#neighbor!soap

[angelstate]

PervertNeighbor!Soap x NaiveFem!Reader.

+18 content warning

PervertNeighbor!Soap who moved into your neighborhood a while ago but was just now sent home after being injured in combat and having to take a long medic leave to recover efficiently, Captain Price knows that if he let Soap stay in the medical wing of the base he would find a way to sneak into the training room and further damage his health. 

PervertNeighbor!Soap who had to drop the trash bag he held in his non-injured hand and put it in front of his dick to cover the boner he got when he saw you bend over on all fours in your front garden, taking care of the pretty flowers around the white fence of your house. 

PervertNeighbor!Soap who hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in such a long time, before his injury being constantly deployed to different places. Sometimes not even having 10 minutes to jerk off in whatever safe house he was staying in, so when he saw pretty little you displaying your body to him without even meaning to, he knew he had to do something about it.

PervertNeighbor!Soap who after taking care of the problem between his legs went to your house, opened the white fence, and stood behind you, not speaking as his eyes scanned your body, his eyes staying on your ass and the way your back was arched as you pull out the overgrown roots of your lilacs. 

PervertNeighbor!Soap who only made his presence known after he saw you struggling with taking out a particularly deep root. “yae need some help, lass?” his voice low and raspy as he let out a chuckle when you yelped in surprise at the sudden sound of a male voice behind you. watching you get up in a panic, taking out your gardening gloves and holding them in your hands.

PervertNeighbor!Soap who pretends to be apologetic for scaring you when he was nothing but pleased as he saw your breast move when you jumped. “sorry, didn’ mean to scare yae lass” a cocky grin on his lips as he heard you stutter something about him not having to worry and that you were distracted, he couldn’t care less about what you said though, he was too focused on looking at the way your lips moved, imagining it was his cock stretching your lips and making you have to swallow your words to not choke as you take all of him in your mouth.

PervertNeighbor!Soap who offers his help to whatever it was that you were having problems pulling out from the ground, wanting to show you how strong he is even if he shouldn’t do anything that requires strength because that could cause long-term damage to his torn muscles. 

PervertNeighbor!Soap who spent the next 15 minutes explaining his back and arm injury to you after you denied his help by pointing out he had elastic bandages wrapped all around the upper part of his right arm. saying that he shouldn’t do anything that requires force if he didn’t want to tear his muscles and cause severe damage, claiming your father had made that mistake 7 years ago and now his arms are in constant pain every time he lifts something.

PervertNeighbor!Soap who gets painfully hard after you place a hand on his injured arm to see how swollen it is and reprimand him so softly for offering his help when he should be resting since the injury doesn’t look too good yet.

PervertNeigbor!Soap who decides to take advantage of your words, coming to your home almost every day to ask for help in things he had no problem doing, claiming that “need yae help, lass. don’ wanna cause any more damage to my arm” and naive little you accept his excuse every time, taking such good care of him because you don’t want him to end up with the same long-lasting effects your father has after ignoring the doctor's order of not using his arm a lot. 

PervertNeighbor!Soap who comes so often to your house every day that you offer him to stay for the next few days so he doesn’t have to come over multiple times a day, telling him you work from home so it was no problem for you to rearrange your working hours to help him. 

PervertNeighbor!Soap who agrees immediately, wasting no time on taking everything he may need to your home and placing it in your bedroom because you can’t expect him to not sleep next to you. What if he needs help at night to go to the bathroom? he needs to be close to you at all times so if he needs anything you’re close enough to help him immediately. 

PervertNeighbor!Soap who uses your naiveness as a way of teasing you, when dressing after he showered calling you, and when you enter the room and see he has his pants on his hands, only standing in boxers and telling you “yae wouldn’t mind helping me, right lass?” observing as you get on your knees and avoid making eye contact with him as you help him pull his pants on while looking down to give him a sort of respect he wished you would lose and just look at the bulge on his underwear, take it in your hands and jerk him off through the fabric.

PervertNeighbor!Soap who clearly doesn’t give a shit about decency, walking around with less and less clothing till he just wears boxers around your house, claiming that his back and arm don’t hurt as much without clothes. Naive little you just letting him walk around half naked since you don’t want him to be in more pain that he probably already was without clothes on. 

PervertNeighbor!Soap who after spending two weeks living in your house comes to you with a really big problem he needs help with, telling you to come to your bedroom and lock the door for a reason he doesn’t want to tell you.

PervertNeighbor!Soap who only reveals the problem to you after making you promise you would help him no matter what. moving away the pillow on his lap and throwing it somewhere in the bed, displaying the sight of his big and thick cock, fully hard and leaking precum from the tip. 

PervertNeighbor!Soap who reminds you of your promise when you don’t say anything after 20 seconds of pure silence, taking a hold of your wrist and pulling you to him and mumbling “my arm hurts lass, why don’ yae be good and help me, hm?”

PervertNeighbor!Soap who groans when you grab a hold of his boner with hesitance, the warmth of your hand feeling heavenly against his aching cock, urging you to get on your knees so it’s easier for you to take him in your mouth. 

PervertNeighbor!Soap who grabs a hold of your hair, pushing your head down a little too roughly, not able to contain his excitement of finally having you on your knees, sucking on his cock like how he imagined first met you. 

PervertNeighbor!Soap who swore he would be gentle as to not scare you but as soon as you licked his tip he felt the need to fuck your mouth, making you gag on his thick and big shaft, stretch your mouth to full capacity as you try to take all of him.

PervertNeighbor!Soap who does just that, forcing your head lower, making you take his cock till your nose makes contact with his dark and untrimmed pubes. making you gag as he starts to thrust into your mouth, not letting you lift your head as he hits the back of your throat continuously to the point it starts to hurt. 

PervertNeighbor!Soap who tells you to relax your throat or you will continue to gag and have difficulty breathing, and he doesn’t want that (he does want that) mumbling praises when you listen to him and do as he tells you “taking such good care of me, lass” thrusting after every word. 

PervertNeighbor!Soap who starts to throat fuck you hard and fast, until he forces your head all the way down into his cock once more, holding you there as he comes into your throat, forcing you to swallow as he doesn’t let you move your head away until you do. 

PervertNeighbor!Soap who finally lets you off his cock, watching as you move your face away from his softening shaft, coughing, your lips swollen and drool dripping from the corner of your mouth. your makeup smudged from your tears when you struggled to take all of him.

PervertNeighbor!Soap who says he’ll make it up to you when his injury heals but for now why don’t you clean his dick with your tongue and maybe he’ll reward you for your help by letting you sit on his face.

[eilidh-eternal]

“Single mom x Johnny” this, “single mom x Simon” that.

I want single dad Johnny/Simon and the single reader next door who is helplessly in love with them and their kid.

18+ MDNI

You never wanted kids. You’re convinced you would turn out to be just like your parents. That’s probably why you don’t have a ring on your finger or any sort of boyfriend or partner to speak of.

You never wanted kids.

Until Johnny goddamn MacTavish.

You’re in love with the man who always walks his little girl to school every morning, crooked pigtails flouncing with each too-big step she takes to keep stride with his long legs.

Madly in love with the way he smiles down at the tiny girl, even tinier hand held firmly in his as she dodges cracks in the pavement, and the shriek of her laughter when he lifts her by the arm, swinging her through the air to the next chunk of concrete.

Hopelessly in love with the broad shoulders he hoists her up on, little legs swinging with arms wrapped tightly around his neck and her chin resting on top of his head, blowing stray hairs of an overgrown mohawk out of her face.

Dangerously in love with the way he lets her cling to his front when it rains, like a little koala wrapped around this tree of a man who holds an umbrella in one hand and has a firm hold on her with the other.

Happy. He looks so happy with her. Like she’s the sun he orbits; the star that lights up his world.

You’re just a comet who occasionally passes them by.

——

Johnny never thought he would be doing this alone.

He’s so far out of his depth. Never even had the chance to dip his toe in the water before he was shoved into the churning ocean.

He still remembers every life-altering detail of that day. The phone call after the 16 hour flight back to base. The frantic drive to the hospital. The impossibly tiny, wailing little girl, all alone in the social workers office.

She’s all he has left of her. Of them.

His best friend. His partner in crime, for more years than he can remember. The person who understood better than anyone who he is, saw him through his darkest moments, and loved him with her whole heart.

Gone.

But he smiles for her. Because of her. Isobel is the light in the abysmal darkness that he’s drowning in. The buoy he clings to when he can no longer hold his head above the surface. She’s everything. His past, his present, and his future. And she’s sitting at the table refusing to eat her dinner.

“’s not right.” Her little nose scrunches, turns up at the meal, and she pushes the bright green plastic away, matching miniature fork sent skittering across the table by the force of it

Johnny lowers his own fork and swallows his frustration with a sigh. “‘s yer favorite. Wha’s wrong with it? ”

Her brows knit together as she studies the tray, little creases forming between them and she slumps in her booster seat. “Mommy didn’t make it.”

No. She didn’t.

Johnny was never the cook in the family. That was all her. She’d chased him out of the kitchen after he’d burnt one of her expensive pans and he was thus forth relegated to chopping, and occasionally peeling, duties.

“I know.” His chair scrapes against the floor when he pushes back from the table, moving to crouch down where she sits beside him so that he’s at eye level with her, and he pulls the fork and tray back towards her. “But mommy wouldnae want ye to go to bed hungry, aye?”

“I wan’ somethin’ else.” He watches her little bottom lip jut out, brows still pinched and face twisting into a stubborn pout.

“Wha’d’ye want?”

“Quesadilla.” She drags out the ‘ee’ sound, emphasizing her clumsy command of the foreign language in her already thick Scot’s accent.

He enjoys Mexican food. Loved the tacos Alejandro and Rudy shared with him and his team during his time in Mexico. She’d learned how to make them for his birthday.

Nowhere in Glasgow made anything like it. Not then, and not now.

“I cannae make a quesadilla, leannan.” Her little lip wobbles, eyes turn glassy, tears already welling up in the corners and threatening to spill down chubby cheeks. She sniffles, drags the backs of her hands across her eyes, and Johnny feels what’s left of his heart splinter, another little piece of it withering away to nothing with each fat tear that rolls down and collects at her chin. He unbuckles her from the booster and gathers her into his arms as he stands up, taking her with him to sit in his own chair at the table.

Her little shoulders shake, hiccuping with each muffled sob against his shoulder and tiny fingers fist the material of his shirt. “Miss ‘er,” she warbles, and his arms tighten around her small frame.

“Ah know, leannan.” More hiccups. More tears that seep through his shirt and brand his skin.

You should be here. You’re supposed to be here. With her. With him. With them.

“How ‘bout we go down to the shops? Ye can pick whatever ye want for dinner. Dinnae think they’ll have quesadillas, but I’m sure we can find somethin’ ye like.” She lifts her head from his shoulder, tips it back to peer up at him with bleary eyes and sniffles. Wipes her hand across her eyes again.

“Cheesy noodles?” It’s thin and reedy, poor little throat still tight and full of grief that he knows feels impossible to speak around.

“Aye, we can get cheesy noodles.” He brushes an errant strand of hair away from her face, tucking the unruly curl behind an ear where it probably won’t stay. Just like her mum’s. So much like her mum. She considers him, his offer, and toys with his shirt.

“And sticky pudding?”

“Whatever ye want, leannan.” She really shouldn’t have something so sugary right before bed but he doesn’t have it in him to deny her. Is just glad the tears have stopped. That she’s willing to eat, even if he has to bribe her with junk food and sweets. He sends her to put her shoes on while he cleans up in the kitchen and grabs his own shoes and keys.

——

He’s there.

He’s standing in the pasta aisle with his little girl in the buggy, smiling at the way she makes grabby hands at the dismal selection of boxed macaroni, and he pulls one down from the shelf to hand to her. She inspects it, turning it this way and that way, pointing to something on the packaging and saying something that makes him laugh.

You’re frozen in place, jar of pasta sauce halfway to the basket in your other hand, and you can’t move because the sound of his laughter causes something in your brain to misfire. Causes the electrical signals between neurons and synapses to jumble together and sets your nerves alight. You think you might really be frozen, body unwilling to move an inch away from where you stand now, by your beautiful neighbor in the middle of a goddamned Tesco, until a little voice is addressing you.

“Hi miss neighbor!” Johnny’s head whips around and when his gaze lands on you it feels like your stomach’s turned to lead. “We’re havin’ cheesy noodles f’r dinner!” She holds up the box in her hand and kicks her feet excitedly.

You’re currently kicking yourself for making what you’re sure is an expression closely resembling that of a fish out of water. Mouth agape, brows raised and eyes slightly widened in surprise. When your mouth finally remembers how to move you smile at the little girl waving her box of noodles and powdered cheese in the air. “Hello, Isobel. That sounds like a lovely dinner.”

His brows knit together, one of them quirked at a curious angle. “And how d’ the two of ye know each other?”

Isobel’s foot connects with his thigh and his head jerks back around. “She’s our neighbor. She gave me the tablet,” she whispers a little too loud, cupping a small hand in front of her mouth. He turns back to you with the same jaunty brows and a quirk to his lips.

“So ye’re the one responsible for the wee heathens late night sugar-induced marathon.”

“M-marathon?”

“Aye, she was bouncin’ round the house all night, the little devil.” He ruffles her hair and she swats at his hand.

“I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…” You don’t really know what you’d been thinking when you’d given her the Tupperware full of sugary confections to take home after she’d spent the morning helping you root around in the flowerbeds in front of your home. She’d been watching out the window for hours until she was suddenly right next to you, asking what you were digging for.

“‘s alright. Ye’ll just have to make up f’r it.”

It’s your turn to pinch your brows and tilt your head in confusion. “Make up for it?”

His lips part in a full, genuine smile, like the ones he gives Isobel, and your leaden stomach suddenly feels like it’s lodged in your chest, full of butterflies and other fluttering things you don’t dare to name.

“Oh aye. Reckon ye owe us a dinner since ye’ve skipped right to dessert.”

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

You walk outside your apartment one day to see neighbor!soap smoking.

You’re shocked.

You never would’ve pegged your neighbor as a smoker since he never smelled like smoke and because his voice didn’t seem all that damaged. You watch him for a couple moments while he looked the other way until he looked at you.

“Morning, hen.” He greeted with a soft smile, not as big as usual.

“You smoke…” you pointed out and he gave an almost ashamed nod.

“Bad habit but good when you need some stress relief.”

Your eyebrows knitted together at that. He was right, it was a bad habit but for stress relief you could come up with a hundred different options that were better for your health than smoking.

And knowing that he was stressed? That made you frown.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You offered but he shook his head.

“Nothing to talk about.” He gave you a polite smile. “Just the regular everyday stuff you know?”

You hummed and he took a drag of the cigarette. You stood there for a moment, fighting with yourself and trying to come up with a way to keep his mind off of nicotine and potential lung cancer.

“Wanna go on a walk?”

Neighbor!Soap’s eyebrows raised and you saw a light shine in his eyes. He quickly snuffed out the cigarette and looked ready to run a marathon instead.

“Absolutely.”

[charliemwrites]

Part 2 of Neighbor!Johnny!

(Feeling a bit ✨naughty✨ this Christmas Eve so… here.)

After the fight with Ryan, you try to keep your distance from Johnny — keep the peace and all that. The more you think about the accusations your husband made… the more that guilty pit in your stomach grows.

It’s all been platonic, at least on your end. Sure, you let Johnny get away with a bit more than the average stranger, but he’s a good friend! Nothing you wouldn’t let one of your other friends do. (Even if you would find the lingering touches and general disregard for personal space a little strange from someone else.)

Sure, you have a suspicion every now and then that Johnny has more than platonic feelings for you… but they’re fleeting. Every time you worry that he’s about to cross a line, he always draws away from it. Evens out his smile, break his gaze, drops his hand. You’re close, that’s all.

But… if it’s bothering your husband. Well, you’re obligated to take that into account, aren’t you?

Even if you ache, missing your friend. Missing his silly little jokes, his cheeky grin. Miss his company while you do laundry, a helping hand in the yard, even just someone to chat with over podcasts and tv shows.

Hell, you miss hugs. Ryan’s never been big on… affection. Especially not in public.

(Barely in the house, either, really. You’ve tried talking to him about it. He swears he loves you, he just doesn’t show affection that way. You struggle to figure out why that’s so with you when he has no problem hugging his mother, sister, hell, even his secretary.

Actually… you struggle to figure out how he shows you affection. So you’ve stopped trying to figure it out at.)

But Johnny. Oh, Johnny is just so sweet to you. A hug when he greets you, a hug before he leaves. A kiss to your cheek when you hand him a drink or a snack. A hand on your hip when he leans past you to get things from high shelves. Nudges to your thighs during good parts of shows.

You miss it. Him. The friendship you’ve built in your too-quiet home, where the other neighbors seem to like your husband so much more than you.

“What’s goin’ on, hen?” Johnny asks one morning. You’ve been keeping coffee dates meetups on the porch. Which is almost worse, because it’s cold and you find yourself cuddling up to the heat he exudes like a furnace. “Hardly seen you in a month; miss my best girl.”

“Sorry, Johnny,” you sigh, rubbing at your face. Ryan’s been working late most days this week, comes in so late and wakes you up. “Just… Ryan, ya know.”

His jaw tightens, eyes flashing dangerously. You’re reminded suddenly, inexplicably, of just what Johnny does for a living. How often you’ve seen him just back home with blood still buried in his nail beds.

“Dinnae, hen,” he replies. “What about ‘im?”

You fidget, eyes on your half-empty mug. It feels wrong, admitting relationship quibbles to someone outside of family. You used to have a policy that marriage matters should stay within the marriage. But… it’s hard when it feels like you’re the only one working on the marriage. It’s a lot of work to do alone.

“He just… he doesn’t think it’s proper,” you admit, “how… how often you’re over. How close we are.”

“That so?”

You hunch your shoulders, feeling wrong. Feeling guilty for a whole new reason; for disappointing Johnny.

“Look at me, bonnie?”

He has to tip your chin up with his hand to get you to meet his eyes. His expression is softer than you expect.

“What about you, eh?”

“Me…?” You blink, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Yer feelings are all I care about, hen.”

“Johnny,” you sigh, trying to reprimand, but sound more pleading instead. He shakes your head a bit, gently; his own reprimand.

“Answer me, bonnie.”

“I like spending time with you,” you whisper.

The corners of his mouth twitch up as he hums.

“‘Course ye do,” he hums, “‘n I like spendin’ time with you. It’s not fair of ‘im, is it?”

You blink, brows pulling together in confusion. Johnny continues, the thumb on your chin gently stroking.

“Not fair of ‘im to keep you all cooped up here, come home so late, neglect ye when he is around,” he coos. “And now he’s tellin’ you to keep away from your best friend.”

He tsks, that dangerous glint in his eyes again.

“Wastin’ his tongue for bullshite when he should be usin’ it to lick your pretty pussy.”

Your mouth drops open, shock and heat flooding you hotly. “Johnny!” You gasp, scandalized.

He finally cracks a grin again. “Tell me I’m wrong, bonnie, ‘m not! When’s the last time he worked you over the way you deserve, huh? When’s the last time he made you squirt all over your sheets?”

You shove at him and then cover your burning face, trying not to squirm. Can’t answer because it would be proving him right and you don’t want to encourage his scandalous teasing.

“Bet he’d try to make you change ‘em even if he did,” Johnny grumbles, shaking his head. “Disgraceful. You ought to be put to sleep on a nice, thick cock.”

Whack!

“Oi! What was that fer?!”

“You’re being a creep, Johnny!” Your stern tone in undercut by your embarrassed laughter. “Quit talking about my shitty sex life.”

“So it is shitty!”

“Shut up!”

When a discreet box shows up at your door two days later, you know exactly who it’s from.

…that doesn’t stop you from using the (shockingly detailed and realistic) dildo inside the packaging.

[lemonwrap]

Retired domestic Ghoap where their first argument outside of work is over the layout of their garden, which way the toilet paper goes, or who should take out the trash this week because they both forgot whose turn it is

[oceantornadoo]

my masterlist💖

mdni!

welcome to the feral things that come from my brain :) feel free to request a trope!

i use #tornadothoughts for all my drabbles and fics and #tornado speaks🙊 for random thoughts

do not repost my work without credit :)

all fics are f!reader unless specified

simon riley (smut):

the man next door (each post is a diff universe)

fluffy simon riley:

mafia au!simon riley (arranged marriage)

johnny mactavish

kyle garrick

enemies to lovers drabble

john price

tired of everyone but you

pad shopping

ghoap x reader

gazs perspective (drabble)

jealousy, jealousy

gender neutral fics (simon riley)

two lieutenants series (simon riley x f!reader)

ts lyrics and the 141

renegade (simon riley x reader)

ttpd headcanons (any 141 member)

[tanked-up]

(Young Ghost climbing up a tree to rescue a “cat”)

Young Ghost: You’re definitely the only person I would do this for

Young Soap: And I thank you for this, Ghostie

Young Ghost: Call me Ghostie again and the cats gets-

Young Soap: The cat what…?

Young Ghost: FUCKING HELL- IT’S NOT A CAT ITS A RAT, JOHNNY

Young Soap: I SWEAR IT WAS A CAT

(Young Ghost falls butt to the ground)

Young Soap mumbles: That sounded like a pretty hard-

Young Ghost glaring at Soap: I will feed you the rat if you aren’t gone this

instant. I WILL DO IT

[bunny-extract]

They’re so bby girl..!!

Bonus bc I almost pissed laughing while editing it

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

no okay i found 3-14 and??? did Howdy just sell fucking SOAP to Sally and tell her it's instant mashed potatoes??? oh my god someone stop him lmfao

[marcsburnerphone]

The next chapter of “And they were roomates” series is written and does contain smut, I’ve gotten a ton of messages appreciating the innocence of the story but I had planned for there to be smut in the story since the beginning. I’m sorry if it upsets some people and can guarantee that if you decide to skip the chapter you aren’t necessarily missing out on anything super important:)

- All my love

[eilidh-eternal]

You need a favor

SingleDad!Johnny x f!reader | 18+ MDNI | Part 1 Here | Masterlist

You’re out of milk.

You’re out of milk because you hadn’t had the mental bandwidth to finish your shopping three days ago after Johnny, with help from a certain puppy-eyed five year old, convinced you to have dinner with them after you made your very awkward introduction. Isobel had long ago told you his name but you’d pretended not to know for formality's sake.

“Neighbors shouldn’t be strangers,” he’d declared. That’s what you’re telling yourself as you hesitantly step up onto his front doorstep, empty measuring cup in hand. It takes several moments of controlled breathing and a fair amount of you rocking back and forth on anxious feet before you work up the courage to knock, a timid rap of your knuckles. You’re just asking for a cup of milk. Neighbors do that all the time. You’re just being- “‘S it Friday already?” His voice interrupts the silent conversation you’d been having with yourself and you nearly stumble back and off the narrow stoop.

“Oh, n-no. I just-” You take a beat, a breath, to calm your nerves. “I um, haven’t got any milk.” You lift the measuring cup, as if it wasn’t already obvious in your hands, and he leans with his shoulder against the doorframe. “Was wondering if I could borrow some?” 

“Makin’ more sweets?” There’s a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, and you nearly drop the measuring cup when you spot the dimple hidden beneath a few days worth of stubble.

“Oh, no. It’s for combat corn.” The smirk remains but his brows draw together with a curious tilt of his head, and eyes the color of lochs in the summertime flicker with amusement.

“Combat corn?” he echoes, and it takes you a few beats to remember the distinctly American dish and the family joke that named it isn’t common knowledge in Scotland. So, you find yourself explaining to the man–who nearly gives you an aneurysm when he folds his arms and the muscles in his chest bunch deliciously beneath the corded muscles of his forearms–what scalloped corn is.

“Someone made a joke that it was like the food in the army, anything you could find just thrown together—combat corn. Called it that ever since.” You fidget with the measuring cup, tapping the pads of your fingers against the glass, overly aware of your rambling explanation. “It uh… you have to bake it. With milk.” There's a beat of silence and then he’s pulling away from the doorframe, 

“Cannae say I have much time f’r bakin’ in the army.” He reaches for the measuring cup and your arm works independent of your brain to hand it to him, functioning on autopilot as your mind works to absorb the unexpected revelation about the man next door with the muscles and darling little girl. Your fingers brush, just barely, as you hand it over, and you can feel the confirmation of this newfound part of him, callus pads of his fingers glancing over yours to retrieve the glassware. “Never left a man behind though. C’mon in then.” Thank fucking god he’s holding the glass because the wink he shoots in your direction before retreating inside, leaving the door wide for you to follow, surely would have sent it shattering against the pavement at your feet.

Their home is both exactly what you thought it would be and somehow the complete opposite. None of the living room furniture matches, like it’s all been collected over many years, and looks well loved. As does the room itself, littered with toys and costume clothing, a small shelf in one corner near the television overflowing with bins of more colorful blocks, stacked high with books, and crammed full with stuffed animals.

“Sorry f’r the mess, Bell’s no’ fond of pickin’ up after ‘erself.” The clink of glass against stone countertops echoes from the kitchen.

“I can’t imagine she would be at her age.” Pictures line the wall leading into the cozy space. Some you recognize of Isobel. Some you think might be a younger Johnny. There’s one of the two of them, a very young Isobel balancing on top of his shoes and holding onto his hand in front of him, and Johnny stands with the other arm draped around the shoulder of the woman holding Isobels hand at his side. She has the same hair, wild and curly. Her mom. Something bitter coats your tongue at the realization, sour and unpleasant. You feel like an intruder.

You fidget with the sleeve of your sweater, struggling to put the pieces together. In all the time you’d lived next door, you’d never seen the woman in the photo. Never saw a ring on Johnny's finger. Never saw anyone but him walking her to and home from school. The sound of the fridge opening and closing precedes Johnny’s appearance at your side, measuring cup full of milk in hand, and you’re acutely aware of how close he stands, shoulder nearly pressed to yours as he follows your gaze to the photo. He smiles but it feels forced, like doing so hurts him. 

“Havnae stopped to look at that one in a while.” The remark only confuses you further. Why does such a happy photo make him look like he just took a beating, like he’s smiling through the pain? When you don’t say anything he continues. “She passed. ‘Bout two years ago.”

Oh. The bitter taste on your tongue curdles into something rotten and rife with shame. You’d been jealous of his late wife. For all of about three minutes, but still. The realization twists your stomach into knots and it roils with guilt and embarrassment.

“I had no idea, I’m so sorry.” Sorry for feeling jealous of a dead woman. A cautious glance up at his face reveals a stoic expression, one he’s probably learned to carry on with from the military if you had to guess.

“‘S hard, ‘specially on Bell. Still too young to understand why she’s gone.” Too young to grasp the concept and finality of death. Far too young to endure the loss of a parent. Silence stretches long between you, thick with grief and the admission of a once beautiful life lost. Her life. Their life. Guilt nestles itself between your ribs, taking up space between flesh and bone and it makes your chest feel tight, lungs constricted by writhing tendrils of the ugly thing. He always looks so happy, always smiling and laughing with Isobel. Always strong for her. Who smiles for him? Who takes care of him? Does he hold it all in until he drops Isobel off for school, filling the silence of their home with muffled sobs and silent tears as he picks up toys and clothes?

“Bubby?” Isobel stands at the end of the hall near the stairs, hair tousled and eyes still half-lidded with sleep, and a little bear wearing a skeleton hoodie dangles from her hand. Johnny’s eyes immediately soften, cold fractals of sorrow melting when they land on the sleepy little thing, toddling closer to wrap her arms around his leg. 

“Did ye have a nice nap. leannan?” He holds the cup of milk out to you, something you’d nearly forgotten about, and passes it off so that he can lift Isobel, settling her on his hip.

She mumbles something that sounds like an ‘uh-huh’, cheek squished against his shoulder where she lays her head. “Hi miss neighbor.” Little lips curl up at the corners to smile lopsidedly at you, and you give her a small wave. 

“Hi honey. I like your bear.” It’s pressed between her and Johnny, little hood pulled over its head to make it look like it’s wearing a mask with a cartoonish skull printed on it. “Does it have a name?”

“Ghost.” Johnny’s own lips tug into a half smile. “Bubby’s friend uncle Grumpy gave ‘im to me.” He chuckles at that and gives her a little squeeze.

“Are ye hungry?” A nod and a toothy yawn tells him yes.

“Well it was very nice to see you, Isobel. And very nice to meet Mr. Ghost. I’ll see you in a few days on Friday, hm?” She nods and Johnny carefully lowers her to the ground.

“Go get washed up, Leannan, and ye can help me make supper.” 

“Okay. Bye miss neighbor!” She lifts the arm of the bear, waving it at you before running off to the washroom. You wave one last time and turn your attention to Johnny.

“I should leave you to it. I need to get my own dinner going.” You raise the cup of milk for emphasis. 

“I’ll walk ye out then.” He does so with his hand on the small of your back, guiding you past the living room-turned-warzone by Isobel and her toys, and surprises you when he follows you out the door, hand still lingering on your back, and walks you all the way to your door.

“Thank you. Uh, for the milk, I mean. And walking me over. You didn't have to do that.” His hand leaves your waist and fixes itself on the doorframe beside his head, leaning against it with his forearm and shoving his other hand in his pocket.

“What kind of gentleman doesnae walk a lassie home?” Any remnants of the grief that shone in his eyes moments earlier has been replaced with the warmth Isobels presence brings to him. It makes them look like the hottest part of a flame, bright and mesmerizing blue in the golden rays of the setting winter sun, apricity blooming a faint pink on his cheeks that mirrors the warmth creeping into yours for an entirely different reason. “Cannae let ye slip on the pavement. Bell would have my heid if ye got hurt and couldnae make it to dinner wi’ us. She’s been talkin’ ‘bout it all week.”

“Oh.” Really? ‘Oh’? That’s the best you can come up with? 

“Been thinkin’ bout it too.” He shifts his weight, leans forward, and you have to look away for fear the flames flickering behind his eyes might burn right through your head to peer into your mind where he can see all of the inappropriate imaginings inside it. Your back to the door and him towering over you, one hand around your waist and the other braced against the doorframe as it is now. All that warmth in his eyes because of you. Burning for you. “Can’t stop thinkin’ of how ye’d look in our little kitchen, bakin’ yer sweets with Bell.”

“I could bring something, if you’d like.” He shakes his head.

“Ye’re sweet enough on yer own, lass, just bring yer bonnie self. Besides, if ye do all the bakin’ here, how’m I s’posed to sneak a lick from yer spoon, hm?”

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Neighbor!Soap comes home from a long deployment. It’s the longest missions he’s been on and that can be seen in the fact that the sides of his Mohawk have grown out and his actual mohawk has grown out too.

It looks a little wonky but it’s nothing he can’t fix, because it he’s let his hair grown out before. It’s just this time he’s too tired.

Too tired to shave or trim his hair to make it even…but not too tired to drop everything to go see you.

He barely threw his stuff inside his own flat before he was going over to yours to speak with you and before he could try to convince you to let him do you a favor, you stopped him.

“Your hair.” You pointed out and he instinctively ran his hand through it.

“Didn’t have time to fix it up,” he grinned. “Just growing out my mane, you know?”

“It’s nice.”

Soap wanted to argue because even he knew it was a mess and you were just being polite, but when he saw the soft look in your eyes as you stared at it with a sense of awe.

He almost felt a little self conscious that he didn’t clean it up before he came over to see you and that’s when he got an idea.

“Cut my hair for me, bonnie.” He offered and couldn’t help but chuckle when you stared at him incredulously.

“I don’t know how to cut hair.” You argue but he shrugged.

“I’ll teach ya.”

Somehow, he convinced you and now he was sitting in a chair with a towel wrapped around his shoulders with you standing in front of him holding a pair of clippers.

You looked nervous as you held them like it was an instrument that could seriously hurt him despite the fact that it had a guard on it.

Despite that, he had a smile on his face.

“You can start out with a trim.” He suggested and you looked at him helplessly. “Just make my hair even.”

“What if it’s not?”

“Then I’ll go back to the Mohawk.”

Soap watched you fight with yourself. He may have convinced you this far but you still had your doubts even thought he could careless about what happens to his hair.

It would grow back and it’s not like he’s never fucked up his hair before. This was just an excuse to get close to you.

He very gently grabbed your wrist and turned on the clippers, making you cringe with fear.

“Like this.” He guided your hand through the familiar motions and saw some of his hair fall out of the corner of his eyes. “Don’t over think it.”

"Okay..."

You started off slow, hesitant to cut his hair wrong before you found a rhythm on your own. You were incredibly gentle, more than anything he would ever be on his own head, and suddenly he found himself dozing off.

The sound of the clippers, your hands in his hair, the smell and presence of you had him relaxing so quick that he could hardly hold his head up. He fought hard against falling asleep and he was grateful you finished because he would've taken a nap in your chair.

Soap blinked a few times to wake himself up before he looked up at you with a soft smile.

You stared down at him with a slight flustered look on your face as you ran your fingers through his now full head of hair.

Soap shivered and couldn’t help but lean into your touch, his eyes nearly fluttering shut, he could sleep like this, he would sleep so much better if you ran your hands through his hair every night.

He stopped himself however and gave you a soft smile. He looked at himself in the mirror and he couldn’t help but feel proud of you for giving him a decent hair cut.

He need to shave his beard but he could do that on his own.

“Thanks, hen.” He beamed at you and you smiled back as well.

“You look different without the Mohawk.”

“A good different, right?”

You averted your eyes from him when he gave you a wink but you giggled, a sound he missed dearly.

“Very good.”

Bonus Soap with full head of hair:

[charliemwrites]

Talked about this with @ceilidho last night and it’s making me Insane,

Neighbor!Johnny.

His parents have moved to be closer to his sisters and their children, leaving him their gorgeous house to crash at during leave.

When he moves in, you bring him a batch of cookies, welcoming him to the neighborhood and telling him to stop by if he needs anything. Something in his eyes flickers as he takes you in, sundress and sneakers.

“Cookies aren’t the only sweet treat here,” he drawls, grinning.

Your neighbor Johnny who leans folds his massive arms over your fence when he catches you out by the pool. You don’t have your towel or a coverup because it’s your own backyard, but it’s fine! There’s a fence between you two and anyway he’s just coming to say hi.

Johnny who tsks when you tell him your husband went on another business trip without fixing the AC. You don’t want to call someone over while you’re home alone. Not to worry - Johnny is handy with wires and he’ll fix it for free. And while he’s here… that cabinet too, aye? And the shower drain that’s a bit clogged?

You don’t notice that a couple of your photos are missing from an album you keep in the basement with the heater. Or the lotion from your cabinet is gone - your husband probably tossed it. Definitely don’t notice the very very slight change in consistency of your body soap.

One day you’re just home from groceries and Johnny stumbles out of a taxi. He’s got a big black duffel bag, still in uniform. There’s dirt in his mohawk and streaky paint on his face.

“Bonnie,” he sighs, making a beeline for you. “Missed you. Give us a hug? It was a rough go.”

And of course you hug him - least you can do for a man risking his life to keep the rest of the world safe!! You dont notice the smudges he leaves on your cheek until your husband points it out when he gets home.

Your husband…

Johnny doesn’t let Ryan call him Johnny; he introduces himself as “Soap.” You figure it’s a guy thing, giggling about the callsign while Johnny grips bruises into your husband’s soft white-collar hands.

He doesn’t like Johnny. Says it’s weird how he’s always hanging around.

Not always, you correct, he only gets a couple weeks of leave at a time.

And he spends as much of it as he can with you. It’s nice, though, to have company while you futz with housewife chores and pretend to anticipate your husband’s return home.

Johnny’s good company! He listens with rapt attention to the rambles your husband barely even pretends to hear. He doesn’t call your crime podcasts creepy, or your tv shows noisy.

(In fact, he listens a bit too closely. If you paused while cooking or cleaning, you’d notice the feverish light in his eyes. Certain turns of your tongue make his thighs twitch).

When you’re having a bad day, venting to Johnny about it over a cup of coffee, he listens, nods, clicks his tongue.

“He best take care of that when he gets home.”

You don’t get what he means, and the next day when you’re still annoyed, he shakes his head.

“All pent up still, eh? He not taking care of you right?”

You fluster and swat at him, remind him you’re not one of this army bros he shouldn’t be so crass. He keeps making those comments. You just roll your eyes and wave him off - but never correct him because it’s true.

One day your husband is home when Johnny stops by. You got something stuck in the sink drain and need him to get it - knew Ryan wouldn’t call in a reasonable time to save it.

When he comes in, Johnny drops a kiss on your cheek before going for the kitchen. Knows exactly where it is, you two have a standing brunch date there.

Johnny listens to you talk while he works, fusses at you for trying to hand him his dirty tools. Goes into your fridge, grabs a can of soda and a peach. Reminds you that you’re running low on yogurt while he licks juice from his fingers.

When he’s done, he drops one last kiss on the corner of your mouth, big hand anchoring you by the hip. You walk him out, promising to let him look at that rattling noise your car has been making the next day.

It starts a fight. Ryan is furious that Johnny is so comfortable in “his” house. You shake your head, tell him that you’re just as comfortable at Johnny’s but that only seems to set him off more. He tells you that it’s not normal, that Johnny is being inappropriate and you’re letting him.

You scoff and roll your eyes, tell him that he’s being insecure, that you only have eyes for him. He ends up storming out, presumably to go stay at his brother’s.

Thirty minutes after he’s gone, there’s a knock at the door. You know it’s Johnny. You almost answer it. But Ryan’s accusations ring in your head and dig a guilty pit in your stomach. You go upstairs, pretending you didn’t hear it. Or any of the others for the half hour after.

[lemonwrap]

You know these ridiculous doors in an apartment complex you might’ve seen on Twitter?

Imagine: an AU in which Soap and Ghost are neighbors…Except their doors are close. Very close.

They’re both in their late thirties or early forties. Ghost retired after sustaining an ACL tear, and Soap retired after suffering a back injury.

Simon is woken up early in the morning the sound of a bang and muffled cursing. He groans, gets out of bed, and opens his door just to be met face to face with a man.

“Steamin’ Jesus!” said man swears, taking a step back and dropping the box he’s holding.

“Good morning,” Simon says dryly, watching as the box thumps loudly to the ground. It’s about an inch away from his feet with how stupidly narrow the hallway is.

The man blinks at him. He’s awfully handsome, and with how they’re standing barely a foot apart, Simon can see how ridiculously blue his eyes are. He’s got a mohawk, some stubble, and an interesting scar on his chin. A new neighbor, Simon supposes.

“Morning,” the man says, bending down with a wince to pick up the box, but pauses. He hisses lightly with pain.

“You alright?” Simon asks.

“Busted up back,” the man replies. He’s got a Scottish accent, too. Charming. Simon silently picks up the box for him, careful not to bend his knee too much.

“Name’s Simon,” he says. He has no idea why he’s introducing himself, as he doesn’t talk much to anyone in the complex. The life of a retired veteran can be lonely, but Simon doesn’t always mind.

“John,” the man replies, flashing him a clearly grateful smile. Simon hands John the box, and when he turns around to go put the box in his new apartment, Simon goes back inside his own respective apartment and shuts the door. He’s not usually big on social interaction anyway.

He thinks that’s the last he’ll see of John, until he’s going out to run an errand and bumps right into a man when he’s turning around after locking his door. The two of them nearly fall, but Simon grabs the man’s wrist and steadies them.

His new neighbor, John, grins up at him. “Nice to see you again.”

Simon releases him, and John steps out of his space as much as he can. Simon swears his cheeks feel a little warm—maybe he’s coming down with something.

“How’s the back?” Simon asks gruffly. Why is he even asking? Jesus, he needs to get out of here.

“Shite as usual,” John says, shrugging.

“See you around,” Simon says abruptly, and he brushes past John.

The interactions don’t stop there. They regularly run into each other at various times, half of the time dropping groceries, bumping a funny bone against a door, or ending up much too close to each other. To his dismay, Simon realizes that he doesn’t mind his encounters with John, and he begins to look forward to them.

A few months after meeting John, it’s yet another day of the two of them accidentally crashing into each other. John drops his keys, and Simon nearly trips over John’s foot.

“Shit,” John laughs. “We’ve gottae stop meetin’ like this.”

Simon huffs out a laugh and bends down to pick up John’s keys, remembering his bad back. He just about slams his head into John’s chin when he stands up, but he doesn’t take much of a step back. He presses the keys into John’s hand, and John takes them with one of those bright smiles of his that Simon’s slowly grown to know.

“Come in for coffee?” John asks, and Simon can’t refuse.

[figdays]

My Neighbor Totoro Soap // binucho

[saturnisfallingdown]

Thinking back on Nina and Maggie and I really really do love how they subverted expectations in episode 6... like they set up the picture perfect start to their relationship when they made it clear Lindsay and Nina broke up, and then Maggie and Nina worked side by side in defending the bookshop. And they absolutely could've gotten together and claimed it was part of Nina finding joy and the side relationship would get their expected hallmark film happy ending and people would've been fine with it!! But. No!! They had Nina explicitly tell Crowley (and the audience) that this isn't how real relationships work, and that she needed time to heal alone. Nina and Maggie aren't ""ship material"" because they're just terrifically real and functional and therefore boring people. and some people weren't fans of that choice but man I loved it!!