#soap authorization

[sigh-tofm]

if you still sleep with a stuffed animal…

- price makes sure you don’t feel childish for it. you’re a little reluctant about admitting it first, but there’s no hiding it once you move in. you grip the edge of your shirt and stare down into the floor when he asks you about the well-loved teddy in one of your moving boxes. he embraces you and reminds you of your age and your big girl job, your degree, your car. none of that changes because you sleep with a stuffie, he mutters as his hands find your wide ass. goes on to tell you all the grown up things he wants to do you.

- kyle finds it endearing, even when you’re a little embarrassed to tell him about it. you’re already the most important person in the world to him. a stuffie only makes you more adorable in his eyes. and frankly, he gets it. it’s nice having something soft and warm to hold when you go sleep, he says and winks at you. still, teddy gets turned the other way when you two start undressing each other.

- johnny finds it a little odd, but only because he can fall asleep standing up in a chopper mid-flight, and therefore doesn’t quite understand that you have specific requirements in order to sleep well. but doesn’t tease you for it, instead always making sure teddy’s around for you. brings him out to the living room when you two (now three) are watching a movie and even borrows him for himself when you’re away. claims it’s because he smells like you, denies it’s because he’s growing fond of him too.

- simon treats teddy with the utmost respect. he probably had one too, long ago, until his father destroyed it. he understands your feelings about your stuffie and places him carefully on the floor next to the bed if you two get busy. stitches up his torn seams with his balaclava-thread. slides him gently back under your arm if you’re already asleep when he comes to bed. puts his own arms around you in turn, protecting your back while teddy has your front. still, slips a hand under your shirt to feel the soft skin of your tits to fall asleep to.

[rusticfurnace]

dogtags

ps, theres this series (which i got inspired from) thats like toptier when it comes to nonsexual intimacy ghoap and i really REALLY recommend you guys to check it out!!!

[brattypagansub]

*Gaz exhausted and trying to figure out what a cranky and concussed Simon wants*

Gaz: ok.. cool cool cool cool.. got it.. but when you say Soap.. do you mean *pantomimes* hand soap… dish soap.. body soap.. or your husband Soap..

Ghost: *trying very hard to not head slap the man.. points to his ring finger*

Gaz: ah… he’s on mission but I can phone him for you..

[homosexualgirlandbags]

Johnny who needs a real man in his life after only being with underground twinks or whoever is willing to follow him back to his bed. He's sick and tired of the people around him, especially with the toxicity that exists in the army.

He's tired of the men around him, of the societal expectations he's supposed to meet. Too many broken hearts, too many bridges burnt. He needs a man for himself, to be there for him when he comes home so he doesn't have to scroll through his list of 'hook ups contacts' again.

Simon, who's more than willing to stand as an anchor in the sea for Johnny, if it meant he's fine the next day. Simon who's all solid muscle and a heart of steel, yet melts down to a person with Johnny, slipping out of his mask more often. He's willing to become whatever Johnny needs at the moment, whether it is being Johnny's pillow, or rubbing the man's back as he vomits out the sushi he ate hours prior.

It isn't often Simon breaks down his walls for another, much less trust them enough to let them touch him like Johnny. Hands pressed against skin as 'Supermassive black hole' plays in the background. Johnny looks beautiful with how he was handling the guitar, a show meant for one only, him.

Moments of loneliness make way for moments of domestic peace when they're both on leave. Nights of walks under building lights, mornings spent waking up in each other's arms, evenings spent dancing to some niche music band.

It's during one of these moments, where Johnny was looking at Simon as he was stuffing his mouth full of chips that he realised something:

He's going to marry Simon one of these days. It's inevitable. He's going to pick out a venue at the Scottish Highlands, wear a kilt and put a ring on that man's finger.

Johnny is going to bag himself a man, a real fucking man for once. Someone who's going to be a constant in his life, someone he is willing to take the last name of. Johnny Riley doesn't sound like absolute shit in his mind now.

"Whatcha looking a'? F'cking eyes trailing me up n' down like tha'"

"N'thing"

He's already planning a place to propose in his head as he turns back to the telly, laying across Simon's lap. He falls asleep in record time, and Simon lays a blanket over Johnny as he binges on.

[sunshowersanddandelionwine]

au where soap is medically discharged and doesn’t really have a “purpose” anymore. He enlisted so young, and had been in the military for so long that he’s got no fucking idea what to do next. In the end, he moves in with his oldest sister and her kids after his brother-in-law passes away suddenly.

While getting his feet back under him, he takes up drawing again. More seriously this time than just doodles on paperwork and scribbles on briefing notes. But real illustrations. It starts as a way to keep his hands occupied while idle at home, but then it becomes an actual hobby of his. He gets better and better, watching YouTube tutorials to learn things he wouldn’t have picked up otherwise.

It’s his 15 year old niece that gets everything rolling. She (without his knowledge) sets up a social media account to share his art. But a very specific series of art. See, he started illustrating the stories his 5 year old nephew told him. And the art, just like the stories, are mindblowing. Soap didn’t do it for recognition, but his niece insisted on sharing his work with the world.

The account starts to get a following, and when his niece shows it to him he nearly has a breakdown. But then he sees the comments. Parents of kids who feel seen in his art. Young self taught artists feeling seen through him. A whole community of people who connected with his work on such a deeper level than anything he’d expected. So, begrudgingly, he lets her continue to post.

Then comes the storefront. With prints and merch and all sorts of wild ass things he’d never dreamed of. And while the income is modest, it still an income. For a while, a part of him had felt guilty for “mooching” off his sister (despite her protests to the contrary) and now he can really start contributing to the household. Plus, a little bit of each sale gets squirreled away for his niece and nephew. Since without them, this whole thing wouldn’t be happening.

And then the email comes. It’s innocuous at first, something he’s gotten a number of times. The sender asks him if he’s willing to illustrate for an upcoming project with a children’s book author. They’d seen his work online and thought his style would match perfectly with the book. Initially, soap was going to politely decline the offer. As much as he’d come to accept the minor fame he’d gotten online, he didn’t think he was good enough to actually illustrate something for a traditional publication. But then he sees the sender’s signature.

S. Riley.

Not much was known about Riley as a person. Their personal life, much like their first name, was kept down tight under lock and key. But their books were beloved by so many, including Soap and his family. Riley wrote on topics that not a lot of other children’s book authors dared to touch, and not with the deft and delicate hand necessary to properly tackle them. Things like parental abuse, neglect, trauma, death; there wasn’t a subject Riley was scared of, and there wasn’t a subject that they handled with anything less than the utmost grace. Their book on dealing with grief and loss had gotten Soap’s niblings (and his sister, to be perfectly honest) through those first few months after their father’s death.

So, despite his misgivings and anxieties, soap accepts.

(Across the country, one Simon Riley waits with bated breath to see if his nephew Joseph’s (and his) mysterious favorite artist will say yes. For no other reason than professional curiosity. It definitely has nothing to do with the briefest glimmer of a bright blue eye caught in the corner of a recent post.)

[itllbeoneofthese]

Somedays Ghost wakes up with the weight of war still on his shoulders.

He feels it when he turns in bed to get up, heavy, so heavy, it feels like it’s crushing his lungs.

He wonders if one day his skin won’t smell like gunpowder. Wonders if one day he won’t feel like blood is still running down his hands.

On his nightstand there’s a picture; a blue eyed man grins over at Simon, the printed image illuminated by the rising sun.

A hand lands on Ghosts back, and a barely audible whisper escapes you as you ask, “A nightmare?”

He leans into your touch, “…just thinking.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, planting a kiss on the back of his neck, “I’m sure he could use some new flowers, I’d be happy to join you,”

Ghost lets his gaze leave the picture and land on you. He can feel your breath on his skin and the faint smell of your shampoo. Things feel a little lighter. He nods, “We’ll get him roses, he always hated roses. Maybe it’ll give him a laugh in the afterlife.”

[etherealevangeline]

Thinking about handler!simon <3

You’re his demi human pet who bites and pounces everywhere, trying to get a hold of what you can in his living room. He’s cooking up a mean dinner, trying to work on his skills since he’s sick of canned food, frozen food, and anything considered cheap meals. Simon understood he might be trying to fit into this new role of being a caregiver, and all the cozy things associated with it. Having a house smelling good, wealthy with food, abundant with activities.

He can’t blame himself entirely. Ever since he’s got you, his pet, Simon has been living life a little differently. He sees the pure, sweet and innocent look to your eyes, the way you pant excited from playing, or when you’re curled up in your bed and sleeping peacefully on your back. He’ll reach out to give your belly some rubs. On some days, depending on your mood, you’d have a feral wild bite to you.

He loved it all. And now, it seems as though he wants to try. So, he cooks. He makes his steaks juicier, he learns the difference with non stick and stick pans, grabs the best oil there is (avocado cooking oil) buys himself a new knife set, finding it rather ravishing the way it glints ever so dangerously in the light. He buys a bloody chopping board, and no, no apron.

He despises aprons despite trying to fit in.

“Bloody ladies dress,” he’d curse under his breath. He preferred the rough and tumbled look. Unbuttoned shirt, revealing tufts of chest hair, rolled up sleeves, patchy, washed out jeans. Hands covered in flour, oil, all the likes.

So he cooks.

And now he’s got the house smelling all warm, full, wholesome.

Simon, who tosses a towel rag on his broad shoulders, whistles to get your attention. It’s quick, punctual, and his hands make a move, sautéing the onions, garlic, peppers. The pan sizzles.

You were on the couch, pawing at the patchy and old couch, ears perking up at the sound of his whistle. You sniff the air and bounce down from the couch eagerly, clumsy on your legs as you walk to him.

“Didn’ I tell ya you can’t be bitin’ my things?” Simon scolds, gruff. His back faced you.

You make a mock whimper and playfully nudge at his leg, giving him your best puppy eyes. He fawns inwardly at the sight, disheveled at the sight of you being meek and playful.

Simon hides this and sighs through his nose, and in the light you could see the soft glint to his deepset eyes. His mask was off revealing his unguarded self to you, at least physically, trying to earn your trust.

“Alrigh’ alright, I know I avent’ been around. You’re clingy, needy. Enough o��� tha’.” Simon mumbled, though his eyes kept wandering to your sitting form on the carpet, itching to bite and pounce at anything.

Simon knew these days he’d been busy with base meetings, discussing a possible mission deployment. He knew what it meant for you.

And somewhere inside him it caused his gut to clench, the idea of leaving you to fend for yourself in this hippy, happy to go state. You had to be fed on time, given toys, and not just any, but the kinds you liked. You had to be put to bed too, since you were affectionate and needy. Simon got used to sitting on the bed, book in hand, his other hand patting your head absent mindedly as you drifted off.

He didn’t mind the moments now, he was slowly thawing off after all.

You made a small noise for his attention wondering where his mind was at. Simon looked down for a moment before cooking the tuna in, mushing it around with his wooden spatula. “Easy, why don’t ya go play?“

Simon did need to finish the food anyway.

You moved, curious and eager. As you walked passed him into the open space of the living room, your eyes landed on his mask laying on the wooden table. It was decorated with a dingy yellow table cloth, soft and flowy. It was a gift Simon got a long time ago. When he saw how sad and disengaged you were from the lack of decor, he tried putting it up.

Apart of you missed his scent these days, and wanted to be closer. Of course, he’d been missing from the home, so tonight was a welcomed sight to see him cooking.

So, you moved, grabbing the mask with your teeth and pawing at it. The cloth shifts slightly. You sit, unassuming, and pawing and nibbling, going quiet.

After a while, Simon figures you’re not making noises and something isn’t right. He finishes the tuna, mixed with onions, pepper, garlic and such, and adds some rice to it. He sets his plate down, tosses the rag to the counter, and saunters to you. His old work boots creak with effort.

“Pet, is tha’ my—“

It is.

He pauses, not sure whether to grin wolfishly, or sigh at your needy, peckish behavior. You’re scrabbling, almost playing tug of war now with the poor mask. Sniffing, pawing, bumping your head into the table and all like a clumsy thing.

Simon whistles.

You look up, jaw still clenched around the mask, and there it is that same wide eyed, caught red handed look.

“Oh no—“ Simon chides when you try to paw at the mask, continuing with your peckish behavior.

“Up here.” He orders softly, with a sense of firmness however, crouching down. He tugs the mask gently away from your teeth and a pitiful whine leaves you.

The confused, sour look to your face—the furrowed brows, downturned lips, tail thwacking the floor impatiently tells him you’re displeased.

“Do you want or hug or wha?’” Simon gruffly said.

You look slightly surprised, and perk up. Your ears, specifically. You tilt your head at his new approach and slowly move to him, wondering how and why he changed.

“Look, I can’t ave’ you bitin’ my masks remember, lovie? Either its hugs or no biting.” He chides gently as you clamber up in his lap, perching yourself neatly.

You sit, waiting.

He almost has to laugh lowly at the way you sit expectantly now, waiting for some pat or cuddle or praise. He slowly and gently brings his hand to stroke your hair, the delicate curve of your spine.

He admires the way you listened despite having a bratty streak, and he has to commend you for it.

“Good girl, wasn’t so hard was it?” He found himself saying, the words slipping out like sugared honey. He tilts his head, admiring the way your eyes shut, a rumbling low noise of comfort leaving your body at his touch.

“I know you miss me, can’t do much bout’ life gettin’ annoyin’ right?” Simon mutters mostly to himself. He lets you lean in for warmth.

For a while he just holds you, smelling the warm aroma, and letting you find comfort in him. It’s a first that he ever felt this sense of peace. Wholesome, sweet, and loving. Connected with you.

He makes it a point to spend more time with you before he leaves for deployment, and another point to drill down the sitter he’ll be having in place for you. Leaving you in someone’s incompetent hands is not an option for him.

[bmtillerbabe]

Feel free to ignore, but Poly!141 with reader who is terrified of any tiny mistakes from a past shitty relationship? ✨

(I actually love your work!)

    I absolutely love this ask!! :D Just imagining little scenarios in my head for each one is so delicious.

Hope you enjoy, Anon!! :)

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CW : References to past abuse, mostly unspecified.

NSFW

MDNI 18+ ONLY!!

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Dropping a dish (With Ghost, Soap and Gaz) :

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   It really hadn’t been your fault.

  This damn new brand of dish soap your boys had decided to buy you left a slick film on every piece of stoneware you owned, and when you turned just a little too sharply to put it away – it had just …. Slipped out of your hand.

  Simon had been sitting at the bar, looking up quickly at the sound of the shattering plate; and already you could hear Soap and Gaz barreling down the stairs towards the kitchen. But you weren’t paying attention to any of that – only red-faced and gasping like you were drowning, bending down to quickly start grabbing at the shards, muttering a thousand apologies over and over and over.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Oh, God, fuck, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I just – it slipped and I’ll fix it, I’m sorry—”

  You hadn’t realized Ghost kneel down next to you in your embarrassment until you flinched – hard – when he placed his hand gently over yours.

  You looked up at him, tears welling in your eyes and your breathing still off-kilter and fast. The look in Ghost’s eyes damn near broke your heart – the worry, the concern, the care – the love – that swam so deep in them made your bottom lip quiver.

  Soap and Gaz panted softly somewhere above you.

  “Ye alright, bonnie? We heard a noise, an’ came runnin’.”

  You nodded, shaky and unsure of yourself, and before you could answer, Ghost spoke up softly as if trying not to spook you.

  “Love …. It’s fine. Iss’ justa dish. No harm done. Are you hurt?” His hand tightened softly over yours. Shaking your head, you began to pick up the pieces of the plate scattered around the tile, still bright-cheeked and muttering softly; your movements slow and shaky.

  “I----I’m f-f-fine, I just, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to b-b-break anything, I didn’t---”

  Ghost grabbed your wrist again and lifted it to his stubbled cheek, rising and pulling you with him to your feet. Then, without warning, you were pressed firmly into his broad chest, his hands snaking around your small frame to hold you close. The action alone seemed to be enough to undo you, and you broke down and sobbed quietly and softly into his big arms.

  “Shhh, shhh, shhh, it’s a’right, love. It’s a’right.” Simon cooed at you warmly, gently rubbing the back of your head. You felt him shift above you, nodding to the boys to finish helping clean the mess. Soap and Gaz didn’t need to be told twice, dutifully sweeping up the mess.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry …” You whispered softly, voice cracked and broken as you clutched at Simon’s frame.

  He pulled you back to look into your eyes, cupping your cheeks softly. His brows furrowed deeply in sympathy and his lips were pulled to the side in concern.

  “When you’d mentioned before, the …. Relationship ….” He bit out the word angrily, “… you’d had before us, I didn’t realize tha’ it ….” He paused with a sigh and pulled you close to his chest again, shaking his head. “I swear to God, if I ever find where that cunt ran off to, he’ll be wishing he was dead – cuz Hell will be better for ‘im than what I’ll be doin’.”

  You became aware of two other bodies behind you, crowding closer, cocooning you in their warmth and safety, and slowly, your shakes and sobs subsided.

  Johnny kissed the side of your head softly.

  “Aye, lass – you never have to worry about him, about any of this, ever again.”

  “We’ve got you, babydoll. Now, and always.” Gaz rubbed your arm.

  Never, in all your life, had you felt the truth in words like you did with theirs. Or had you ever remembered feeling so safe.

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Missing a Text (With Price) :

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  You heard Price’s keys jingle in the lock of the front door – but instead of the normal elation and joy filling your heart, your mind raced in panic as you jumped to your feet and ran to the kitchen to find your phone you’d left on the counter.

  “Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” You cursed yourself, opening the screen and confirming with a sinking feeling in your gut that you’d forgotten to answer Price’s text earlier, asking what you had planned for dinner, if anything.

  “Doll?” Price’s deep voice rumbled from the door as he called for you, and you felt your heart freeze as you clutched your chest; your lungs suddenly squeezed tight and unable to get any air in.

  You barely had the time to turn and face the doorway as his figure appeared, frozen in place, eyes wide with fear.

  Price’s eyes met yours, his own widening in concern as he walked towards you. “Hey, luvie, hey – what is it? What’s wrong? Is everything alright? Are you hurt?”

  “I---” You squeaked out, your breathing still tight and short. You felt light-headed. “I was doing laundry – I didn’t – I forgot – I –“ You swallowed softly, clutching the phone in your hand to your breast.

  Price quickly realized what was wrong, letting out a soft breath and relaxing his shoulders, quirking his brow in warm sympathy.

  “Luv, I know you’re busy most of the day. You’re taking care of the house – of us – it’s alright.” He smiled softly at you, cocking his head and halting in his tracks when the fear in your eyes remained. He knew the fear wasn’t towards him, no … the fear was rooted deep, inside your heart, your mind, your soul – and he knew it would take him and the men longer than just a few months to clear out the remnants of the asshole that had done this to you.

  You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing wanted to come out, and you continued to clutch your chest, wheezing softly in your panicked state.

  Price held out his hand to you, palm up – offering. “It’s alright, Luv. You didn’t do anythin’ wrong. Come back to me. Come back here. You’re not there anymore, he can’t hurt you anymore, luvie.”

  Swallowing thickly, you seemed to break out of your trance at his soft words and choked out a soft sob; running headfirst into the safety of his chest and arms. He wrapped his strong biceps around your tiny frame, shushing and cooing at you softly.

  “It’s alright, Luvie …. Shhh …. You’re okay … I’m here, you’re okay.” He kissed the top of your hair softly as your breathing steadied and your heartrate slowed. “You did nothin’ wrong, doll. Absolutely nothing.”

  After he was sure you were okay, he pulled back to look into your eyes and smiled brightly, wiping your cheek with his calloused thumb.

  “Now … what say you to a bit of ice cream with the rest of the boys, eh? Simon should be here soon from the grocer, and Gaz will be out of his meeting in the next hour ….” He leaned in close to your cheek, pecking it softly and brushing his thick mustache against the shell of your ear, whispering, “… Gives us plenty of time to have a lil bit of fun before they get home …”

  You sighed the last of the fear from your chest, smiling at one of the four loves of your life, nodding eagerly.

  Ice cream and sex sounded absolutely perfect.

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Nightmares (with all four men) :

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  The two California kings that were side by side in the huge, open room, served as almost a ‘nest’ of sorts for the five of you.

  What with the size of Simon alone, you’d known you were going to need a large bed – and when you’d gotten involved with all of them, you all realized quickly that one bed wouldn’t do anymore.

  Especially for all the …. Activities you liked to do together.

  It was in the center of the tiny mountain of pillows and blankets that all of you slept now – or, had been sleeping, until you awoke with a start and a sharp yell into the darkened room.

  Simon was the first to awaken, sitting bolt upright like he’d been shot; Soap next, lifting his head from where he’d been sleeping on your stomach, blinking away the sleep and looking at you with deep seated concern.

  A soft ‘click’ and Price had rolled over to turn on the lamp next to the bedside table, and all four men were sitting around or in front of you, watching you gasp softly and cry as you buried your face in your hands.

  You clutched at your side where the wound long since healed gave a phantom heartbeat of pain – the memory of that horrid night flashing clear as day into your sleeping head as if it had just happened fresh all over again.

  Gaz leaned close, cupping your cheek. “Another nightmare?” He asked softly.

  You nodded, breaking down into a quiet fit of tears when the images flashed through your head again of the day you thought you were going to die.

  Soap kissed your stomach softly, rubbing your thigh up and down, working his way to your knees, calves and ankles. Simon, from his position on your side, cuddled you closer to his chest, stroking your hair. Gaz pulled you to him for a sweet kiss to the forehead, holding your hand, rubbing his thumb in circles on the top of it.

  Price, ever the gentleman, had left the room to go and grab you some pretzels and a glass of warm milk – coming back in with a small tray of assorted snacks and drinks for the others as well.

  After he settled back onto the bed on your opposite side and tousled Soap’s mohawk, he looked at you, offering you a tissue.

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you all up …” You whispered, blowing your nose.

  Gaz chuckled softly at you, shaking his head and giving your hand a squeeze.

  “Don’t ever apologize for needin’ us, babygirl. That’s what we’re here for – each other.”  He brought your hand to his mouth to kiss each finger gently.

  Soap hummed softly, his eyes locked onto Gaz’ mouth at work; swallowing thickly with a noise in the back of his throat. Price snorted and slapped the back of the Scot’s head playfully, making him flinch.

  “Can’t even make it two minutes without thinkin’ wiv that cock, can ya?” The older man chuckled.

  Soap blushed a crimson red, grinning wickedly as he looked back at you. “Well, I dunno about you all, but I know the missus here could use a wee bit of a distraction …. And what better way to distract than with some nice, hot sex?”

  You felt more than heard Simon grunt approvingly from your side, already seeing the indent of his chubbing cock thicken through his night trousers. Leaning over to sniff your hair deeply with an approving growl, he rubbed his large hand up and down your arm.

  “Well? What do you say, luv? Down for another round?”

  ….. Suffice it to say that none of you got absolutely any sleep that night.

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Xoxo – Hope you enjoyed!!   😊   Happy reading, and much loves!  <3

[x-snickersnap-x]

i think every british ghoap fan should write fic as blisteringly incomprehensibly british as possible

to make up for the hoards of us american fans that make them do shit like 1. celebrate american holidays (why is johnny celebrating thanksgiving??) 2. calling 911 or going to the ER 3. gone to high school

[cod-indulgences]

Tf141 x female!reader, implied gangbang, forced nudity

Sitting around a table with the task force, poker chips in a pile in the middle and dog-eared cards in your hands. You're cold but there's no help for it- all your clothes are piled at your feet, victims of bad luck, bad hands, and a bad poker face.

You can feel their eyes resting on your breasts, mostly hidden by your arms folded against you, but it's your turn to play your hand- the sigh that goes between them when you square your shoulders and stretch one arm out to push your chips in is more felt than heard.

"all in," you say, and feel your stomach sink as all the men smirk, the mood shifting, predatory. You feel small suddenly, and moan in despair when their cards lay out across the table.

You're fucked.

Chairs scrape across the floor as they all stand, and you yelp when two sets of hands lift you from your chair, placing you flat on your back amid scattered poker chips and cards. Ghost and Soap have your arms pinned, and Price steps up between your legs, opening your thighs around his bulk.

Gaz leans in, smirking, and waves a handful of cards in your face- aces. "Count them, sweetheart," he grins, and your stomach sinks. One, two, three....four, five, six. Fuck!

Price undoes his belt, pulling out his cock. Your eyes widen at it, heavy and fat in his fist, precome pearling up at the tip. "Should have folded earlier sweetheart," he says around his cigar, "now you've kept me and the boys waiting."

He notches his cock head against your pussy, and you look up at him with pleading eyes. "Sir, I can't- I'm not ready-!"

"don't worry love, by the time we're done, this cunt'll be sloppy enough for everyone to have a second round."

[lostintransist]

Boys' Home - Part 1

Do I know where the hell this is going? No. I'm gonna do it anyways. I am a good enough writer to figure it out.

AO3

You don't know how you ended up like this. Sigh okay, you do know how you ended up as the unofficial boys' home this side of the the mountain ridge. You take in one boy who escaped from the cult miles into the woods and suddenly the surrounding counties are dumping them on you as they find them.

It helps that your great aunt left you her big old house when she passed. Helped even more that she left you a small stipend to keep up on the property taxes and the maintance. None of your cousins would talk to you after the will gave both to you and left them with only baubles. It wasn't like you were ever close, spread across the country like dandelion seeds flung on the wind. It stung none the less.

Seth had been six when you found him. He had stumbled right into your path as you had been on your leisurely walk. Breaking down crying as he knelt on the packed earth path, you could only stare. The dark crust around his nails and the hollowness of his cheeks told you everything you needed to know. This wouldn't be the first child found, dead or alive, in this part of the woods.

Crouching down next to him you slid your backpack off your back. Scrounging through it quickly you pulled out an electrolight drink and the trail mix you had packed for yourself.

"Hi kid, can you eat this for me?"

The clean streaks of his tears stab at your heart. His big brown eyes are desolate.

"I need someone to eat this for me, the chocolate makes my tummy hurt. Can you help?" You offer up the trailmix again.

He takes the bag as if you would snatch it back at any point. The tears in your heart weep for him. Waiting until he has had a few handfuls of the food you offer the opened drink. This he grabs fiercely sucking down too much too fast.

"Whoa, whoa there friend," your hand shoots out tipping the lip of the bottle from his mouth. "If you drink too fast it will make your tummy hurt."

The glare he gives you is truly impressive, one of the best you have ever seen.

"How about this. You hold onto both of these, but why not have some the next time we stop. I need you to come with me, okay?" You put on the smile you learned from watching preschool teachers at the school coax children through the doors. Even though you taught high schoolers the communities around the area were small enough that all the children were bussed into one central school. A big old building from the seventies housed everyone well enough.

He stood, the thinness of his frame igniting a rage that would have burned the whole forest down and the cult with it. He followed you, docile even with more tears streaking down his face, all the way to the car. You buckled him in and drove straight to the police station.

Sherriff Pallas was less helpful than a deer with chronic wasting.

"Well, your options are to take him home and wait to see if anyone claims him or I have to turn him over to the state, and we all know how the state takes care of kids like him."

You did know. You doubted there was a record of this child anywhere, the cult kept off the grid. It was doubtful he could read, and since he hadn't spoken a word to you didn't know enough about him to even guess at his education.

Rolling your lips between your teeth you stared at the man who only won the election because he was friends with the mayor.

"This is the reason a murderer could live here and no one would be the wiser Pallas."

The mustache twitched as he plucked the insult from your words. Not giving him time to respond you herded your new charge back to the car. A call to the local foster mom had secured two weeks' worth of clothes for the kid and a trip to the grocery store ensured that he would have cereal to munch on if you could get nothing else in him.

No one ever came for him. Eventually, he started to talk and open up. His name was Seth and his birthday was in the winter. You decided that he wanted a February birthday. He chose the 23rd. By the time school started back up you had registered him for a birth certificate with the help of the helpful woman at the county records department, and got him started on vaccines with his pediatrician.

Life moved on like it does, slowly Reggie (10), Sam (6), and Darren (6.5) joined you and Seth in the old house. You were listed as legal guardian for each of them and took that role seriously. You boys, as you called them, roamed the trees around the house until sunset on any day that wasn't cold enough to freeze them to death.

The third day of summer break you are hanging the sheets on the line. The first week off school always saw you deep cleaning the house as much as you could. Screams of children have your head snapping to the trees. Those were not screams of joy and laughter, but of fear.

They stumble out of the leaves before you can take two steps away from the line.

"Mum!" They all called you mum, said it was easier that way. You didn't object, secretly loving the trust of the title.

Sam, ever the boisterous one, got his words out first. "Mum! There are men in the woods! They are fixing the old house!"

The other boys layered their thoughts on top of his words. The old house was the dilapidated house almost a mile from your own. The boys were not allowed to go inside for fear of the floor giving way.

"Boys!" You raised your voice and your hands in a calm-down gesture, "One at a time please, you know my ears don't work good with loud noises."

"There are men! At the house!" Darren spits these words out before his brothers can jump in.

Seth next, "They were carrying out old furniture and piling it in a dumpster." Ever practical your oldest told you what he believed to be the most important information first. They weren't allowed in the building, so why were the men?

"Okay, so why the screaming?" You look from face to face, settling on Reggie.

"There were three men we could see, but then there was a skeleton in front of us and we all screamed and ran."

Brows nearly touching you tried to logic out what he could possibly mean by that. When the others nodded aggressively in agreement you decided you would need to take a look. Hands settled on your hips; you sighed and gestured for them to follow you.

The walk through the woods felt extremely ordinary, except for the boys clinging to your shirt and one onto your not-torn back pocket. They chattered and fought as they normally do until the house came into sight.

Well, they hadn't been completely wrong. There was a skeleton, but it appeared to only be a skull face plate in the hands of a monster of a man. He caught sight of you first and called over his shoulder causing another three men to appear like mice when you kicked the corn sack.

It looked like you had new neighbors.

Part 2

Masterlist | AO3

[cc-3636-wolffe]

Just wondering if there are other autists like me out there, who are absolutely hyperfixated on Clone Wars, RepCom or CoD.

Feel free to comment, I'd love to meet you 😊

[brattypagansub]

Soap: *hands Ghost something who instinctively takes it without hesitation*

Ghost: *looks at it* Johnny what is this?

Soap: *proudly* it’s a hang in there kitty sticker

Ghost:

Soap:

Soap: *deflating* I’ll take it back

Ghost ‘heart eyes Riley: no chance in hell Johnny I earned this back up *leans over to kiss the man fully* thanks love

Soap: *eyes lighting up again* glad I could help Lt

[homosexualgirlandbags]

Maybe, maybe in my delusion, in a land far far away, maybe Johnny's last thoughts were how beautiful Simon looked under those tunnel lights. No-Dont cry, darling- I'll see you when your time is ready-

Maybe he wanted to reach up, his oxygen deprived brain desperately trying to command his hands to move. Maybe he wanted to cradle Simon's face before he goes, to hold him close and take Simon in one last time.

Maybe he wanted to call out to Simon, to reassure him and wipe the look of pain off of his face. Maybe his last wish was for Simon to live with love and find someone else. Someone better than me, luv, please-

Maybe Simon did see Johnny's fingers twitch towards his before he was pronounced dead.

Maybe Simon did overdosed on those pills in the bathtub one night. Maybe the only reason he didn't die that night was because of a familiar face guiding him up in the bathtub, making him sit upright. No, no, don't die on me- c'mon, sit up-Shouldn't have left ya if I knew this would happen. Christ, sit up, not letting yer die so quickly on me. C'mon, drink some water. Yer look like shite.

Maybe the voice that sounded far too much like Johnny in his head was just his self preservation speaking.

Maybe the chin scar on that face reminded him of someone long gone.

Maybe he did reach out to the voice and sob uselessly as he clutched at nothing to hold against his chest.

Maybe the light to his life was gone.

Maybe Johnny got assigned as Simon's guardian angel after his death, to watch over the one person his time was cut short with.

[forsaire]

yes, ghost getting hit in the balls is plot relevant, im glad you asked

[itllbeoneofthese]

Currently in love with the domesticity of romance, the gentle mundaneness of it all which in essence makes it anything but mundane.

Waking up in the middle of the night with a warm hand on your side. You're pressed to Ghosts chest since he always runs cold. But Soap keeps his distance, sleeping in only his boxers. But he likes touching you both, likes the gentle reminder that he's not laying alone in bed, so he rests his hand on your hip and lets the edges of his fingers hold onto Simon.

You know how Ghost likes his tea and how Johnny likes his coffee. You can't remember when you learned or if you even asked. But one morning you just knew that Simon only lets his tea brew for four minutes and likes to add just enough milk so that the tea is the color of his eyes.

And at some point it became custom for you to come home with a sweet treat for Johnny if you so happened to pass by the bakery (or even if the bakery was nowhere close by). If only because the way he smothers you in kisses with the taste of sugar and chocolate on his tongue is the closest thing to heaven that you've ever felt.

There's just something so simple and still complex about this part of love.