#my soapy lad

[captin-azoth]

🗣️KA FREAKIN' BOOM BABY!💥 💖Etsy 🍵Kofi

[atinypurpleuniverse]

thinking about how cal (chooses???) to wander around absolutely covered in grime. like, i know there's probably not that much time in between everything, but i feel like some parts feel fast because gameplay reasons and there realistically has to be a few days here and there while they're traveling or restocking or what have you between all the crazy life risking

ANYWAY. my point is the crew must take time to sleep and eat and restock/refuel at least a few times, and i don't claim to know how plumbing works on spaceships or what facilities market space stations or planetary outposts might have and i know cal spends a lot of time rolling around in mud

all that just to say there is not a single time in game so far (and i'm nearly through my first playthrough) that i have not panned the camera around this gremlin child and seen dirt, mud, grease, gunk, etc. absolutely CAKED to his clothes and his arms. be that in the middle of fighting in a wet and filthy swamp, climbing around imperial structures like a freaking spider, or literally rolling out of bed on the mantis after presumably at least a days travel, warm meal, and a nice nap. like please for the love a god cal, even if you don't have a shower at least wash your hands i beg you

[koralcove]

APT.

synopsis: what the current lads men's reaction would be when they find out you've been obsessed and bopping to this song (and how they would handle lss when it hits them).

a/n: this song has been bouncing in my mind as i was taking a shower, and then bam! brainrot was born.

xavier

he was headed to your place, coming back from the bakery as his nose directed him to a delicious scent and decided to purchase a seasonal pastry. his first thought when he purchased the tasty treat was to share it with you.

he's standing in front of your door. a few minutes have already passed, and you still haven't come to answer. on his last knock, he decides that he'll just invite himself in. opening the door, he's greeted by the sound of a beat coming from your kitchen.

as he nears your kitchen, the song comes in full blast from your speaker, the catchy rhythm reverberating around the room and into your bones, evident from the jolly wiggle of your shoulders and hips as your body moves to the beat.

you're currently washing your dishes right now, and you seem to be a bit sidetracked and spellbound by the music, occasionally stopping to soap a dish but mainly getting carried away by music as your body bops to it.

the song is apparently on loop, probably an intentional decision given from the never-ending delight of your body and expression as it keeps playing in the background, with you still unaware of his presence.

halfway through the third loop of the song, you do a little turn and scream as you finally notice xavier's presence by the threshold, soapy hand clutching on the spoon in your hand. judging from the subtle smugness and amusement in his eyes, he's been here for a while, spying quietly on your little display.

"xavier! what the fu... how long have you been there?!"

"long enough to find out that you put the song on loop. this has been the third time it's played."

your ears burn at the horrifying knowledge that he's seen enough of the little 'concert' you had.

you shoo him away from the kitchen, asking why he's there in the first place. he tells you of his little detour before going home and has picked up a pastry to share with you. you tell him to wait by the living room as you finish up the dishes, though you take your time in the kitchen to cool down, speaker now turned off and ears still burning in mortification.

once you're done, you avoid meeting his gaze as you sit down, taking the pastry he offered you. you sit stiffly, body language evidently awkward, and it doesn't help that xavier's eyes bore into you, pressuring your form.

"what?" you mumble, still not meeting his eyes.

"nothing. just visualising your dancing again."

you stop chewing, mouth agape as your eyes snap to his. you groan, lightly kicking his leg. "you weren't even suppose to see that! and isn't it a violation for someone to just walk into someone else's home while they're vulnerable? and talk about you spying too..."

"well, someone couldn't hear me knocking because their music was on blast and they were busy dancing, so i decided to let myself in." amusement dances on his gaze as he sees your face cringe.

from that day on, you made sure to always be alert with the door, especially when it came to xavier. you're suddenly doubting the decision of letting himself feel welcomed into your place...

he didn't let that slide for a few days, and though his teasings were subtle, it always manages to hit the nail in the coffin with his implications.

"your swordsmanship is getting better, although i'd say i'd prefer to see you doing your little dances right now instead."

"you want to do the dishes? am i going to see another concert from you?"

"i'll help you with that. you wouldn't want to get sidetracked with how lively the music is."

he finds himself humming the tune sometimes, but it was never within your vicinity. he was holding consideration for you, because although the blush creeping up on you and the scrunch of your face from the memory was adorable, he wouldn't want you to feel as if he was mocking you and making you uncomfortable around him.

one thing he'd never let you know, though, was the video of you that he secretly recorded. it never fails to bring a smile on his face and light his heart up with the way you were so lost into the music, your expression one of concentrated joy as you feel through the song, along with your adorable dancing too.

---

zayne

on a particular day, he had noticed you humming the same tune and repeating the same lyrics.

at first, he thought it was some form of incantation and wondered if you'd had any encounters with a wanderer that had anything to affect your functioning.

"apt, apt, apt, apt..."

zayne had to give you a quick check up to see if anything else has affected you. his suspicions were abated when he heard the following tune of your chanting. turns out, it was only a case of last song syndrome.

he found your little hummings endearing, especially when it's paired with the slight bop of your head, probably recreating the beat in your mind.

he doesn't mind it much, but a few days later as he's shopping, he hears a familiar chant and melody playing in the background. it turns out, it's a popular song, and as he listens to it intently, he can understand how the catchy rhythm seems to worm its way into your head.

at this point, with his knowledge of the song and your repeated hums and soft singing of the chorus, zayne has become somehow familiar with it. the music has eventually wormed its way into his head as well, but it was mostly because of how it reminded him of your cheerful tune.

unknowingly to him, he's been quietly humming the melody. greyson has noticed this when he was about to deliver a report to zayne, catching up with him until he hears a soft vibrating sound coming from the surgeon.

he's surprised to hear the familiar, catchy tune coming from their ever stoic doctor, but when you arrive at the hospital and greet greyson, asking about the doctor and waving at him with a skip in your step and the lyrics flying softly out of you as you leave, he puts two in two together.

you also eventually catch zayne humming the tune while you're both preparing dinner at his place, ears quirking as you hear the familiar melody in the form of his light, baritone cadence through the sound of him chopping.

"i never knew you liked that song too, doctor zayne. i didn't think it would be your style."

the hand on the knife stills at your comment, making zayne suddenly aware of his action. he blinks slowly, before proceeding to chop again. "i suppose it's grown on me. admittedly, the song is quite catchy itself, but i was more influenced by someone's constant singing of it."

a bashful smile reaches your face. "ah, my bad. it got stuck in my head for the whole day, and that was all i could hear in my mind."

"your condition sounds serious. i'm afraid it's contagious. the only cure for this now would be for you to sing it to me until my brain gets tired of it."

---

rafayel

your hand shoots to grab the can of paint that you almost tripped over, sighing in relief from the lack of spill on the floor. you're wondering where in heaven's name rafayel is already.

he's invited you over spontaneously with the alibi of suddenly having the urge to have a painting session together. you figured it would be fun, considering you had nothing to do at the moment.

he also mentioned that he was out to grab a few supplies and that you should help yourself in his studio, but it's already been around forty minutes, and he still hasn't appeared yet. you're getting bored from just sitting out and waiting for him, so you decide to start on something.

once you've prepped everything you needed, you scroll through your phone and look through your playlist to find an appropriate song to get into the mood before starting. a cheery tune comes in and you nod in approval, grabbing the brush and just going off with whatever you feel.

minutes pass by, and you've made some progress with your work. the upbeat songs on your playlist drive the mood of your art as well as yourself, but when it reaches to that particular song, you're suddenly all over the place, the paintbrush now a makeshift microphone in your hand.

"don't you want me like i want you, baby? don't you need me like i need you now?~"

"oh, i definitely need a camera for this."

you trip over the same paint again, its contents spilling out. a slew of curses leave your mouth, grabbing the can before the whole liquid could escape. you look up to see rafayel, with a grin plastered on his face.

"i... you... how..." you sputter over your words, too stunned to even utter a full sentence to him. how long has he been standing there? and how much did he see?

"i came back ten minutes ago and heard the loud music from upstairs. sooo, i saw your performance for about... seven minutes, i'd say."

he walks over to you, taking the paintbrush from your hand and replacing it with a paper bag you haven't noticed on him.

"here, i bought some food for you on the way. i figured you might be hungry from all the wait. it was really busy outside. but don't worry, i always compensate my bodyguard. especially after they'd just had that dance number."

you groan, putting a hand on your face but forgetting about the paint on them, so now you're covered with... a vermillion red, as it says on the can from earlier. the colour is probably matching with your face from how hot it feels.

"hah, looks like you've been caught red-handed–"

"ugh, don't."

after that embarrassing fiasco and things have calmed down, you and rafayel work on your paintings. he eventually tries to warm you up with playing your songs again, persistently telling you to continue playing them to give the background a more lively vibe. you agreed when you made him promise not to make fun of you from earlier.

when the song plays again, you fumble for you phone to change it to the next queue, but rafayel stops you with a snap of his paintbrush on you knuckles, making you glare at him, and he in turn gives a pointed look at you, making you leave the song on play. you can't stop the small taps and head bops from the catchy beat.

much to rafayel's chagrin, that song has been stuck in his head for the following days. he can't deny how catchy it is, and there's a certain melody that's easily recognisable and playful to it. eventually, he's singing it in his studio now, and blasting it away into the coastal air. yet, no matter how many times he's played it, the tune still rings in his head.

unfortunately for him, it's blocking his creativity, and he can't think of anything but the song. he blames it on you for exposing it to him... until a lightbulb in his brain lights up. it's you! the moment you blared up that music and danced around his studio with your paintbrush mic in hand as if it was your personal stage, the memory of that song and moment locked it in his brain.

his hands eventually get to work, and canvases are filled of you in that moment – the riveting expression on your face as you belt out to the song, the paints scattered on your hands and arms, some unknowingly on your hair, the way your body is thrown back in carefree ecstasy as the music courses through you... he makes that memory come alive again.

---

sylus

he's noticed that luke has been playing this one song in constant repeat on his phone, to the point that the catchy chorus of the song is practically shoved into the forefront of his brain, playing it every now and then.

it got worse when kieran got into it as well, much to luke's delight.

"i thought you'd hate this song and say it's stupid."

"what? no! it's so good that i can't even stop playing it."

"me too!"

now the manor echoes with that song. surprisingly, sylus doesn't mind it. it is quite catchy, annoyingly so that he willingly listens to it on his own as well (but he doesn't let the twins know that).

of course, you also loved that song, and as soon as luke found out, he pulled you along with kieran for a sing-along loop until you all got sick of the lyrics and each other's voices.

unbeknownst to all of you, mephisto is recording everything, and sylus smirks in delight when he sees the three of you belt out to the song non-stop, capturing the way you passionately sing out to it and let your body get lost into the rhythm.

also unbeknownst to the onychinus leader is that luke and kieran had managed to get an audio recording of sylus humming and singing to the song with his infamous tone deafness.

"kissy face, kissy face, sent to your phone... i'm trying to kiss your lips for real–" you and the twins burst out laughing at the audio, clutching on your stomach at how out of sync he is. kieran plays the audio in repeat again, and it never fails to make you all burst into tears of laughter.

"please... i can't breathe..." you wheeze out, grabbing onto luke's arm.

"what seems to be all the commotion around here?" the low baritone voice makes you all freeze, luke and kieran especially. kieran fumbles with the phone, turning it off before addressing to sylus.

"b-boss! w-we were just..."

"they... they..." you fight your words in between giggles, clearing your throat and trying to compose yourself, but ultimately ended up failing as you burst into laughter again.

sylus waits out your fits of chuckles, raising a brow expectantly at you. "what's so funny that's gotten you this breathless, sweetie?"

"hah... it's just... luke and kieran showed me something really funny, is all," you say with a dismissive wave, a grin still etched on your face, eyes sparkling with delight.

"really? and what is this 'funny thing' that they showed you?"

the twins sweat, already trying to fumble with an excuse until you chime in. "nothing, it's nothing. you wouldn't get it, sorry."

before he can make a remark, you stand up to take his hand, leading him away from the twins before he could question them further.

"c'mon, you said we'd go out tonight! what place did you want us to go to?"

an amused chuckle leaves sylus. "you'll see."

turns out, he brought you out for karaoke, which was probably the worst and best thing tonight.

you scream into the microphone with as much feeling and power as you can until your voice is so hoarse that it couldn't even detect your voice anymore.

and sylus... well, he was singing with as much tune as he can, which is... really out of this world, but you still cheer on him, recording him with your phone as he attempts to follow the melody of the song.

after that, you think you need to get your hearing checked.

and as promised, kieran sent you the audio of sylus' singing. now you both have an audio and video to file in your 'crow screeches' album.

[ahqkas]

♯ STARMAN ; remus lupin

PAIRING! young!remus lupin x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! during a snowy holiday at the potter residence, remus finds himself caught between the matchmaking ideas of his two best friends and his growing feelings for you

WARNINGS AND TAGS! fluff, idiots to lovers, kissing, james & sirius play the matchmakers, cursing + lmk

WORDS COUNT! 3k

NOTES! i posted this back on my old blog in 2022 / 2023 so if you’ve read this before no u didn’t❕ peter is absent in this ff , he’s spending the christmas with his own family

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

JAMES POTTER AND SIRIUS BLACK.

Good lads, great company, and even better matchmakers. Who wouldn't want to spend time with them? The two boys were always full of energy, their laughter infectious, and jokes just rolled from their tongues as naturally as breathing. You could be certain that boredom was a foreign concept in their presence.

That's what everyone thought.

Remus Lupin, however, isn't everyone.

To Remus, James and Sirius were more than just pranksters and school celebrities. They were his closest friends, brothers in all but blood, and the kids behind some of the most outlandish escapades Hogwarts had ever seen. Remus saw behind the facade of their shared humor and carefree attitudes. He understood the deeper layers of their cores — the loyalty that bound them together, the masked fears and insecurities, and the stupidity and courage that defined their actions.

James Potter, with his tousled hair and round glasses, had a heart as big as the Quidditch pitch. Sirius Black, with his roguish good looks and devil-may-care attitude, possessed a sharp intellect that clashed perfectly with his rebellious nature.

Yes, to the outside observers, James and Sirius appeared to be the life of the party (which they were) but to Remus, they were the definition of family.

Even though they certainly knew how to fuck things up.

ONE

"Just listen to us, Moony! This one will work out, me and James planned it for . . . one week, is it? Just trust us!"

Sirius Black's voice was brimming with enthusiasm, his gray eyes twinkling with the unspoken promise of yet another grand scheme. As these words left his mouth, Remus felt a surge of frustration well up inside him. His hands itched to do something else than the dishes — but he resisted the urge to punch the oldest Black brother. The sheer absurdity of the situation was almost laughable. This wasn't the first time his best friends came up with a plan to help him with one of his many problems. Some of their previous attempts had actually worked out quite well. But there were also unsolved problems that Remus had learned to live with, issues he simply couldn't — or wouldn't — allow them to meddle with. Like this one.

"Exactly, mate! We're not doing this just for fun, you know. We're doing it just for you, because as you can see, we know you don't have the courage to tell [Name] how you feel. And we wouldn't be suggesting this if we didn't think it had a real chance of working."

Remus nearly dropped the plate he was washing onto James' head. Did they really have to put their noses into his personal matters? It wasn't that he lacked the courage — he told himself that repeatedly — but the timing just wasn't right. And he had came over to James' house to enjoy the Christmas holiday in peace, not to snog off his best friend's face.

But once an idea comes into a marauder's head, it won't leave until it's out for the world to see.

Just Remus' luck.

The warm, soapy water cascaded over his hands as he resumed scrubbing the plate, trying to focus on the boring task before him rather than the frustration rushing through his system. Sirius's words carried in the air again.

"It was originally planned for Evans, but she wouldn't be as cool with it as [Name]. You know how they both are! Evans would try to hex James' ugly face first, then mine. And [Name]? Well, it seems like you just have to find out, mate."

You just have to find out, my arse.

"Look, why can't you just keep this thing as it was first planned? I'm sure Lily would appreciate the opportunity to snog James' stupid face," Remus said, his voice tinged with the frustration he felt. James made a noice that sounded suspiciously like a gasp and opened his mouth to protest, but Remus ignored him and kept going. "Okay, maybe not for the next ten years, but one day she surely would."

“For the record, my face is unbelievably handsome, thank you!”

The oldest Black brother crossed his arms across his chest, the rag he used to clean the dishes dangling from his hand and making a puddle of water beside him. James glared daggers at it. "You see, even if you politely declined our offer to bring some spice into your already boring life, we can't take no for an answer. We spent our free time searching up a single spell in the library. A bloody library, Moony! So, no. If you and [Name] don't kiss by the end of the Christmas, this prank will be considered unsuccessful, which is something the Marauders don't do."

Sirius' eyes held the same look of determination they had when Peter confidently told the rest of the group that he, Sirius Black, was going to win the snogging bet they made in their fourth year. Remus hadn't liked that gaze then, and he certainly didn't like it now, because he knew what it meant. Peter had won that bet. Which just means . . .

Remus saw his short life flash before his own eyes. This was not going to end up in the way he would like to. A bad, no wait, a horrible idea. But before he could do something to save himself from the coming catastrophe, the whole point of the prank entered the kitchen with a lopsided smile on your face. The boy always thought you were pretty. A pair of eyes that seemed to brighten up whenever your favourite topic is being talked about. A warm smile that makes Remus feel the comfort you gave to him. He wouldn't need to drink Veritaserum to admit that he fancied you.

"I just finished unpacking my stuff, so if you want to do something together . . ." you trailed off, looking into their eyes with an inviting gaze. Remus awkwardly moved his gaze away, heart pumping against rib cage.

James, being the little shit he is, nudged Sirius with a knowing smirk and nodded his head in the direction of his room. "Well, it looks like our job is finished here, doesn't it, Padfoot? We should help Moony here to unpack his trunk. Come on."

Before the werewolf could do anything to stop his two best mates, James grabbed Sirius by the crook of his elbow and ran into his room, leaving the pair of obvious friends alone in the Potters' kitchen.

You looked around, a little surprised by the sudden reaction of James and Sirius. Remus stood next to the sink, drying his hands on a rag. "That was new."

"Yeah, it was."

You leaned over the table, a playful glint was dancing in your eyes. "So, they left to unpack your trunk, huh? I wouldn't let them do it if I were in your place, because I know how much of a messy person James Potter can be. Sirius does look like one too. I've seen your dorm," you let out a laugh that Remus quickly joined.

"You're not wrong. Last time they helped me unpack, I couldn't find half my things for a week. They think it's hilarious to hide my socks in the most ridiculous places."

A playful twinkle sparkled in your eyes at the sudden memory. "Well, at least you know where to find them when something goes missing. I once found a pair of James' socks in the Astronomy Tower. Still haven't figured out how they got there."

"You know," the boy started, but his dark eyes caught the green and white blur above your head, and his breath hitched in the back of his throat. They really had the guts to do it! A spring of mistletoe hung precariously above you, clearly placed by James and Sirius.

Thinking quickly, Remus took your palm in his and met your gaze again. "You could help me unpack my things, so I know where they are and all that stuff you need to know about unpacking."

With a nod, you let him took the lead. "Okay, Remus. I'll save you from them."

Remus was going to kill these two.

TWO

The weather seemed to understand the friend group's wishes for snow, much to their excitement, prompting them all go out and mess around in the white blanket of cold snow. They couldn't charm snowballs yet, and the ice on the lake next to the Potter residence was a bit thin for their liking, but it was fun either way. Laughter and shouts of excitement filled the crisp air as they chased each other, fell into snowdrifts, and made the most of the wintry day.

When they returned home, it was already dark outside, and four mugs of hot chocolate were waiting for them, accompanied by Mrs Potter's cheerful face. The warmth and aroma of the sweet liquid welcomed them inside, melting away the chill from the frost.

James and Sirius, their energy finally exhausted, soon trudged off to bed after they finished their cups, leaving Remus and you to linger a bit longer. The house was quiet now, the only sounds the gentle cracking of fire and the occasional creak of the old wooden floors.

If only it could be like this every day, Remus thought to himself as he sat on the couch beside the fireplace. The flames radiated warmth, and with the mug in his hands, everything felt nice again. No stressing over studying, no thoughts for the upcoming war. He was in his own bubble, praying it wouldn't break at any given moment.

In his lap lay an opened annotated copy of a book you had given him as a Christmas present in your fourth year. He had read the book many times, and each time he found something new that caught his interest. It was like a never-ending story he never planned to finish.

"Hey, Remus."

The sudden sound of your voice and the feeling of your frame settling next to him, a knee brushing against his tight, made him shut the book with unnecessary force. The boy could feel your eyes on the side of his face so, he turned to meet your gaze, brown meeting [eye colour].

Remus had really pretty eyes. The rich brown seemed to melt in the warm room like the sweetest chocolate you had ever put on your tongue, with hazel sparks dancing in them. His eyes held something you couldn't quite put your finger on — a mystery, just like his person. But there was one thing you knew for sure: you would find comfort in them no matter the situation.

As you looked closer, you noticed faint freckles dusting his cheeks. Had they always been there? The gentle smattering of the constellation added to the roughness around his scars, making him appear even more breathtakingly beautiful. You found yourself mesmerized by the little details of his face, each one telling a story of its own.

Remus decided to talk first. "What are you doing here? Not that I mind, I'm just wondering. It's pretty late, you know," after those words left his mouth, Remus felt like a total fool. Merlin, talking with you was getting more difficult since he realized he liked you more than a friend should.

But when he saw your lips curving into a smile, he knew he hadn't messed up. "Can't sleep. It's hard to do so when you have to sleep on a different bed."

"Yeah, I can understand."

Once the comfortable silence fell upon the two of you, Remus wanted to stay like this as long as possible. Life with you in it, even after Hogwarts, would be like a dream come true. You could adopt a cat or a dog together. Remus had always wanted a pet . . . The thought of a future with you filled him with a warm, hopeful feeling.

Suddenly, you were standing on your feet in front of Remus, the book no longer in his lap. Instead, you were holding it open, reading the first words he had written on the front pages. He could feel his neck and ears start to warm up, and he was sure it wasn't from the unfinished hot chocolate.

"Nice book you got here. Must have been a nice present, don't you think?" You were teasing him, he knew it from the glint in your eyes, and you seemed to be enjoying it, too. So, he played along.

"Oh, I don't know, would you be surprised if your friends bought you a book when they see you every morning reading them?"

"This one must be your favourite, as the front is starting to lose its colour."

At the further mention of the book, Remus forgot about the teasing at took it from your hands. "You should read it, [Name], it's a really . . . ," he trailed off again, like he did yesterday, and it started to confuse you more and more. His eyes were looking at something above your head, too. Was the moving photo of little James framed behind you that interesting?

When you started to turn and look, Remus quickly turned you to face the direction of the kitchen and pushed the half filled mug with warm liquid into your palms. "I want more of that. Could you help me make it? Thanks, [Name]."

Remus was ready to push James and Sirius onto the thin ice tomorrow.

THREE

Remus didn't like packing. First, he needed to pack at least a day or two before leaving so he could sleep without overthinking, but he did overthink it anyway. Did I pack everything? I think I had more stuff when I got here . . . He usually spends half of the train ride worrying about things like this; the rest was joking around with his friends and saying goodbye for the summer. And second, he didn't like leaving. The places he went to — whether it was Hogwarts or the Potters' — had a special place in the depths of his heart. The only comforting thought in his head about it all was that he would come back.

With a sigh, he started to pick up his jumpers from the Gryffindor-themed rug James had in his room. They had spent their first Christmas together when they were twelve, and the boys slept in separated bedrooms to Mrs Potter's wishes. She wanted them to have their own privacy (they shared a dorm at school, after all), but as time went on and she realised her boys wanted to be together, the witch let them do as they wanted. You got your own room as this was your first holiday here.

As much as Remus thought about the task being annoying and gloomy, it was kind of relaxing to his mind into something else. James and Sirius hadn't tried anything on you two in the last few days, which worried the werewolf a bit. What were they planning? It wasn't like them, giving up on something they were so determined about.

At a knock on the door, Remus put his just-finished folded socks into his trunk and went to open the it. It couldn't be James and Sirius, and the adult Potters had gone for a walk into the village, which just leaves . . . you.

Oh.

Remus opened the door and revealed, in fact, your glowing face. His eyes took a look at you, and he found himself thinking how pretty you looked.

Your nose and cheeks looked like they were freezing, but it somehow made your face glow. Your beanie covered half of your forehead, and there was a huge spot of unmelted snow on it, probably thrown at you by one of the Marauders. But your eyes still caught his attention first. They showed your real emotions, and you were happy right now, which made Remus feel happy too.

Your smiled reached the corners of your eyes. Remus liked your smile. "Hi! Knew I would find you here. As you can probably see, we are having a snowball fight and I was wondering if you wanted to join me? James is being a git . . .”

Remus couldn't help but chuckle at your enthusiastic invitation. The idea of being outside with you, engaging in a playful snowball fight against his brothers, sounded far more appealing than packing his things. He also knew that if James was being a git, he'd have to intervene to keep the playing field fair.

He listened to you, he really did, but his attention was drawn by the green plant, dangling from the doorframe above your heads. However, this time you followed his gaze and saw what he was always searching for.

"Oh."

Before he could regret what he was about to do, his hands found your cheeks, and his eyes focused on yours, not bothered by the cold that started to reach his palms. "Can I kiss you?"

Your eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The heartfelt laughter of James and Sirius outside faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in that small, shared moment. A soft smile played on your lips as you voiced your inner desires.

"Yes, Remus, you can."

You placed your hands on the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape, and gently pulled him towards you. Your slightly cold lips met his warm ones, and the contrast sent shivers through both of you. The sensation was intoxicating, a rush of emotions and sensations that made your heart race. The warmth from his mouth spread through you, melting away any lingering cold from outside.

Remus's hands slid from your cheeks to cradle the back of your head, his fingers doing the same thing as yours, threading through your hair. You could feel the slightest tremble in them, a sign that he was just as affected by the kiss as you were.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, and you took a moment to catch your breath. Your eyelids fluttered open, and the look you shared was one of pure emotion. His brown eyes, now darker with desire and something deeper, gazed into yours with a mix of awe and admiration.

It felt like a core memory of your new found relationship was forming, one that will be forever treasured and reminded with nothing but adoration.

Remus was glad about the whole mistletoe prank but the boys will not hear a word from him about it. They were right, the Marauders won't let a prank go unfinished.

[chaosandmarigolds]

Ahem- sorry more dad!simon because I pulled an all nighter annnnd yeah (this is solely based on my dad- who was in the military soooo I feel like I’m kinda founded)

Simon doesn’t believe in phones, he has one yeah, but he has text, facebook (which is logs in through google) and no-not Spotify, pandora and why would he pay for premium? It’s just a few ads every hour??

He doesn’t get texting all that much so he prefers calling- which he will hang up without warning

Or if he’s being funny he’ll go ‘over n’ out.’

When he does text it’s like a letter for a while, topic sentence, body, conclusion, all of it for just asking to grab a new batteries while you’re at the store

Now the names on his phone is the one part that seems (somewhat) normal

Ie

You- Luv

Oliver (once he got old enough….which he thought was never) - Lad

(Then in the company section he would put the full name)

Then we get to the boys

Johnny: Soapy ICE

Kyle: Gaz 🧢

Price: Captain

(Now the nickname for Johnny and the emoji were technically Ollie’s idea but he kept it after ten years)

Simon also learned what emojis were

Yet he just….

It’s that. He’s the most dull humor and sarcastic man on earth but he cannot understand emojis

Ps- his name is everyone else’s phone

You: Simon <3

Oliver: Dad 👻

Johnny: Si

Kyle: Simon Riley

Price: Riley

Annnnyway that’s it! I have five more finals and two more projects and then I’m FREE

[haveihitanerve]

I am a proud Bruce Wayne can cook believer so I, a humble tumblr user, request Bruce cooking with his family.

YES. sorry that was loud. But yes 100%. i gotchu

Dick: Dick awoke to the sound of sizzling. He slipped out of bed slowly, padding down the stairs into the kitchen. Alfred was off on a little veteran excursion with old friends, and it was just him and Bruce in the manor for the week.

Bruce was standing at the stove, humming along to the soft music playing, an apron wrapped around his waist as he flipped something in a pan with one hand, messing around with a spatula in the other. He turned when Dick entered the kitchen, smiling.

"Hey chum, you're awake! Wanna help me cook some breakfast?" Dick nodded, climbing onto a chair to peek at the eggs Bruce was making. "I'm making omelets. They're simple and quick and provide you with lots of good protein and vegetables." Bruce informed him, lifting him off the chair and onto his hip instead, handing him the spatula.

"Go on, flip it." Dick laughed, leaning over the pan to flip the omelet. "Nice work chum!" Bruce cheered, sliding the finished omelets onto two plates. "Now we make some bacon- and.." Dick leaned against Bruce's chest, watching as he easily moved around the kitchen, explaining every step as he went. It was nice. Cozy. Domestic.

Jason: Jason awoke to the smell of frying bacon. He slid down the banister into the kitchen, and padded over to Bruce's side, who was leaned against the counter, drying dishes. "Hey Jay lad." Bruce greeted with a smile, bending down to lift him up. "What's up?"

"What're you making?" Jason asked around a yawn, peering around the kitchen for the source of the smell. "Oh," Bruce grinned, bending down so he could peer into the oven. "I'm making breakfast muffins. They've got bacon, eggs, cheese, and jalapeños." Jason's stomach rumbled and Bruce laughed, standing again.

"It'll be ready in a few Jay." He plopped Jason on the counter, grabbing a cookbook off the shelf. "In the meantime, wanna help me get started on this pot roast for dinner?" Jason nodded, running his hands along the old, yellowed pages of the cookbook. Bruce smiled as he watched him, collecting the ingredients.

"It was my mothers." He informed him, picking the recipe. "and one day," He bopped Jason's nose with a spoon. "It might be yours." Jason smiled.

Tim: Tim awoke to the sound of clanging dishes. That was... strange. Tim jumped out of bed, hand closing around his bo staff. His parents were off on another one of their little adventures. He was home alone. There wasn't anyone else in the house. Or, not supposed to be.

Tim crept down to the kitchen, keeping his back against the wall, before slowly peering inside. Bruce was standing at the sink, filling dirty pots and pans with soapy water, an apron wrapped around his waist, though clearly not big enough for him, so Tim assumed it belonged to the old cook who must have left it when Janet fired her.

"Uh," Tim cleared his throat and stepped into the kitchen, leaving his staff in the hallway. "Bruce? What are... you doing here?" Bruce turned to face him, smiling brightly.

"Timmy! You're awake! Lovely, sorry to drop by unannounced, but you mentioned yesterday not eating breakfast lately, and, well, I figured I'd stop by and make you something." He wiped his hands on a towel, suddenly seeming a little nervous. "If- if that's all right?" Tim nodded slowly, unsure.

"Uh, yeah- yeah no that's fine. What um, what for though?" As far as he was concerned, Robin hadn't done anything wrong lately, and he definitely hadn't done anything that warranted Bruce coming over to make him breakfast. Unless this was Bruce's way of softening the blow of firing him... Something curdled in Tim's stomach.

But Bruce smiled, set at ease again, and turned to his dishes. "Oh no reason, you just mentioned not having eaten breakfast and well," he laughed lightly, sticking a brush into the sink to help his cleaning. "Its... a little bit of a tradition, you know." He shrugged. "For me to cook something. For every Robin. You don't, uh, live at the manor, but that doesn't mean you should miss out."

Tim blinked in confusion. Bruce was... openly sharing a Robin tradition with him? That was new. Bruce sighed, apparently knowing it to, and turned back around. "I'm sorry Tim, I should... this is weird.. I should have told you I'd be coming and... you're permanent Tim."

Tim stared at him wide eyed. "I'm what?" He repeated, utterly confused and a little scared. "You're permanent." Bruce repeated, eyes utterly serious. "i know I haven't always been the best towards you, but I'm trying. I want to- I want to fix that. And be there for you. Like your parents should be. I'm not trying to replace them- I just want you to know I'm here and-"

He was rambling, words moving too fast for Tim's ear to pick up, his own cheeks flushed as his hands moved awkwardly in his haste to explain. Tim didn't care. He'd stopped listening after 'you're permanent'.

Before Bruce had a chance to react, before Tim could stop and think more about what he was doing, he was across the room, his arms wrapped around Bruce's torso. Tim's mind finally connected to his body and he tensed, waiting for Bruce to push him away, to say "no thats not what I meant"... but after a short pause, Bruce's arms wrapped around him.

He was warm and strong and solid, firm and protecting. "I've got you Tim," Bruce whispered, his breath tickling Tim's ear, but the words sweeter than anything he'd ever heard. "You're permanent."

Steph: Steph didn't know how he was in her house. She wanted to know how he'd found her much less. As Bruce Wayne, even, not as Batman. She just stared at him. At Bruce. Standing in her kitchen, awkwardly, holding a Walmart bag of groceries. He cringed, lifting said bag. "You wanna make some waffles?"

Stephanie didn't even know what her life was, anymore. Here she was, ex-robin, remade Spoiler, standing in her cramped, crappy kitchen apartment, making waffles with fucking Batman, except it wasn't Batman, it was Bruce, and he was wearing her obnoxious purple apron and was singing along to her horrible music taste and he was good at singing damn it, and he was laughing at her jokes and even making his own and he even let her lick the spoon and the waffles looked delicious and...

"Why are you here Bruce?" She asked finally, while they were waiting for the last waffle to finish, and Bruce had already moved on to do the dishes for her. "Hm?" Bruce returned, pretending like he hadn't heard her, or understood her, though she could tell by the way his shoulders tensed that he had.

"Why are you here?" She repeated, crossing her arms. Bruce sighed, shoulders slumping. "Because I messed up." He whispered quietly. Steph stilled. "What?"

"I messed up." He repeated, and returned to his scrubbing, doing it more forcefully than necessary, and not turning around to face her. "I- I shouldn't have fired you Stephanie." And that was when the world slid out from under her feet.

"W-what??" She exploded. Bruce bit his lip, knuckles white on the scrubbing brush. "It- it was wrong of me to fire you. I- I'm sorry." And any fight she was gearing up for went out of her. "I was just so mad, and- and I was missing Tim and Dick and Jason and everyone... and its no excuse." He turned, finally, meeting her eyes. "Its no excuse. Not for how I treated you, not for any of it. And, I'm sorry."

Steph stared at him, rendered speechless for the first time in her life. Bruce fidgeted under her stare, but to his credit did not move away, or break eye contact, or flee. "Why now?" She finally managed to squeeze out. Bruce sighed, and it seemed like enough of an acceptance of his apology for now that he turned around again, and resumed doing the dishes.

"I don't know. I guess... I guess because I realized I hadn't done it with you yet." he gestured to their pile of waffles. "Cooked. Cooked for you. I cook for every Robin. For every Robin I've ever had I've cooked. And I- I didn't do it for you. And its because you weren't there for very long but truly its because I didn't want to. I didn't want you to be Robin. Because that meant Tim truly was gone. Because I only get a new Robin when the old one is gone. Gone for good." He shrugged. "There's no excuse."

"Those sounded like some pretty good ones right there." Steph joked lightly. Bruce smiled at that, but still didn't turn around. "But they aren't." Steph swallowed, and slowly walked closer, taking a rag and slowly drying off the dishes he finished.

They worked in silence for a while, until all the dishes were cleaned and put away again, and Steph motioned him to sit down at her rickety old table, and served them waffles.

"I forgive you." She said finally, when they had both eaten their fill. Bruce looked at her. Clearly shocked, but... listening. Staying. She loosed a breath, leaning back in her chair the way Jason had taught her.

"I forgive you because... because you have some pretty good reasons and because... well these waffles are really good." That got a smile, a crack in his mask, and Steph smiled back before she could stop it.

"But mostly..." His smile faded and he waited. Waited. Stayed. "But mostly I forgive you because you apologized. And because I want to. Because well," She smiled ruefully. "Robin can't ever stay mad at Batman for too long can he?" Bruce smiled back, smaller, more subdued, but he smiled back. "No," The words sounded almost sorry. "No he cannot."

Damian: Damian awoke to the smell of home. But... that wasn't right. He wasn't home. Not, not at home. He was at the Manor. At Home home. But the smell...

Damian slipped out of bed, walking to the kitchen. He found Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Steph there, yelling at each other and cooking, Bruce and Jason doing the most work while Steph handed them things, Tim read stuff aloud from a big yellow cookbook, and Dick watched, occasionally sampling things and calling for more of something.

"What's going on?" Damian asked, and his words cut through the chatter like a knife. Silence fell. Damian regretted speaking immediately, wishing he hadn't come downstairs at all. But Bruce turned with a smile, still stirring something that smelled so familiar.

"Hey Dami," he greeted, nodding his head for him to come closer. "Happy Birthday. We just decided we'd get together and make you something special for breakfast." Tim nodded and he and Dick herded him to the table, sitting him down and tying a napkin around his neck.

Jason appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray that wafted like home. "We made a bit of everything," He eldest brother said with a sheepish smile. "Wasn't sure which you'd like." He set the tray down and Damian couldn't stop the tears from welling up, not as he beheld the staples, the dishes Mama had made him. That he had shared with Grandfather.

"Wh- why? What?" Damian looked around at all the sweaty, proud, flour covered faces, beaming at him from around the table. "Do you not like?" Bruce asked in concern, brows furrowing.

"NO!" Damian returned, a little too forcefully, cheeks turning pink. "No." he said, a shade quieter. "Its lovely, but, but why?" Steph grinned, leaning over to ruffle his hair. "Because, little moon, it's Robin tradition that Bruce cooks for you. And, well, since we're fairly certain you're gonna be the last of us,"

"I don't think B's hair can take anymore." Jason grumbled. Tim snickered in agreement and Bruce smacked the back of his head with a small, fond smile as Jason ducked, laughing lightly. Steph rolled her eyes at them, winking at Damian as she continued. "We figured the rest of us would pitch in too." Dick grinned, leaning over to pour him a glass jellab. "Happy Robin Birthday Damian."

[chamomiletealeaf]

This was kind of inspired by the conversation @captainswhore and I had about Price getting horny watching you wash his car in a bikini lol but I decided to write this with Soap.

Warnings: tit fucking, playful banter, suggestive gestures and innuendos, Johnny makes reader orgasm from water pressure from a hose 🫣

Soap on leave seeing you, a cute little thing at a charity car wash washing someone's car and imagining how you'd look all soaked and wet from the sudsy water while you washed his 4 Runner (@brewed-pangolin has me fully convinced Soap has a 4 Runner).

You're wearing a white T-shirt and a pretty little yellow bikini underneath it while you and your friends wash people's cars for donations for veterans.

Soap sees the sign and smirks to himself, knowing he could probably get himself a private show watching you wash his car if he pulled the military card on you.

He pulls up and you go up to his car letting him know about the cause and asking if he'd be willing to donate in exchange for a car wash.

He smiles at you and says:

"Of course lass, I'm a soldier myself. This is very sweet of you." He says as he shows you his identification.

Your eyes light up as you smile big.

"Oh! Then you don't need to pay anything! I'd be happy to wash your car for you for free sir!" You say so enthusiastically it almost melts Johnny's heart.

Then he smirks devilishly as he lowers his voice a little bit.

"Say, if you insist on washing this dirty ol' thing for free then I gotta give you something in return at least huh bonnie." He says and you blush, noting the smirk on his face and tone of voice in his suggestive statement.

"Oh no sir, don't worry about it, I'd be happy to do it for nothing in return. Least I can do for all of your service." You say, then add one more thing quietly after looking around to see if anyone would hear, but your friends are busy with other customers.

"If you'd like, you can drive around back and I can give you a private show." You say, feeling more confident and he smiles.

"Sounds lovely lass." He says, and you bite back a smile then direct him around to the back.

You grab a bucket and sponge and walk back to meet him.

When you get back there, you're surprised to see that he's outside of his car, leaning against the wall waiting for you and he notices your shock.

"What? I'm getting a private show, might as well make sure I see all of it." He says and you giggle, the handsome man making you feel ditzy.

You turn on the hose and spray his car, not giving him what he wants just yet.

"So, what exactly do you do in the military?" You ask him, trying to start conversation.

"Classified honey." He says, crossing his arms and you try to discreetly rub your thighs together at the pet name.

"Ok well, how long have you been in the military?"

"Since I was a lad. Been there for a long while." He says, and the hose suddenly changes pressure and spats out water against you, wetting the front of your white t shirt.

You yelp as the water seeps into your shirt, exposing your yellow bikini underneath which makes Johnny bite back a smile.

"Sorry." You giggle. "Wasn't expecting that."

He watches you rinse down his car then you grab the soap bucket and wring out the sponge, some soapy water getting on your thighs and dripping down.

"You know, my callsign is Soap." He says, and you look at him puzzled.

"Really? Why's that? Or is that classified too?" You say smugly teasing him, and he laughs.

"Smart wee thing aren't you." He says and you wink at him.

"My real name's Johnny." He says, and you say your name back.

"I'm y/n." And he repeats it back with a smile.

"Pretty just like you." He says, and you blush.

The sight of your white shirt being soaked, sticking to your chest and the sudsy water dripping down your thighs making your skin glisten has Johnny adjusting his pants where he stands watching you, and you notice, but you love it. He was so hot. It's not everyday you see a man as fine as him, so you took advantage of the situation.

"Ugh shirt's getting in the way." You say, and slowly strip the now soaking shirt off of your body.

Johnny then takes a seat by the lawn chair next to him and leans back with his arms crossed and legs open, really taking in the sight in front of him.

"Fuck" He whispers under his breath as the water and soap drip down your pretty body.

You walk around the car in front of Johnny and lean forward, bending over to exaggerate your scrubs of the sponge on the hood of his car giving him the perfect view of your ass and covered pussy obstructed by the yellow fabric.

You bend down to dip the sponge in the bucket and stay bent over for as long as you can, really letting Johnny get a good look at your ass and thighs before you come back up to continue washing the car.

Johnny watches with his lips slightly parted and he adjusts his hips in his seat with a grunt, his pants getting more and more uncomfortable by the second.

You then move to the hood of the car so Johnny can see the whole side of your body as you seductively wring the excess water in the sponge out onto your chest, the soapy water running down your body.

Johnny reaches a hand down to palm the bulge in his jeans as he grunts out an audible "fuck" and you giggle again, pressing your chest against the hood of the car as you wash it.

You continue teasing Johnny as you wash his car, then go to grab the hose to rinse the soap off.

You then move to the side of the car in front of Johnny again after turning on the hose, and rinse the soap off your ass before rinsing the car.

"You wanna help me rinse?" You turn back with puppy eyes and ask Johnny, and in record timing he's stood up and pressed to your back.

He watches the soapy water run down your ass and the backs of your thighs and he can't take it anymore. He grips your hips and makes a satisfied grunting noise.

"Well fuck me dolly, aren't you a little tease." He says into your ear as you push your ass back into him with a giggle.

"C'mon, help me out. Can't wash this car all by myself, sir." You say, and Johnny moans at you calling him sir and wiggling your ass against his now rock hard dick.

Johnny lets go of your hips and goes to unbuckle his belt and pulling his thick cock out of his jeans, and you giggle again as you feel it slap against your lower back.

Johnny kicks your feet out and slaps your ass, the suds sticking to his hand from the impact and flying off from the speed he takes his hand away.

You yelp and Johnny laughs.

"Aww wasn't expecting that were you bonnie?" He says as he slides his cock between your thighs, making you moan.

"This ok?" He whispers, and you whimper, pushing back against him, urging him to continue.

Johnny smiles against your ear and he begins to thrust, fucking your thighs nice and good, the soapy water making his cock slide easily between them.

Johnny leans back gripping your hips as he watches how the impact of his hips against your ass makes your ass and thighs jiggle and he grips your hair, pushing you down against the car hood.

"Such a fuckin' tease aren't ye." He says and you moan, his cock sliding between your thighs hitting your clit perfectly through your yellow, skimpy, bikini bottoms. "Such a bonnie little thing. Bet this pussy is even prettier aye?" He says then smacks your ass again before he continues to fuck your thighs harder.

You grip the sponge in your hand and push back against him with a whimper, blissed out from the feeling of him and his words.

"Turn around. Need to see these tits." He says, then grips you by the shoulders to spin you around, suds sticking to your chest.

"Fuck me." He says, and you smirk, pushing your tits together to tease him yet again, which sets him off.

His eyes darken as he grabs you by your elbow and pulls you to the chair behind him as he sits down.

"On your knees. Gonna fuck these perfect fuckin' tits. All soaped up and ready for me."

You get on your knees and tug the tops of your bikini top down a bit so that your nipples are barely peeking out of them. You then grip Johnny's cock and give it a few tugs before sliding it between your tits, the string of the bikini restraining his cock from moving out from between them.

You start to bounce up and down on your knees, not caring about the painful gravel digging into your skin as you titty fuck him.

"Oh my god fuck. That's it. Bounce those tits on me." Johnny moans and throws his head back.

You continue to fuck him with your tits, looking up at him with puppy eyes and a smirk, the soapy water beginning to soak his jeans under your breasts.

You look down and watch the tip of his cock appear and disappear between your tits covered in soapy water and you moan at the sight.

Johnny is a mess above you, panting like a dog with his cheeks flushed and he watches you titty fuck him in your skimpy little bikini and he swears he's never seen anything so fucking hot before.

"Cum on my tits." You whimper out, and Johnny moans.

"Want you to cum all over my tits. Please sir, need it so bad." You say, and Johnny moves your hands from your tits so he can squeeze them together now to fuck them himself. You move your hands to his thighs and let him use your pretty body.

Johnny squishes your tits together and thrusts his hips up into them and you stick your tongue out, catching a tiny lick to his tip every time he thrusts.

"Most perfect fuckin' tits I've ever seen. Gonna make a mess of them. Gonna cum all over these bonnie tits hm? That what you want dolly? Want me to fuck your tits nice and good?" Johnny moans out to you and you nod with a whimper.

You go to untie your bikini top, letting it loosely fall around your tits, and Johnny grunts at the sight of more of your chest being exposed.

"Yeah just like that. Such a good girl, makin' herself all pretty for me." He says, his thrusts getting messier and the mixture of water, soap, and precum smacking against your tits making a loud sloppy noise.

"Open your mouth honey. Stick out that tongue for me. Thaaat's it. Such a good girl aren't ye. Fuck I'm gonna cum. Such a bonnie fuckin' sight." He says as you stick your tongue out, waiting for him to shoot his cum all over your mouth and tits.

Johnny thrusts a few more times before his cheeks flush and he cums so hard he shoots his cum onto your tits and tongue, and some even getting up onto your cheek, which makes you giggle.

He's vocal, and loud, but you think it's adorable. He looks so fucking hot sitting above you like this, his cock nestled between your tits.

"Fuck lass. That- You're fuckin' amazing." He says as he bends down to help you off the ground and into his lap.

You place your forehead against his as he comes down from his orgasm.

"Wanna rinse me off?" You ask, nibbling his ear.

"Fuck you're dangerous aren't you dolly. Dirty wee thing." He says with a smile and you giggle.

You get off his lap to hand him the hose but he grabs you by the hips so you sit down in his lap, back against his chest.

"Wait you're gonna get wet!" You exclaim to him with genuine concern and he pinches your cheek, thinking you look so fucking adorable looking at him like that.

"Don't you worry about that lass. Lemme take care of ye now. You've been so good to me now haven't you." He says as he spreads your legs to rest each one over his knees.

He brings the hose up to your chest and watches over your shoulder how the mess he made along with the soap washes away and he coos at you.

"See? Isn't that better honey?" He says, and you moan at the feeling of the nice cool water against your skin during the hot summer day.

Then, Johnny moves the hose down your body slowly, rinsing off your torso and thighs and making you wiggle as he gets closer and closer to your pussy.

He smirks as an idea pops into his head.

"How 'bout we move these out the way hm? Let me make you feel good yeah?" He says into your ear as he plays with the bow on the side of your bikini bottoms and you nod in anticipation of what he's going to do next.

Johnny unties the bow holding your bikini bottoms up on your hips and he pulls the fabric away from your pussy. You blush as you realize you're on display for him and he laughs darkly at the sight of how wet you are.

"Can tell yer so fuckin' wet even with all this water on ye."

Johnny rubs your thighs and playfully pinches and smacks your clit before he runs the water stream over your pussy.

"Oh fuck." You moan and arch your back against him.

"Uh uh, sit still for me aye?" He says as he grips your thigh from under your knee to keep it open.

Then, Johnny turns up the water pressure on the hose and directs the stream over your clit and you yelp in pleasure.

"Ah oh my god! Johnny!" You say in surprise but you can't help your eyes from rolling back from how good the water pressure feels against your clit.

"That feel good bonnie? Feels nice up on your cute wee clit like that doesn't it." Johnny coos in your ear as you whimper.

Johnny's pants are completely soaked but he doesn't care, not when he's got a sweet pretty little thing like you wiggling and moaning in his lap.

"Yeah that's it. Keep those legs open for me. Wanna see you cum." He says, hand still holding your thigh open against him.

It doesn't take long for the pleasure to build and your at the edge.

"Oh Johnny. Fuck I'm- Oh my god I'm gonna cum." You whimper out with tears pricking at your eyes from how good it feels and how hot it is to be held in his lap like this.

Johnny turns to whisper in your ear but he keeps his eyes on your pussy being sprayed by the hose.

"Do it bonnie. Cum for me. Been so good. Lemme see that pretty little pussy throb." He says, and that's all it takes for you to cum.

You throw your head back and your eyes unfocus as you cum, legs shaking in Johnny's grasp.

You cum so hard you feel your cunt pounding between your legs and Johnny watches as your clit twitches.

"Yeahhh that's it. Yeah just like that dolly. Cummin' all nice and pretty for me." Johnny says, talking you through your orgasm.

Johnny leaves the stream going for a few seconds before turning it off.

"You ok lass?" He asks, and you nod panting, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

"C'mon, let's get you a dry shirt. Don't want you to be cold." He says as he strips off his shirt and pulls it over your head to dress you.

"There. Looks better on you than me." He says with a smirk and you laugh.

Johnny ties your bikini bottoms back up and you then try to get up but your legs shake, so he catches you and holds you up.

"Woah careful now." He says, strong arms wrapping around you.

You compose yourself and you both walk towards the car. He walks you to the driver's side then open the door, rummaging through the glove box for something. He pulls out a notepad and pen and writes something down before ripping the page out and handing it to you.

"Here. Maybe we can go on a proper date sometime." He says, and you take the paper, realizing it's his number.

"I'd love that." You say, smiling up at him. "Considering you made me cum my brains out." You add, making him laugh.

He hops into his car and turns to you to say something before closing the door.

"Oh and uh, hopefully your friends don't notice your shirt. Or the state your legs are in." He says smugly, and you playfully hit his chest while rolling your eyes.

"Ugh, get out of here, before they actually notice." You say, and he closes the door and rolls down the window.

"Hopefully your friends don't notice your pants." You say to him referencing his soaking wet jeans.

"They'll probably be too blinded by how shiny my car is to notice." He says with a wink and you blush.

"Call me tonight?" He asks, and you nod. He then starts the engine of his 4 Runner and drives away after blowing you a kiss jokingly and you roll your eyes again.

You made your way back to your friends and they were so busy with customers they didn't notice you were gone. Hopefully they don't notice the paper with a certain soldier's number sticking out of the bow of your bikini bottoms, or the way you had a silly smile on your face for the rest of the day.

Washing cars was the best thing you and your friends ever did.

[reds-skull]

Dual Loop

[AO3]

(Note: TW for suicidal idation, mild gore, self harm, depression. That being said, there's no MCD, and it has a happy ending. This one is a little heavier than my usual stuff, stay safe <3)

So... I expected this to be like... 5-6k words. It ended up being over double that. Enjoy!

Also, I decided to have a sort of mini post-script in comments in AO3, so you're welcome to check it if you're interested!

The 141’s common room might be Soap’s favorite. It’s nothing fancy, a couple of ratty couches shoved into one corner, and a kitchenette in the other. It doesn’t have a TV like the other common room, and they have to constantly clean off mold from beneath the sink.

Soap wouldn’t have it any other way, as it has something no other room on base has - his taskforce. Despite not having much to do, just lying beside Gaz and shit talking the rookies with the Captain is pleasant, Ghost moving about in the kitchen.

He watches the giant man turn around and reveal a steaming mug of (probably) tea, and decides to call him over, “oi, LT! Come over ‘ere, I’m sure ye got some horror stories from your recruits.”

Ghost’s dark eyes drag over him for a few tense seconds, before he responds, “got paperwork to finish, MacTavish.” he nods toward the others, “Garrick, Captain.” and leaves.

His displeasure must’ve shown on his face, because Gaz reaches over to pat his head, “awwh, maybe you’ll convince him next time Soapy”.

“Awa’ wi’ ya, yer messin’ mah hair!” he bats his hands away, pouting at Price’s laughter.

The Captain’s moustache twitches with a hidden grin, “Simon values his alone time, Soap. It’s nothing personal.”

“I know, I know. Wish he could stay around at least one night, though…” he frowns.

“He will in his own time.” Price groans as he gets up from the couch, “right lads, rather not stay out of bed after eleven. Don’t go to sleep too late.”

Soap and Gaz both answer “okay dad!” in unison, cackling when Price flips them off as he exits the common room.

They fuck around for a little longer before calling it a night as well and separating ways to their barracks. He spends a while tossing and turning in bed, mind too restless for him to fall asleep.

Maybe there’s one thing he’d like to change about the common room, and perhaps in the 141 in general. And it all starts and ends with the masked bastard they call Ghost.

What they have right now is fine, relatively close work relationship, joking around on lookout duties, trusting each other with their sixes. It’s good.

Soap huffs and finally settles down under his scratchy blanket. He battles with opposing emotions, daydreams of him and Ghost being close, closer than a Sergeant and a Lieutenant have to be, and anger at his own ridiculous thoughts.

He falls asleep to memories of brown eyes staring at his.

Soap wakes up to a knock on his door. He quickly blinks away the remaining drowsiness in his mind, and reaches for the handle.

Out of all the people he expected to find, Ghost was definitely not one of them, “morning, Johnny.”

Johnny? Soap tilts his head, “LT, did something happen?” they must have gotten some time sensitive intel about their latest target, if Ghost himself has to come and get him first thing in the morning. Last he heard, they were operating within the UK…

Ghost’s eyes crease in a way he’s never seen, and for a moment Soap wonders if he’s still dreaming, “no, was about to go to mess. Know you were gonna go there soon.”

“Oh” he says intelligently.

Ghost lets out a half-laugh,  “you coming?”

His brain finally wakes enough to process his invitation, “oh! Uh, aye, just gonna change…” he motions awkwardly to his rumpled clothes.

“I can wait.” Ghost leans back against the wall, and Soap slowly closes the door. He stares at it for a second before walking to his closet, pulling out a shirt and a new pair of pants. His mind wanders as he automatically goes about getting dressed.

He never sees Ghost before noon, and that’s if he’s lucky. The masked man doesn’t eat with them in mess, wakes up before the sun rises, and begins working before most soldiers have blinked away the last of their sleep. It’s… certainly a first.

Then again, you shouldn’t really look a gift horse in the mouth. He adjusts his fatigues and exits his room. Ghost is still leaning against the wall, motionless as a very foreboding statue.

He wordlessly motions Soap to start walking, and they make their way to mess. They should bring Gaz and Price along, really take advantage of Ghost’s practically unheard of great mood. Gaz’s room is just a few doors from his, he could knock as they pass-

Ghost places a hand on his shoulder and stops him. Soap opens his mouth to question him, but not a second later, Gaz’s door opens, almost hitting him square in the face, and Kyle busts out.

“Oh shit- sorry Soap, didn’t see you there.” Gaz straightens his baseball cap, and clocks in Ghost’s presence, “Lieutenant, sir! Didn’t see you either.”

Soap tenses. Well, there goes that once in a lifetime opportunity to see Ghost actually socialize with the team-

“All good, Garrick. In a rush to get the chocolate pudding?” Ghost asks calmly. What the fuck?

“Yeah, Smith texted me.” Gaz grabs his arm, dislodging Ghost’s, “c’mon, we have to get there before they run out!”

He lets Kyle drag him, throwing a cautious look back at Ghost, relieved to see he’s still following. As much as he wants to reach mess fast, no pudding in the world is worth leaving Ghost behind.

Mess, expectedly, is chock-full of hungry soldiers, and the table serving the pudding is barely visible between the bodies.

Soap almost instantly loses all hope of reaching the table in time, but Ghost once again surprises him by diving head first into the crowd. His reputation and imposing appearance clearly aids him in making his way to the table, and Gaz sends him an incredulous look.

“Am I seeing things, or is the Lieutenant carrying two cups of pudding for us?” Gaz grins.

Soap can’t help but join him, “aye, don’t know what’s gotten into him today, but Ghost is certainly in a special mood.”

“Hearing Simon’s in a ‘special’ mood doesn’t calm me in the slightest.” the Captain’s voice appears behind them.

“Come and see for yourself, Cap. It’s a bloody miracle!” Gaz subtly points to Ghost, who at last reached them with the prized puddings. 

He hands each Sergeant a cup, and greets the Captain, “I know you don’t like this sweet shite, Price. Maybe they’ll have sausages tomorrow.”

Price blinks a couple of times, “right… well, let’s get to our table. You two better eat some actual food before you start shoveling that garbage into your mouths.”

They sit down, Gaz taking his right, and Ghost his left. He takes a moment to marvel at the simple act of Ghost existing in a nonwork related situation, a calmness in his movements that Soap didn’t know he needed to see. He has to temp down a goofy smile at the sight.

It really shouldn’t shock him anymore, but Soap senses all three pairs of eyes in the table snap to Ghost, who rolled up his mask above his mouth like he doesn’t care if anyone else sees, and started eating.

“It’s… nice to see you here with us, Ghost.” Price says slowly.

“Wouldn’t want to miss this five-star meal.” Ghost points his fork to the grey sludge on his tray. He decides to go along with whatever Ghost’s odd behaviour throws at him.

He elbows him gently, “hey, LT” the giant man hums, “why did the skeleton need to go to the barbecue?”

Soap waits for a beat before continuing, “because he wanted to get a spare rib”

Gaz groans to his right, absolutely done with his awful sense of humor, but Ghost…

Ghost smiles. It crinkles the scars bisecting his lips in an unexpectedly endearing way, and his dark eyes crease into little half moons, and his stomach drops because fuck, he’d do anything to see that smile again.

Those brown eyes linger on his, and Soap knows he should look away, that his infatuation could be dangerously visible on his face, but he can’t.

Price saves him after all, “Kyle, you got recruits in 20, make sure they don’t pass out in this heat.”

Gaz just groans louder.

“I’ll go with ‘im.” Ghost pushes away from the table, Kyle jumping from his sit, “you will?! I mean, uh, the more the merrier, I guess.” and rushes after him.

Price’s eyes meet his, and Soap gives him a hesitant smile, “told ye he was in a special mood.”

The Captain picks up his tray, “can’t say I’ve ever seen Ghost act like this in the time we’ve known each other.”

And that’s saying something, coming from Price. Soap has only been on the team for a few months, the newest member of the taskforce, but even he can tell this is unprecedented. It worries him a little, if he’s honest. People don’t just… wake up one day and decide to completely change everything about the way they act.

But then again, Ghost isn’t like most people. That has also become obvious very quickly.

He could write a book worth of Ghost’s little oddities, like the way he shoves knives up his sleeves even while on base, how he likes to go to the gym at night, how he somehow has a mask for every occasion.

It’s infuriatingly charming, it makes him want to know more, find all the little things that make Ghost the way he is, open his chest like he does with explosives, and see the way everything ticks. Find that off switch that keeps the Lieutenant calm, learn which wires go where.

By now, Soap can confidently say he knows a lot about Gaz and Price, but Ghost remains an enigma to him. Today just solidified that.

Price rises from his chair, stretching his back with a groan, “do remember you have paperwork due today, Sergeant. You don’t have time to play with your Lieutenant until that’s on my desk.”

Fuckin’ hell. He forgot to finish that last night. Dejectedly, Soap answers, “yes sir.”

Writing down reports might be Soap’s least favorite part of his job. They went on a mission, killed some guys, found a bloody USB stick, came back at an ungodly hour. Why does he have to write several pages on that is beyond him.

After hours of semi successfully trying to harness the last of his attention span towards that, Soap enters Price’s office to place the accursed reports on his desk. The Captain isn’t there, but that way there’s no risk of him giving him even more menial tasks.

Soap wonders about base, searching for someone to entertain him (perhaps someone very specific, whose name starts with G, and ends with host).

He eventually comes across Gaz in the larger common room, “how was training with Ghost?”.

Soap flops down onto the couch, jostling Kyle, who kicks him in retaliation, “was a lot less annoying than with you cunt.”

He gasps theatrically and puts a hand over his heart, “you don’t mean that!”

Gaz laughs, “no, but…”

“...but?”

Gaz’s brows furrow, and his tone becomes more serious, “we had a… surprisingly deep conversation. He kinda helped me through a few things, with responsibility and death and... Never expected him to be this understanding.”

Soap puts his legs in Gaz’s lap, getting comfortable, “you told me before that he cares, even when it doesn’t look like it.”

He still remembers the talks both Price and Gaz gave him, about Ghost. They were quite protective of their most legendary member, and for Soap it cemented his love for this taskforce; they don’t act like other teams he’s been on at all. They actually care about each other, beyond watching the other’s six.

Gaz sighs, “I still stand by that, but the reason I said it is that Ghost usually doesn’t show it. And if he does, it’s in a roundabout way.”

“Where is he now?”

“He dragged the Captain out of his office after we finished with the rookies. Dunno to where.”

Soap pouts, crossing his arms and staring at the ceiling. Everyone gets to have one-on-one time with Ghost but him, it seems. It feels only a little unfair.

Gaz coos, “are you sulking because our scary Lieutenant didn’t come to spend time with you today?”

“Ah’m not sulking!” Soap kicks Gaz, the Brit giggling and pushing his legs away, “and you have no place to talk! I was alone the whole day doin’ steaming paperwork!”

Kyle picks his legs back up, giving them a comforting pat, “you’ll have tomorrow, and the days after that. I don’t understand why you’re in such a rush.”

He exhales roughly, “what if he won’t be in a mood to talk after today?”

“Then he’ll just go back to how we all know Ghost to be. Was that that bad?” Gaz asks.

“...no.”

“There you go. Now, I heard there’s a footie match with Scotland in a few minutes-”

Soap reaches for the remote before he could finish the sentence, “they better fuckin’ win this time!”

Scotland did not win this time, but he and Gaz enjoyed shouting at the players and howling whenever they missed a goal. As much as he complained about not hanging out with Ghost, Kyle is as good company in his eyes.

Gaz left him after the match, too tired from a day of standing in the sun and running after recruits, leaving Soap alone with his thoughts. 

The hour was still too early for the gym to be completely empty, and he really wasn’t in the mood for some small talk, so Soap made his way to the shooting range. The lights were on, but he’s not likely to be pestered if he takes the furthest stall.

He stops in his tracks when he sees someone leaning against the opening. No, not just any someone.

“Ghost? What are you doin’ here at this hour?”

Ghost kicks off the door frame, “waiting for you.”

Soap brows furrow, “but- how did ye know I’m gonna-?”

“You’re predictable.” Ghost drawls, bone-white skull mask reflecting the moonlight, “also heard you were sulking from Gaz.”

He steps closer to the Lieutenant, “I was not sulking! It’s just…” he looks away, “you were busy, I get it-”

Ghost puts a hand on his shoulder, directing him to the step in front of the shooting range’s door, “I understand. Wanted to see you as well.”

“Ye did?” a little voice in his head cheers loudly. Soap shoves it back into the hole it crawled out of.

“Affirmative”, they sit down, knees knocking into each other. Soap expects Ghost to move. He doesn’t. “Noticed the looks you were giving me all day.”

Soap grimaces, “I was just-”

“Confused?” Ghost’s eyes are hidden in shadows, but he can still feel the weight of that stare on him, “that’s what I wanted to talk about, Johnny.”

There’s that nickname again. Ghost has never called him that.

“I decided something this morning.” Ghost looks away, to the dark training grounds and the base, “I’m… tired. Done in. So I’m not going to try anymore, I’ll take whatever I can get, and if it means this little bits of time with each of you, then so be it.”

Soap feels even more out of the loop than before. Furthermore, he’s even more concerned. What does Ghost mean by “not going to try anymore”?

“Ghost-”

“Simon”, Ghost corrects him, “I like it when you call me Simon.”

“I… I never called you that.”

Ghost’s head bows, his shoulders tense, “...right. Go on.”

“You- I’ll be honest, Yer worrying me. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy seeing ye finally talking with us, hanging out with Gaz and Price, but Ah just… are you solid, Simon?”

Simon lifts his head then, the meager light from the range finally allowing Soap to see his eyes, and it feels like a knife in his chest.

This calm demeanor has had for the whole day… isn’t from him being relaxed and content.

No… that’s the calm of a man in the gallows. Accepting his fate. Waiting to die.

Simon’s eyes crease again, his voice almost brittle, “I am, Johnny. Really. I understand now that I’ll never escape this. It’s fine. It will be fine as long as I have you, and Garrick, and Price.”

“What is ‘this’?” Soap wants to help, wants to know what is making those brown eyes so somber, but Simon is keeping something from him.

A gloved hand lifts, takes hold of the mask, and with it Soap’s breath, and slides the fabric and skull off.

Blond hair, curled when the strands have enough length, long nose that has been broken and reset one too many times, and scars, so many scars. Dark eyes surrounded by darker paint, running down pale cheeks.

Soap couldn’t have imagined a more heart-stopping face under that mask.

“You’ve asked this before, and I always answer. All it does is bother you, makes you sad, angry. I don’t want to see you burdened like that.” Simon murmurs, face oddly relaxed.

“I’m already worried, you numpty, so just let it out.” irritation bleeds into his words.

And the man simply smiles, an emotion Soap can’t identify in his eyes, “you never saw me as just the Ghost. Somehow, you can read me even through the mask.” Simon leans in a little closer, “always liked tha’ about you.”

The lights in the range abruptly cut off, plunging the both of them into inky darkness. Soap swivels his head to the rest of the base, where everything is dark as well. That… that shouldn’t happen. They have a generator, a backup source of power for situations like these.

Awareness prickles at his nape, an air of danger that isn’t supposed to permeate their home base.

Soap attempts to get up, “I’m going to check what-”

Simon pulls him back down, grip gentle, “stay.”

“What?” Soap turns to where he knows Simon is, nothing but a silhouette in the night now, “what if something happened, we should-”

“You won’t be able to fix this, Johnny. They destroyed the generators before going for the main power.”

“How-?!” flashes of light cut him off, distant explosions at the walls on the other side of base. Soap’s heart starts beating faster at the echoing sounds of battle crossing the desolate grounds, shots and screams and-

“Ghost, someone is fuckin’ attacking our base, we need to warn the others-!”

Simon doesn’t let him go, “too late now.”

“Too late- are you just going teh leave Price and Gaz-”

“They’re dead.” Simon’s voice is terrifyingly cold, no shadow of a doubt in it, “or, they will be within the next few minutes.”

Soap slumps back, shock shooting through his limbs, “how… Simon, what…?”

How could he know? He can’t, right? Gaz and Price… they can’t just be dead like that…right?

“Soap”, Simon pulls him closer, bodies leaning against each other, “what I’m going to ask of you is selfish, and weak of me, but I-” Simon exhales shakily, “I can’t do this anymore.”

His hand moves to his belt, and Simon pulls out a revolver, one of the models they have on range. He places it in Soap’s hand. Without uttering a word, Simon rearranges Soap’s fingers to be on the trigger, and lifts the barrel to line with his head.

He instinctually flinches away, but Simon hold’s on him tightens, keeping the gun aimed at himself.

“Simon-”

“Shoot me. No matter what I do, I can’t save all of you. I can’t watch you die anymore.” Simon’s voice quivers, “I can’t- can’t see your eyes like that, looking through me-” he feels the tremors in Simon’s body travelling down from his arms to their joined hands.

Soap shakes his head minutely, eyes wide open staring at Simon’s dark form, “Ah don’t want teh kill ye, Simon.”

Simon’s finger caresses his, gently lowers to his trigger finger. “I know, I’m- I’m sorry, Johnny. But you won’t remember any of this.”

Soap’s breath catches, his body frozen in shock, “don’t-”

Simon squeezes both of their fingers on the trigger.

Soap’s body startles awake, breaths coming out in small puffs. He rips the blanket off his sweaty skin, sitting up in bed.

This… nightmare, was more realistic than anything he’s ever experienced. He can still feel the revolver in his hand, Ghost’s pressed against his, pulling the trigger-

A knock startles him from his thoughts, and automatically Soap rises to open the door.

The last person he expected to see was Ghost.

“Morning, Johnny.” he greets.

Ice-cold shock shoots through his veins along with a sense of déjà vu, “Ghost…”

Ghost tilts his head, eyes narrowing, “...you solid, Sergeant?”

“A-aye.” snap out of it, it was just a fuckin’ dream, “something happen, LT?”

Ghost takes a moment to answer, “no, I was about to go to mess. Came to ask you to join.”

Soap nods, opening the door wider to step through, “yeah, yeah of course. Let’s go.” He starts walking towards mess, stopping after a few steps when he notices Ghost isn’t following.

“You’re going like this?” Ghost motions to his shirt. His moth-eaten, sleeping shirt.

Fuck. “Right. Give me a sec” he rushes back to his room, shutting the door loudly behind him.

Soap violently opens his closet and drawers, pulling out the same clothes he did in his dream. Because that was all it was, a dream. A stupid nightmare, not a premonition of any kind. Because people don’t get visions of their friends’ untimely death the night before it happens.

He just needs to screw his head on right. He opens the door again, giving Ghost a sheepish smile and restarting their walk to mess.

When they almost reach Gaz’s door, Soap stalls. He’s about to move again, scolding himself for even entertaining the idea that Gaz is about to burst out, just because it also happened in the nightmare-

Except he does, not a moment later, “Oh shit- sorry Soap, didn’t see you there.” Gaz rights his hat, stare drifting away to Ghost, “Lieutenant, sir! Didn’t see you either.”

Soap turns to look at Ghost as well, only to find him already looking at him, with wide eyes and stock still body.

“...Ghost?” Gaz asks after a few seconds of silence.

Ghost blinks rapidly, “affirmative. You’re in a rush for-”

“The chocolate pudding in mess.” Soap finishes for him, gaze still boring into Ghost.

Every single thing that happened in the nightmare…

“Yeah, Smith texted me.” Gaz continues, oblivious that he’s simply reciting lines from a predetermined text. “Are you two sure you’re alright-?”

Ghost’s arm shoots forward to grab his, something akin to fear and rage in his eyes. Soap gets dragged away with a considerable amount of force, his legs almost tripping on nothing. He can hear Gaz exclaiming behind them, but all of his attention stays on the bastard crushing his bicep.

“Ghost- fuckin’ hell, let me walk-!”

The Lieutenant is silent, walking with quick strides and shouldering the door to the training grounds open.

“Simon, stop-”

Ghost slams him against the outer wall of the base, Soap hissing when his head bounces off the rough concrete.

“How long?” Ghost growls.

“Wha’?”

Ghost shakes him once, shouting, “for how long have you been stuck?!”

Soap stares up confusingly, “stuck- what the fuck are you talking about?!” he yells back.

“The time loop, Soap! You fucking remember yesterday!”

“Time loop-” his muscles slacken, the fight instantly leaving him, “...it wasn’t a nightmare?”

His hearing becomes muffled with the sound of blood rushing past them, vision blurring. Ghost’s grips becomes lighter, until it leaves him completely.

His voice is gentler when he answers, “not a nightmare, Johnny.”

“I-” he looks up at him, “I killed you.”

Ghost stiffens, before he exhales roughly and turns away from Soap, “fuck…”

They stay silent, and the reality of their situation sinks in. They’re both stuck in a time loop, like some kind of steaming sci-fi movie. Soap wants to laugh, part of him grasping desperately at the notion that this must be some sort of prank. But he knows Ghost wouldn’t, couldn’t have known what happened in the “nightmare” otherwise.

Their conversation in the dark resurfaces in his memory, “Ghost… this is the first time I’m repeating a day.”

Dark eyes return to his, a sort of relief loosening Ghost’s muscles. He nods, taking in a slow breath, “good. Wouldn’t want you hiding it from me.”

“How long have you been stuck…?”

Ghost hums, eyes unfocusing, “stopped counting after the second month.”

“Steamin’ Jesus…”

Things start clicking in Soap’s mind rapidly. Ghost’s odd change in behaviour, the way he knew when each and every event in the day happens, how he knew where to find him…

When the attack will begin…

Ghost’s entire speech before it… how he’ll never “escape this”...

“You gave up.” Soap walks around Ghost, attempting to catch his eye contact, “yesterday. Is that why ye wanted me to kill ye?”

Ghost avoids him again, murmuring quietly, “thought it would stop it.”

“You-” realization hits him, “you thought you’d stay dead. Have ye never died in the loop before?”

Ghost sneaks a hand under his mask, scrubbing at his eyes, “never had anyone else kill me. Killed myself plenty, but whenever I tried getting killed by someone else… never works.” the gloved hands retreat from under the balaclava, marred with greasepaint, and it strikes Soap just how tired Ghost looks. Body bowing under the invisible burden of countless days, countless deaths.

Simon doesn’t have anything left to give. A flicker of determination lights up in Soap’s chest, a decision to do anything to lessen that burden.

“Then go on, tell me the rules of this shite.”

Ghost squints, “the time loop?” he sighs, “day resets when I die or kill myself, and if I don’t, it will the moment the clock strikes midnight.”

Soap nods. It sounds like it’s not Ghost’s survival that is the requirement to break the loop. Then…

“Ye think if we manage to save everyone, we’ll stop repeatin’ days?”

Ghost leans back against the wall Soap was slammed into earlier, “undoubtedly.”

Soap tilts his head at Ghost’s solemn tone, “but…?” he prompts.

“It’s impossible.”

“C’mon LT, you can’t just-”

Ghost pushes off, stomping to tower over Soap with a sudden burst of movement, “you think I haven’t tried everything already, MacTavish?! I can save one of you, but the other two die. If we separate, you all die. If I tell everyone about the loop, Price reports me to medical because he thinks I bloody lost my mind, and if I don’t, I can’t explain how I know an attack is incoming.” Ghost exhales harshly, “I tried… everything.”

Soap doesn’t back down despite the sheer amount of rage dripping from Ghost’s tone. Because he recognizes what that rage is hiding.

“But it’s different, now.”

Ghost’s shoulders drop, “yes. Now I fucked you over as well. We’ll never escape this.”

Soap shakes his head, “we haven’t tried doing it together yet, ye can’t jus’ give up!” he decides to risk placing a hand on his shoulder, “please, Simon.”

He didn’t expect the words to budge anything in Ghost’s grim resolve to abandon hope, and he watches in astonishment as Ghost sighs and nods, “alright, Johnny.”

Soap wonders what has happened to Ghost before, what he has experienced with other versions of himself that made him trust him so readily. A pang of jealousy at them rings through him, that they got to see Simon open up to them.

What could they have told him? Which one called him ‘Simon’ first? When did Simon start calling him ‘Johnny’?

A heartbeat later, he shook it off, choosing to be grateful to them instead. Without them, Soap isn’t sure he would’ve been able to convince Ghost.

Soap smiles at him, letting his arm fall from his shoulder, “right. What intel do we have?” approaching this as any other mission is probably the only way he could keep from losing his mind.

He watches as Ghost enters the same mindset, “Power shuts off at 2125, but a rat causes a malfunction in the generators at the start of the day. I can’t wake up before 0600, so I can’t catch him.”

“Do ye know who it is?”

“Affirm. Got access to the cameras once, they leave base at 0530.” Ghost continues, “we can’t prevent the power outage, if we can’t fix the generator. Main power failure at night comes from somewhere outside base.”

So they’ll have to fight in the dark in any possible outcome… 

Soap is reminded of the explosions he heard yesterday, “what about the charges that went off?”

Ghost sighs, “they run along the outside, placed approximately at 2136.”

“I’ll be able to disarm them.”

“They’ll catch you before you get a pinky on ‘em.”

“Well, good thing we got infinite tries, aye?” Soap smirks. “Wait… will the loop reset if I die?”

“I…” Ghost looks away, “I don’t know.”

Soap frowns, looking at the recruits making their way to the training grounds. Gaz should arrive here soon…

“We should test it.” Soap reaches for Ghost’s sleeve, telegraphing his movements clearly so the man doesn’t spook.

Ghost bristles, “Johnny-”

He rolls the dark fabric back, revealing a long blade hidden beneath it, “I killed ye when you asked, only fair you do the same.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember.” Ghost mutters quietly, allowing Soap to take the knife despite his verbal protests.

Soap flips the blade in his hand, offering the hilt to Ghost. He doesn’t reach for it for several long seconds. “Ye rather I do it myself? Won’t be pretty.”

Ghost’s frowned brows regard the blade, before he takes it with a heavy sigh, “turn around.” he orders gently. Soap complies, feeling his heart rate jump at the touch of gloved hands on his nape. 

He’s not sure if it’s fear or exhilaration.

The hands tilt his head forward, and the tip of the knife barely scrapes the ends of his hair.

Ghost almost whispers into his ear, “relax. I won’t let you feel a thing.” he angles the knife so the blade will drive straight into his brain with a push, “tell me when you’re ready, Johnny.”

Soap takes a big breath in, forcing his muscles to loosen. He just needs to trust Ghost. Trust Simon.

It’s… scarily easy to.

“I’m ready.”

The world goes dark in a blink.

Soap opens his eyes to the sight of his barrack’s ceiling. He sits up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. It felt painful for only a short moment.

Well, that answers his question, he muses to himself.

As the minutes trickle by without a knock at his door, Soap becomes worried. Where’s Ghost?

He quickly changes to his fatigues and walks out, feet taking him to Ghost’s door at the very far end of the hallway. It’s surrounded by supply closets and sits at a dead end, so most people don’t pass through here, making it unnaturally silent for how crowded the other parts of base are.

Soap knocks on the only door with a nameplate, “Ghost? Ye there?”

Nothing. Soap tries the handle, finding it unlocked, and slowly pushes in, “hope yer decent, LT…”

He spots Ghost sitting at the edge of his cot, elbows resting on his knees and eyes staring blankly at the bare wall in front of him.

“Simon?” he carefully walks over, crouching in front of him, “...ye solid?”

“...Didn’t reset.” Ghost eventually murmurs, jaw tight under his balaclava, “your death doesn’t reset it.”

Soap sits back on his haunches.

Ghost continues, “they found me, Price and Gaz. I didn’t- didn’t just want to leave your body there. They…” his voice breaks, and he clears his throat. Soap’s gut wrenches. “They apprehended me and shoved me in a cell. Interrogated me ‘till midnight. Never seen Price that angry, Gaz-” he shakes his head, as if to expel the memories, “kept screaming, threatened to come into the cell to off me, and-”

“Simon.”

Simon gets up with no warning, hands flexing by his side, unable to meet his eyes, “I’m- Johnny-”

Soap rises to his feet as well, and in the spur of the moment wraps his arms around Ghost, pulling him into a tight hug. Instantly, Simon sags into him, his head dropping to his shoulder.

He was callous to think Simon could kill him and think nothing of it. This is not the Ghost he knew a few days ago – this is a Ghost that saw his team die again and again, stuck in a loop he couldn’t break, for months.

Soap doesn’t think he could conceive of a crueler method of torture.

“Ah’m sorry.”

Simon’s fingers twist into his shirt. 

“Promise me… that you won’t die.” Simon whispers, sounding so much like a young child, afraid of the monster under his bed, and not like a decorated SAS operator. “I can’t- can’t-”

“I’ll do my best.”

He feels Simon’s head shake, “promise.”

“...I promise.”

They stay silent after that, holding onto each other like they’ll fall apart once their hands retreat. Soap lost in regret, and fear, and unfathomable worry, that Simon really will just give up. Even with him here, stuck in the same loop.

They may have all the time in the world, but how long will it take until there’s nothing of Ghost left to save?

They leave Ghost’s room, hands still unable to leave the other. Soap wants to get back to making progress on their mission, but he worries Simon’s drained. As if sensing it, Simon squeezes his hand, making Soap look at him.

“I think we should tell Price and Gaz.”

Soap blinks, “but ye said it never worked?”

Simon nods, eyes half-lidded, “Because it was only me. They won’t be able to excuse it with hallucinations when two people experience the same thing.” he lets go of Soap, his hand instantly mourning the loss, “they’ve left mess already, if they’re still behaving like usual.”

Right. This is new territory for Ghost, so he can’t rely on previous days anymore, “I’ll call Gaz, can you get Price?”

“Affirm. We’ll meet in the Captain’s office.” the Lieutenant turns to leave, and Soap opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, wanting to say something to encourage Ghost, or help him in any way, before he gives up and pulls out his phone.

The call rings only twice before Gaz picks up, “where were you this morning?! You missed the chocolate pudding!”

“Good morning to you too, Kyle.” he huffs, “had to deal with an emergency.”

Gaz instantly starts interrogating him, “what? You alright, mate?”

“Aye, but we need to get to Price’s office.”

“Copy. Stay safe, Soap.”

“You too.” he ends the call, and makes his way to the office. Anticipation roils in his gut. He had a hard time believing the time loop, and he saw it first hand. How are they going to convince the others of it?

Gaz is waiting outside the Captain’s office when Soap arrives. He gives him a reassuring nod, before knocking on the door.

“Open.” Price’s gruff voice calls.

Ghost is already inside, leaning against the far wall, and if Soap didn’t know better, he’d look as composed as he is every day. But he does know better, and the tension in his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Right.” Price addresses Soap, “Ghost told me he and you have something important to tell us, and that it absolutely can’t wait for later, so let it out.”

Soap looks towards Ghost, a little lost with how to begin.

He regrets letting him start when he simply states, with no prior warning, “We’re stuck in a time loop.”

The office is quiet for a few seconds, before Gaz half-coughs, half-laughs. Soap sends him an unimpressed stare when he sees his lips tighten in an attempt to stay silent.

Price doesn’t sound amused in the slightest, “...if this is some sort of joke, it’s not very funny.” his tone becomes gentler, “but if you’re serious, Ghost, we can go to medical-”

Ghost takes a step towards Price, “I’m not having a psychosis episode, John.”

“Son-”

Soap intervenes, “Ah’m also in the loop, Captain.”

“MacTavish, this is not the time to fuck around!”

Shite, this is not working at all. He watches Ghost deflate, practically hears him give up again. He can’t watch him like this.

“Gaz” he turns to Kyle, “Smith texted ye in the morning, that’s how you knew about the pudding, right?”

Gaz’s brows shoot up, “yeah? How did you…?”

“There’s going to be a football match with Scotland today, ye were gonna invite me to watch with you.”

“You could’ve looked that up, Soap.” Price doesn’t sound convinced, but his expression loses the edge of anger it previously had.

“Scotland is gonna lose 0-2.”

The Captain sighs, “the match is at 1900, and even if you’re right, it still can be a lucky guess.” he leans back against his chair, “look, I can tell you’re serious about this, but I’ll need more proof before I can believe something like time loops exists.”

There must be something that could prove it, something one of them said that he shouldn’t know-

“Your favorite food is sausages, a specific recipe your father made. He died when you were nineteen, and you haven’t had them since.” Ghost murmurs. Price freezes, and his head turns slowly to stare at the Lieutenant.

“...I’ve never told that to anyone-”

“Garrick’s biggest fear is to watch his squad die.” Ghost continues, “he feels responsible for any injury any of us get, any loss. When one of us goes on a solo mission, he stays awake for as long as he can so he won’t miss any information about us.”

Gaz gapes, “How-”

“Price calls me Simon because he worries I’ll stop being used to the name.” Ghost crosses his arms, almost hugging himself, “Garrick was mocked during basic, was called weaker because he showed care to other soldiers, until he beat the records on several tests.” he doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

The Captain removes his hat, brushing a hand through his short-cropped hair, “fucking hell. Okay. I believe you.”

“Yeah…” Gaz shakes his head, “alright. You two are stuck in a bloody time loop. How do we get you out?”

A weight lifts from his heart. Soap smiles in relief, and it broadens when Ghost finally looks at him.

“There’s going to be an attack on our base this night. At least two of you will die, caught off guard.” Ghost explains, the soldiers in the room listening with rapt attention, “we need to keep you alive.”

“A surprise attack? How is that possible?” Price frowns.

Soap joins in, “they sabotaged emergency power this morning, and they’ll cut off the main source tonight, while breaching the south wall with explosives. And ‘fore ye ask, we can’t fix it, unless any of ye know how to operate a generator.”

“Do we know who it is?” Gaz asks.

“Anthony Simmons. Our latest target.” Ghost grounds bitterly, “think we disrupted his business enough he decided attacking an SAS base is worth the risk.”

Simmons… responsible for most illegal arms dealing in the UK. He must’ve joined forces with some of the 141’s enemies to have enough manpower to storm a base, but then again, those aren’t hard to come by, are they?

“Wait,” Gaz frowns and turns to face Soap, “how many times have you repeated a day to know all of that?”

“This is only the second time for me. Ghost has been stuck for… much longer.”

“And out of those loops, how many times have you tried telling us?” Price looks over to Ghost, concerned.

“...Twice.” the masked man answers, like it doesn’t twist Price’s features in shocked anger.

“Twice”, Price scoffs, “I’m… do you really trust us that little-”

“He trusts you plenty, Captain.” Soap cuts him off, hands clenching and nostrils flaring with anger, because he won’t let him insinuate Simon hasn’t been trying, “ye don’t trust his word, you always jump to the conclusion he must’ve lost his mind instead of telling the truth. You’ve done the same today, and if Ah wasn’t also stuck in this shite, ye would’ve sent ‘im to a shrink ten minutes ago.”

“Soap…” Gaz tries to placate, but he ignores it in favor of sending death glares at Price.

“Johnny.” Ghost breaks his resolve, “enough. He doesn’t need to apologize for something a different version of him did.”

Price sighs, “I don’t need to, but I will. I’m sorry, Simon. For not believing you.”

Ghost’s eyes widen, and Soap thinks they become a little shinier. He drops his head to the ground, clearing his throat. “Don’t worry about it, Captain.”

“We should each tell you a secret.” Gaz says, “something that will instantly make us know you’re telling the truth.”

“Good idea.” Soap hums. He hates approaching this day knowing they’ll likely will have to repeat this conversation again, but if they could speed it up tomorrow it’ll make it less demoralizing. “Do ye have anything in mind?”

Gaz blinks, and looks away with a bashful smile, “it’ll have to be something I would never admit under any other circumstance… yeah, I think I got something, unfortunately.” he plays with the strings on his sweatpants, “Captain, you remember Farah and Alex?”

The names are unfamiliar to Soap, but a glint of recognition lights in Price’s eyes, “of course. What about them?”

“Uhm… fuck, I really would not say it if it didn’t help you.” Gaz’s voice lowers, “I might be a little… interested in them.”

“...In what way?” one of Price’s brows lift inquisitively.

Gaz pulls on the bill of his baseball hat to hide his face, “in a romantic way.” he almost whispers.

“Oh.” the Captain softly exclaims. “That’s… completely fine, son-”

Kyle hides behind his hands and groans, “can we please not talk about it, sir?”

Soap pats Gaz’s shoulder, “we won’t ask, mate.” he grins towards the Captain, “yer turn, sir.”

Price sighs, and strokes his beard in thought. When he grimaces, Soap knows he found a suitable secret.

“When I was about fifteen, I smoked my first cigarette. Couldn’t take more than a couple of breaths of it before I puked.”

Gaz removes his hands from his face to point at Price, “there’s no way this is the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done!”

Price gives him an unimpressed look, “I puked directly on my crush at the time.”

“...Oh.” Gaz winces in sympathy.

“Yes, ‘oh’.” Price rolls his eyes, “now, let’s get back to that attack. You got anything else we can use, Ghost?”

“Affirm. I know how each of you dies.”

Soap almost laughs at how chilling that statement is, coming from a guy dressed like the grim reaper.

Ghost shoots him a look that makes Soap sober up, “Price leaves his office at 2122, gets caught on his way to our common room. Garrick fights along a few other soldiers from the rooms next to his barracks, they all die to a frag. And Johnny…” Ghost’s eyes meet his, “Soap’s the only one with a decent gun inside base at the moment of the attack, so he runs off to help the others. He dies last, with an empty mag and a knife in his throat.”

Soap swallows around the bitter taste on his tongue at the mental image of Ghost finding his body like that, “You said ye can save one of us, but never more. What happens then?”

“Only reason you’re saved is by either knowing of the attack beforehand or by acquiring gear.” Ghost grounds, hand flexing in an odd way, and Soap realizes he’s fidgeting with the knife up his sleeve, “and as I’ve said before, I can’t warn you because you won’t believe me. I can’t carry enough gear for four.”

“But we know now.” Gaz interjects, “we can go to the armory, ask them for our vests and rifles.”

“We can. But that won’t save the rest of the base.” Price sighs.

“I have no reason to believe it’s necessary for breaking the loop.” Ghost states firmly, arms crossing.

The Captain’s brows lift, and he narrows his eyes at the Lieutenant, “you… we can’t just let the base fend for itself, while we know something’s going to happen.”

“I don’t care-”

“Simon Riley, I swear to all that’s good and holy if you finish that sentence-”

“I can’t care, Price!” Ghost growls, hunching over the desk menacingly, “I can’t save three people, you think I can afford to try and save hundreds?!”

Price stares at Ghost, his expression mellowing. “We have to try.”

Ghost lets out a laugh that sounds closer to a sob than anything else, “sick of trying, Captain.”

Price pushes off his chair, and puts a hand on his bicep, “I understand, son. I… can’t say I can imagine what you’ve been going through.”

Ghost takes a few deep breaths, nodding slowly and gently stepping away from Price’s touch, “we’re burning daylight. We need to come up with a plan.”

Soap wants to pull Ghost into another hug, the way he did this morning, but he doesn’t think that’s what he would want right now.

Instead, he says, “I got an idea.”

“Soap, Gaz, what’s your status?”

He lowers into a crouch, walking along the outer wall of the base, “solid. Still not in position.”

“Copy, you got twenty before power’s off.” Ghost’s low tone rumbles over their comms.

The area surrounding the base is made up of mostly flat land, to allow the huge floodlights around the walls to illuminate it and leave no place for a hostile (or a confused tourist, mostly) to hide.

Tonight, this will be a disadvantage for their side, as they won’t have any cover if they get caught by hostiles out here.

Gaz, whose been walking in front of Soap, motions him to stop, and points to one of the watchtowers above them. The soldier on duty seems to be alert, and Soap resists the urge to hold his breath while they wait. Not a few seconds later, the soldier startles, and pulls out his radio. He exchanges a few words with the caller before getting up and leaving the tower. That would be Price’s work.

The Captain reconnects to their line, “Watchtower’s empty, boys, you’re clear to proceed.”

“Copy.”

They continue their careful walk to the wall between this watchtower and the next - the planting site for the charges that will breach it.

Their plan, which was mostly Soap’s idea, is to separate to 2 teams; the first stays on base, making sure the soldiers are gathered together and ready for an attack, and the second slows the infiltration of Simmon’s men.

Both teams have to do so covertly, since they’ve come to the conclusion that even if they alert the higher ups of an approaching attack, without any more concrete evidence than ‘two of our elite operators are stuck in a fucking time loop’, nobody would believe them. They decided that Price and Ghost will stay, as they have higher ranks and therefore are able to order around more soldiers with less need to explain their reasoning.

Soap and Gaz, then, were left to be here, waiting for the hostiles to plunge the base into darkness.

Before leaving, Ghost pulled Soap to the side, his eyes a fake veneer of professionalism, but shaking fingers betraying him. Soap only gave him a smile, a soft punch to his shoulder, and walked before he could allow his nerves to show.

Because he is nervous, in a way he hasn’t been on a mission since he joined the 141. Not because he’s afraid to die, but because he doesn’t want Ghost to hurt any more than he already is.

Soap promised Ghost he’ll try to not die - and he will drag himself back to him with broken arms if he has to.

“Two minutes to power shutdown, get ready.” Ghost rips him away from his thoughts.

Soap flips his NVG’s over his eyes, blinking while they get used to the muted green-blue hues. Gaz ahead of him does the same.

“Copy, in position and ready.” Gaz radios back.

The seconds trickle by slowly, Soap feeling his heart rate rise in anticipation, and mentally chiding himself for being this anxious. He shouldn’t, considering he knows he can’t die (or stay dead, really). But somehow, the stakes feel higher than any other mission he’s been on before.

Maybe just like Simon, Soap too can’t watch someone he cares about fall apart.

The power shuts down, the electrical hum that previously filled the night air abruptly cutting off. Sop checks his clock.

2126. Ten minutes left.

He quickly pulls out the several kilograms of explosives he packed into his tacvest. Ghost gave him an approximation of the enemy’s trucks parking locations, but he hasn’t spent enough time in his previous loops here to give him exact coordinates. Soap decided to stay on the safer side, and pack more than he would’ve.

He throws the packs of C4 a good distance from Gaz, as the last thing he needs right now is to explode both of them. It might not be enough, but hopefully it will slow the hostiles down enough for their soldiers to realize something is wrong.

In the unnatural silence, Soap can hear the engines of several trucks approaching their position. Gaz clicks off the safety on his assault rifle. He gives one last check that the explosives are connected correctly to each other and the detonator, and returns to Kyle’s side.

His heart screams that they’re not going to win this time around.

“Hey Gaz?”

“Yeah?”

Soap gives in to the sinking feeling in his gut, “if I don’t make it… can you make sure Ghost doesn’t see my…”

“I won’t, Soap.” Gaz reaches for him, putting an arm around him as much as he can with all the gear on them, “let’s try to not get to that, though.”

“Aye.” he can make out the shapes of trucks filled to the brim with hostiles hurtling towards the base. Gaz switches the sights on his gun.

“You got about 5 seconds before they reach the explosives.”

Soap’s finger hovers over the detonator, counting under his breath.

Three…

Two…

The trucks roll over the half-circle of charges around them. Soap presses the button.

One second the vehicles are there, the next a flash of light blinds them both. Even though he knew to squeeze his eyes shut, Soap could still see colorful shapes dancing in his vision when he opened them. A smaller explosion shakes the ground, Simmon’s men screaming at the surprise attack. Serves them right.

Unfortunately, they regain their footing quickly enough, and soon bullets started ricocheting off of the base’s walls.

“Soap! On your two, three hostiles!” Gaz shouts while aiming to his left, fire messing with their NVGs.

Soap shoots two men down, the third ducking away and only getting grazed. He takes out a Semtex, throwing it in the last man’s direction and averting his attention to Gaz right as he yells.

“Kyle!” he watches in horror as a bullet rips through his thigh, a matching wound in the other. Gaz goes down hard, with grunts of pain and bared teeth. Soap runs towards him, shooting another hostile down, but he’s not fast enough.

Gaz stares at him, eyes full of horror, gaze flickering back to the fight when a bullet almost hits his head. He’s stuck, unable to get to cover, fate practically sealed.

Soap slides to a stop. He changes course to the nearest wrecked truck, more mangled steel than a vehicle. The lingering fire singes his arm hairs, but he doesn’t feel a thing.

They’re trapped, pushed against the wall with no backup in sight. They may be able to fend off by themselves, but the moment they run out of bullets…

He lifts a shaky hand to his comms.

“Ghost?” Soap whispers.

“Soap. What’s your status?”

He swallows thickly, “Don’t come to the wall.”

“What?” Ghost’s voice sharpen.

“Ah’m sorry, Simon. Gaz, he’s- his legs are fucking shot, they’ve got us surrounded, not gettin’ out of this alive-”

He cuts himself off when he hears a small sigh, clothes rustling on the other side, Price’s voice shouting from far away, “SIMON DON’T-”

And like a curtain at the end of a show, Soap’s vision goes black.

Soap wakes up with a sharp inhale, clean air jarring, when all he smelled a moment ago was smoke. He jumps out of bed, changing quickly and running out of his room.

He almost runs into Ghost in his hurry. Ghost, who was on his way to his room.

“Easy, Johnny.” he gets caught by his shoulders.

Soap pants, “Ghost- it was my fault, I should’ve placed the explosives farther ahead, detonated them later-”

“Sergeant.” Ghost squeezes his arms lightly, “I’m not mad.”

And he really isn’t, when Soap actually takes the time to look at Ghost, he discovers him completely calm.

“...You expected this to happen.”

Ghost’s eyes crease, in the way Soap has learned means he’s smiling, “this is what always happens. I’m just happy I ended the day before all of you were dead.”

Soap feels his lips twist downwards, adrenaline leaving him unmoored and tired. He’s not sure if he’s telling it to Ghost or to himself, when he says, “we have to keep trying.”

Ghost doesn’t answer, instead letting his hands fall away. “You got a new plan?”

A door behind them opens loudly before he can answer, “where’s-” Gaz turns his head to them, “oh, Soap! And Ghost. C’mon, we need to go to the cafeteria, Smith texted me-”

Soap drops his head, slightly irritated for having to repeat this conversation again, but happy to see Gaz nonetheless, “aye, there’s chocolate pudding in mess.”

“Yeah! How did you know?” Kyle gives him a lopsided smile.

He sighs and throws a thumb behind him, “stuck in a time loop with Ghost.”

Gaz stares at him before a laugh erupts from his throat, and he bends over giggling. Soap allows him a few moments before he comments, “are ye done?”

“Fuck mate you can’t do that to me this early in the morning, the look on Ghost’s face-” he laughs a little more, before forcing a serious expression, “yeah, yeah I’m done.”

“Good. You have a crush on Alex and Farah.”

Gaz freezes for a moment, and his brows shoot up, “how the fuck- how do you even know who they are-”

“I don’t. Ye told me yesterday.” Soap frowns, “or, well, today… was yesterday for me.”

Ghost taps him on the shoulder, “we need to get going, Johnny. Earlier we get everyone together, the more time we got to prepare.”

“Right”, he takes Kyle’s arm, nudging him in the direction of Price’s office, “let’s go.”

Gaz makes a confused sound, “prepare for what?”

Ghost mutters quietly, so lowly that Soap almost misses it, “another death.”

Fifteen times. They’ve tried fifteen times since that day.

The first three were similar, the same plan as before with minimal variation. One time, he went out with Ghost instead of Gaz. Soap ended up with a bullet to the shoulder, incapacitated and waiting to die. Ghost made sure he didn’t wait long.

After that, they tried telling more people. Alert the soldiers at the watchtowers, supply others with weapons. For the most part, they didn’t believe them, even when Price and Gaz vouched for the credibility of their story. And when they were believed, it wasn’t enough. The base too big, their enemy too strong.

On the fifteenth try, Soap managed to slow the infiltration with precisely placed explosives, toppling a recently vacated watchtower over the entrance. Ghost was alone, using the cover of night to pick off anyone getting close to the barracks, where most soldiers are at the time. Gaz and Price were with Soap, leading the charge on the main group of hostiles.

It went well. They reached 2240, the furthest they’ve ever seen.

Maybe it was that fact, or the fact that Soap has done this so many times, each day starting to blend together, each defeat the same shade of bright red.

He doesn’t know what it was, but he lost focus, and while the others were fighting ahead of him, he got blindsided by a heavy body slamming into his.

The hostile tackled him to the ground, and Soap barely managed to get his arms up in time to block the knife heading for his throat. He grunted as the blade dug into his forearm, and attempted to push off the enemy. The man was built like Ghost, big and muscular, and Soap might’ve been able to win, if he wasn’t on his fifteenth day.

But he was, and the hostile breaks his guard, stabbing Soap in the chest, then the shoulder, then the stomach. Soap can’t breathe, but by instinct alone his arm reaches for the pistol at his hip, and shoots the heavy bastard three times in the head, until the body drops.

Every single part of him hurts. Most of all, the vile taste of another loss on his tongue, and a broken promise.

Soap futilely tries to get the lifeless body crushing him off, but his muscles feel like jelly, and every small movement shoots fire through the several holes littering his torso, making more blood bubble up.

So Soap gives up. He clicks his radio on, listens to the others check in, notice his absence. He knows he should say something, let Ghost know this loop is a bust and restart, but…

He finds he doesn’t want to. For once, he just wants to stay here, bathing in his own blood, pain so blinding he can almost pretend it’s not there.

“MacTavish, fucking answer me! What’s your status?!” Ghost’s voice sounds… frantic. Soap doesn’t like it.

It takes a lot of effort just to click the button to answer, “s’rry, Ghost. Ah’m… Ah’m here.”

“...Johnny? Where are you?”

He coughs a little, a flush of cold making his vision swim, “in general? Stuck.” he laughs at his own stupid joke, the sound turning into a bitten off cry when pain shoots through his body again. “Fuck-”

“How bad is it?” Ghost asks, gently, in a way Soap doesn’t think he’s earned to hear from him.

“Bad. H-hurts.” Soap feels tears run to his hairline, “but Ah don’t want to die. Don’ want ye teh die. I can survive, just-” a whine rips from his throat without his permission, “just a wee bit over one hour till midnight, righ’?”

“I’m not going to let you keep suffering-”

“We are s-so close.” Soap’s eyes cease to see, blood loss taking his vision and plunging him back into the darkness he grew to despise more than anything, “Ah don’ want teh do this again, Ghost… please…”

Ghost sounds more muffled when he murmurs, “I’ll see you in a few, Johnny.” a finality in his voice that tells Soap he’s putting a gun to his temple yet again.

“No…” Soap wants to beg, but talking is starting to become more difficult than it should be, “Simon… please… don’t…..”

He hears a gunshot, and then nothing at all.

When Soap wakes up, he doesn’t bother opening his eyes. He knows what he’ll see, the same ceiling, in the same washed-out white shade, bathed in the same morning sunlight of the same fucking day.

It must’ve been a few minutes of him drifting into uncomfortable consciousness, when there’s a knock on the door. Same one he’s heard all the way back when this shit started.

“Soap? You still there?” Ghost asks behind the thin plywood. Soap can hear the handle rattle as Ghost checks if it’s locked.

Apparently, ‘yesterday Soap’ locked it. He couldn’t remember if he tried - it’s been weeks since ‘yesterday’.

“Johnny?”

How did Ghost survive this long alone? The world around him oblivious to the glitch in time, lives around him continuing like normal, as if they aren’t also stuck?

A heavy weight squeezes his lungs, a despair in a magnitude he’s never felt, the knowledge they’re not going to ever escape this caving in his rib cage. Soap keeps his eyes closed, because if he opens them, he’ll need to face another day, fight and die, like he won’t just do it again in the next.

The flimsy lock on his door clicks, and it slides open slowly, “I’m coming in”, Ghost warns, not that Soap cares.

He’s facing the wall, but he can sense Ghost walking towards the bed, and sitting down after a few moments of silence. Soap lets one eye blink open, still staring at the wall in front of him. Somehow, with just his presence, Ghost lends him strength.

Soap clears his throat quietly, words spilling out before he can stop them, “I don’t know if I can keep going.”

A hand finds his calf, slowly caressing him through the thin blanket, “we can stop.” Ghost murmurs, his tone similar to the way he talked when he understood they’re not making it out this time.

“Stop? And what, stay stuck?” Soap scoffs.

The hand warms his skin, more than this sun ever could, “yes.” Soap hears clothes rustling, “give up. But that’s not what you want, is it?”

“An’ how do ye know what Ah want?” anger starts bubbling within him, Soap regretting his harsh tone a moment after he lets it out. Ghost doesn’t deserve it, never does.

The hand leaves him, and Soap raises his head in alarm, because if Ghost leaves, there really is no point to continue-

His eyes widen when he sees him, mask in his hand, knee coming up to rest on the bed. Gentle blond curls almost glowing in the sunlight, brown eyes like dark pools that anchor him in the spiral he found himself in.

Simon’s thin lips move slowly, Soap enchanted by the way they pull on the scars, “I know, because you kept me going.”

“But-” Soap brings his knees up, “Ah didn’t know what ye were going through before. Didn’t know it really is…”

“Impossible?”

“Aye…” he drops his head to stare at his own lap. A gloved hand appears at the edges of his vision.

Ghost nudges his shoulder softly, “move over.”

Soap blinks up in confusion, and scoots closer to the wall, allowing Ghost to sit beside him. The bed was certainly not made for two people their size, and their bodies are pressed together. It’s comforting.

“That day wasn’t the first time I tried to get you to kill me.” Ghost lets out eventually.

Soap stares at him, “what happened the other times?”

“You got mad.” Ghost smiles sadly, “threw the gun away, as far as you could. Grabbed me by the face and forced me to look, really look, at you. And you talked.”

“And what did Ah say?”

Ghost’s light eyelashes flutter, “you’d always let me know, before anything else, how much of a ‘dafty’ I am.” Soap laughs a little at that, while Ghost continues, “then you’d say that I’m not allowed to give up.”

Soap frowns. “Why?”

Ghost turns to stare at him, “you said I haven’t seen everything this world has to offer yet. You promised to show me, if I stay. You were so…” he sighs, mind clearly far away in an unreachable fantasy, “determined. Sure that you could change my mind. I didn’t understand why you cared so much.”

Soap’s heart hammers loudly in his chest, his own words swirling with distant memories. Of yesterday, and the days before it.

“I called you Johnny, once, on a whim. Wanted to see your reaction.” Ghost huffs, “and in all the days I’ve been through, you never acknowledged it, never told me to stop. Always smiled wider instead.”

“Simon…”

He leans closer to Soap, their noses almost touching, “I know you want to live, because you made me continue living. I know how you look when you lie, and you never lied to me.”

Soap exhales shakily, “but Ah’m not that person anymore. Neither of us are.”

Simon wraps a hand around his nape, pulls his head to rest on his shoulder, “no. But we haven’t seen everything yet. We’ll keep changing, and maybe we’ll become something better by the end of it.”

Soap buries his nose in Simon’s neck, “and what if we won’t? What if this is really how the rest of our lives is gonna go?”

What if there really is no way out?

“Then… Then I’ll be glad it wasn’t alone. I’m glad it was with you.”

In the safety of strong arms, a warm body beside him, Soap nods. In acceptance of their unknown fate, of their hopeless endeavour. An understanding, that they have to try anyway.

Because trying and failing is worth something too, if they get to have this small moment; so insignificant in larger scale.

And yet nothing means more to Soap, than the fingers drawing small loops on his skin.

He doesn’t know how long it takes for someone to take notice of their absence, but it becomes obvious that it has, when both Soap’s and Simon’s phones start buzzing with no end.

Soap pulls away first, after several minutes of gearing himself up to it. Doesn’t make the jarring shift any easier. He leans over Ghost to grab his phone from the bedside table, and cringes when he sees the number of missed calls from Gaz and Price.

His phone rings again, and he swipes a finger to answer, “he’s still not picking up- Soap?!” Gaz’s voice becomes louder, as if he put the phone back near his mouth, “where the fuck were you?! I’ve tried calling you all day mate!”

“Uh- Phone was on mute, sorry.” he mumbles.

Soap winces a little at the answering sigh from Gaz, “...alright. You solid?”

He doesn’t know why that innocent question made tears well up in his eyes. Soap quickly wipes them away, not fast enough for Ghost to miss, though. “Aye, Ah’m good.”

Soap can tell from Kyle’s voice he’s not entirely convinced, “good. Wanna come torture the recruits with me?”

He smiles softly, closing his eyes, “yeah, think I’d like that right about now.”

Gaz laughs a little, “I’ll see you on the training grounds?”

“See ye.”

Soap tosses the phone on the bed, scrubbing his face. He looks up at Simon, who stayed close for the entire call, “what’s on the table for us today? Are we gonna tell ‘em after training-”

“Take the day off, Johnny. You need it.” Simon gets up with a groan, stretching his back and reaching for his mask. Soap stops him with a gentle hand on his wrist.

“Ye need it too. Come with me.”

Simon’s brown eyes turn a honeyed color in the bright morning light, “...alright.”

It’s been a while since Soap had what almost felt like a normal day, acting like tomorrow will come. Betting on who could come up with the weirdest exercises with Ghost and Gaz was more fun than anything he’s done since entering the loop, shooting the shit with each other and trying not to crack up when the recruits would look at them with bewildered eyes before hurrying to follow their orders.

In the afternoon, they went back to the common room, Gaz inviting them to watch the football match with him. Despite knowing Scotland will lose, Soap agreed, and they even managed to drag Price to sit with them.

And at that moment, Gaz throwing sunflower seeds at the screen, Price confiscating the bowl with a wide smile on his lips, and Ghost’s thigh pressed to his, eyes mirthful, Soap realized something.

He wants to have more days like these. Ones where he can just exist with his team, his friends, the people he holds most dear in the entire world. 

At about 2100, Gaz and Price say their goodbyes, leaving Soap and Ghost by themselves, TV off and the rest of the room silent. As the clock ticks closer to the attack, it feels as if all of his muscles twist tighter, a coil ready to snap.

He didn’t notice his leg started bouncing, until Ghost stops it with a firm hand. “I can stop today right now, if you want.” he asks.

Soap’s breath hitches, and he’s instantly thrown back to the first day, shaky hands wrapped around his, pulling the trigger-

“No.” he blurts, “I- I don’t want ye to…”

Ghost scans his features, before nodding and standing up, offering a hand for Soap. He takes it, a bit flustered when Ghost doesn’t let go.

“We can leave, then.”

“Leave?”

“The base. For tonight.” Ghost offers, “I have a place in mind. Will take us about thirty to reach it.”

Soap frowns, guilt gnawing at his heart, “and the others…?”

Ghost lowers his gaze, “won’t remember a thing.”

He swallows his feelings down, nodding weakly. It hurts, to let them die and do nothing to stop it, but they both know it won’t matter by the end of the night.

They would’ve been dead a dozen times over if it did.

Ghost leads him outside, motioning him to stay low and quiet as they reach the northern side of the wall surrounding the base. The Lieutenant kicks at the fence, a section surprisingly loose, enough for them to crawl out and into the grassy hills outside. Soap sends him a look, to which Ghost just shrugs and says, “I’ll report it when we reach tomorrow.”

When, he notes. Not if.

He continues walking beside him, his figure almost melting into the night skies, save for the bone-white skull mask he grew to love.

A gale brushes upon them, the tall grass and bushes sway along with it. It’s… peaceful.

Until a far away explosion rattles the earth.

Soap freezes, hand pulling on Ghost’s. He knows his eyes must be desperate, when they meet his.

Ghost delicately untangles their fingers, to instead wrap a supporting arm around his shoulders. He leans in to whisper, “just a little more, Johnny.”

It’s odd, how those arms can instantly make Soap feel safer, that voice guiding his mind away from base, to a little bubble of their own.

They walk up a small hill, where at its top stands a single, ancient looking tree. Soap marvels at the place, the fact that somewhere like this exists so near to their base, oblivious to the horrors of their endless deaths.

Ghost sits down, ignoring the crunch of dry grass beneath him, and lays back to stare up at the stars. Soap, as always, follows.

The sky seems endless this way, like his tether to the ground can break with a small tug. Stars shine brightly across the darkness, tiny specks that are still so beautiful despite being so far away.

Soap turns his head to look at Ghost, those brown eyes almost black now, reflecting the universe back at him. It makes something hurt in his chest, reminds him just how much he has to lose, if he chooses to give up.

And Soap finds he really, truly, doesn’t want to give up. If only to see the stars again, feel a cooling wind against his skin again, laugh with Gaz and get a pat on the back from Price, lay back and watch colors swirl in Ghost’s, Simon’s, eyes.

“I want to try again, tomorrow.” Soap whispers, watches the moment Ghost processes the words, “and the day after that, and after that, until we reach an end. Whatever it may be.”

It brings him a significant amount of joy, that he has learned to tell when Ghost smiles by now, “whatever it may be.” he repeats.

Ghost’s wristwatch beeps three times, and Soap stares at it as he brings it closer to his face to read.

“Two minutes to midnight.” he informs.

Soap sighs, wishing the day wouldn’t have to end so soon, and yet also eager to get up and fight, “I’ll see ye in a few, LT?”

Ghost drops his arm, nodding resolutely, “always, Johnny.”

The stars melt into the void as they stare into each other’s eyes. 

A new day greets Soap, as it always does. This time, however, it feels different.

Soap gets out of bed, diligently dressing up, before a knock sounds on his door. Without opening, he knows whose behind it, and asks with a smile, “did ye ran outta bed today, Simon?”

“You’re just slow, Soap.” a muffled answer comes back, making him smile wider.

He unlocked the door, taking in the sight of Ghost. Same dark clothes he wears every single day (even before the loop, if he’s being honest), but the look in his eyes…

Seems like they both needed yesterday.

“Ready to talk with Price and Gaz?” Ghost motions with his head towards the hallway.

Soap cracks his knuckles, “let’s get teh work.”

Five minutes to power shutdown. The watchtower above him has been cleared, Price’s orders to the soldiers doing their work. Soap finishes planting the last of the charges, nerves somewhat settled by the fact he knows this part will work. There is a comfort in knowing exactly how a mission will go, for once. Well, this part at least.

“Got an eye on you, Johnny.” a low voice murmurs to him through their comms. Soap huffs fondly, sparing a moment to glance back at the base, searching for a sniper glint.

He smirks when he finds it, knows Ghost can read his expression with the scope he’s using, “only one? I’m offended, LT. Don’t think I deserve your full attention?”

“Think you’ve earned it?”

Soap makes a show of thinking over it, “hmm… What if I say yes?”

“Then I’d say you’re right, Sergeant.” Ghost radios back with a warmer tone. “Remember your promise?”

“Of course.”

A promise to try. A swear to fight. A vow to live.

“This is Price, me and Gaz are in position, what’s your status?”

“Explosives are set, in position.” Soap answers.

“Two minutes to power shutoff.” Ghost warns. Soap clenches his jaw and backs away, detonator in hand.

Their plan for this loop is similar to the last one, with Soap dropping the watchtower on the infiltrating group, while Gaz and Price take point at the barracks. They made minor adjustments to positions, using the intel they’ve collected in the previous run, and one major change.

This time, Soap has Ghost to watch his six.

He’s been through this so many times, he didn’t need to watch the clock to know exactly when the lights will go out.

The darkness makes his breaths quicken a tad, but Soap grinds his teeth and pulls the reins on his own mind. Even if they fail today, they have an infinite amount of tries.

He takes a sharp inhale, covers his eyes, and detonates. The familiar sound of dozens of tonnes of metal crashing down is like music to his ears, and Soap opens his eyes to watch bullets flash through the night sky. Ghost picking off the remaining hostiles.

“How was the light show?”

Ghost sighs, putting on an air of irritation that Soap has learned to see past, “splendid, Soap. I’d put a picture of it right next to the definition of a pyromaniac in the dictionary.”

Soap begins running towards the barracks, knowing he has mere minutes before the hostiles reach it, “ye say the sweetest things teh me, Simon.”

“Wasn’t a compliment.” Ghost mutters, “I’ll meet you on ground in ten.”

“Copy.”

The barracks building fast approaches, dark windows flaring every few seconds with gunfire. He’s about to rush in when a hand wraps around his nape. Soap reaches for a knife he slipped up his sleeve when he hears a gravelly voice near his ear.

“Thought we’re not runnin’ off on our own anymore.” Ghost murmurs, scolding him lightly.

Soap sags against his grip. “Attacker doesn’t get me for another thirty-four minutes.”

“Don’t care. Haven’t been through this version of the loop enough times to know where every hostile is.” Ghost guides him to the direction of the side door, “be careful.”

Soap nods, skin feeling cold when Ghost releases him. They make their way down dark hallways, NVGs on, echoing bullets getting closer and closer. Someone runs out of a door to their left, and Soap has mere seconds to figure out which side they’re on.

Tactical vest, rifle in hand, ready for combat. A clean shot through the head and the man is dead.

The air around them is charged, his lungs almost choking on the tension, but his hands are steady on his gun, as years of military training drilled into him.

“Soap, Ghost, we’re getting overrun in block B! Where the fuck are you?” Gaz pants into his mic, choppy gunfire slips around his voice.

“Clearing block A, but Ah can come yer way-”

Ghost cuts him off, “we are on our way to you, Garrick. Don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“Copy.” Gaz clicks off. Wordlessly, they start running.

So many things can go wrong, finish their loop early, make them fail. Before, it felt like the entire world was fighting against them, the very fabric of time and space coiling around their throats and smothering their lungs.

Ghost sprints ahead of him, a long blade in hand as he opens the door to block B, and the knife gets buried into an unlucky hostile.

Things are different now. Soap lines a shot with another bastard trying to flank Ghost. The Lieutenant turns to give him a thankful nod.

They have to be different.

Block B houses the 141, among other squads. Usually at this hour, its hallways are empty and quiet, the occasional sleepless soldier drifting towards the common room.

Tonight, barracks have been turned into cover for both friendlies and hostiles, every uncleared room a possible hiding hole for a henchman waiting to blow a hole in their face. Soap and Ghost find the rest of their taskforce in the middle of shooting enemies running between the rooms.

“What’s the situation, Captain?” Ghost crouches down beside Price, peppering a few shots when hostiles pop their head to return fire.

Price grunts, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, “fuckers keep crawling out like roaches up ahead, we can’t push forward like this.” He glances at Soap, “got anything left that we can use, Sergeant?”

Soap mentally runs through the supplies he gathered this afternoon from the armory, “got five Semtex, three frags, a drill charge-”

“Give me a Semtex.” Ghost orders, lifting a hand without looking away from the target-rich hallway. Soap places it in his palm, curiously watching him throw it on a hostile rolling to cover. The man had too much momentum to stop his slide, and he shouts when he realizes he’s just brought a grenade into a room full of his teammates.

A loud explosion, and Soap whistles lowly, “feckin’ ruthless, Ghost.”

The 141, along with the rest of the soldiers who have been sleeping in block B until the base was invaded, use the break in the enemy’s defences to push forward, overwhelming the henchmen and making them scramble back to avoid death.

As they fight, Soap notices a group of hostiles around a single man, seemingly protecting him. When one of them moves, he catches a glimpse of their face, and his blood boils over.

Anthony Simmons, in the flesh. The man responsible for the attack.

Soap knows, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, that Simmons isn’t the one responsible for the existence of the time loop. He had no way of knowing, that attacking the base will cause time to break around Soap and Ghost.

But he has watched his teammates, his friends, get shot by his men countless times, felt unimaginable pain, helpless when that pain broke him, broke Simon.

Soap knows it’s not his fault, but fuck if he’s going to let him walk out of this intact.

Before anyone can stop him, he breaks into a run after Simmons. The man has lost more of his henchmen at this point, his little circle of soldiers dead at his feet, so he fled deeper into the building. The rest of his men, however, still stand between Soap and Simmons.

Soap pulls out his knife again, this time intending to use it, slipping under thick arms that try to wrestle him down, and stabbing his opponent in the ribs. He quickly slits his throat and continues the chase.

Voices ring out of his comms, a mix of concern and anger from his squad. Soap plans to ignore them, until one stands out.

“You fucking promised me Johnny, don’t do this to me!”

His steps falter, and after a beat he decides to answer, “Ah’m going to end this, once and for all. In pursuit of Anthony Simmons.”

“You’re going after Simmons alone?!” Gaz grunts, clearly in the middle of fending off an enemy.

Ghost’s voice is dripping with rage, “is he really worth killing yourself for, Sergeant?”

Soap can tell, behind that furious voice, that Simon is scared. That anger for Ghost is a smokescreen for anything else.

…They are the same in that regard, aren’t they?

“No.” Soap realizes, “it’s not.”

The comms are quiet. He scans the way ahead, understands that Simmons has no other place to hide besides…

“He’s in our common room. Waiting for backup around the corner.”

“...Copy. We’re five minutes out.” Ghost sighs, previous anger fizzling out.

Soap stares ahead, at the familiar path to their common room, now dark and lifeless. It’s a path he never walks alone, and today will not be any different.

His team arrives one minute early, bloody and bruised and worse for wear, but alive, so blessedly, wonderfully, alive.

“Gaz, keep an eye on our six, Ghost, Soap, with me.” Price commands, back straight and weapon at the ready.

They take measured steps to their common room, small noises and grunts like gunshots in the silence. Simmons sounds agitated, whispering orders into his radio. He clearly didn’t expect anyone to follow him, evident by the door he left wide open, and the fact he left his gun to lean against the wall.

Ghost walks ahead, footsteps perfectly noiseless, slinking behind their target like a predator circling its prey.

Soap cringes inwardly when his boot connects with the end of the couch, a small thunk alerting Simmons. As unprepared as the man was, he still noticed, head perking up and hand dropping from his comms.

Shite.

Simmons gets up with a sudden flurry of movement, hands instantly on his weapon. Ghost attempts to apprehend him, but the man starts shooting wildly all around him while screaming, “not gonna let you 141 rats fuck with me again!”

Simmons swings his gun to his left, and Soap watches in horror as the barrel lines with Price’s heart. He makes the split second decision to tackle the Captain.

They both grunt when they hit the floor, Soap feeling hot pain spread through his shoulder. Bastard got lucky.

Ghost takes the opening to Simmons’ right, and Soap barely sees the meager light in the room reflect onto his blade before it slices into Simmons’ neck. Ghost twists it once, and pulls it out, allowing the body to fall.

Gaz rushes into the room at that moment, spotting Ghost looming over their target’s dead body, and him and Price still on the floor, “fuck- Captain, Soap, are you broken?”

Soap pushes off Price with a groan, the Captain answering, “negative. Soap, what’s your status?”

Price places a hand on his shoulder, one that would be comforting in any other scenario, but in this one makes him yelp in pain. Price pulls his hand away, Gaz crouching down beside him to inspect the gunshot wound, “shit, Soap’s been hit.”

Soap’s mind transports him to the last loop, to Ghost’s unshakeable decision to reset before he could suffer any longer, and blurts out, “jus’ a gunshot wound teh the shoulder. I’ll live.”

He turns his head back to Ghost, the giant man standing above him like a fucked up guardian angel.

The power chooses at that moment to come back on, blinding all of them. They flip their NVGs up, rubbing their eyes and groaning, when Soap notices Ghost’s watch beeping. They make eye contact.

“Two minutes to midnight.” Soap whispers. He reaches with his uninjured hand to Simon’s, making him sit back on his haunches. He brings the watch closer to his face, senses Gaz and Price huddle around it as well.

Four pairs of eyes watch the little clock tick closer and closer to midnight with bated breath. Thoughts begin to whirl in his head, that perhaps this wasn’t the answer, that there is just no possible solution to this wretched loop.

2359…

0000.

Midnight. Soap looks up, sees his shock reflected in Ghost’s dark eyes.

They’re free.

The 141’s common room might be Soap’s favorite. It’s nothing fancy, a couple of ratty couches, a kitchenette. No TV, and near-constant mold under the sink.

Soap wouldn’t have it any other way. Sitting here, chatting with Gaz about nothing and everything, laughing when Price acts in a way that reminds all of them how old he is, feeling Simon’s arms wrapped around him, Soap wouldn’t change a thing.

Well… one thing has changed. A clock has been mounted on the wall, along with a calendar.

Time continues moving. Soap knows his future will hold unmeasurable amounts of pain, that his end might be closer than he thinks it is. That their little common room will eventually fall silent, for good. But Soap also knows he will get to have more days like these, memories of incomparable comfort and soul-deep calm. Moments that are worth the pain.

And it’s that knowledge, that makes hope bloom in his chest. In his heart, and in deep brown eyes, that now crescent for him more than Soap could’ve ever wished for.

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Promptosaurus Rex; cw for toddler stuff, eg 💩 & 🤮]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) 19: weather (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

'A-ha! We did it!' John says, possibly too chuffed as he holds up a freshly changed and dressed Rosie. 'We--'

She makes a very distinctive face, then grunts. John eyes her. 'Tell me that face doesn't mean what I think it means.'

Then he does the sniff test, and yes. Yes, it does mean that.

He lays her down yet again, fond exasperation tugging at his lips. 'Wee girl, why do you do this to me?' His mum has used the endearment on Harry their whole lives, so it's comfortable on his tongue as he reaches for wipes and a new nappy -- only to discover the stashes depleted. As in… nill.

John rolls several expletives around his teeth. But then Rosie giggle-gurgles up at him, and he swoops in to expel his breath instead on her cheek in the form of a huge raspberry. He almost doesn't hear the knock on the door.

He pauses, but then shrugs and picks her up. 'Sorry, sweetheart. Let's go see who's at the door, yeah?'

She is notably non-nonplussed. 'Livery?'

'Might be,' John replies as he reaches the building door and opens it. 'And it is!' His daughter claps and immediately reaches out for the spotty young man trying to wrestle a rather large box. 'Whoa, there.' John reins her back in; she wants to be friends with everyone, which is both endearing and alarming.

'Do I need to sign?' he says to the carrier, who, now that John's looking, isn't wearing any sort of uniform. He looks like a dishboy haphazardly and temporarily promoted.

'No, sir. I'm to bring it up to the flat.'

A seed of a thought germinates in John's head. 'That was your instruction?'

The lad nods, clearly trying not to show his impatience. John holds back a sigh, and opens the door wider to let him pass. 'By all means.'

And it's as John expected: Wipes, diaper rash cream, and nappies. They're even--though he really shouldn't be surprised--the correct size.

As soon as Rosie's changed (again), he's got his phone out.

'I trust the delivery made it in time?' Mycroft answers.

John spares them both the niceties. 'How?'

'Nothing untoward, I assure you. Sherlock texted me.'

'Right. And where is he?' They may have an… evolving relationship, but Sherlock is still Sherlock, and John can also admit he only vaguely remembers what the detective had said when he'd left earlier in the day.

'I believe the words "spleen" and "unidentified poison" are involved.'

'Excellent. Listen.' He clears his throat. 'I'll pay you back.'

'My mother would call that "vulgar," as you know.'

'And she's a lovely woman, but--'

'Discuss it with Sherlock, please. I've got work and must get back to it.'

He rings off. John stares at his phone.

Death by Holmes. That's it. That will be how his life ends.

---

Rosie has broken the laws of physics and/or cloned herself. She has. She must have done.

That's the only explanation for the sheer reach of mess he finds waiting for him after his clinic hours the next day. 'Bloody hell,' he breathes, standing in the flat's doorway and taking it in.

It's more than the usual whirlwind that happens when Sherlock's between cases and takes Rosie for the day - He claims loftily that he's putting her through intellectual paces, but really he just indulges her every whim, including her lack of enthusiasm for cleaning up. And it's not as if the flat was shining and organised to begin with.

John doesn't even have the bandwidth to log all the bits of chaos surrounding him. For heaven's sake, he hadn't even known they owned bubble solution. But, then again, they don't now, judging by the rather large soapy stain on the rug in front of the window, and the family of tipped-over empty bottles next to it.

'John!' he hears from Sherlock's bedroom. 'Come join us!'

He rolls his eyes, but goes anyway. The noises make it clear as to what they're doing, and John hangs his head before pushing open the door. He'd been hoping to at least have one nice mattress in the flat for a bit longer.

But no, currently Sherlock is holding onto an absolutely delighted toddler while, obviously, jumping up and down on the bed like he's seven. Actually, John fleetingly wonders if Sherlock even got to do such things when he was seven--

'Come on, John!'

--and the unabashed joy in Sherlock's eyes tells him his answer. With that, the resistance whooshes out of him. He toes off his shoes and joins them.

'We're testing the durability,' Sherlock explains, loudly, then swoops Rosie like an aeroplane.

John laughs, huffs of air as he jumps and watches his daughter. She seems to be enjoying herself, except-- 'I think she might--' He stops, reaches out. 'Sherlock, she's going to v--'

With a small noise of surprise, Rosie is, indeed, sick. The remnants of whatever they'd had for tea form a lovely puddle on Sherlock's expensive sheets.

The grown-ups both manage to avoid it, scrambling backwards and into each other, somehow. John, lungs tight, reaches for his daughter, not caring that she's got sick all down her front. 'My girl,' he says, going for soothing, knowing her reaction could go either way. 'Did that surprise you?'

Rosie, wide-eyed, lets out a small hiccough. Then her face crumples, and she starts to sob.

'Oh dear,' Sherlock says faintly.

John, because he's a bastard, feels laughter start to bubble up in his lungs.

Then he hears Sherlock repressing chuckles next to him, and the floodgates are open, them laughing together like errant schoolboys.

'We musn't giggle near an ill child!' Sherlock admonishes, but it works no better than it had the week they met. John bumps Sherlock's shoulder and curls Rosie into his chest, rubbing her back and putting his lips to her forehead in between breaths. She's not feverish, she just likely got swooped about like an aeroplane too soon after tea, so John relaxes and lets himself go, laughing like an idiot in dirty sheets with a dirty baby and a spotless Sherlock (somehow, the bastard).

Then there's a knock at the door. The door of the flat, not the ground floor.

He and Sherlock exchange glances, no longer laughing; even Rosie has geared down from wailing to whimpering. John shrugs.

'Come in,' Sherlock says, loudly, because of course he does; he doesn't give a toss what people think of his cleaning habits. 'We're in the master bedroom.'

A formidable grey-haired woman with a tight chignon and very no-nonsense shoes appears in the bedroom doorway. She takes in the situation, and then she tuts. Actually tuts, in a distinctly Edwardian way that John hasn't heard since his grandmother passed. 'Just as Mr Holmes suspected.'

Sherlock purses his lips. 'Mycroft sent you?'

'He certainly did. Now, out of those clothes and into the bath, please, all three of you.'

Sherlock opens his mouth to protest but the Look she gives him has him shutting it with a snap.

John would laugh if he had the fortitude. 'Beg pardon, ma'am, but he sent you because…?'

'Because you lot are a mess, a fact of which you seem to be unaware.'

John and Sherlock exchange another look. 'Fine,' Sherlock says curtly. 'But could you be so kind as to leave the room while we undress?'

'Certainly.' She gives a short nod, then turns on her heel and exits down the hall.

'Hang on,' John whispers loudly as they start to unbutton and unzip. 'Mycroft sent us a nanny?'

'I'm relatively certain she's his housekeeper, and just on loan for this evening.'

'I guess I should be surprised.'

'No, you shouldn't, as you're not entirely without wits.'

'Such flattery.'

'Dull.'

'It's almost sweet of your brother, really.'

Sherlock points a finger at him. 'Don't you dare.'

John's lips quirk. 'Don't worry, I won't send him a fruit basket or anything. I just-- I appreciate that he indulges a child he hardly knows, that's of no relation to him.'

Sherlock clears his throat. 'Yes, well, be that as it may, I say we take full advantage.' He pulls the now-naked toddler out of John's hands and heads towards the loo.

John watches them go, feeling quite swirled around by the last half an hour's events. But then he shakes his head at himself and his navel-gazing, and follows them.

---

John's phone buzzes while he's at work the next day, and he doesn't pay it much mind until he sees it's the day nursery. After he reads the message and is able to breathe again-- Jesus, being a father is not for the weak, is it-- he thumbs one to Sherlock. 

Did you get the updated pickup address from the minder? Trip to park rained out. 

He doesn't get a reply, not right away or in the next few hours. 

This could, of course, mean a few things. John firmly puts away the worst case scenario, and reckons a case has taken priority, seeing as Sherlock knew John was available for pickup if necessary. 

So, needless to say, he's surprised when he arrives at the given address. One, because Sherlock is there waiting. And two, because it's… 

John stares.

'John,' Sherlock says after a moment. 'I'm afraid my brother has outdone himself.' 

'Yes, well.' He coughs. 'I'm afraid he's turned an indoor football pitch into a Disneyland for toddlers.'

'As I said.'

'Jesus Christ.' He wonders how long Mycroft's been planning this. 'Wait-- Was this just because of the rain today?'

'Knowing Mycroft? Yes. Is that not a proportional response?'

John can hear the amusement in Sherlock's voice. 'Definitely not,' he replies, but his cheeks hurt from repressing a smile. 'Hang on,' he says. 'Why are you here? You didn't return my texts, I figured you were in the middle of a corpse or something.'

'Mycroft told me to stay put.'

John snorts. 'Didn't you think he might be using trick psychology to get you here?'

Sherlock scoffs. 'Soft science, that.'

'Sure.'

'Daddy! Sherlock!' John looks away from Sherlock at that particular mispronunciation of his flatmate's name, and is barreled into by a clumsy sparkly dervish. 

'What--' He automatically reaches down to pick her up, then does a double take at the elaborate butterfly painted onto nearly her whole face. It's basically a work of art, honestly, and he has no idea how someone got her to sit still for that long. 

'They are hired for speed,' Sherlock says to him, and he laughs, still impressed after all these years. 

'Incredible.'

Sherlock glances at him. 'Whether you mean the artwork or my deducing your question about the artist, you are correct.'

John ignores him and listens to his daughter chatter enthusiastically. The words "bouncy castle" and, somehow, "golf" filter out of it, and John chuckles.

Then he hears her say something that makes him double-take. 'Pardon? Say that once more, sweetheart.'

'Uncle Mycroft!' she repeats. Or at least, most of those letters. Enough to confirm.

John's jaw clenches. 'Did he tell you to call him that?'

She nods enthusiastically. 'He's fun!'

This jars John from his confused dismay, and he hears Sherlock snort, too. 'I suppose he can be, in his own way.'

'Don't lie to your daughter, John.'

John tries not to laugh, and nearly succeeds.

You're going to have a hard time topping this for her next birthday, he writes to Mycroft. He doesn't get a reply, but he supposes that's fair.

They get halfway through the relatively short walk home. Halfway. Before the heavens open up, changing from an aggressive mist to actual splotchy rain.

John swallows a curse, ducking under an awning and already anticipating Rosie wailing about prematurely losing her face art, about being cold and wet and out of doors. 

But when he looks at them, at Sherlock swinging his daughter down from where she'd been perched on his shoulders, he sees nothing but joy on her face.

Joy, and wet streaks of glittery violet paint. She's clinging to Sherlock's hands, and Sherlock looks -- Well, he looks really bloody happy, if John had to label it. But he hesitates in doing so, and resigns himself to just enjoying the moment.

'What,' he says once he's recovered his voice, 'Mycroft can't have a drone deliver us an umbrella?'

Sherlock chuckles, then sobers. 'He does adore her, you know.'

John looks at Sherlock, not quite hiding his surprise. 'And you're alright with that? With "Uncle Mycroft"?'

Sherlock's eyes flash with something, but John isn't quick enough to categorise it. 'A child should have a variety of influences in their life.'

'True, but--'

'And an expanded support structure they can rely on. I daresay Mycroft qualifies, don't you?'

John nods shortly, finding himself unable to form useful words.

Luckily, Sherlock does it for him. He sweeps Rosie back up into his arms and boops her nose, which makes John's eyes cross with cognitive dissonance but there it is all the same. 'Shall we continue walking and enjoying the rain?' the detective asks Rosie. 'And then have a nice bath and some tea? I'm sure your father will make up a fire, too.'

John swallows. 'Sure, yeah.'

Heart warm enough to hurt, he follows them out from under the cover and into the storm.

Time's too short, he reckons, to fuss about dreary weather.

[ <3 ]

[inspiration: Richard Shindell's 'The Weather'. Also consulted bubbleinc.co.uk, obviously.]

[bunnyinvanilla]

Soap has found a playful way to entertain yourselves with the new lights you’ve bought for the Christmas tree…

| 🍪 mdi please, suggestive, fem!reader is 21 and johnny is waaay much older, I had this one shot in mind for a while and thought I would write it down for soapy (probably first and last time cause I’m a loyal price girlie)

“don’t really trust these things ‘nny…”

your sweet voice is tinted with worry and hesitation as you wiggle your wrists, the motion only tightening the knot that bounds them together over your head and against your mattress “what if they start burning?”

johnny, as the faux gentleman he is, coos condescendingly down at you, but the sound that was meant to be reassuring reverberated like a deep, sultry growl in your ears — almost mocking.

“christmas lights that burn at the touch were a thing back in the 80’s, lass, not now,” he lectures you amusedly, his words inevitably pointing out to your evident large age gap — perhaps too large.

“they were so pretty, they played Christmas music an’ ye could hear it all the way from yer room... but ye werenae even born yet at that time, bonnie lass, ye couldnae know about it”

he lets out a rough chuckle, eyes fixed on the way the colorful lights shine over the skin of your wrists at an alternated rhythm, your belly twists with the familiar warm tingle that makes you blush every time he reminds you of how much, much older than you he was.

“you’re going to break them, we’ve just bought them” you whine, raising your head against the pillows to look at the colorful bulbs that tie your hands together, orange, green, red and blue alternating their shimmering “we have to put them on the tree”

“don’t worry, dove, won’t,” he smirks down at you, scarred hands ready to uncover the treasure that lies between your legs — they start pulling down the fluffy pajama pants you’re wearing, the tip of his calloused fingers tracing a hot trail along your thighs “n if I do, I’ll get ye new ones before Christmas Day comes”

once your lacy white panties are revealed, he nearly purrs at the sight, the best gift he could ever get lying down underneath him, ready to be unwrapped, his pretty, sweet girl. “I’ll make ye feel s’good ye won’t even have to write any letter to Santa, ye’ll give me all the cookies”

he must’ve been a pretty good lad all year to deserve such a precious thing as you.

“y’trust yer man, right dove?”

it’s hard not to crumble down like gingerbread cookies with the way he looks at you, cunning and sly eyes pouring down all the love and desires he has for you — so you just blink cutely at him, red, puffy cheeks and fluttering, big eyes. “i do…”

he grins at that, his hand swiftly grabbing his buckle and almost ripping the zipper down, his other hand tugs you in by your waist, harsh enough to press his crotch against your blossom and hips slam together.

“that’s my pretty girl, I’ll take ya to the bookstore right after, what’ya say? ye can pick however many ye want and I’ll get ye hot chocolate, deal?”

and with that, he knows you’re sold.

[sharpfamily]

A Smelly Mishap

The former professor sighed deeply. Finally he managed to scrub the stink off his person. He wasn't sure what exactly went wrong - one minute he was trying to make an improvement on the digestion potion, so that it would lose its nasty side effect of making the user very sweaty upon ingestion, the second he was... Well, smelling like a bloody polecat.

He left his cellar in a fit of coughs, although he did manage to hurriedly vanish the clearly failed potion and cleared the air with a simple charm. His wife looked up from where she was currently in the middle of aiding little Eleazar in putting a puzzle together, and right away covered her nose.

"Ugh, what's that smell?" asked the young lad, also turning his head to Aesop’s direction. "Failed potion," Aesop explained shortly, well on his way upstairs to the bathroom. He received no answer, or perhaps he just did not hear it. He began pulling off his clothes before he even reached their bedroom. He didn't even bother with sending a scouring charm on them, and simply vanished them before they even had the chance to hit the floor. The stink was most likely so deeply sunken in them, it wouldn't come off even if he washed them repeatedly. He just hoped he'd be able to get it off his body.

The tub in their bathroom filled up with hot soapy water, and he wasted no time in climbing in, uncaring whether he got the floor wet at that moment. He started scrubbing at himself furiously, trying to get the repulsive scent off. Luckily, in more time than he would've preferred, he smelled the reek letting up.

After replacing the water, he scrubbed some more until finally, finally, all that filled his nose was the light, pleasant smell of soap. Replacing the water again, he sighed and leaned back. He stared morosely in front of himself for a bit. What could have caused such a catastrophic reaction? Maybe he added too much mint? Or perhaps it was the wormwood? 

There was a knock upon the bathroom door. "Yes?" He called. His wife entered moments after, giving him a small grin.

"Well, you no longer stink like manure, so that's brilliant," she said teasingly, pulling up the stool in the corner of the room, and sitting next to the tub. He gave her a wry smile: "Yes... Sorry about that. I'll make sure to go over the process carefully to figure out what went wrong and hopefully stop anything like this from happening again."

She took the soft washcloth he was using to scrub at his body and dipped it into the warm water. She then started running it over his torso, through the dark hair on his chest. He couldn't help closing his eyes in bliss. His wife made even such a simple activity as cleaning one's body into such a pleasurable experience.

"Mistakes can happen - you work so hard, dear, you not only brew so much, but you try to make improvements on your potions, to make them even better for people. I'm so proud of you," she spoke softly. Aesop smiled warmly and opened one eye: "Even when I stink up the house because of it?"

"Yes, even then. But I admit, I find it way more enjoyable to approach you when you're nice and clean, and now you smell simply delicious."

Her lips pressed against his temple, and her hand holding the cloth dipped below the water to gently rub against his belly, making the first ripples of arousal flow through him.

"Hm, darling... The kids-" he said lowly. "The kids are accounted for at the moment. Besides, it's not like I'm doing anything bad. Just cleaning you, my sweetest," she replied, her other hand coming to run through his damp hair. 

Aesop wasn't able to stop himself, he reached his wet hands and captured her face in them, pulling her for a deep kiss. 

After a few minutes of fervent kissing, she pulled back, grinning: "So much better when you're smelling nice." Aesop gave her a mischievous smirk, and then-

And then he grabbed her waist and pulled her into the tub with him, prompting the young woman to squeal loudly, water splashing absolutely everywhere. Aesop only laughed. Soon, she joined him, even as her clothing got all wet on her body.

"What's going on here?!" Came Maggie's confused voice. The young girl was standing in the doorway, obviously having ran in to investigate her mother's sudden yelp. Ah. It would appear the soundproofing spell on their bathroom was wearing off. Luckily, Aesop was all covered by his clothed wife. Not that it would matter usually, Aesop would occasionally bathe with his children when they were little, but his wife's ministrations didn't leave him exactly unaffected.

"I'm sorry we frightened you, dear," His beloved said a bit awkwardly. "Mummy was bringing me extra soap, and slipped on the water. Luckily I caught her, who knows what could've happened otherwise. Goes to teach me not to splash around so much..." Aesop said, referring to Maggie's habit of leaving water all around the tub when she went to bathe. The young girl blushed under the clear poke at this habit.

"I'll try to not get so much water around next time..." She said quietly, prompting her parents to chuckle. "It's alright, dear, just make sure to wipe it down with a towel afterwards. Why don't you go check up on your siblings, I'll be there shortly - I just have to dry off," (F/N) said lightly, not making any effort to get out of the tub just now. After a soft 'Alright' and the sound of the door closing again followed by Maggie's steps retreating, the woman finally climbed out of the tub.

"Aw," Aesop said, "I was quite enjoying having you here..." His wife chuckled again, using his own wand that was resting on the sink to dry her clothes. "Just you wait at night, you rogue," she warned, "I'll get you back for this!"

"Can't wait…”

---

[Sharp Family Drabbles]

[riddle-me-ri]

Congrats on hitting 500!!!! Could I maybe get some scrumptious nsfw BTAS Mad Hatter with the sharing a shower prompt? I just had to request this because it has now flooded my brain and refuses to leave.

A/N: hnngg my second most favorite lad with my favorite prompt? 🫠 Asdfgg absolutely you can get that, it's flooded my brain now too. Thank you so much!

Trigger Warning: explicit sexual content (blowjob)(idk why I always want the attention to be on him most of the time rip, he needs the reassurance ok?!), heavy touching

Word Count: 541

BTAS Mad Hatter - Sharing a Shower

Jervis’ feet were glued to the smooth fiberglass floor. His whole body flushed red and not just from the heat of the warm water that was running. 

Jervis was still relatively new to this…level of intimacy. He knew all the proper rules of courtship, but never quite thought of what laid ahead after that.

“Are you all right, Jervis?” You asked, slightly concerned when he hasn’t responded to you.

“Ah, um fine…I am fine, my darling.” He bore his eyes into your own. 

Not daring to gaze at your body any lower. 

“You can look Jervis, it’d be kind of hard to bathe one another without looking. Wouldn’t you think?” 

Jervis gulped. Perhaps you had a point. His eyes slowly trailed down your body. His hands slightly clenched, overcome with the idea to touch you. 

You smiled as you notice him slowly relax. You pecked the tip of his nose before turning away to grab a wash cloth. You began damping and prepping the cloth with soap. Jervis grew a little tense again, but soon was eased into your caresses as you washed his skin softly. 

“I-What about you-”

You shushed him softly. You moved your hand from his shoulders and neck down to his chest. “I’m fine. I’m more concerned about you enjoying this…and letting me adore you for once.” 

Jervis opened his mouth to counter your point but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He did begin to find himself enjoying the attention.

You leaned your body into his, skin sticking to slightly soapy skin as you began washing his back. Until you felt something poking at you. 

Ashamed, Jervis immediately stepped away from you.

“I-I’m sorry. I-I can…t-take it from here–”

You shook your head. “Jervis, it’s okay! It’s normal, sweetheart.” 

“P-Perhaps…but I-I didn’t mean..”

“Really? I mean…I kinda hoped it would happen. I don’t mind.” You walked back over to him with a comforting smile. 

You slowly got down on your knees in front of him.

Jervis gulped nervously.

“You don’t?” He stammered as you got closer to his groin. 

“I don’t…I can help…if you don’t mind.” 

Overwhelmed by the prospect, Jervis could only bring himself to nod. 

You set a steady pace, using the water to easily thrust his cock through your enclosed hand. 

When you felt he was ready you swiftly replaced your hand with your lips. You could hear his gasp even through the running water.

Your lips tightened, you sucked harder and faster. Jervis could feel his knees start to buckle. 

His body stiffened and you knew he was close. You slowly removed your lips, but continued to pump his cock at the same rhythm as your lips. You tapped the head of his cock against the tip of your togue, eagerly awaiting his release. 

It didn’t take long for Jervis to come undone, some of his cum went into your mouth while some trickled down your chin and onto your chest. 

As Jervis continued to try and catch his breath, you stood back up with a satisfied smirk on your face. 

“Would you like to help me get cleaned up this time?” You asked, giggling. 

Even though he just reached his peak. The idea seemed to rejuvenate him as he nodded enthusiastically.

[mutsky]

century of love ep 5&6

-oh now he realizes thats his lover he just had to ALMOST DIE FIRST

-uncle is working with yis sexy dad

-comically large gps letters on the box

-this is so soapy

-into the water

-theres no way the big bad dies half way through this must be the small bad

-what a caring husband didnt know grandpa had it in him

-feeding him? who is this guy?

-i love when the family just peeks from behind a pole or something

-this is NOT the san of the past 4 episodes

-whats with the slow walk in for the doctor

-ah yes him!

-the goddess is playing with my guy

-bc the goddess wanted YAOI

-ohhh in all his dreams huh

-the possessiveness is crazy

-hes looked like this for the past 100 years so

-chu we love you

-lets get chu a girlfriend

-get him again for me

-yeah but fortunately for you san we tend to like bad boys who are mean to us

-loving the arguments

-between chu and the goddess our yaoi plots will prosper AMEN

-poor lead in a 100 dollar designer tshirt

-the looks the doctor is giving san are perfect

-ohhh mr doctor

-thats a shitty piece of art

-the grumpy dinosaur reminding him of his husbandndkdmfdkfmgmf

-do we think chu thought in a million years shed be her great great great grandfathers fag hag going to spy on his husband with him?

-i love how theyre such bad spies theyre in the background of all the photos

-its upside down

-crying theyre all so goofy

-i just realized its a grumpy RAINBOW dinosaur

-since high school?

-nongchai?

-now you wanna be his husband yeah ok

-oh how the tables turn

-whos forcing who into marriage now

-the goddess is working overtime

-look at their little smiles awww

-thats the fakest looking moon ive ever seen

onwards and upwards lads

-mother and daughter bonding activity: fujoing lut

-come on product placement

-grumbling old man... yeah that's true

-ahh youre so cute

-two tickets to an amusement park

-does he know what that is?

-grandpa please! were trying to set you up

-amusement park date classic

-the dinosaur motif is killing me

-what kind of amusement park has perfume making stations

-ok grandpa i didn't know you had game

-two dates with two different men in one day... vee living up to the promiscuous bisexual stereotype

-how did he find him?

-awww poor vee

-well you see

-poor third in every life time he will lose vee

-imagine if hes not actually in there

-ahh hes not

-say it again PLEASEEEEE

-nooooo

-FUCK

-ok grandpa chic outfit

-here he comes with his fag hag great great granddaughter in tow

-i wish dinner and dancing was still a thing

-i wish there was live music in restaurants

-oh so he did hear it all

-that shitty marriage proposal came back to bite huh

-ok redemption

-why would you say that

-100 year old and 25 year old average gay relationship age gap

-scent kink? pitbabe the damage youve done

-very nothing sex scene tbh

-oh

-on the left ring finger too

-mom grandpa please

-to be fair these people know everything every wet dream

-fujoing out yas

-but first a message from our sponsor

-jdent is the gayest toothpaste of all time

-aww so cute and theyre all so happy for him

-oh honey its ok for him

-oh no what does grandma know

-to be fair this guys looked the same for 100 years and hasnt hidden it

-hes had the same haircut for 100 years too

-brooooo look at this fucking shirt and he didnt think he was gay

-the girl looks like grandma woah

-i love how everyone in this show is accepting this bullshit

-grandma and grandson have a crush on the same guy

-is this still the dream?

-she looks so creepy

-cant we have a little longer in the honeymoon damn

this SUCKS

cant have a single good day around here

[denial-permanente]

From the comments:

@intellectuallykinky "He is able to ride his bike with the cage on?"

Tom here. This question come up a lot in the online group The Chastity Forums, and not without reason. Most devices are worn with a cuff ring around the testicles, which makes sitting on a road bike saddle very uncomfortable. Even padded upright bikes can be a problem with chafing on hot days.

I have a "casual" road bike, an 1980s steel frame I salvaged and rebuilt. I have a gel saddle with a center cutout. It's okay for a ten or fifteen mile cruise on the bike trails, with occasional stops for beer. When I'm out with the lads, there no reason to unlock because those are very low impact rides.

However, when I take my real road bike out for a longer spin on the actual New England roads, I have permission to remove the cage. I unlock when I change into my gear, then put it into a cup of hot soapy water for a cleaning. Then I put the clean cage back on when I get home and hop into the shower.

For anyone protesting that I might have the opportunity to have a quick wank, you obviously don't ride. This is Sparta New England; there are no flat areas, and you need your strength to navigate the hills. You also need your wits about you to avoid the cars on the narrow, windy roads. No way I'm going to screw up my Strava ranking for a sad wank. 🤣

[sonofshin]

RP blog for a little baby dragon. Guest OC muses appear every now and then, and they all care very much for the little lad.

Soapie’s general rules

I really trust people will behave themselves so I hope most of these rules are old news.

-Don’t godmod. Don’t take control of my character or dictate what should happen next, thank you.

-Shipping is done via chemistry only. Hayase is baby.

-Please respect me, as a mun. I am a human being behind a computer. If I don’t want to rp with you or do certain plots, please respect that.

-If you have beef with me, please let me know so we can talk it out. DM’s, asks, anons, anything goes. I’d like to know if I fucked up or made someone uncomfortable. I’m not a mind reader so communication is always key. I make mistakes and I’d like to set things right if I hurt someone. I’d rather be hurt with a reason, than to be hurt without one.

-The above statement also goes for general annoyances. Sometimes I forget specific rules or interpret them differently. I’ll never be mad if you let me know. I’m never trying to upset anyone.

-Anon hate will only be accepted in the form of haiku’s that end in ‘it’s snowing on Mount Fuji’, or when written in surfer slang.

-NSFW is accepted in gore, violence, and sex. I also draw smut every now and then and my tag for such things is ‘sinflowers’. So block that if you don’t want to see the occasional butt. Suggestive things are usually tagged as ’nsft’. Sometimes I forget or sometimes I do not think something is suggestive enough to warrant that tag. If things slip by and bother you, please hit me up. Anonymously is also totally accepted. I just need to know so I can pay closer attention to it.

-Following is an iffy thing for me. I am shy, very shy, and often don’t follow back when people follow me. Due to recent events I am also very much inclined to only follow friends. You may, however, still interact with me.

-On the subject of tagging: I don’t. Meaning, that I don’t tag every single thing on my blog. I tag the most obvious triggers if it comes to pass. I don’t do any ‘tw: trigger’. It’s literally just the word(s). Like blood, gore, etc. IF YOU NEED SOMETHING TAGGED THEN PLEASE MESSAGE ME! EVEN IF IT IS ANONYMOUSLY! I CAN NOT CHANGE THINGS IF I AM NOT AWARE OF A PROBLEM!

- On formatting: I don’t format and don’t mind if you do. However, overly spaced text gives me a headache so I might ask you to unspace if we RP together. My brain is tiny, please forgive me

-You have permission to hurt my muse as long as you are willing to deal with the consequences. No one likes to be in pain and my muses will probably retaliate. Giving me a heads up is appreciated though not required. As long as you don’t KILL my muse, things will be gucci. No, you don’t need to ask permission first.

- If you tell me that I, the mun, hate your muse just because my muse is angry at them, I will come to your house and dehydrate all your plants. This will never, EVER be the case and I will absolutely take great offence. Mun does not equal muse. EVER!

- I, the mun, am 25+, go by Soapie, and have English as a second language. I obviously will not RP smut with minors and if I find out you are doing such things you will get a message from me to quit that shit. If you continue, you will get blocked. I am a rather aloof person. I have a resting bitch face, even in text. I am also autistic. Please know I have the best intentions when typing. I simply have room temperature IQ. I’m sorry

If you have read these rules, send me a mango

P.S. Having fun is mandatory >:)

[wellthebardsdead]

The loved & the forgotten pt12

Part 11 here

———

“I’m sorry…”

???: shit! Run!

???: we can’t just leave the-

???: he’s as good as dead! Run!!

Vivienne: *blinks awake to see the abnormally clear sky of morrowind above him, and the grimy stone wall of an alleyway in Mournhold staring back at him* I- wha- *winces holding his head in pain as he moves to sit up, only to be greeted by the business end of a sword at his throat* wh-Wha-?! *looks up to see a caravan guard standing over him, tall and handsome, his skin golden like the sun and his white hair flowing in the breeze like a cloud*

Nerevar: Want to try that again s’wit?…

Vivienne: *trying to grasp what’s happening before realising he’s in a dream as his body suddenly shifts back in an attempt to scramble away and run, only to feel strong hands grab at his wrist and the back of his neck pinning him to the wall* Ack!!! Le-let me go! I won’t bother anyone again I pro-Ow! That hurts!!

Nerevar: be quiet. *ties his hands behind his back* what’s your name?

Vivienne: *expecting to hear his voice say his name, the figure he’s inhabiting sounding a lot like himself when he was just a teenager* n-no name s-sir… I-I don’t have one.

Nerevar: Well then. No name. I hope you understand how much trouble you’re in. *pulls him away from the wall and pushes him to the caravan tying him to it* I’ll just call you S’wit until you figure it out.

“I hated him at first…”

Vivienne: *blinks to find himself staring down at the sand through the eyes of the nameless boy, now seated behind the caravan, feat blistered and very dehydrated from days of walking* …

Nerevar: *walks over and gently tilts his head back offering him a drink from his water skin* ready to apologise properly now?…

Vivienne: *eyes stinging from ash and the tears pricking at them as he greatfully accepts the drink* y-yes sir…

Nerevar: *sighs and dries his eyes with his thumb* Good lad…

“But he was kind to me…”

Vivienne: *blinks and opens his eyes only to close them again as hot soapy water is suddenly poured over him* ugh! It’s in my eyes!

Nerevar: *brought him into his home, now cleaning him of the fleas and filth coating his thin frame* I told you to close them.

“He gave me a home…”

Vivienne: *opens his eyes to feel the warmth of another beside him, and a pile of pillows beneath him as he shares nerevars bed, safe and warm in his care* huh?…

Nerevar: *blinks awake and gently tucks the blanket over him a little more* what’s wrong?… another nightmare?…

Vivienne: n-no I… im cold…

Nerevar: … *gives him the rest of the blanket* here…

“He taught me to read and write…”

Vivienne: *rubs his eyes in irritation as suddenly the vision gives way to a pile of books and texts he can’t understand* can I take a break now?… this sucks…

Nerevar: *puts another book down in front of him* not until you can recite a full chapter to me. Try this one instead.

Vivienne: ughhhhhhhh!!!

“How to fight…”

Vivienne: *looks up from the book and nearly jumps out of his skin seeing nerevar swinging a wooden sword at him* Sh-shit! *staggers back and lands on the ashy ground outside of the Mournhold temple*

Nerevar: I told you several times to correct your stance for that reason! Up! On your feet now.

“He gave me my name…”

Nerevar: hm? Looking at my house banner again are you?

Vivienne: *picking at his food staring at the decorative fabric inscribed with the sigil of house indoril* mm…

Nerevar: what’s on your mind lad?…

Vivienne: I like the shape of it, Vel, it sounds nice too…

Nerevar: hm… Vel. Vehl… Vehk. Vivec. I’ll call you Vivec from now on.

Vivienne: I? What? I… have a name again?

Nerevar: what? Don’t you like it?

Vivienne: I-… I love it… thank you, sir…

Nerevar: call me Neht.

“I loved him…”

Vivienne: *closes his eyes taking in a deep breath as he feels the familiar touch of strong hands holding his naked body, and a fullness deep inside of him, moving at a steady and yet punishing pace* n-neht- I-I thought you’d be happy- I did it for you- I wanted to do it for- y-yoooohh~

Nerevar: *sweat beading on his brow and skin glistening in the dim candlelight as he slides his hands into vivecs squeezing them tight as he takes him as his* Im angry at you Vehk. I’m angry youd shave your beautiful hair just to show loyalty to me! I am not your master I’m your frie-

Vivienne: *leans up pressing his lips to his in a kiss, not wanting to just be called a friend, not while he holds him like this… like he’s his only one* I want all to see my devotion to you, neht…

“And I can never forgive myself for what I did to him…”

Nerevar: *sobbing in agony and shock, hanging from the spear impaled through his chest as his feet are severed and his face is flayed off* v-vi… vivec… wh-why?… *turns his head to look at him with empty sockets where his eyes should be, and blood dripping from the white of his skull*

“And now you suffer because of my cowardice…”

Vivienne: *gasps and jolts ‘awake’ to see himself laying in the middle of the ash wastes… his head in a warm and eerily familiar lap* I?… what?… *looks up to see… himself… vivec… staring down at him, hair short and greying as it grows back, eyes heavy and void of light, like his last glimmer of hope had been snuffed out completely* you…

Vivec: shhh… shhh… im sorry… im so sorry to do this little one… *gently strokes his cheek, pulling his knife from his belt and moving it to Vivienne’s stomach*

Vivienne: *looks down in terror expecting to see his own body only to see… his infant self, umbilical cord still in tact until vivecs knife cuts him loose* im?… a baby?…

Vivec: *sets the knife down and ties off the cord, stopping himself from nearly falling over and passing out as he leans forward* I have so many regrets I leave to burden you… so many mistakes I’ve made, so many people I’ve h- hurt… *pulls his scarf from his body and swaddles the baby gently* m-maybe… you can make it right… and we can have… a better life… this time… *places him in a basket with a soft and tearful kiss to the forehead and secures it to the saddle of his guar* I hope… we can be a good person this time… *slaps the guar making it take off running back to civilisation*

Vivienne: *looks up at vivec from the basket as the guar takes off running, watching him standing there as blood drips from between his legs before he collapses into the ash, finally dying and becoming one with the earth*

“I’m sorry…”

Vivienne: *blinks open his eyes, finally back in his own body but not back on nirn* oh… great… *sighs staring up at the swirling towers of rotting pages and the green sky of apocrypha, all the eyes of Hermaeus mora locked onto him in abject fear that he could harm him so violently and leave him unable to fully restore himself* unless you want me to really lose my temper… tell me… how to defeat miraak.

*A few hours later*

Kaidan: *hurrying out of the shamans house in the Skaal village, pulling on his cloak and grabbing his sword* he can’t of gone far! He had a hole in his focking chest!

Taliesin: he never left his bed Kaidan I’m telling you wherever he is he didn’t just get up and walk there!

Inigo: the door hasn’t opened until just now with us leaving!

Kaidan: Then where could he be-

Miraak: *suddenly drops out of the sky landing in the snow and coughing upon impact* F-fuck- I-

Vivienne: *suddenly drops down on top of him holding miraaks sword to his chin* surrender, or die…

Miraak: *staring up at him in shock after getting the living hell beaten out of him only to be saved from Hermaeus by him as well* I-I surrender lord Vive-

Vivienne: *threatens to stab him, pushing the knife a little further as he leans in close, his lips inches from his mask and his shoulder length white hair draping elegantly on the gold and brass* That’s. Not. My. Name.

Miraak: vivienne. F-forgive m-me d-dragonborn, y-you are vivienne not vivec. I-I surrender and swear loyalty to you please-

Vivienne: *pulls the blade away and smiles* you are forgiven… *looks up and blinks seeing team dragonborn standing there*

Kaidan: l-love?

Taliesin: d-darling?

Vivienne: …It’s been a wild few weeks… whose hungry? *holds up one of Hermaeus Moras tentacles*