in the night you see him babbling feverishly to a group of his friends. It sounds like total gibberish, and his friends look even more confused than you feel, but his eyes are wide as saucers and his hands are flying about hazardously. You don’t think much of it after Soap pulls you by the waist to the corner booth and tips a cocktail up to your mouth.

He keeps you out until all hours of the night. Insists on staying jovial. Club-hopping to find the best crowd, best music, best conversation. Keeps you up and active for so long that the confines of reality start to become fuzzy at the edges.

Sexuality expressed through bodies writing and twisting in drunken dance. Bumping up against one another. Collecting strangers and your own sweat in fat beads on your skin that make you shiver when they get heavy enough to trail down the small of your back.

When the room is spinning enough to make you stumble just a bit and you’re unable to do anything but giggle about it, he’s somehow able to make sneaking off into the family bathroom together seem like a good idea. He seems just as drunk as you are, slinging an arm around your shoulders when you walk. Bellowing a laugh when his hand grazes your tit but making no attempt to pull it away.

It’s less easy to be oblivious when you’re in the bathroom together. The muffled music filtering through the bottom of the door. He’s pressing up against you even though now there’s no crowd to excuse his practically grinding his groin on your hip.

It smells like sweat and generic brand bathroom cleaner. You hum when he staggers to the urinal instead of griping at him about how crass it is to take a piss right in front of you. He props himself up on the wall with one hand and a moment after you hear the teeth of his zipper come undone, he lets out a throaty, satisfied groan.

You busy yourself looking in the mirror. Checking your makeup. Seeing if you look as drunk as you feel. It’s filthy. There’s a web of cracks coming from the bottom left where it looks like someone tried to send their fist through to the wall behind it. It makes you a bit dizzy to look at and you have to bend at the waist to get close enough to see the way your mascara has smudged all around your eyes.

And all of a sudden there’s a burning heat behind you. Sickly, feverish heat pressing straight into the pillows of your ass. Soap’s spidery reflection shows up just over your smile sporting a wicked grin. Teeth and eyes flashing.

You try and swat him away, all too used to his comings-on, but he digs his fingers into the fat of your hips bruisingly hard.

“C’mon, hen. Been driving me mad all night. Relax a bit. Jus’ need this. Need you. Please.”

He has to lay flat over your back to hiss in your ear. Teeth clenched like he really needs to put some effort behind his words to sound polite. Like a petulant child who’d just been reminded by their mother to practice manners.

You were practiced in batting back his advances, but for some reason his grit made you falter. His gaze seemed to be burning a hole through you in the mirror. The idea that something inside him was hitting a roaring boil that he couldn’t stop from flowing over made your brain go foggy. The opposite of sobering. His aberrant need was contagious and catching quick.

He smelled like sweat and cheap cologne and dry, sweet wine and woods. Flirty and masculine and overwhelming. And he’s warm and strong behind you, even if he’s pushing his hard cock into you.

Who were you to deny him the pleasure of snapping his hips into your backside a few times? Letting his fingers impatiently tug at the button of your jeans and hastily tug them down with your underwear until they pooled around your ankles?

It didn’t help that the sound of him sending a glob of spit into his hand made you clench around nothing. A familiar warmth gathering between your thighs that made you shift a bit to chase the momentary relief even a touch of friction could provide.

He couldn’t even afford you the decency of pretending not to see. No. Instead he points a spotlight on you and insists you perform for him again. Nudging your legs apart and pressing his thigh flush against your core while purring the filthiest things in your ear.

“Ken I jus’ needed to wear you down, mm? Thought ‘bout this before we went out. Always did get sloppy when you drink. Jus’ needed a little push. That’s it -Jesus- cunt’s so wet. Gonna take good care of her.”

And the club is so packed full of drunken, dancing bodies that hardly anyone notices the way you two stumble out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later. Even though you’re still fumbling with the button of your jeans with shaking hands.

[narcissosbythepool]

PriceGaz Pining Series

Part 5/14

Prev | Next

Prompt: Autumn //

The leaves have changed colour. It's like the park's trees are aflame with autumn. The air is chilly as he walks to the hospital, not quite cold enough to evaporate into mist as he breathes, but enough to pinch his cheeks and the tips of his fingers.

Gaz has been in the hospital for a couple days now. Price hasn't had the time to visit him until now, sorting out the aftermath of the mission. Everything that could possibly gone wrong went wrong, and Gaz got a bullet to his guts for his trouble. It took a lot of digging to find out who exactly fucked up and where, and how to fix what they had messed up. He and Soap are about to head out again in a couple days to tie up the loose ends, Ghost still busy with his own solo mission.

Price feels... guilty. For not visiting sooner, for leaving again so soon. For letting Gaz get hurt in the first place. That this happened on his watch.

He's fixing one of those mistakes now. He lets his gaze wander to the cool autumn sky as he nears the hospital. Its deep blue calms something restless in his chest. He's been waiting to see Gaz again. See him patched up, finally erase the vision of him as he took him to med-evac; bleeding profusely and his brows pinched in pain as he tried to keep a brave face. He was shaking all over but just grit his teeth and didn't let himself cry out in pain when Price carried him to safety.

He buys flowers at the hospital's flowershop. He browses the selection helplessly for a moment, wondering what the hell he's doing. Is it even appropriate for him to bring flowers? Would it be strange? But he pushes through the embarrassment – he's just being polite. People bring flowers to patients all the time.

His eyes land on a bouquet of deep blue flowers. His mind goes to the blue autumn sky. Has Gaz been able to enjoy the view? Maybe he would appreciate the reminder of the outside world. Besides, he likes blue, right?

Without thinking about it too much, he gets the blue flowers.

He weaves his way through the hospital, asking the front desk for Gaz's whereabouts, and then saunters to Gaz's room with the flowers squeezed in his sweaty hand.

He doesn't let himself hesitate at the door. He steps in with a knock and there he is – Gaz sitting in a hospital bed. His hospital gown is blue. It almost makes Price smile.

Gaz looks up from his phone and grins.

"Captain," he greets him and something warm spills over in Price's chest.

"Gaz," he says, walking up to him, stopping at the end of his bed. "Looking better, I see."

"I didn't expect to see you," Gaz says. It stings a bit, but Price guesses he deserves it.

"What kind of captain would I be if I didn't check up on my Sergeant?" he replies. Gaz's eyes soften a little. It makes his chest flutter.

"A shit one, I guess."

Price has to laugh at the flippant reply.

He hears rustling from behind him – he glances behind him, and sure enough, Gaz's roommate looks sheepish at being caught watching them.

"Don't mind me," the strange man says and takes out his phone. Price nods at him, feeling suddenly self-conscious. He turns back to Gaz whose eyes are already on him.

"Those for me?" he nods at the flowers and Price can feel his cheeks heat up.

"Yeah." He shrugs. "It's polite, isn't it?"

"Courtesy flowers," Gaz replies cheekily. "I'm touched, Boss."

"I can always take these home with me."

"C'mon now, Cap, I never get flowers," Gaz says, reaching out towards them. Price hands them over, their fingers brushing at the exchange, and he refuses to snatch his hand back even though it feels like the point of contact could burn him. Gaz cradles the flowers to his chest, leaning down to smell them.

"Thank you," he says then with a faint smile and Price mentally congratulates himself for the impulse buy.

"There's a vase on top the shelf above you," Gaz's roommate pipes up and Price nearly startles.

Gaz grins at the man. "Thanks, mate. Well, Cap?" He looks at Price expectantly, and suddenly Price is overcome with such fondness for his Sergeant that he doesn't know what to do.

It's helpless. He knows what it is, this unnamed emotion, the one he's still not brave enough to acknowledge. He thinks back to the panic he felt when Gaz went down, the desperation with which he hastily stuffed the bullet wound with gauze before heading for exfil. He should be groveling at Gaz's feet for forgiveness.

Perhaps he could, still, start with getting the bloody vase.

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Bath

Hello!

Direct continuation from the prev Drabble 'Mud'! Taking place almost directly after.

First Drabble (original prompt by @spotaus ) Prev drabble Next Drabble

So we take off almost right were we left off, only like a small hour later.

*---------------------*

Nighmtare can't stop the purr as warm water goes over his shoulders to clean some of the worst mud away from the cravices.

Dust hums "Yeah I figured it would feel nice. feeling warmer?"

Nightmare nods and leans back against the hand on his spine. Dust had been supporting his spine ever since they got back and told him what happened. They went straight to the bathroom.

"Hah! Dusty using his magic hands?"

Dust shoots Killer and annoyed look from where Killer is sitting with his boxers on in the bathtub with Ngihtmare. Grinning widely.

"What? I also needed to get cleaned up!" Killer looks very smug.

Dust shoots Nightmare a look "How is it that you are 6 yet he is more childish?"

Ngihtamre grins and just leans more into the hold. The touch is gentle as Dust removes mud from the sensitive and painful spots. It hurts a little but not nearly as much as it used to hurt when getting cleaned, and no were near as much hurt as with the mud in it.

Dust continues cleanign his spine and ribcage slowly "It didn't get too far in. Seems like your sweater protected you from that."

Ngihtmare pushes closer to Dust's touch "Sorry for getting it dirty..."

Dust hums "No need. You didn't mean to get it dirty and even fi you meant to. It is just a sweater. Even so Cross is already working on cleaning it. It will be fine." He uses a small bucket to let some water wash away the soap.

Killer grins as he leans agianst the tub edge "Me next dusty?"

Dust doesn't even look up as he keeps washing Nihgtmare's shoulders "You can wash yourself."

Killer whines "But dusty~ Stuff may have gotten between my joints! Same like nighty!"

Nightmare rolls his eye lights but purrs when Dust starts washing his skull and neck. It is so nice and familiar by now. They always do this even if Nightmare knows that Dust knows Nightmare can wash that himself. Dust always takes time to carefully wash his skull and neck for him.

Dust hums "And Nightmare is six. which you are not." Dust taps his shoulder carefully "close your sockets nightmare. I am going to wash off the soap."

Nightmare nods and closes his sockets before feeling the warm water wash over his skull and shoulders. It feels amazing!

Dust smiles "there is the happy purring. much better." then softer "Can I wash your sockets?"

Nightmare considers it for a moment. He never likes seeing the others when he baths, he should be able to wash himself and it make sit easier to accept their help when he can't see them... But Killer is also in the bath and that is fine... Maybe he will be fine with it?

Dust is silent and waits patiently as Nightmare thinks it over. Ngihtmare ends up nodding and turning around in the tub to be facing Dust instead.

Dust gives a small smile before focussing on his face as he looks at his sockets from different angles. as Dust stares at him Nightmare just looks back at Dust. Unlike Killer, who is mostly naked and with just his boxers on, Dust is still mostly dressed. Dust had only taken off his hoody, scarf and gloves. So Dust just sits by them in loose sweats and a shirt. Dust gives a quiet hum "Yeah I can see some mud in there. I am going to try and get it out okay?" he looks at their basket of bathstuff and takes out some soft cotton swabs. Dust soaps them up before holdign hsi skull steady with a gentle hand by his skull.

Dust looks at him "Still okay?"

Nightmare frowns as he thinks it over. This should feel bad or dangerous. people near his sockets or skull is very bad news. But no panic or fear. He hums and mutters "it is fine."

Dust looks a bit surprised before grinning "Brave babybones." ngihtamre knows he is glaring at Dust but Dust just chuckles "okay. No eye lights."

Nightmare huffs but does as told. he turns his eye lights off and with them goes his side.

The darkness does make him nervous but he still feels the steadying hand of Dust on his skull. He hears Killer whine and mumble about unfairness and that he wants the spa treatment as well. And that Dust is so unfair to not give him one as well!

the cotton swab touching the inside of his skull and near his sockets is weird. It doesn't hurt but it is still weird. His hands shoot up and he grabs Dust's arms.

Dust freezes "too much?"

Nightmare shallows and forces the words out "It is okay..." he just.. needs this... just a reminder. it is okay.

Dust mutters softly "I will be careful."

And as he said he would. He is. careful and slow movements. with purpose. And It does feel better! discomfort and itchiness he hadn't been fully aware of just disappears with each gentle movement.

"That was it. You can turn on your eye lights again."

NIghtmare needs a moment to get his magic to respond and get his eye lights to return. It is brihgt for a moment but even his sight seems better than before!

Dust grins "There. Almost all clean."

Killer grins and leans over the side of the tub "Which means it is mine turn!" causing a big wave to splash over and for Dust to now have wet pants.

Dust looks down before shooting him a glare "You did that on purpose."

Killer gasps and puts a hand above his soul "me?! I would never! I am sooooo sorry for your pants!" he grins and winks "You could just lose them." and he wiggles his eye brows.

Dust looks very unimpressed and Ngihtmare agrees. Not one of Killer's best tries at flirting.

Dust just looks at Nightmare again "do you want me to clean your arms or do you want to do it yourself today?"

Nightmare frowns and thinks it over. He did his own pelvis and legs as always but it was harder than he remembers to get dirt and mud out of those spots. He just looks at Dust "Can you do it?"

Dust nods and starts getting the shower floof ready again. Nightmare holds out his arms and lets Dust do his magic to get the stubborn dirt out off his joints. Dust just seems to know how to do it as the dirt and mud easily disappears.

Dust nods and looks very happy with himself "There he is. All clean." he puts the bathstuff to the side and goes to grab the towel.

Killer whines again "come on dusty~ Please?" Killer grins as he turns around until his spine is against the tub and he looks over backwards over the edge with his skull upsidedown to look at Dust. It can't be comfortable. Killer grins "Please~ What if some of the stuff stays behind? What if I can't clean myself right?"

Dust rolls hsi sockets as he gets the towel and with an easy motions nightmare is out of the bathtub and wrapped in the towel. Dust pats him down carefully as he ignroes the whining of the adult behind him. Killer bemoans about this unfair fate and how he needs help from his friend and teammate yet Dust is cruel to not help him.

Nightmare is dry and Dust dresses him in his PJs. Dust lifts him up and shoots Killer a look "Don't destroy our bathroom whiel I am gone." and Dust leaves the bathroom.

They exit into their downstairs bedroom and Dust goes straight to their pillow and blanket nest.

Dust sits down and grabs a blanket and wraps it around him "comfy?"

Nightmar enods "yeah." Dust hands over his plushy and NIghtmare is quick to put her right by his side. Batsie is her name... Like the cow name Bessie because they are on a farm but with bat because... bat.

Not that it matters because Nightmare isn't going to admit he named his plushy.

Dust smiles at him "I need to go clean the bathroom and make sure Killer doens't drown and kill himself with his stupidity. Horror is-"

"right here." and Horror joins him. Horror smiles at Dust "Good luck with Killer. I got this."

Dust nods and leaves to return to the bathroom.

Nightmare moves his plushy around until he can use the wings to blanket him as well. trying to keep his hands free. horror hands him a plate and fork as he sits with him. Asking him how his day had been at his appointment.

nightmare eats and calmly talks about his day and all that happened. his soul calm and content after his bath.

--

Killer chuckles as Dust leaves wiht Nightmare. He should have actually cleaned up but come on! It was too much fun to hoke around with Dusty! Especially the tiny blush he had managed to cause!

Killer chuckles as he kicks the water up before leaning back to lay in the tub. Ah, baths are very nice. Maybe he should take more of them.

He just lays there to enjoy the water.

"Dont'drown yourself. Water and dust together make a mess."

Killer opens his sockets and grins at Dust who looks very unimpressed "I don't know. YOu seem fine with bathtime."

Dust rolls his eye lights "You know what i mean. Also get dressed weirdo. Have some modesty."

Killer grins and winks "oh? Is the most powerful monster shy about bare bones?"

Dust shoots him a look "Just clean yourself."

Killer leans dramatically over the edge of the tub "I can't~ What if i miss a spot? And how am I suposed to wash myself if i have to fully dress myself? I can't do both at the same time dusty~"

Dust crosses his arms as he glares at him. "YOu seriously still on about this?"

Killer grins "Sorry. can't." he leans forwards and shrugs his shoulders.

Dust lets out a long annoyed sigh "fine."

Killer blinks and looks abck at Dust as Dust calmly cleans the shower fluff of dirty water and puts new soap on it. "euh?"

Dust moves in his blind spot and a hand touches his shoulders and Killer just freezes.

He hand pushes him a bit forover and oh fuck. fuck... that.. that is that seem shower fluff on his spine and it feels so good and how are dust's hand so secure?!

He doens't know what to think. What does he do?! Why?! Why is dust washing him? Oh fuck it feels so nice? No wonder Nightmare always purrs up a storm after bathtime. Fuck keep in the purring. You are making this weird. it is just your homie giving you a bath that you have been asking him for! Don't make it weird!

He... hadn't realised how nice this was. this touch. Normally Killer is the one that hangs all over the others and starts contact. This is technically stuff that Dust started and it feels so nice is this what it is suposed to feel like?! Is it normal that Killer just wants to melt into the touch and wnats it to never stop?!

how is this so nice?!

Killer straight up had one night stands with others across the multiverse and that is NOTHING compared to how nice this is.

The fluff disappears and some warm, almost scolding hot how does Nightmare deal with this heat every bath and whyt does he like it so much? Goes over his back and spine.

Dust snorts and speaks "There. your spine and ribcage are clean now."

Killer glances back and Dust looks highly amused and smug as he collects the shower stuff. He puts it on the side of the bath before he gets up. He shoots him a look "The rest you should be able to manage yourself." and he leaves the bathroom.

okay while Killer is sad the contact ended he is also thankful that Dust left because there is a very very very obvious reaction to the touch and his boxers are not doing a great job hiding it.

What the fuck is wrong with him!?

*---------------------*

Killer having a bit of a gay panic. It was his turn. Also I have so little drabbles from his POV?! It is criminal

First Drabble Prev drabble Next Drabble

[slashingdisneypasta]

Cruella De Vil x Fem!Reader || Drabble

Plot: Cruella always demands you show her your outfit before you go anywhere in public with her, so she can dictate whether you change or not before she's seen with you.

Today you refuse.

Warnings: Degradation, control issues, yelling, poking the bear, bratty behaviour, etc. Cruella is a mean, controlling mommy with explosive tendencies. But what did you expect. Also reader is... a bit of a brat and into it.

As soon as you turned up in her office, ready to go out to the function Cruella invited you to, you do not want to show her your outfit. Every single time she takes you somewhere, she always has you take off your coat and do a turn for her- and she decides whether you have to change or not. And of course... usually, your outfit's all wrong and she just has to pick something better for you. You think she just likes treating you like a barbie doll.

Cruella De Vil; A stressful, controlling, maniac woman. Its a wonder how you put up with her. How you actually like her.

Tonight though, you're really not in the mood for it; You just want to get this ball over with and get into bed. So, you tighten the knot around your waist holding your coat securely around your body and immediately stretch at the door to reach hers for her off the ornate hook. "We should get going now. We don't want to be late, like last time- Shit."

That was the wrong thing to say. That was the W R O N G thing to say. You knew it the moment you said it. The only reason you were late last time, after all, was because Cruella made you change. And you just reminded her of it. Wincing, you gently pull her coat up and off the hook. Lower your heels to the ground again.

When you peak at her, she's still behind her desk. She hasn't made a single move to get up. A sketchbook still sits open in front of her and a red marker is still between two fingers, the knuckles of which are pressed against her right temple; expecting. She raises a perfect thin eyebrow at you, her eyes as sharp as the talons securely glued to her red silk gloves. "... Well?? What are you wearing?"

"A dress." You tell her, stern. Determined not to do the stupid dance she insists upon. What are you? A teenager? Her sycophantic little intern? No. "Its blue. Pretty. Now lets go- "

She rolls her eyes, sighing. "Oh darling, lets not waste anymore time then we will already when the pretty little dress you chose out of that pitiful little single-door closet of yours is inevitably horrible. Now take off the coat."

"There's nothing wrong with my clothes! I can pick them myself!" You cross your arms tightly over your chest. "And I'm not changing."

At this, the blatant disobedience you were expressing, her eyebrows creep all the way up her forehead. A faint, disbelieving grin tickles at one corner of her lips like a ghost. "... oh?"

Its a dangerous 'oh'. An 'oh' that leads you to believe she wants to hear more of this from you. Its the 'oh' before you say something dumb, and she tears you apart with her words and you end up taking off your coat for her, feeling lousy and full of hot shame.

... but you were prepared for this when you walked in. You knew there wasn't even a sliver of a real chance that you would get her out the door before she remembered to check your clothes. You knew their would be a fight. So instead, you don't say another word. You just look back at her, arms crossed, a stony look on your face. A silent, stubborn yes. You heard me, crazy lady.

Cruella's eyes narrow and the shimmer of a smile dissipates into a nasty scowl, no longer amused at you. "Take... off... the coat."

You cant help the stupid, horny part of your brain from flickering to life at her being mad at you. After all, you like her for a reason. And its not because she's such a sane, comforting person to be around. But you do your best to ignore it. Or what? "No."

For a moment she manages to smooth out her expression, but you're no fool. You know the crazy bitch. And you can clearly see the hailstorm roaring behind wide, 'innocent', blue eyes. "... Darling, it is a Friday evening and I don't particularly want to go to this stupid party at all, but I have to. So be a good girl for me, hm?" When her voice suddenly raises, you're expecting it. That doesn't mean you don't still flinch. "-And take. off. that bloody coat!"

"No!" Make me.

"For gods sake, if you cant listen then you're going straight home. Do you want that??"

Yes. What are you gonna do about it?

... but you don't want to let her down. Fuck. In the end, you want to support her. You give a sigh, and you're about to say as much- tell her you'll do whatever she wants but you're going to talk about this later- when she says something that stops you in your tracks. Changes your mind immediately.

"Or are you just a filthy brat??? Hm??? Respond. Or are you dumb, too?"

Oh fuck.

Your crumbled resolve pulls together again, and you straighten your shoulders, raising your chin. "... You know what?" Promptly, you drop her coat on the ground. Watch her eyes flick down to where her very expensive fur now lays crumpled on the floor, disbelief written all over her face. "Maybe. What are you going to do about it?"

[rodolfoparras]

Woke up and thought: I need TF141+Rudy to be my princesses!! But then my brain went to Price as my princess!! (I tend to be one of those people who is kind of like mom friend, but also guard dog??? Protective as hell but absolutely remembers small details about you and somehow just knows your emotional state??? So I guess my brain was like: GIVE THEM THE PRINCESS TREATMENT!! ☠️🤧)

He’s older and has always been this gruff masculine man. Every partner he’s had has always been his princess, and while he did love it, something in him tugged and tugged until he realized it was wanting and jealousy.

So of course when you join and despite the profession you’re in, you’re so kind. Not in the sweet bbg way, but in the “I will take care of and protect you no matter what” sir yes sir way. And it throws him for a loop!

But he sees the positive affect, how around base the tension the TF used to carry despite being safe is ebbing away. And that tug of want absolutely starts to burn inside of him.

You’re not even this hulking beast of a man, but something about you just screams safety and protection. And the way you take care of them all, has a wave of heat flashing through him. The way you subtly check on Ghost because anything too overt feels patronizing to him, the way you make sure Soap can calm his anger properly and give him you to vent to, making sure Gaz is truly alright after a difficult choice and making sure he feels settled. But the way you check on him is just… more.

Hand at the small of his back, to let him know you’re there. Somehow you figured out physical touch grounds him. Giving him water and even bringing him food when he’s been too focused on paperwork. Somehow noticing all his little quirks and tells, and always being there when he needs it despite the fact he can do this by himself. Hell you’re the only one to figure out that he gets hangry… well more so grumpy hungry and always get him his favorite.

So of course he has to ask, granted he’s nervous but he does. And somehow it just leads to you giving him the full blown princess treatment he’s always wanted. Hell, that pool of arousal in his gut becomes ever so present when you actually call him princess! (Not forcible feminization, just princess title ☺️)

Idk I just want Price to be my princess, Gaz to be my princess, Soap to be my princess, Ghost to be my princess, and Rudy to be my princess. 🤧🤧 I want to love and dote on those idiots so much!

(If anything made you uncomfortable pls let me know! I will apologize! <33)

🐻‍❄️-

Hear me out sugar..

1.

It first started when you bought a new bucket hat for him. He’d jokingly complained that one more rough landing to the ground and his bucket hat would fall apart.

You had stepped up offered to buy him a new, being fully serious about it too

He had accepted the offer, even jokingly said he’d buy the most expensive one to make a whole in you wallet

But he found himself frozen in place when you picked out the most high end store for outdoor clothes.

He didn’t even know what to say when you walked ahead of him over to where the hats were displayed, searching high and low for the perfect bucket hat.

You hadn’t even asked for his size but instead put different types of hats on him, standing so close he could feel your knees knocking together, calloused fingers grazing his skin as you felt the material under your fingertips, feeling heat creep his cheeks as your eyes stayed glued to him.

For the first time he feels an unfamiliar sort of feeling bubbling up inside of him.

2.

Undercover missions were his least favorite type of missions. It involved a lot of play and pretended and visiting place he usually wouldn’t be in, like a bar full of people half his age, drunk out of their minds and barely able to stand upright.

Price enjoyed a pint or two but this was way too much for his taste, had a grimace painting his face, something you quickly noticed.

“Not a fan?” You say, chuckling at the man’s obvious distaste.

“Never been” Price responds, carefully weaving his way through the floor of dancing bodies, with you following swift behind.

“How about I buy you a drink?” You don’t even turn to him to see the look on his face, already signaling for the bartender.

You hadn’t turned around to ask him his prefered drink already knowing it by heart for whatever reason, and once again he finds himself frozen in place, from utter confusion.

The bar was full of people but somehow you had managed to snag a chair for him, signaling for him to take a seat while you’d be left standing and once again he found himself speechless but sat downin anyway. As he takes a sip of his drink he notices your eyes on him.

“Good?” You ask, carefully gauging his face and once again he feels heat creep up his ears neck and cheeks, only managing a nod to your question.

“I’m just going to the bathroom real quick,” you say with a sheepish smile on your face and maybe he’d chid you for picking the worst moments to do your needs but he couldn’t focus on anything else but your hand on his elbow, your hot breath caressing his face and the way your cologne assaulted his senses as you leaned into him.

All he can do is nod in response before he continues to sip his drink, praying the liquor will keep him from saying something stupid.

It’s only been a couple of minutes that you’ve been gone before someone’s approaching him and attempting at making small talk.

Although he politely answers the stranger’s questions, it’s visible that Price is uncomfortable, shoulders rigid, smile forced and fingers fiddling with a napkin forgotten at the bar.

Suddenly there’s an arm around his waist, and he stiffens further before your cologne hits his sense and he feels himself relax in your embrace.

He doesn’t know what you had said to the other man all he could focus on is the warm palm on his back, fingers tattically brushing against the silver of his skin peeking through the shirt he’s wearing. But whatever you had said made the stranger nod his head, glass raising in the air before he walks away.

“Thank you” Price says, turning to you with a soft smile on his face

“Just doing my duty captain” you say with a smile on your face as you pull your hand away from his waist.

Another unfamiliar feeling bubbles up in his gut, this one he doesn’t like so much.

3. He once again finds himself in a bar, this time by his own choice, a place he’d picked to celebrate a successful mission.

He’d maybe had one two or three too many drinks when the world had started to spin around him, and someone, maybe soap? Maybe ghost? Had asked you to take him home.

Maybe if he’d been in his right mind he’d turn red at the fact that you were seeing him in such state, maybe if he’d been in his right mind he’d be able to feel the jolts coursing through his body from where your skin touched his. Maybe if he’d been in his right mind he realized how close you were to him, as you slung an arm around his waist, easily supporting him with your weight before taking him back to base.

Next thing he knows he’s waking up in his own room, a bit more sober than before, two bottles of water laying on his nightstand along with painkillers.

There’s even a washcloth on his bed and somehow he’s managed to strip himself down to his boxer and undershirt.

However before he could try decipher how he’d manage to do that in his drunken state, he hears his bathroom door squeak open and immediately flies out of bed, grabbing the first thing in his hand to defend himself which just happens to be-

"Painkillers? Really captain? I’d never guess that would be your weapon of choice”

There’s a brief moment of confusion, before it’s replaced with relazation and only then is he able to respond to your comment “oh piss of” he grunts out, throwing the bottle to the ground before he sits back down in his bed, hand clutching his throbbing head.

He hears you chuckle in response before the bed dips beside him.

“Here” you say, handing him the bottle he’d just thrown away.

He looks between the bottle and your face, heat creeping up his own face before he takes the pills in his hand.

Before he can even ask, you hand him a bottle of water and he does his best to ignore the jolts coursing through his fingertips as your hands briefly touch.

“Thanks” he says before he throws back the pills, swallowing them down with the water you gave him, and only then does he notice how thirst he is, quickly emptying the bottle in a matter of seconds.

“Want more?” You say, offering another bottle laying on the nightstand.

“No” he grunts out before he turns to look at you. “What are you doing here?” He says before he abruptly cuts himself off “I mean this is my room- not that you’re not allowed I mean-“ he continues to run his mouth only ever shutting up once he hears you laugh.

“It’s okay” you say waving away his worries “you got drunk and I helped you get back home, you wouldn’t let me leave though” his eyes widen at that, mouth ready to run again before you’re waving off his words with the flick of your hand “i helped you get in bed and by the time I brought you water and pain killers you had passed out, I kind of made a mess of the bathroom looking for painkillers so I thought I should fix that before I left “ you say with a sheepish look on your face.

It’s only now he realizes that you’ve been the one to strip the clothes off of him, you’ve seen every scar every mark he’d kept hidden under his clothing and once again he feels heat creeping up his cheeks.

He shouldn’t be this comfortable being touched by a stranger while unconscious but you aren’t a stranger and you’d only ever touched him with care and consideration like now as your hand is hovering over his in case he doesn’t want you touching him.

“If I made you feel uncomfortable-“

“No!” He says a bit too hasty before he corrects himself “I mean it’s alright, thank you for taking care of me”

It seems like that’s all you need to hear for the worry to trickle out of your bones, shoulders slumping and hand caressing his own.

“Alright, good” you say with a soft smile on your face hand resting atop of his own before you pull away “well it’s late and I need to go to bed or else you won’t see me bright and early in the morning” you say as you get up.

Although you probably meant the training sessions you were supposed to have in the morning he couldn’t help the unfamiliar feeling from bubbling up inside, maybe he should call it familiar since he’s felt it a couple of times now.

“Sleep well captain” you say sending him a playful salute before walking through the door.

And as the door shuts close Price realizes one thing.

He’s fucked.

[basilpaste]

"Fighter… There's something about the loops," Loop's eyes refuse to meet yours, their brows knit in… confusion, worry?

"Yeah?" You say, because this isn't usually how they talk about things.

They breathe, in and out, a little unsteady. You see their chest rise and fall, heave with effort.

They look through you. "Oh… Stars, hah! I don't know how I didn't see it before."

"… What are you talking about?"

"The loops…" They say, voice softer than you've ever heard them. "I-I think there's something wrong. Well, that's a given, I suppose, but I— never mind. Something's… broken."

You don't hear the rest of what they say because your blood turns to ice. Something's broken, something's failing, rotting. They told you they couldn't, uh, see that far, right? Communication cuts right about when you get to the King. But they must have been lying then, right? Because if they couldn't reach you at the King, there's no way they'd know about… that.

You haven't told them what the Head Housemaiden says, have you? You feel like you'd remember that. And they seemed… too earnest to be playing some kind of prank. You feel sick. Like you're choking. There's a thread tugging at your chest, pulling you along,

and

that...

thread . . .

snaps.

"Is— Fighter?" Loop is looking straight at you now, eyes wide, almost desperate (almost haunted).

You. Went back? How? Why? The only time that had happened without you dying was… was when you talked to the Head Housemaiden.

[thatonesillyducko]

A/N: There's no title for this I didn't realise this would fucking turn into a fic instead of just a brief scenario, but hey, enjoy my writing<3 WARNING: LONG ASS PARAGRAPHS

─⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─

In common room.. Keegan, Hesh, Logan, and Merrick were gathered around the conference table, discussing their latest assignment. The mission involved infiltrating a Federation base located in a Latin American country, the enemy soldiers were known to speak fluent Spanish (of course). As Americans, the group members themselves did not have proficiency in Spanish.

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"We have to be careful," Hesh said, his brow furrowed in concern. "We're not exactly fluent in Spanish, and that could pose a problem if we need to communicate in the field'' "Yeah," Keegan chimed in, his eyes flickering as he considered their situation. Merrick nodded in agreement, his mind already working on potential solutions. "We need a solution to this language barrier issue, or it could be a major liability in the field," he said. "What are our options?"

As the men thought their options for solving the language barrier issue, they all turned to look at each other before one of them spoke up. "Wait a minute…what about Jemíma?" Hesh asked, his face lighting up with realization. "She's Mexican, isn't she? She must speak Spanish fluently." (bitch, you dum man) The other men's faces lit up as they realized the potential solution to their problem and all their thoughts inevitably turned about Jemíma, the member of their team. "Yeah, you're right!" Logan exclaimed. "She's fluent in Spanish, so she could ". (you're a dummy too) "We could ask her for help, so she could be a valuable asset on this mission." Hesh laughed, looking at the others. "I agree," Merrick added, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Her linguistic abilities could prove incredibly useful in the field." "But we can't just ask her out of nowhere," Logan pointed out. "We need to approach this delicately. She's got her own duties and responsibilities, and we don't want to overstep." "Right," Hesh nodded in agreement. "We should approach and explain the situation to her."

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Jemíma was engrossed in her own little world, applying a fresh coat of red velvet nail polish with practiced ease. She hummed softly to herself, lost in the soothing rhythm of Mexican tunes that played in her mind. "Who's going to approach her?" Logan asked, looking at the others with a smirk on his face. "I will," Merrick said, a small smile on his lips. "She seems to be in a good mood, I think she'll be receptive to our request." The other men nodded in agreement, and Merrick took a step forward towards Jemíma. "Excuse me, Lieutenant" Merrick said gently, his tone respectful and polite. Jemíma looked up, her eyes widening slightly as she saw Merrick standing in front of her. "Oh, hello, Captain" she greeted him, a small smile on her face. "What can I do for you?" Merrick smiled back at her, appreciating her chill demeanor for now. (mfs are scared of her) "I have a favour to ask," he said, his tone earnest yet professional. "It's about our upcoming mission. We've identified a potential language barrier issue that we could use your help with." Jemíma raised an eyebrow in interest. "A language barrier issue?" she echoed, curious about what he was getting at. "What exactly do you need from me?" Merrick explained the situation, detailing the fact that the Federation soldiers they would be facing were all fluent in Spanish, while the team's were not. "Your ability could be a valuable asset to us in the field," he concluded, his expression hopeful. "I see…" Jemíma thought about this "Well, then I can start teaching you Spanish". She answered Merrick raised an eyebrow, surprised by Jemíma's quick response. "You would be willing to teach us?" he asked, a note of surprise in his voice. "Yes, of course," she replied, a small smile on her lips. "I can start teaching you some basic Spanish phrases and vocabulary that would be useful." Merrick smiled, impressed by her willingness to help. "That would be incredibly helpful," he admitted. "We could use any Spanish lessons you're willing to give us. But it's not just for us, it's for the mission too." Jemíma nodded, her expression serious as she understood the gravity of the situation. "I understand," she said. "Teaching you all some Spanish is the least I can do then I'm happy to do it," Merrick nodded in agreement, appreciating her sense of responsibility. He was impressed by how quickly she had grasped the importance of the task at hand. "Thank you, Jemíma," he said sincerely. "We appreciate your willingness to help us out."

That's when it starts. That day, the four men sat around the whiteboard, listening intently to her every word. However, Keegan had a bit of a distraction. Her voice, with its sultry Latina accent, seemed to wrap around him like a warm caress, sending a shiver down his spine and making his mind wander in deliciously inappropriate directions. He tried to focus on, but found his thoughts increasingly fixated on the way her voice made him feel. (FOCUS, SARGE) While the others listened intently, making notes and asking questions, Keegan found himself growing more and more distracted by the sound of Jemíma's voice. It was like a siren's call to him, drawing him in and making it increasingly difficult to think about anything else. His eyes kept wandering over to her, watching the way she moved and spoke, the inflection of her voice as she pronounced each word with perfect enunciation. (Who let me listen to Careless Whisper?)

After a lengthy period of the teaching, they received HOMEWORK *vine boom*, which was obviously a speaking skills test.

Back in their barracks, Hesh and Logan busied themselves with Duolingo (Walkers fr getting streaks a day. SPANISH OR VANISHED), Merrick studied diligently from the notes Jemíma had provided, and what about Keegan? He had a different approach in mind, instead of studying his notes or using a language app, Keegan had a smirk on his face as he thought about how he would approach the speaking test in a way that would hopefully not only impress Jemíma, but also catch her off guard. He knew that Jemima expected them to be diligently studying their Spanish, but wasn't interested in simply regurgitating memorized words and phrases. Instead, he intended to do something a little more creative and unexpected.As the others studied and prepared, Keegan knew that if he could show off his skills in a way that would catch Jemíma's attention, it might give him an opening to talk to her more personally. But how would he do it? He knew that Jemima was used to speaking to the others in Spanish, but he had something else...

・・★・・・・★ ・・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・★・・・・★ ・・ The day of the test has come, bitches. Let's see how they perform.

As each of the men took their turn to speak, Jemíma listened intently, evaluating their progress in Spanish. Merrick spoke clearly and confidently, his American accent still present but his grasp on his fluency. Hesh, on the other hand, struggled with an awful stutter, making it difficult for him to form coherent sentences. Jemima, unimpressed with his efforts, would often turn away and mumble "tsk tsk" as she listened to him. (Kick is recording him in the back, silently laughing he'll show the video to him later) Logan's turn came next, and he spoke similarly to Merrick, though he did stumble over some words in the middle. He was still able to string together still, he was at least more capable of speaking than Hesh (INSERT EARRAPE MLG SAD RIP VIOLIN, Justice for Hesh guys). Jemíma listened patiently as he tried to speak, nodding in approval as he demonstrated some level of linguistic progress. At last, Jemíma called on Keegan next, he realized that everyone was present and that the whole team was watching him. He had prepared something special for her, but now he was feeling self-conscious and preferred not to speak in front of the others.

"Uh, can I speak to you alone?" he asked, gesturing for Jemíma to follow him into the next room. Jemíma, unruffled by Keegan's request, replied firmly. "No, you can't," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "We're here to assess your speaking abilities, and that means doing it in front of the team."

Keegan's heart sank a little at her reply. He had hoped for a moment alone with her to say what he had planned, but Jemíma's firm response made it clear that wasn't going to happen.

"Please," he cajoled, his eyes flicking to the others before returning to hers. "I want to say something to you, but not in front of everyone else."

Jemíma raised an eyebrow at Keegan's pleading tone. She knew that he was desperate to say something to her in private, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to comply. "Why can't you just say it in front of everyone else?" she asked, her arms crossed across her chest.

Keegan sighed, realising that he wouldn't be able to speak to Jemíma in private as he had wanted. So, he decided to come up with a half-truth to buy himself some time. "Um, the thing is…" he began, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "I kind of… didn't really study last night. I was… too tired and didn't really get to it." (It was at this moment, he knew he fucked up)

Jemíma's expression darkened at his confession. "You mean to tell me that you didn't prepare at all?" she asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice. Keegan winced at the tone of her voice. He hadn't meant to cause any annoyance, but he had to think fast. "I know, I know," he said hurriedly. "It's just-- that I've been… distracted lately. I just couldn't focus on studying. I tried, but… I just couldn't c-cconcentrate." But her expression grew even more exasperated as Keegan continued to make excuses for his lack of preparation. "Distracted, DISTRACTED?" she repeated incredulously, her voice dripping with disbelief and eyes narrowing as she looked at Keegan.. "You couldn't even find the time to study because you were 'distracted'? Really?"

Keegan swallowed nervously, feeling the heat of her gaze and weight of her disapproval. He knew he fucked this up bad but he tried to explain himself anyway. "I know it sounds bad," he admitted, his voice apologetic. "But I really was distracted. I just had a lot on my mind and couldn't focus on studying." Jemima rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed with his excuse. "Distracted by what, exactly?" she asked, her tone sharp. "What was so important that you couldn't manage to study for five minutes?"(Jemíma don't scare him :( ) Keegan felt like he was being interrogated on the witness stand. "Uhh..umm..," he mumbled, averting his eyes from hers. Jemíma's frustration was building, and she raised voice was sharp and her tone stern as she scolded Keegan. "QUÉ? Cat got your tongue?" she asked incredulously. "You cannot even finish your sentence? Vamos, stop being so vague and just spit it out!" (Get rekt Sarge, this is what happens when you test her) But Keegan remained silent, knowing that he had no good excuse. He just stared down at the floor, his mouth closed tightly shut.

Jemíma took a breath, her irritation was building, but her frustration soon gave way to a different kind of emotion. "Do you even realize how frustrating it is to have to translate everything I say in my head before I actually say it?" she ranted. "I have to think in Spanish first, and then translate that thought into something you can understand in English. And here you are, not even bothering to study or learn the language." Jemíma continued, her voice rising with anger ."To have to watch people laugh because I'm struggling to express myself in a foreign language? You should try speaking in my shoes for just one mile and see how frustrating it is!" Keegan felt a pang of guilt at her words. He hadn't even considered the effort she had to go through just to communicate with them. "I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "I didn't really think about it that way. I know I should have studied more, and I appreciate everything you're doing for us." "Do you even comprehend how intelligent I am in Spanish?" Jemíma retorted. "Of course, you don't because you've never bothered to learn. It would be a pleasant change to have a conversation with someone in my own language here on base for ONCE!"

With that, she walked out, slamming the door behind her which caused the team to close their eyes for a moment and then open due to the sound. Her outbursts surprised them; they had never seen her this angry and hurt. They exchanged slow glances before turning to Keegan, he stood there feeling like he had just been slapped across the face. He knew he had made a mistake but had never known how deeply he had hurt her. He felt a pang of guilt and regret as he realized that he had taken her for granted.

With a heavy heart, he made a vow to himself to learn Spanish, not just for the sake of the rest of the group, but for Jemíma as well. He wanted to apologize and make things right with her, and he knew that learning her language was a good place to start.

₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ⋆⁺｡��⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊

After Jemíma had stormed out, she retreated to her Lieutenant's office. She back leaned against the desk, taking deep breaths and attempting to compose herself. The anger that had fuelled her earlier had since faded away, leaving only a feeling of exhaustion and frustration in its wake. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to push away the thoughts of Keegan. A slight knock on the door caused Jemíma to respond with her usual come-in. As Keegan entered the room, she looked up as the door creaked open, eyes flicked up to meet his. He stood there, looking guilty and sheepish, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at his presence. She said nothing, her expression stoic. Nevertheless, she managed to keep her expression neutral as she gestured for him to come in further. "What is it?" she asked coolly. Keegan took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before speaking. He knew he had messed up, and he wanted to apologize, but the words died on his lips as he looked at her.

"Listen, I'm sorry," he repeated, his apology sounding sincere. "I never really thought about how hard it must be for you to speak English all the time. I've been a jackass, and that's on me." "You have no idea," she retorted, her voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm. Keegan's tone now turned serious as he spoke. "Please, just listen to me," he implored. "I know I messed up, and I've been a total jerk. But please, let me try to make it up to you."

Jemíma expression softened a little at Keegan's change in tone. She could tell that he was genuinely remorseful, and she found herself reluctantly interested in what he had to say. "I suppose I can give you a chance to explain yourself," she said slowly, her tone still slightly guarded. Keegan finally got a chance which he didn't want his moment ruined that he had prepared eagerly special planned for Jemíma, something wanted to say to impress her. So he took a deep breath and-- In his broken Spanish, Keegan confessed his love for her, "Quiero decirte que te amo" his American accent heavily tinged in that Spanish. Jemíma breath caught in her throat as she listened. Her eyebrows raised in surprise, and her lips parted slightly as she took in the sound of him attempting to speak her language. "en todos los idiomas,...tú Saber?"

.....

There was a pause, and Jemíma had to blink after hearing. Although his accent has its flaws, yet is totally understandable

"Ayy Keegan, I love it! Now you sound like a stupid one, gringo!" Jemíma laughed as she walked right up to him and gave him a tight hug. Keegan couldn't help but chuckle at Jemima's affectionate insult. Her giggle was infectious, and he found himself grinning broadly as she approached him, enveloping him in a tight embrace. (Keegan you fuckin' and lucky bastard, YOU ACTUALLY IMPRESSED HER--)

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close against his chest as he savoured the feeling of her in his arms. "I told you I'd learn it, didn't I?" he teased, his voice affectionate. Jemíma looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with laughter and affection. "You did," she agreed, still smiling. "But I have to admit, your accent is still ridiculously bad." Keegan chuckled again, pretending to look offended. "Hey, cut me some slack, will ya?" he protested. "I've only been practicing for a couple days. I'm not going to sound like a native overnight." Jemíma smirked, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Oh, I know," she teased. "I wouldn't expect a gringo like you to ever sound like a real Spaniard."

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ᯓ⊹₊⟡⋆

[singsweetmelodies]

Hello Katie 👋🏼👋🏼 :D

For the 50 romance prompts ask meme, I'll like to request for 44: soulmate AU: timers <3

but if possible... with a twist...? (you don't have to include a twist if it's too difficult to work it in!)

The twist being, for whatever reason, their countdown timers for each of them to the time they meet their soulmates doesn't match, so they think "we're not each other's soulmates. that's cool. (no it's not)" but it turns out that they're each other soulmates anyways. or they choose to be with each other in spite of not being each other's soulmates. idk. *nervous laughter*

hiiii charlotte 🥰 first off, i am SO sorry for the incredible delay with this answer!! i saw this prompt and i absolutely LOVED IT (and the twist!! 🙏 *chef's kiss*) but unfortunately i got struck with a horrible case of writer's block/work deadlines, and just couldn't get to it at all.

until yesterday: i decided to just open my inbox and see what came to me. no thinking, just following the vibe of a prompt and writing. and uh. this happened... not only did it get ridiculously long (oops?) but it also somehow became a mini "investigate montreal" fic?? so in that vein, i'm tagging @1016week and submitting a belated entry for Day 6 "Montreal"... ❤️

i love this one. hope you love it too!! 👀⌚

~

Charles' soulmate timer stops when he is seven years old, and he meets the boy with the bluest eyes he's ever seen.

He's been vibrating with excitement all weekend - not just because it's a karting cup, but because his soulmate timer has been ticking down to this day for months now. Well, not just months, not really. It's actually been his whole life, but Charles doesn't remember all of that. He only remembers the past few months, when the little numbers had been getting smaller and smaller, until there were only ten days left and Charles gasped when he realised that the day would fall on the same day as the Bridgestone Cup.

"Of course the girl I marry is going to like racing, too," he'd told Maman and Papa, confidingly. Not a lot about soulmates made much sense to him, but this did.

His Maman had tried to smile, and Charles had hugged her tight to let her know it was going to be okay. He would find his soulmate, and then everyone would be smiling, because that's what people do when you meet your soulmate.

(Later that night, when Charles had been too excited to sleep and he'd gone to the bathroom quickly, Charles had heard his parents having an argument in their room. The door was closed, so their voices were muffled, but Charles could still make out his Maman saying "I just don't think it's a good sign, to meet your soulmate so young!" But Papa had countered, "Many people do, and they have beautiful stories. You have to trust that our Charles will meet his perfect match tomorrow." And then there had been an icky noise, like kissing, and Charles had flushed the loo quickly and ran back to his room.)

Now, with the beautiful blue eyed boy standing in front of him, Charles thinks of Papa's words again. Our Charles will meet his perfect match tomorrow.

Charles thought it would be a girl who really liked karting, but this is even better. This is a boy who wins at karting, because he's holding a trophy in both hands and grinning like he couldn't be happier.

Of course Charles' perfect match would be someone who wins at karting. It's only right, because Charles also wins at karting.

Charles clears his throat. "Hi," he says shyly, and the blue-eyed boy jumps.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," he says apologetically, and then he laughs. He has a nice laugh, Charles thinks - like he knows how to have fun. "You are a bit short," the blue-eyed boy adds, and hey.

"Hey," Charles protests. "I'm tall for my age. I'm seven."

"Well, I'm nine," the blue-eyed boy says, like that's the most impressive age in the world.

It is a bit impressive, but not very, because Lorenzo is much older than that. Still, it is a little scary - Charles is only seven. What if this blue-eyed boy doesn't like him because he's only seven? Older kids can be mean like that.

No, he is your perfect match, Charles reminds himself. This blue-eyed boy won't be mean to him, because that's not how perfect matches work.

Charles takes a deep breath, then he sticks out his hand. "I'm Charles," he says.

The blue-eyed boy takes his hand, and it feels... weird. A little bit like when you get shocked by static electricity.

Charles giggles, unable to stop himself, and the blue-eyed boy smiles, as though he likes that.

"Hello, Charles. I'm Pierre," he says, squeezing Charles' hand. His eyes widen a moment later. "Oh! You've met your soulmate?!"

Charles doesn't understand what he means. "Well, yeah," he says. "It's y-"

And then he notices it.

Pierre's soulmate timer, right there on his wrist, right above where Charles is gripping his hand - it's still ticking.

Now, Charles doesn't know a lot about soulmates yet, but he knows that that's not good. Not good at all.

"I, um," Charles stammers, and then he does the one thing Maman and Papa said you should never do to your soulmate. Charles lies.

"I met so many new people today. I don't remember who it was."

Pierre's face falls. "Oh," he says, and he sounds unbearably sad for Charles. "But..." He chews his lip, shaking his head with a deep frown.

Then, mid-shake, Pierre's expression changes to one of determination. "I will help you find them," he says, with the kind of confidence Charles can only dream of when he's not on the racetrack.

He tugs on Charles' hand - which he still hasn't let go of - and Charles is helpless to do anything but follow.

~

They don't find Charles' soulmate anywhere, of course, and then Charles has to go win his race - but Pierre makes him promise that they will find each other at the next French karting event, and Charles will tell him all about his soulmate.

Charles promises, even though the idea makes his stomach feel all funny. I shouldn't be lying to my soulmate, he thinks, guiltily.

But Pierre's soulmate timer didn't stop ticking, and... that's not how soulmates are supposed to work.

The moment he's in the car with his father after the race, heading back home, Charles asks him about it.

Papa is quiet for a long moment, then: "Are you sure there wasn't someone behind Pierre, Charles?" he asks, in his careful, kind way. "Someone who's timer stopped at the same time as yours?"

Charles thinks about it for a moment, but even the idea of that feels - wrong, somehow. Like going into a corner and knowing you braked too hard, and you're going to flip the kart.

He shakes his head decisively. "No," he says. "It's Pierre."

He hears rather than sees his father blow out a soft sigh. Charles catches his eye in the rearview mirror, feeling confused and a little shaky inside.

When Papa sighs like that, it's never good news - it's usually something about sponsorship, which is a word Charles is already coming to dread.

It doesn't make sense how this could be about sponsorship, though. It probably isn't.

Charles waits for his father to gather his thoughts, like he needs to do sometimes to make sure he says exactly what he means. (It's something Maman keeps telling him he should try doing as well, but he's not so good at that yet.)

"You know how even the greatest racing drivers make mistakes sometimes?" Papa asks.

Charles frowns, but he nods. "Yes?"

"Sometimes the universe is like that, too. Sometimes the universe makes a mistake, and stops the timers too soon," Papa explains.

Charles frowns. He hasn't heard about that before, but he guesses it makes sense. It's true what Papa said - not even Senna was a perfect driver who never made mistakes. It makes sense that the universe is the same.

"But this doesn't mean you don't have a soulmate, okay, Charles?" Papa says before Charles can spend too much time thinking about the whole thing. His voice is firmer than Charles was expecting, and he reaches up to tilt the rearview mirror to see Charles better.

"It doesn't mean you don't have a soulmate," he repeats, like he doesn't want Charles to ever doubt that. "It just means it's going to be a little harder to find them."

Charles frowns, and he can't help but be a little annoyed. Isn't the whole point of soulmate timers to make it easier to find your perfect match?

It's just his luck that his soulmate timer doesn't work properly.

"I understand," Charles says, though, because he can tell it's important to his father.

Papa nods, but he keeps watching Charles in the rearview mirror for the rest of the drive, like he sometimes does after a race where Charles crashed the kart badly and he needs to keep making sure that Charles is fine.

Of course Charles is fine. He doesn't think this is comparable to a bad race at all! It's a little annoying, yes, but it's not that bad. It's just a bit of extra work, isn't it?

Charles shrugs his shoulders, glancing quickly down at the stopped soulmate timer at his wrist.

Whatever. Racing is more important than soulmates, anyway.

~

Almost twenty years later, Charles still says that to himself almost every day, even if he doesn't believe it with nearly the same careless seven-year-old confidence anymore: racing is more important than soulmates.

It is, because it has to be.

The thing is this: his father's explanation to Charles' seven-year-old self had been true - if a little oversimplified, and painted with an overt layer of kindness.

The truth Charles knows now is that there are two reasons, two categories, for people whose timers stop when the other person's keeps running.

One is, like Papa had said all those years ago, a simple case of mistaken timing - cases where the universe or fate or whatever controls it all stopped one person's timer a little too soon, or the other's a little too late.

It's harder to find each other in those cases, but it's still quite possible.

And then there's the second category. The unrequiteds. People whose timers stopped at the right time - when they met the person who would be their perfect match - except that they are not that person's perfect match in return. It only goes one way.

It's rare, but it happens sometimes. No system is perfect, after all - not even a system of soulmates.

For years and years, Charles tried to convince himself that he fell into the first category. His soulmate timer simply stopped too early, by some cosmic accident - but it's okay, Charles insists to everyone who asks and to himself as well, because what it's done is given Charles more time to focus on his racing instead. He's not constantly glancing down at his wrist and wondering when his timer is going to stop ticking - he can just get on with the racing.

He'll find his soulmate eventually, but on his own terms. There's nothing bad about that, surely.

Charles believes that. Really he does.

Except.

Except, if it's true and Charles falls into the first category - the mistaken timing category - then it would mean Pierre isn't his soulmate.

Pierre, who kept the promise he'd made to a seven-year-old who wasn't even his soulmate (because, yes, he had found Charles at the very next French karting cup, and he'd asked to meet Charles' soulmate - and when Charles had to admit that he still hadn't found them, Pierre had hugged him and told him not to give up and that he would find his soulmate someday. Pierre had held Charles' hand and explained that his parents almost didn't find each other, but they did. So it might take Charles some time, but that was okay, because it had taken Pierre's parents some time too, but now they were happier than ever. He'd been so convincing, firm but kind and absolutely sure of himself, and he'd made Charles believe it. He also made Charles smile, genuinely and truly, when he promised he'd stick by Charles' side no matter what anyone else said or whispered about his stopped soulmate timer.)

Pierre, who kept that promise about sticking with Charles, too. Pierre who never stopped being kind, and loyal, and the best friend Charles could ask for, whether he was seven or thirteen or nineteen or twenty-six.

Honestly, how was Charles supposed to not fall hopelessly in love with him?

He tried to deny it. For years and years, Charles tried to deny it - I will find my soulmate someday and it will all make sense, he'd tried to convince himself - but the thing was, what made more sense than Pierre being his soulmate?

It was roundabout the time of Pierre's first win (when Charles was standing under the podium in Monza with an aching back but a heart soaring with joy for his best friend despite the disaster of his own race) that Charles resigned himself to the truth: Pierre is his soulmate.

He has to be. Isn't a soulmate meant to be your perfect match; the person who understands you better than anyone and makes you happier than any other person in the world?

There's nobody else who could make Charles as happy as Pierre does. Nobody, nobody. There's no point in even trying to deny it anymore.

Pierre is his soulmate. But he is not Pierre's.

And that's okay. It's okay.

It has to be.

~

It isn't okay, not really, but that's true of a lot of things in Charles' life, and he's learned how to deal with them. He can deal with this, too.

On the whole, Charles thinks he does a pretty good job of dealing with it. He gets to be Pierre's best friend, after all - isn't that just a different kind of soulmate? True, Charles might want more, but it isn't like he has nothing. He has Pierre, and he will have Pierre for the rest of their lives.

Not in the way he wants, but - at least he will have Pierre.

The one thing he tries never to think about is Pierre's actual soulmate. Because Pierre has one, he knows, and he will meet them at some point.

Charles doesn't know how the hell he's supposed to look at some soulmate of Pierre's, and smile at her, and not be hopelessly, heartbreakingly jealous.

(He will do it, though. He will learn to smile at Pierre's soulmate - for Pierre's sake. He'll do it for Pierre.)

But that's a bridge he will cross when they get there. He doesn't have to worry about it yet (or at least, that's what Charles keeps telling himself even as the months tick by, and he knows there aren't year figures left on Pierre's soulmate timer anymore. Just months now, and then... weeks.)

Charles isn't thinking about it. He's put it out of his mind completely - which is easy enough to do, thankfully, given everything that's been happening on-track this season.

That's probably why he accepts Pierre's invitation to dinner in Montreal without thinking twice about it. (Even if he had realised, though, Charles doesn't think he would have been able to say no, either. He would give Pierre everything, if he only asked.)

So they go to dinner in Montreal, and it's perfect, and wonderful, and laughter-filled, and all in all exactly what Charles needed to distract himself from the fact that he has yet another engine penalty, and the sinking feeling that the championship is beginning to slip out of his reach.

Pierre seems to realise it, because he's in even finer form than usual - teasing Charles and tickling his ribs playfully and making him laugh at every possible opportunity.

Even on the drive back to the hotel: they stop at a red light, and Pierre steals Charles' cap, and Charles is giggling and filming it while Pierre is giggling back, and he's pretty sure neither of them are thinking about it at all, until-

Until Pierre's face changes from laughter to something almost ashen. "Charles," he says, and for all the years Charles has known him, he's never once heard Pierre's voice like that. "My soulmate timer just stopped."

For a few seconds, the words don't even register in Charles' mind.

Then they do, and Charles can feel his heart drop. "What?" he breathes.

His hands shake, and he doesn't even register the fact that the light has gone green as he glances all around them, craning his neck to see if there's anyone behind the white Ferrari, or around to the side.

Just a few minutes ago, their car had been surrounded by fans on all sides, all jostling to try and get pictures of them. But now, somehow, they're all alone in the Montreal night.

(The irony of it all is not lost on him - is this how Pierre felt all those years ago, when he was trying to look for Charles' soulmate at a karting cup, but not finding anybody it could be?)

"Are you sure it stopped just now? And not earlier?" Charles asks, willing his voice not to shake.

"Yeah," Pierre whispers. He sounds... devastated.

"But," Charles says, and then he has to take a deep breath. "But there's no-one else here, Pierrot."

"I know," Pierre says, somehow even softer.

Charles' fingers clench reflexively around the steering wheel, and he's moving in blank autopilot as he puts the car into gear and starts driving forward again.

He doesn't even realise he's shaking his head until Pierre says softly, "Charles." There's something wounded about it.

Charles stops shaking his head and slams on the brakes instead, jerking the car into something he hopes is a parking space at the side of the road.

"I don't understand," he says, far more calmly than he feels. "You can't - I can't be your soulmate."

Okay, maybe he's not so calm after all. But he doesn't think... he doesn't think anyone would be calm, in this situation.

Pierre makes a sound that could almost be a laugh, except that it sounds too strangled. "Do you know," he says, "that I have spent half my life wondering if the soulmate system got something wrong in my case? Because if you're not my soulmate, then who is? Who could possibly..."

Pierre does laugh this time, shaking his head. "You know, I asked to go out with you tonight for a reason. I knew - I knew it would happen tonight, so I needed to..." He swallows. "I needed to see you, one last time. Before I wouldn't be allowed to love you anymore."

It jolts through Charles then, what Pierre is trying to say. "Pierre," he breathes, and now it's his turn to say his best friend's name in a way he doesn't think he's ever said it before.

But Pierre's not finished yet. "I thought I could have one last night with you," he says. "One last night, before I had to say goodbye to my feelings, and try to love someone else."

My feelings. Try to love someone else.

Charles Leclerc is a lot of things, but an idiot is not one of them. He knows what Pierre is saying. He's...

Pierre loves him too. All along, Pierre has loved him too.

Only, he never had the option of thinking we're soulmates, Charles realised, and his heart twists in his chest.

Because Charles, for all that he accepted his soulbond toward Pierre was unrequited - at least he'd had the option of them being soulmates. Yes, it was in a twisted way, but at least he'd had that.

Pierre didn't. And he still fell in love with Charles.

The thought hits him like a shell-shock, and it's enough that Charles can only sit there for a moment, staring blankly, as Pierre continues talking beside him.

"I meant for tonight to just be a quick dinner together, something fun but normal for us," Pierre is saying, wringing his hands. "But I lost track of time. I always lose time when I'm talking to you, Charlito, I could talk to you forever - but the point is, I forgot to tell you I need to go back. I forgot that I was meant to meet my fucking soulmate tonight, because I was spending time with you, and - "

He takes a deep breath, and then he laughs again, leaning forward to drop his head into his hands. "I felt it happen, you know? I knew exactly when my soulmate timer stopped, because I could feel it, and it's - it was when I put that fucking cap on my head, Charles."

The cap that he's still wearing. Charles' 16 Ferrari cap.

Charles' hands shake as he reaches out to touch it, just the brim. "Your soulmate timer stopped when you put my cap on," he says, because a part of him still can't believe that this is real, that he's not living in some kind of heartbreakingly wonderful dream.

Pierre straightens up so fast that Charles is left with his fingers dangling awkwardly in mid-air. "Yes," he says, suddenly looking wild, "but this doesn't have to change anything, Charlito, I promise. I will still help you find your soulmate, and I will - I'll learn how to live with an unrequited bond, it's -"

"No!" Charles interrupts, half-throwing himself across the car to catch hold of Pierre's hands. "No, no, no, no. No more unrequited bonds, Pierrot."

Pierre starts to shake his head, but then he stops in the middle of the movement. "What do you mean," he asks, very carefully, "no more?"

And suddenly, Charles feels giddy, of all things. "I mean, your timer didn't stop when mine did. So for years, I have thought that we can't be soulmates, or at least that you couldn't be my soulmate. But now your timer stopped when you put on my cap, so -"

"Stop, stop, stop," Pierre says, squeezing Charles' hands tightly. "What do you mean, my timer didn't stop when yours did?"

"Oh," Charles says, and then he winces, the weight of the only real lie he's ever told his best friend (the only real lie he's ever told his soulmate) settling onto his shoulders with uncomfortable heaviness. "Um. Well. Do you remember when we met, and you thought I already met my soulmate?"

"No," Pierre breathes, but it's not the kind of no that says "no I don't remember." This no is more like "no way."

"Yeah," Charles says, and he can't help but look down at his own wrist, where the soulmate timer has been stopped for years and years. "My timer stopped the moment I met you, Pierrot."

"You..."

Pierre doesn't look like he knows how to finish that sentence, but Charles understands him anyway. "How was I supposed to tell you? I was seven, Pierre, and your timer didn't stop. I thought it was a mistake for years."

"But?" Pierre asks, like he can tell there was a but.

Charles beams at him. "But, I realised that there was nobody else who could be my perfect match. So I thought you were my soulmate after all, but it was unrequited."

"Never," Pierre says with a fierceness Charles doesn't expect. "Charles, never. If I knew... if I thought I had even half a chance, I would have been with you anyway."

Charles tries to laugh, but it comes out all breathless. "No you wouldn't."

"Yes, I would," Pierre argues, and his voice is heartbreakingly sincere. "I don't care. I would have chosen you."

Charles hears a punched-out noise, and it takes him a moment to realise it came from him. The next moment, he's unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing awkwardly over to sit on Pierre's lap.

It's not quite comfortable, because for all its luxury, the white Ferrari does not have a lot of leg space - but Charles doesn't think either of them give a single fuck, in this moment.

"I love you," he tells Pierre, reaching up to cup his cheek. "I've always loved you, but I never would have stood between you and your soulmate."

"Funny," Pierre says, his hands coming up to grip Charles' hips, "because that's exactly what stopped me from kissing you senseless."

"Well," Charles says, and if he grinds down just a little on Pierre's lap, he'll swear to everyone who asks that it was accidental. "It doesn't have to stop us anymore."

"Never again," Pierre agrees, tightening his grip on Charles' hips. "Never."

"So kiss me senseless, please," Charles whispers, and then he adds "soulmate," and that's what does it. Pierre surges up and kisses him, wild and desperate and more than a little clumsy, but without question the best kiss Charles has ever had. His own cap digs into his forehead a little, but Charles can't even bring himself to care about that - they owe too much to this cap now, honestly.

Maybe the universe does know what it's doing after all, Charles thinks. Maybe the universe just wanted to write a good story for them. A story that goes like this:

Charles' soulmate timer stopped when he was seven years old, and he met the boy with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen.

Almost twenty years later, Pierre's soulmate timer stopped in a white Ferrari in Montreal, and Charles finally got to kiss the boy with the bluest eyes he's ever seen, the man who is his best friend and his soulmate.

The odds of it working out this way have to be... a million to one, probably, or maybe even less.

But then again, what are the odds that two boys who met at a French karting cup and became friends with a shared dream would both make it to Formula 1?

Maybe the answer is just that Pierre and Charles have always liked beating the odds.

~

(50 Romance Prompts Ask Meme) <- not currently taking more prompts, sorry!

[lerrryyyyy]

TDDK AU | Call the Soul by Name

Soulmate AU where you only find your soulmate when they call you by your name.

For heroes or those with another alias, it's not uncommon for the hero name/alias to also be the name their soul responds to.

Circumstances may differ for each individual of course.

Sometimes you'll find your soulmate when they say your last name. Sometimes it might be your given name, or a nickname. Sometimes you don't find out until your soulmate has their own nickname for you. Sometimes the 'feeling' - the indescribable sensation many relate to the phenomenon of your soulmate uttering your name - may respond to various names you identify by, but differ in intensity for each.

°°°

Shouto finds out Midoriya is his soulmate during their internship with Endeavor. When Midoriya yells "Shouto-kun!" while throwing his costume case at him.

Which shocks Shouto into stumbling for a split-second - almost getting hit in the face by the  case.

Once they've calmed down afterwards, Shouto convinces himself that, with the sudden rush in battle, he might've mistaken that 'soulmate feeling' for adrenaline. No one's been able to describe how it felt in concrete detail so Shouto isn't exactly sure what he's supposed to look out for.

He decides to save the conversation for another time - after they deal with all the villain attacks.

A plan that is promptly flung into the back burner when chaos erupts and leads to Midoriya leaving UA.

When Shouto finds Midoriya gone, anger at himself and regret for putting off the soulmate talk burns in his chest. If Midoriya knew about the possibility of their connection, would he still have left?

Knowing his self-sacrificing tendencies; probably.

Midoriya would carry the burden of fighting villains by himself to protect everyone. Maybe even more so if there is a soulmate to be kept safe.

And a part of Shouto is angry at Midoriya for that as well.

For not trusting them to have his back. For being so reckless to do this alone. For not letting them share the burden and fight alongside him.

Nevertheless, it fuels his drive to find his soulmate and bring him back.

°°°

Izuku finds out when the 1A comes for him.

When Todoroki yells, calling him 'Deku'.

Todoroki has never called him by his hero name before - it had always been 'Midoriya' even during their internships.

A feeling he can't describe shoots up his spine, almost freezing him in place. His gaze snaps towards sharp heterochromatic eyes and understanding dawns on him.

His resolve wavers for a second.

It's enough to give 1A the opportunity to finally catch him and bring him back.

°°°

Back in UA, Todoroki practically sticks to Midoriya's side the whole time, waiting for the opportunity to start that conversation they needed to have.

As the class slowly and hesitantly goes off to give Midoriya the space to clean up, Todoroki volunteers to get an extra set of clothes for him, then silently stays to wait.

When Midoriya steps out of the showers with that heartbreaking exhaustion that now constantly painted his face, Todoroki silently takes the towel from his hands and gently helps him dry his hair.

A tentative silence settles over them before Midoriya softly asks if he had known about them being soulmates. Todoroki only pauses for a moment before admitting that he hadn't always known, but he'd suspected it since their internship.

Midoriya responds with silence.

And something about it draws honesty from Todoroki's lips -  about how he was convinced that he must've imagined it. About how a part of him chalked it up to wishful thinking. Too good to be true because he didn't expect the universe to grant him a soulmate in the first place - much less someone he felt strongly for.

"I'm glad it's you", Midoriya admits with a small smile.

At Todoroki's surprise, he flushes and ducks his head shyly, muttering about how he sees Todoroki as one of his closest friends, and trusts him wholeheartedly.

After another moment of hesitation, he adds that with everything that's been happening, he'd been too preoccupied to think of soulmates or romantic attractions.

Todoroki starts to pull away, but Midoriya frantically holds onto him. "But, Todo- Shouto-kun!"

Shouto shivers at the prickle of warmth that races underneath his skin.

"Ah, I'm sorry, that was rude, I should've asked first, I'm so--"

"No." Shouto interrupts him. "Say it again. Call me Shouto... please..." he tacks on the last part almost like an afterthought, yet it doesn't dampen the expectant look on his face.

"S-Shouto-kun...?" Midoriya acquiesces, jaw dropping at the blush it draws out from the usually reserved.

"It feels warm..." Shouto muses.

Midoriya really can't help but stare.

"I can imagine falling for you easily." He blurts out. His cheeks redden at the horrifyingly honest declaration.

He doesn't take it back though.

Shouto tenses despite how fast his heart pounds. "You don't have to-"

Midoriya shakes his head, "I'm not just saying that... you're... you're incredible, Shouto. You're so strong in many ways. And so kind. You're amazing." He ducks his head, anxiously biting his lip. "I want to try this soulmate thing... if you want--"

"Yes." Shouto breathes out before he could even think about it. "Yes, Mido-- De-- Izuku."

Izuku's eyes widen in surprise and his cheeks turn an endearing darker shade of red. "Oh." He breathes almost reverently. "That sounds better than my hero name."

Shouto's fingers tighten around scarred hands, "Izuku".

The smile that lights up Izuku's face is so radiant Shouto almost chokes out a sob. He hadn't seen that kind of smile from the boy in so long that he eagerly welcomes the burst of affection he had tried to push down before.

"Shouto-kun." Izuku says like a prayer. "Is it selfish? Even when there's so much going on and everyone is in danger and--"

Shouto shakes his head, "it's not selfish to want something good in this shitstorm."

Izuku laughs at his language, "Shouto!"

Shouto's lips quirk up at Izuku's reaction - a far cry from the exhaustion he'd been sporting earlier. "And in any case, I think you, more than anyone, deserve to be a little selfish right now."

Izuku freezes, eyes watering ever so slightly - a glint of hope in the sea of hesitation. As if the idea of something positive seemed impossible to reach for but desperately wanting to leap for it. "Can I... can we really...?"

Shouto leans his forehead against Izuku's - their noses touching. "Yes, if that's what you want."

"Do you? Want this too?" Izuku's scarred fingers trembled in Shouto's grip.

"Yes." He repeats without hesitation.

Izuku's tone softens even more. "Can you give me time? To fall for you?"

"You can have forever if you need it." Shouto responds so earnestly that Izuku can't help but chuckle.

He leans more against the taller boy, trusting him to support his weight as tiredness ladens his limbs despite the way his chest flutters with bliss.

"That's a lot of time," he rests his ear against Shouto's chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

Shouto presses his cheek against Izuku's damp locks, "I'll wait."

Izuku's face grows warmer, but his smile doesn't waver even as he feels the beat of his heart racing ever so slightly to catch up to the rhythm of Shouto's.

There's still more they need to talk about later on.

But Izuku's pretty certain of one thing.

"I don't need that long, Shouto-kun."

[imtotallynotthere]

You just downloaded Reverse 1999 a few weeks ago, played through the first book out of four, and grinded those teardrops just so you would get a chance at the Knight. From the ads alone, you have pretty high expectations for it. You've seen some of the characters from the trailers, but one character you’re wanting to aim to get is Pavia in terms of 4-stars. You don’t quite know what it is that draws you too him, but you have a feeling it’s his accent and attitude. Yes, he may be insane, but…oh well? In all defense, you've crushed on villain characters like Pantalone from Genshin Impact, so he's not as bad.

You click the summon screen and click the ten pull. No luck with get Pavia or the Knight. As you go through two more summons, your disappointment begins growing. You summarize that life must hate you because God you’re getting all 4-stars besides Pavia. You go through one more and press skip, praying and finally. It’s not the Knight, but it’s Pavia. You quickly go to where all your characters are and click him, grinning like an idiot as you level him up and get him to Insight one. You are low on the Dust, but that’s fine. You press the three dots and lines at the bottom of the screen and change the character on the home screen from Apple to Pavia.

You give a grin at him on your screen and click him. You listen to his line before you do it again, and again, and again trying to see if you can get that ‘interact with a character 10 times’ achievement because you just remembered you didn’t have that one done.

While checking the tasks to see if you got it, you don’t see how his face twists into annoyance or how he adjusts his posture. As soon as you click out of it, everything goes back to normal. Though, you can swear his lines seem to be said with a little more grit to them, almost as if he’s saying them through his teeth.

Almost as if he’s annoyed.