#soap x everyone

[mactavishenjoyer]

Unlike Ghost Soap's family wasn't murdered. Just a series of advents. Suicide is what took his father. Alcoholism is what took his mother. She ended up passing after two years of dialysis. That's what soap remembers the most about her. That she didn't listen to anyone that tried to help her. That she was mean in those last two years. That he had felt guilty when he was just tired of taking care of her. Him and his brother ended up in foster care. Getting split up but finding each other surprisingly quickly when his brother hit 18. His brother died in a car crash a year later. 19 was too young to go but death didn't care. His brother was the only person Soap buried. He deserved to rest somewhere nice. Instead of sitting in a box shoved into some closet like their parents. Soap must have been around 27 when he had actually spread his parents ashes. It only took 15 years to do so but he did it. Something he'd never admit out loud was that he didn't care. It felt wrong but it just wasn't a big deal. The only time he remembered crying over his family was burying his brothers smashed and unrecognizable body. Soap doesn't talk about it. Not because he wants to keep it hidden but because he is tired of the train of "I'm sorry" that comes with telling people. It annoyed him. He would also never say that out loud. He'd never tell someone that it was a waisted sorry. That he truly didn't care that his parents were gone. Paired with his career people would think he was crazy. They'd think that he lacked emotions when that was far from the case. He knew his emotions well. He knew the feeling of dread that washed over him when Simon didn't finish a solo mission in the estimated time. He knew the fear that ran through him that he'll pick up a call just to hear that Kyle didn't make it. He knew the terror that coursed through his body when Price would go dark. He knew the panic that would set in when Gary would get split up from another member. He knew he loved his team. He knew this was his family. He knew that he'd be lost without them.

[soapppp]

Soap is alright with Gaz making fun of him for his puppy like behaviour. He’s okay with Price calling him a mutt when he gets dirty paw prints all over the base hallways. He’s more than happy to obey when Ghsot whistles at him to sit or lay or move. Soap knows that werewolves are, at heart, dogs. They play, they chew up couches, they whine and argue with yippy barks, they make a mess with their thick fur and drool in their sleep. Try as he might to hate it, Soap knows that it’s natural for him to want to chase the large blue ball Gaz rolls down the hall way. He doesn’t care that he once broke his tail from wagging it so hard when he stole Price’s hat and made the older man chase him around the base.

But then….

It was a simple mission, something they had all done a hundred times over. Only this time, Soap was without his captain and his fellow Sargent and his collar felt too lose without Ghost pulling it around. Soap was fine with that, until he found himself working with a Lieutenant Manes. The man was alright, a good leader and quick thinker, but even upon meeting him Soap had a bad feeling.

The man didn’t tug at his collar like Ghost did, instead he pulled at Soap’s chin hair and growled at him to “stay the fuck down you overgrown dog”. He let out loud whistles and expected Soap to know what they meant, pushing him down by his snout when he hesitated as he tried to get a grasp on what he was asking. Manes threw a Grenade at some point and pinched Soaps ear, “that’s a grenade, mutt. Not a fucking toy, don’t chance it.” Soap had wanted to snap back that he was a demolition expert and knew the dangers of a grenade better than Manes, but as he realised the man was mocking him for a dogs love of playing fetch…

Soap came home from the mission and instantly Price was taking him out back and letting him shift into his smaller form, cupping his maw and patting his ears. Apparently another member of the 141, a goddamn rookie, had sent word to Price on the way back from the mission of how Manes had been treating their star wolf. Price let him sleep in his office that night, curled up at his feet while Gaz brushed his fur.

He didn’t ask where Ghost was, already knowing the answer.

[bugb0yster]

Headcannon: Soap is a boob man. Soap is also very gay. He likes man boobs. specifically, he likes sticking his face between gaz/ghost/price/roach/whoever’s pecs and just sitting there. alternatively, he likes to use his partner’s tits as stress balls.

thank you for coming to my ted talk

[cod-dump]

After all of this I can't wait for Soap to revoke everyone's soap privileges.

Or Ghost does and just kinda picks Soap up and leaves with him in his arms.

Which ever is funnier

Rudy is the reason him and Alejandro had their ‘Soap Privileges’ as long as they did. Soap genuinely liked being with them, they both were very good at caring for their partners. Plus, Rudy was terrifying and no one wanted to piss him off by taking Soap, so Soap was with them for a month.

Then Ghost practically raided the place to steal Soap back. He missed his boyfriend, he learned his lesson about tormenting him. Soap had missed him, too, so Rudy and Alejandro let Ghost leave with him. They know if something happens again that Soap would come back. They know he will after the taste he got of the two.

[deadunderorbit]

Everybody loves Soap

Elle King - Ex’s & Oh’s

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

Can we some more of soap with a fatty please? I just need more of people thirsting over his ass

Why does my tumblr not notify me of these??? Anyway! Anything for a fellow people simping over soap and his ass lover!

Also I’ve been put onto other ships like Gaz x Soap and Price x Soap so be prepared for everyone thirsting over Soap.

Ps. I got mad side tracked with this and Soap’s ass ended being like a side feature sorry 😭

The idea I’ve got in my head is the 141 have an event to go to yeah? It’s a formal event so everyone’s dressing up nice. Everybody’s in fitted suits and looking all neat and trimmed and proper. Even Ghost has left the usual balaclava for a simple surgical mask.

But the real surprise here (more so than Price abandoning his hat for once and Ghost the mask) is that Soap’s suit is tailored to near perfection on him. Now don’t get them wrong they had all seen Soap in fitted clothes, the man seemed to own nothing besides jeans and tight shirts, but they’d never seen him in something tailored to bring out all of his assets.

It sits tight around his biceps and tapers in at the waist and the colour of the jacket brings out his eyes. But the real shock is the pants he has on. They can tell he’s not happy about them, constantly running his hands along his thighs and plucking at the tight material but that just seems to accentuate them even more.

They look painted on with the way they cling to his thighs and ass, shifting with every step he takes and threatening to rip if he moves too fast.

Soaps grumbling about them, something about how the brass wouldn’t let him walk around in his usual kilt cause it’d upset the older folk or something, ‘fucking let the old bags cark it for all I care, beats having to wear this shit’

But everyone else is silently thanking the brass for blessing their eyes with this rare sight.

Gaz looks a little pink in the face but he still approaches Soap with a smug little grin, blatantly checking his best friend out as he talks to him, “You gotta admit the pants make your ass look downright sinful McTavish.”

The Scot scoffs but nobody’s missing the flush it brings to his face, and suddenly it’s a competition to see who can make him blush more from the compliments they lay on him.

Price, in all his old man ways as the sergeants like to call it, simply comes right up next to Soap and slings an arm around his waist as they talk to a couple of soldiers from another platoon. Nothing really happens at first but then they’re shifting with the crowd and Price’s hand is slipping down and resting on the curve of his ass, fingers brushing gently and threatening to squeeze but not quite getting there.

When he leans in and speaks his voice is low, sounding like gravel and sending heat up Soap’s spine, “You look good lad.”

The words and light brushes of touch make him reden to an alarming degree if the worry in the soldier’s eyes is anything to go off of.

Ghost doesn’t really say much, he was never really a words person but also he can’t actually make his mouth move in the face of everything. So instead he just blatantly looks his sergeant over, holding eye contact when he catches Soap’s eye and relishing in the way his ears redden under his stare. And if he’s trying to hide the fact that he may or may not be drooling under the mask?? Well, he’s doing a damn fine job of it.

Alejandro is blatant about it because of course he is. He eventually manages to back Soap into a corner, leaning in close and relishing in the way the man stares back defiantly though there is a hint of a smile on his lips and the apples of his cheeks are starting to darken slightly.

“You look stunning mi amor.” It’s a blanket compliment but from the way Alejandro’s eyes dip, quick but with clear purpose, it’s easy to tell exactly what he’s talking about. Soap snorts at it but there’s no denying the way his smile turns shy and the redness in his face darkens even further.

Nobody’s entirely sure what Rudy had done. They had all watched him drag Soap out onto the dance floor, the two of them dancing with the other couples and exchanging quiet words and smiles.

After a bit Rudy had leant down, saying something or other that had the Scot tripping over his own feet, completely red in the face and trying to hide it away on the other man’s shoulder. Rudy had looked smug over it, shooting the rest of the guys a wink and little eye brow wiggle that they can’t help but find mildly adorable.

In the end it’s clear to see who won that little competition, but none of them really feel like they lost anything when they got to watch Soap blush up to his ears because of them. The tight pants and his amazing ass were a nice bonus as well.

[simonbrain]

you rarely call price by his first name. it's usually just a very cheery cap! or a stoic price when you need to remind him of the objective, but whenever you do call him john—you tried jonathan once as a joke, and the piercing stare he gave you made that the first and last time—it's warm, earnest. you almost seem shy uttering it, judging by the softness of your voice, but he calms your nerves with a fond look and an affectionate squeeze on the back of your neck.

getting the privilege of calling soap by his first name, let alone johnny, was an accomplishment in itself. you noticed how ghost was the only one who called him johnny, and so you took that as a sign to never refer to him as anything other than his ridiculous callsign and occasionally an incredulous bloody hell, mactavish, whenever he says something outrageous.

until you did slip up one night, but soap didn't seem to mind too much. he quite liked how his first name sounded in your voice, and when he offered you to call him johnny instead, which you mumbled under your breath to test it out, his surprised expression morphed into a genuine smile, one so pretty a rush of energy zipped through you. now, he won't let you call him anything except johnny—pretty much threatens you.

gaz was the first one on the team who allowed you to call him by his first name. hearing you mumble a tired morning, kyle or a warning but unserious kylie... when he's being a little shit makes his day a little brighter. you'd think the two of you were good mates with many years of friendship under your belts with the way you mock and poke at each other—especially when he lets you get away with calling him the most ridiculous pet names, like pookie, of all things.

while you seem to maintain good relations with your team, close ones even, there's just one person who stumps you. one big, enigmatic bastard who gives you creepy looks and speaks in nothing but cryptic language.

it honestly feels like your lieutenant dislikes you; no wonder you're still stuck with calling him by his callsign.

(poor ghost has been waiting for weeks for those plush lips of yours to utter his name. not ghost, not lieutenant or sir, but simon.

it's getting painful how oblivious you are to his attempts at giving you the green light to use his first name; the hard stare he gives you after hearing yet another formal greeting fall from your lips only seems to make you straighten up even more, and the annoyance radiating off of him every time you call him ghost scares you further away from him.

you're so formal with him, and he doesn't know what else to do—he just wants to be called a cute stupid nickname, too.)

[buttdumplin]

yeah simon is the one to scare people away when they get too close you, using his size and movement to intimidate, simultaneously shielding you behind him

yeah soap is the one barking loud, creating a spectacle and calling people out, and warning them away

yeah kyle is the one humiliating people, mocking offenders until either their own actions dawn on them or they finally recognize the venom in his eyes

but price is the one that launches into swinging. there is no warning, no hesitation. taking a step, even a single word against you, warrants immediate action in his mind. it's no laughing fucking matter. you are a top fucking prize, his prize, the best the world has to offer. john is rabid in his protection, bearing tooth and boot and claw and fist. there’s no point in talking to him or trying to negotiate, an offense is an offense and he won’t meet it halfway. someone looks at you the wrong way? they won't be able to see out of swollen eyes after headbutts them, crushing their nose. someone whispers something nasty about you? good luck even eating with that jaw wired shut. god forbid someone touches you, the other three boys can barely hold him back. john will break countless bones in every way he knows and beat his knuckles bloody if your smile starts to drop. 

[ghostedbunnie]

trouble comes in fours

tf141 x fem!reader reader wants to get rid of her ex and tf141 might have the perfect scare factor

imagine that your ex simply can't take a hint and keeps creeping on your social media so in a desperate attempt to get rid of him the only way you know is gonna work is to scare him off with a new guy. someone he can't even think off challenging.

on a night out with your friends you are venting out your frustrations about it. while you are in the middle of retelling the last time he tried to slide into your DMs the door to the bar open and you can feel the air shift.

the group of 4 guys walk in. most of them have to duck their heads through the doorway. when they settle into a quieter corner that seems to have a great vantage point to overlook the entirety of the bar your friend nudges you. "looks like 4 possible solutions to your problem just walked in."

your eyes go wide and you sputter out that there is no way. the thought of sending a drink to any of them is almost as terrifying as shoving your head into a tank full of piranhas.

the night continues and with every drink, your fear gives into curiousity. what's the worst thing they could do? bring it back? you can just leave before that happens. the alcohol and your friends chip away at you for few minutes before you gather up the courage. you honestly don't even know which one of them you're sending the drink to.

there's a loud pretty boy with a slightly overgrown mohawk wildly gesturing and retelling some story from the looks of it. when the dim light catch his eyes just right they almost glint silver.

another one but great deal calmer sits opposite, he has a killer smile with slight dimples. just the sight of those dimples could make panties drop.

next to him is a possibly older guy around 40s you'd wager, you can't see his face clearly because half of it is hidden underneath a hat and the other under a very impressive beard. but even from the little you can see the rug burn from that beard would definitely be worth it. simply based on the commanding air around him.

in the corner next to the loud-mouth sits a shadow. honestly in your slight drunk daze you almost missed him in his dark hoodie, pants and face mask. you don't see him drink but the drink in front of him does magically disappear anyway. and whenever you turn around from gawking you swear you can feel someone's stare. but as you get the chills you tell yourself it's probably the a/c blaring.

imagine your surprise when the bartender sends 4 drinks to the table and when you look back to asses the situation you have 4 (well 3 as the big boy in the corner doesn't touch the drink but inclines his head at you) miming a clinking motion while sipping on the drinks.

the mortification doesn't end because when your friends abandon you for some more dance time and you turn to get up to the bathroom you walk straight into a hard chest of the pretty boy. he calms your apologies from running into him with a smile. "wanted ta thank you for the drink, bonnie."

heat rushes to your face as you try to somehow talk your way out of this mess because what seemed like a great idea when your head was swimming with 9 drinks is starting to seem a lot worse now that you are slowly sobering up.

"nothing ta worry 'bout. come sit with us. it feels wrong to keep a bonnie lass like yerself all alone."

next up: simon's ver. // others are coming soon

[ghouldtime]

Soap who thought that when you called him "Dove", you were just being sweet and affectionate. No ulterior meaning

Soap who only realized that wasn't the case when you called him "Irish Spring" while upset at him one day

The realization finally Dawned on him

[moon-my-beloved]

neighbors (tf141 x fem! reader)

part II: company

tw: a bit of obsession and touches from the boys but nothing sexual!! possessiveness. mentions of reader fitting ‘snug’ in a dress but nothing too specific. that’s it. - xoxo

the ride back home was quiet.

silence stretching over the small murmurs of the radio warning people of temperatures dropping along with the sound of the engine running as you drove, grocery bags shoved into the back of the seat.

it really wasn’t until you made it home that you had snapped out of your momentarily dream-like state that you realized what you have done.

you still couldn’t believe it. why couldn’t you just have come up with something, anything to avoid making a fool of yourself with how bad you’re with people.

“oh god,” you groan to yourself. pressing your forehead against the steering wheel with embarrassment taking over your senses. why of all times did you just have to coincidently bump into them?!

you really would’ve preferred it if you had encountered them on a free day and not when you’re trudging around the damn store with your dingy old work clothes. then again, kyle and johnny seemed.. trustworthy at first glance. not to mention how beautiful they were.

they carried an air to them that felt friendly enough but dangerous as well. your brain going blank for a moment when you were surrounded by the two men. an invisible thread luring you into their trap. you don’t know if it was kyles sweet voice or the smell of amber from johnny’s cologne, but they had left you with a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. leaving you in a trance for a split-second before uttering the only syllables you could think of.

blood rushes to your face with shame thinking about them in such ways. how long has it been since you’ve experienced this? clearly long enough from the looks of it. your palms are sweaty, breath a bit short, and your heart is practically beating its way out of your chest like you’re some sort of high school girl being forced to confess to their crush.

you jolt a bit at the sound of a small “buzz” coming from your phone. your eyes almost bulging out of your skull when you unlock your screen— it’s a message from johnny and kyle.

< made a small group chat to make it easier. hope you don’t mind luv.

< we’ll see ye tmrw night, right bonnie?

your fingers hover over the keys, chewing at your bottom lip anxiously as you contemplate how to respond. kyle had mentioned meeting the rest of the team, ignoring how just the thought of talking to them made you want to curl yourself up into a ball until you became invisible. it really wouldn’t hurt to meet them. it will be okay. they were your neighbors for god sake.

taking a deep breath, you typed out what you were going to say.

> sure! sounds good. :)

you barely managed to calm down your nerves before your phone vibrated again.

< atta girl. we’ll see ye at 6.

what did you get yourself into.

you had nearly forgotten how much effort it takes to get ready.

you really weren’t one to wake up early, especially during your off days but today was an exemption. hopping into the shower to shave, exfoliate, moisturize, and pretty much scrub off every crevice from your body as soon as your alarm went off. practically stumbling your way out of the bathroom with how lightheaded you felt by the end of it.

your makeup was next. trying your best to copy a look off of pinterest and almost calling it a day with the many times you had to redo your eyeliner. nevertheless, you had successfully overcome that obstacle. which brings you to your own little dilemma: you had nothing good to wear.

all the clothes varied from old band t-shirts, jeans and sweatpants you wore to laze around. you rarely went out and when you did, it would only be for a short period of time to run some errands or to visit the old bat.

“come on closet, give me something, anything!” cursing to yourself in desperation as you rummaged through the pits of your closet.

after what seemed like forever, your hand grazed against a soft material, pulling it out to reveal a dress. it was no fancy dress but it definitely looked like the better option to wear. it was off-the-shoulder, had long-sleeves, and was long enough to cover your thighs but a bit small around the edges with how snug it felt against your body. it must have been lying around in your closet for who knows how long considering how you have no clue why or when you even bought it.

it felt weird, and new as your ran your hand against the fabric. hesitation soon clouding your mind as you look at yourself in the mirror.

maybe this was a bad idea. you should have said no. you’ll just look weird, now you’re going to make a fool of yours—

—catching glimpse of the time you gasp. shit. no time to mop in your own feelings. quickly and gently pulling the sheer material of your tights over your legs and tying the laces of your boots once you get to the door, doing a quick once-over in front of your mirror before you were out the house. wine in hand as a last minute resort to bring something. a courtesy on your part really.

they were just across from you, why are you so nervous to meet your neighbors? neighbors do this all the time. this is completely normal.

a chill running down your spine with the sudden cold gust of wind brushing over your face even with your coat on. you stood there in front of their door for a bit, subconsciously shifting your weight on each of your legs as you swayed in apprehension.

you can do it. it’s okay, just knock.

taking a deep breath in, you lifted your hand up, planting three solid knocks against the wood of the door and quickly pulling it back once you hear the heavy footsteps of someone coming.

you stiffen once you hear the click of the door opening, your breath catching in your throat as you crane your neck a bit to see the man in front of you.

skull face.

it takes you a moment to recognize who he is now that he’s not wearing a balaclava. instead, he has a black surgical mask adoring his face, just enough to cover most of his features but revealing enough to see the small details. he’s a dirty blonde that’s for sure, making him look less intimidating than when you saw him for the first time. his dark eyes are roaming over your figure, leaving you standing still in fear of some way offending him if you even dared to move just an inch.

he’s wearing a grey long-sleeve shirt, along with a pair of grey joggers. you hope you hadn’t interrupted his sleep with how disheveled his hair looks. he looks comfortable though, questioning your own choice of attire. you might have overdressed.

before you could open your mouth to introduce yourself, a booming voice can be heard from behind the man.

“don’ be scarin’ off our guest, simon!” a toothy grin on his face as he slides next to the taller man. arm wrapping around simon’s waist before letting out a low whistle that makes your cheeks warm in embarrassment. “well look at ye. so bonnie, m’ glad ye could make it lass, come in. gaz is just finishing up makin’ us dinner.”

nodding, your eyes flicker back at simon as you extend your hand for him to take. “it’s nice to meet you, simon. I, uh, live across from you guys.”a throaty grunt coming from him as he engulfs your hand in his, firmly shaking your hand in return.

they let you in once introductions are over, johnny’s hand hovering over the sole of your back as he follows you into the living room, telling you to get comfortable.

“don’ ye worry, simon doesn’t bite.” looking over at the man with an expression only him and simon would understand as he grabs the wine from your hands, disappearing into the kitchen.

it was awkward to the say the least. silence stretching over the two of you as simon sits across from you on an arm chair, book in his hands and eyebrows scrunched up in concentration.

it went on like that for about a few minutes before simon’s gravely voice cut through the stillness of the room.

“you like it so far?” he asks. the question catching you off guard before realizing what he means. “oh, yes! everyone’s been so nice and welcoming. especially auntie lottie.” a small smile forming on your lips as you recounter your many little dates together.

simon’s eyes crinkle at that, setting the book down beside him as he crosses his arms over his chest. sleeve rolling up a bit to reveal some ink. “‘s there a particular reason why you moved here?”

alarm bells ring in your mind at that. for someone who’s quiet, he sure likes to ask personal questions. you’re new to the neighborhood though, you could understand if he’s wary of you.

“I had some ‘issues’ with my roommate. now ex-roommate,” you say. a deep hum coming from the man across from you as he tilts his head to the side. “can’t say i don’t know what that feels like. have to deal with these muppets all the time.”

you can’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head in amusement. “for some reason I doubt they’re any worse than the person I lived with.”

“must have been a hell of a roommate then. you’ve peaked my interest sweetheart.” simon’s shoulders relaxing from their tense position once he heard the sweet sound of your laughter.

he had to admit, he was wrong about you. you were not who he envisioned you to be. his own skepticism plaguing his mind when gaz and soap came through the door with news about the new neighbor. johnny gushing about how much of a sweet thing you were and kyle nodding in agreement as he listened. price leaning against the wall as he watched the whole thing with a raised eyebrow.

“we have tae invite her over ghost. you’ll like her, ah promise.”

he was ready to decline the offer. ready to scold johnny for even suggesting inviting a stranger over, especially one he and price hadn’t met before. yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. seeing how johnny eyes practically screamed please and how kyle’s own head leaned against his chest as he stared at him.

“I don’t see a problem with it.” price said, giving simon a small shrug as he sipped on his tea.

jaw clenching, he sighed.

“fine.”

now looking at you, he understands why the boys took interest in you. you were gorgeous. a nervous thing. you reminded him of a scruffy kitten with how skittish and bad you were at holding eye contact. your fingers picking at the fabric of your tights that will surely leave a rip by the of the night. he had a feeling price will love a pretty doll like you.

he knew you lived alone. johnny and kyle had suspected you did and it didn’t take long for him and price to figure out you had no one to come home to with how much of a chatter box auntie lottie could be.

and for some reason the thought of you being alone left him with an annoying itch in his brain. an itch that had his fists curling until his knuckles turned white as he stared at you. who would leave such a sweet thing like you all alone?

“simon?” your voice cuts through his thoughts. eyes flickering towards you as your warm palm lays against his knee. eyes furrowing in confusion as you stare at him with those pretty eyes. “are you okay?”

“‘m fine. don’t worry, luv.” your lips turning into a small smile as you retreat your hand, fighting the urge to grab you and hold you against him forever.

silence falls between you again. your palms sweating a bit as you feel simon’s eyes on you.

your attention is soon ripped away from your hands as you hear the door opening, revealing the older man from a few days ago.

mutton chops.

he looks better up close. beard nicely trimmed and kind eyes as he stares at you. he has his winter clothes on. beanie on top of his head along with a jacket and cargo pants.

placing the grocery bags he was carrying on the counter next to the door as he makes his way next to simon.

“and who might this be?” he asks, staring down at you as you scramble to stand up and walk towards him. stuttering a small introduction as you extend your hand which he takes and brings closer to his face. staring wide-eyed as he presses a small kiss against the skin before he lets you go.

“it’s a pleasure to meet you. the boys have been talking about you.” he says, letting out a gruff chuckle as he takes the beanie off his head.

“i hope good things, sir.” you return with a tight smile. a small snort can be heard next to him as simon tilts his chin down to hide his laughter. mutton chops sending him a hard glare before returning his attention back to you.

“just call me john, darlin’. we are all friends here, right?” you can only nod, muttering a small apology before kyle and johnny come walking back to the living room, announcing that dinner is ready.

kyle brings you into a hug, pressing a small kiss against the side of your face between your jaw and neck that has you sucking in your breath.

“I’m so glad you could make it. I hope you’re hungry, i made a big feast.” his hands lingering a bit before johnny slides next to him, pushing him a bit to the side.

“kyle an’ simon are our little chefs of the house.” sending a teasing look at their direction as simon just rolls his eyes while kyle pulls johnny in for a quick kiss. your face heating up as you’re smushed between their bodies.

“stop hovering’ over the bird and let’s eat. we all are hungry.” price says, gently pulling you close to him as he leads you to the dinner table. the boys following behind them as you hear johnny and kyle wince at simon smacking them on the back of their head.

dinner goes smoothly. the men talking amongst each other where you stay quiet for the most part but are quick to shoot a response when they ask questions.

oblivious to the way their gaze never wavers every time you speak.

your tummy full with all the delicious food kyle made that had you moaning with every bite. kyle biting his lip to hide the small grin forming with how he preened in satisfaction.

with everyone occupied with their food, you took the moment to analyze all of them. there’s definitely a strong relationship between the four men.

price reaching out to squeeze kyle’s hand in appreciation by the end of dinner as the younger man just sends him a fond look.

johnny and simon were practically glued by the hip. soap naturally brushing his hand against simon’s thigh every time he talked or made a horrible dad joke which you couldn’t help but laugh every single time. they all fitted with one another like a puzzle. a small glow coming from them with all the gazes and smiles they shared.

at times you felt like you were an intruder watching from outside the glass, and maybe it was envy you felt. not towards the men but towards the love and devotion they had for one another. they were all beautiful and you were the ugly duckling of the group.

you had gone quiet without you realizing it, price touching your shoulder as you jolted in surprise. turning your head towards him as you’re met with a soft gaze. “we lost you there for a minute, love.”

“i.. I’m sorry. I kinda got lost in thought.” you say, offering a little laugh as you gulp down the last of your wine. god, how much have you drunk to get this emotional over something so meaningless?

if john notices the way your voice wavers or the way you eyes gloss over, he doesn’t comment on it. instead, asking kyle and johnny to take you to the couch to watch a movie as him and simon clean the dishes. ignoring your protests in helping and shutting you up with a stern look.

johnny pinches your cheek as you sulk like a child for not being able to help. “you’re our guest silly. would be rude tae make ye work.” setting you down on the comfy couch, blanket in hand as he sits to your right and kyle to your left. squished between their warm bodies.

“get comfortable, princess.” kyle murmurs beside you, the hairs on your neck standing with how close he is. wondering if they could hear goat fast your heart is beating.

the boys insist in you to pick the movie, settling on watching the “elf” with christmas just around the corner. you try your very best to stay focused on the tv screen, ignoring the way johnny ever so often lightly brushes his fingers against your shoulder with how he rests his arm around the back of the couch. or the way kyle brushes his leg against your thigh, sending you an innocent simple every time you look his way.

at some point in the middle of the movie, your eyes grow heavy. your body fighting the urge to shut down after a long week of work. you soon lose the battle, the mixture of both kyle and johnny’s warmness, their scents, soft touches and way of making you feel relaxed win over your consciousness.

you think you feel a soft blanket drape itself on you along with your shoes being removed. the faintest touch against your cheek before you drift to sleep.

“goodnight mo luaidh.”

a/n: I’m not very proud of this one but i tried my best. 😓 please let me know if there’s anything i should fix/improve on. love ya! <33

[soapppp]

CW: past homophobia and transphobia, 141 x soap, mentions of smut

Soap grew up with a loving family. They all acted for each other, all have love languages of words of affirmation and gift giving, something Soap thrived in doing for others. He was praised for his skills in the military and, while he never cared, they were happy to show all his medals on display inside their living room. When he first got sent home for an injury they pampered him to the point he had to make a lock for his room just to get some peace. He was sure he was going to get a permanent dent in his forehead from all the kisses his mother would give him.

They supported him in everyone way but one.

When Soap came out as gay they didn’t care, happy he was finally out of denial, but when he mentioned going to a queen club they warned him of drag queens and woman who ‘pretend’ to be men.

Soap had sobbed that night, cutting up the pink skirt he had bought for himself a few weeks back. He didn’t care for drag, but the outfits he adored. But that was the one thing his family wouldn’t support. So, soap just gave up on those dreams and forced himself to stop staring at the pretty dresses in shop windows. He was scared of being hated by his family, and more terrified when he learnt how some people only let men wear skirts because it was a kink or fetish of theirs.

He felt alone, trapped in his body with no way to express himself without hate or depravity taking over.

Then he meet his partners.

It was Gaz who figured it out first, seeing his best friend and new lover stare at girls in skirts and mannequins in thrills skirts and realising what his partner wanted. He didn’t pretend that it didn’t arouse him at first, but that quickly changed when he saw the longing in his partners eyes shift to a bitter self-hate. He talked to Ghost and Price, making sure to clarify he was only speculating, and together the three of them began to casually mention how they liked drag race and thought skirts would be more comfortable than pants in the heat. Natural things that didn’t fetishise or make the other think they knew something, but it was worth it when Soap eventually cracked after Price made the final push.

Soap had looked at his lover with awe, shocked and amazed as he saw Price wearing a long brown sun dress in his office as he spoke to Laswel like it was nothing. He didn’t make a fuss about it, didn’t ask for attention or anything, he just wore it. The long puffy sleeves half rolled up on his hairy arms made Soap feel so seen despite the fact he wasn’t even the one wearing it.

Price called the others in and the three of them held onto Soap as he sobbed about how he thought it was wrong and illegal but Price, captain and bear of the 141 was doing it.

Price admitted he wasn’t big on the dress, seeing it as just simple clothes and a bit too vulnerable for his paranoid mind, but that he would be happy to wear it again if it would make Soap feel safer.

Not long after they took Soap for his first ever shopping spree, buying him over twenty skirts and seventeen dresses for him to try, all different styles so he could mix and match till he found something fitting. They stayed by him the first time he tried one on and kisses away his tears as he cried in joy. They sat next to him when he first went to the mess hall with a green skirt on, that only just went to his knees, ready to fight of anyone for their lover and they held his hand tightly when a private gave him a big smile and said he was pretty so he wouldn’t burst into tears.

Most importantly, they waited for him to initiate sex while he was dolled up so he wouldn’t feel sexualised. It took a full year for him to feel ready for that and Ghost made sure it was the most attentive sex he had ever experienced.

[wishfuldivine]

The 141 kissing Gaz's nose every time he cringes at something?

John can't contain it much. Gaz looks absolutely fucking adorable when his sergeant cringes at a movie that is so cliché for his liking. The captain leans forward and pecks his cute nose.

Johnny does anything to make him cringe. Even goes as far as eating with his mouth open, the Scot knows how much he despises it. The sergeant laughs and coos, planting a kiss to his cute nose.

Simon is more subtle. He says the most cringe dad jokes ever, and the sergeant just STARES while cringing to no end. The lieutenant chuckles and presses his lips onto his cute nose.

[klaart]

The gangs all here👍

Edit:// hurt no comfort :)

Edit2: I lied part 2 is posted‼️

[drgnflyteabox]

red ochre [2]

series masterlist previous || part two -> woad and weld || part three -> orpiment

pairing: viking goap x fem! nun reader summary: you recover from the boat, and wonder why you were taken w.c: 3.9k tags/warnings: pain, caretaking, food, stomach issues, threats, mean simon, fears of rape (doesn't happen), viking-typical slavery, unwanted cuddling / massage / touching, alcohol, scars, violence, hunting, laswell hello!, reader has some puritanical attitudes / assumptions but she was a nun so, power imbalance, dubcon comfort, crying, religious themes (dldr)

You're a stone sunk to the bottom of the ocean, pulled under by exhaustion and turmoil. It's the sleep of the dead, dreamless and unreachable.

Vaguely, in moments of semi-consciousness, you hear voices and feel softness against your skin, warmth all around you. The brush of fingers against your cheeks.

When you do wake, it's like crossing between different worlds, with a head full of cotton and fog. Your sense of smell comes alive before anything else, the smell of food permeating the air around you.

Fish. Cream. Something herbaceous, something earthy. A fire crackles closeby, warming the air, warming you. You can feel fur touching your arms and legs, draped over you and flat underneath you.

It only serves to soften to blow of pain, overwhelming pain. True awareness comes then, waking you with a gasp that alerts-

"Did she just-"

"Sh!" Simon's voice, coming closer. "You awake?" his face comes into view above - you only recognize him by voice.

He's scarred, big and small, but the most eye-catching one bisects his face, splitting it into two from his cheekbone to his jaw on the other side. It's deep, raised, angry even if you can tell it's healed.

You scream.

It's a weak sound, the cry of somebody that knows it's pointless and yet can't help but shout into the void and hope that something will answer.

Before, that would have been god. You'd have prayed, lived as a hermit, sequestered yourself to a cave and live as one of the great ascetic saints. A life even further dedicated than nunhood.

Since he had refused to answer you on the boat, you turn away, and whimper like an injured dog when that scarred face turns to a mask of stone.

"Ha!" Johnny doesn't pick up on the tension that's rising, slowly, as you tremble under Simons gaze. Or maybe he does, and he doesn't care. "Havnae seen his ugly mug yet, have ye? Dinnae worry, lamb."

Guilt curls in your belly, dampening your fear. Simon doesn't look shamed, but you weren't afraid of his scars - truly, you were disoriented, barely clothed and towered over by the same man that took you.

"He won't bite," Johnny continues. He walks over and lays a hand on Simons waist, fingers curling in the off-white fabric. "Well, not ye."

A wink.

"Hush!" Simon barks. "Get her up, she needs to eat."

There's no hesitation. Johnny leans down to you, pulling you until you sit up with a wince. You bite your lips to keep from crying out again, pain lancing through your muscles. You're seized by muscle spasms, by the fiery hot pain of your chafed wrists and a gnawing, deep hunger in your stomach.

"How-" you choke, throat dry and voice unused. Johnny pauses helping you up to listen. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Few days, lass. It's the evening," he grins. "Ye should thank us. Kept ye warm, washed, slipped ye broth into that lovely mouth-"

Simon puts a wooden bowl down onto the table, louder than necessary. There's a grumble from Johnny, but he gets you up and waits while your legs get used to weight on them again.

You're half-dragged, mostly carried to the table. All you're wearing is that shirt, nipples pebbled against the front from the cold. Hard to care too much when your muscles scream even holding yourself sitting up.

You lean on Johnny as Simon ladles soup into bowls, hunched over the kitchen hearth, silent as the grave.

"Eat slowly," is all he says.

It smells good, herby and warm. Your stomach groans and gurgles and begs you to eat, but you're weary. Afraid. Only when the men eat that you pick up a carved wooden spoon and hesitantly slurp.

Heat. Satisfaction. Eating is incredible, and you discover the wonderous ingredients loaded into the soap; salmon, potatoes, a green herb that tastes like sharp, citrussy grass.

Then your stomach cramps, and you tilt with nausea.

"Too fast?" Johnny coos, rubbing a big palm up and down your back. "Awe."

"That's enough, then," Simon goes to take your bowl, but you're too fast. You pull it close to your chest, spilling a little onto the table and drops soak into your shirt. "You can have some later. I said that's enough."

You hold fast. Your stomach hurts, but you're desperate for some form of control. All the terror and all the uncertainty rises, rushing through your finally conscious brain into a battle of strength. You took me but I have agency! it says. You took me but I can take this!

He's too strong.

The wood bowl clatters against the ground with a crack, hot soup spilling on the floor. You heave with the force of your breathing, afraid and too-aware of your predicament.

Taken, snatched, at the mercy of men whose intentions are unclear.

You're too slow to cower when Simon's arm shoots forward and grabs your jaw, hard and mean, giving you a squeeze.

"Now we've been nice to you," he starts. His voice is as solid as his arm. You start to shake. "But I can just as easily put you over my knee. That what you want?"

You shake your head.

"That's what I thought."

Johnny leaves after the soup is cleaned and you're tucked back into the bed again, muscles trembling still with the exertion of your first meal. Small, electric spasms make you wince every one in a while. Your wrists are bruised and scabbed, but healing. They feel hot and itchy, but Simon tells you as he rubs an ointment into the wound that they're healing well.

You try to shy away, hide yourself, when he notices your grimace and reaches for a calf. The look he gives you stops you, takes your breath, until he shakes his head and starts rubbing deep circles into the tenderest spot of your muscle.

"God!" you should. A wonder how badly you can hurt from just laying in bed. He snorts. "Ow!"

"Don't be dramatic," his thumb presses deeply, moving down, then back up. Squeezing. The bed dips with his weight as he scoots closer to you.

You take a moment to look around you. The cabin is made of wood, warmed by the fire, and is full to the brim. Clay pots, furs, tools, a couple barrels- they're everywhere, unorganized. Makes you wonder about the sacred items they'd stolen from your convent.

"Why did you take me?" someone bolder has possessed you. Your mouth twists when Simon's eyes find yours.

His hands don't stop moving. They switch legs, pulling the finished one onto his big thigh. It does feel better, relaxed and tender in a good sort of way, pain not so unbearable anymore.

"You're our spoils," he moves down, digging into your arch. You almost yelp. "D'you know what we gave up for you?"

Something in your chest squeezes, something scared and unpleasant. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"That's alright," Simon murmurs. Your anxiety fights against the comfort he's giving you. "You'll be alright."

He flits his gaze downwards, eyeing you. Your breath catches when you realize that the position has left your legs open, shirt ridden up, and he's looking right at your bare cunt.

"Ah!" you pull your knees shut, hands finding where you're exposed and folding over, cupping yourself, face ablaze. Tears prick at your eyes again, fear winning over comfort.

Simon doesn't let you panic for long.

"I won't force myself on you, pet," he grunts. "We won't."

There isn't much choice but to hang on to his words for dear life, to believe that he won't force you. The hope is fragile, but it's there. You take the chance to pull a soft, worn blanket over your body.

"Am I to be your slave?" your voice wavers.

"No," he says simply.

For a long time, you watch him. He putters about, moving things, unloading boxes no doubt full of supplies used for raids. You wonder if that means he doesn't intend to go on another one, then wonder what they'll do with you if they do leave.

Johnny comes back flushed, smiling. You smell sweetness under his sweat, something you can't recognize. His eyes crinkle when he sees you.

"Two nights," he breathes, looking at you but talking to Simon. "They'll celebrate in two nights."

Your stomach tenses, roiling, eyes fluttering with the effort to stay awake. Even a short time is much for you after your journey.

"Price's back?" Simon asks. He's pulling a sealskin from a burlap bag, smoothing it out with his hands onto the table. The silvery, spotted skin reflects the fireplace.

"Tomorrow," Johnny pulls leather boots off his feet, then thick socks. He wipes himself down with a rag from a tub, shuffling to the bed when he finishes. "Then we feast."

Your eyes are heavy slits, mouth open. You hardly move even when Johnny sits next to you and brushes a thumb over your cheek, smiling toothily down at you.

"Awe, she's precious," he says, lowering his voice. "Go to sleep now, little lamb."

You wake the same way as before. A tilt of one world into the next, sliding down into consciousness as slow as thick porridge.

Only this time, you're surrounded by a warmth not brought by thick furs. It's skin, all around you, boxing you in. On your face you feel hair, prickly and soft, comforting and frightening all at once.

Behind you, a chest breaths against your back. Your eyes open, alarm cutting through grogginess.

Johnnys big hand is clutching your breast, squeezing every few moments, snuffling into your neck like a sleepy animal.

You try to extricate yourself, lifting yourself to find Simon looking down at you, eyes half lidded but aware. There's warning there, but there's also contentment. Scars big and small litter his skin, pocked and torn and scraped, all shapes and sizes. Some are silvery while others are such a deep red you'd think they were still fresh.

He looks past you at Johnny, and turns to his side.

"Weren't planning on running, where you?" his voice is low, so as to not wake the other man.

"No," you whisper. Johnny shuffles behind you, sliding a thigh between your legs. "Please help me." you wiggle, trying to move.

Simon sighs, sitting up. He shuffles to the edge of the bed, then reaches to peel Johnnys hands off you. His hand slides against the soft spring of your breast, hands sliding under Johnnys to pull, brushing your nipple on the way up.

"Thank you," you're still whispering, not wanting to wake Johnny up lest it irritate Simon. You roll until you're out of his grasp, body feeling less pained than it did the day before.

"Hungry?" Simon moves towards the kitchen. "Got one more day to relax."

The feast, you think. The divide, the celebration. Frissons climb your skin until your scalp prickles.

"Yes, please," you sit up, weary of Johnny finding your heat in the bed.

The smell of animal fat and the sound of sizzling fills the cottage then. You look around, noting an improvement for the clutter. The sealskin is gone, replaced by two standing up boots.

"They're yours," Johnny says. You startle, almost leap, but he catches you by the hips and puts his face into your hair. "Simon stayed up all night."

"Gets cold," he dismisses. Eggs jump in the pan in front of him, popping in the hot tallow.

You have to be helped again to the table, but it's not so bad this time. You arm goes around Johnnys waist, his under yours, fingers barely brushing the underside of your breast.

Breakfast is good. Fried eggs, seasoned by the fat, over gruel. It fills you with an internal sense of strength, and you can actually finish it all today.

"Good girl!" Johnny claps your back. "Gonnae be choppin all our wood for winter, eh?"

After, Simon has you change into a simple brown wool dress. You try to ignore them looking at your nakedness as you drop the other shirt, but the wool is nice and warm and there's even a soft pale shift to go underneath it.

Then he slips pants on your legs, tied at the waist under the dress, and wraps wool around your calves.

"You're gonna run errands with me," Simon says. He wraps your feet again in wool, securing them with leather twine. "Get your strength up."

His eyes find yours where he's kneeling, squinting at you, expression turning stormy.

"I don't want to re-injure your wrists," he motions to them, and you look at the healing scabs. "But if you try to run, I'll drag you back by your hair n' tie 'em back up. You pick."

Outside, you wince against the light. Simon holds you by the elbow, walking at your weak pace. It's a tight village, houses clumped together, shops close. It's a wonder you haven't heard anyone from inside Johnny and Simons home, until you see how thickly the walls are built when the door opens.

The street is wet with mud, and you're grateful for the footwraps. They're warm against the chill, sliding through the mud beneath you when you lose your footing, legs feeling as new as a fawn.

"Here," Simon leads you to a market-like stall. Dried meats hang from the ceiling in bunches. The smell is pungent.

"Nik!" He shouts. A huge, burly man steps out.

They talk like they've known each other a long time, though not quite friends. An image of two great bears crosses your imagination, both big and still respecting the other. A rare alliance.

Simon hangs a bag off of you, a salty-smelling bag full of cured and fermented meats. The man looks down at you and grins as you leave, laughing lowly.

You bristle, but follow - what else is there to do?

The next stop is a real shop, only you can see a homestead behind a wooden counter.

It's a girl this time, lovely and soft. She smiles at Simon, wordlessly fetching another man from the homestead behind the store.

"Big man!" it's one of the raiders - the young one. Gaz. "And the nun." his brown eyes find yours, friendlier than the last time you saw him.

They talk, too, more amicably than the other man. Gaz folds his forearms over the counter and laughs, peeking at you every once in a while with intense eyes.

"Right," he claps his hands together. "I won't keep you."

You're starting to feel tired, overexerted.

Gaz comes back out with a wrapped package, the soft girl from before on his arm. The apples of her cheeks are high with a smile.

"See you!" she sits back down on her stool, wide hips wiggling until she's comfortable.

"See ya around," Gaz says. He winks at you.

Simon carries this package himself, not looking at you as he leads you further into the village.

People make way for him, not in fear, but because of his size. He's bigger than most, even some of the other men.

The third and final place has you panting, hunched with the effort of keeping yourself up.

It's a house not unlike Simon and Johnny's, just bigger. A wide, squat wooden house with a wide open door and goats bleating from a pen closeby.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye, putting his hand on your lower back as somebody steps out of the doorway.

"Hello again, Simon," it's Price. The leader, or perhaps the chief. It would make sense - his authority, his size, the number of scars on his skin. Nearly as many as Simon. "You bring your end of the bargain?"

Straight to the point then. Price doesn't look at you once, which doesn't do much to assuage the fear that you're the end of the bargain.

"If you've got yours," Simon leaves you behind to follow him inside, where you can hear them talking. Jovial, like old friends.

By the time you get back home, you're wiped. Exhaustion pulls at you like invisible strings dragging you to the bed. Even Johnny with his smarmy expression and his patting the mattress doesn't stop you from crashing.

The men have brought you to a celebration. After letting you sleep a majority of the day after your errands, Simon dressed you in the same wool dress and wrapped a thick cape around your shoulders to ward off the chill.

It's a welcome home. Simon had been the first to see Price at his home - he and a band of fledgling warriors had sailed right past the village and gone hunting.

Price is not the chief, as you had assumed. He is a leader, an explorer, the ambitious spearhead of overseas raids. Nodding heads and a sense of respect, of deference, follows him wherever he goes. Even as an outsider you can see it.

The chief is a woman. It's not something you expected, not with the sheer size of the men around you, not with the brutality in which they regale their exploits. Many of them have wives that trail them, welcome them, carry their children on their hips, or are welcomed as fellow warriors.

These are the fledglings?

You're in a wild, barbaric place.

When you reach the longhouse, a building as short as all the others but stretched much farther and lit orange with light and the smell of honey, you're bathed in warmth.

No, not honey. Alcohol, sweet and cloying on the breath of each viking. Their depravity seems to know no bounds. It's the same sweet smell you'd smelled on Johnny that night he'd left - presumably to speak to the chief.

Laswell, they call her. The chief. She stands on a raised dais with Price, murmuring between themselves, nodding toward Simon and Johnny when they take their seats.

"Right here," Simon spreads his thighs. There are no other spaces on the bench.

"I don't mind standing," you try. He pinches the back of your knee until you buckle into him, tucked into the cradle of his arms. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Not lettin' ye sit apart from us," Johnny brushes your cheek, and you look past him to the rest of the people gathered.

Decorated, scarred, hardened warriors. Price joins the group, taking a heavy seat by the man from before - Nik - and exchanging claps on the back. Gaz, a woman with dark hair, but Gaz's soft girl is nowhere to be found.

"Welcome!" Laswell shouts. The hall goes silent. "Drink, eat - celebrate a job well done by our boys."

Eruption; noise all around. She's a carefully controlled, steady woman, yet she's inspired this group of a few hundred into the loudest cacophony you've ever heard.

Simon cups his hands over your ears. You try not to be grateful.

Debauchery. You witness debauchery- drinking beyond your most twisted imagination, dancing surely enough to summon a demon, maybe the devil himself. It's enough to make you pray under your breath, turning away from public displays of affection.

Above you, in front of you, conversation. It doesn't slip your mind how high up on the table Simon and Johnny are, right across from Price and Gaz and next to Laswell at the head of the table.

Even she laughs, imbibes, discusses the distribution of goods with a content sort of smile.

"And the nun?" eyes turn to you. Laswell has focused her gaze on you, sharper than before. "You're satisfied with just her?"

Johnny takes a long pull of his mead, before pressing his shoulder to Simons.

"Thas'right!" he only slurs a little. "Found ourselves a proper little wife, we did."

A chill moves through you. A slow freezing. You tense in Simons lap, spine rigid, heart flipping in your chest. Carefully, you try not to show a reaction.

Wife?

"Och! Sorry, lamb," he turns to you and takes your hands. "Didnae mean to ruin the surprise."

"Quite the surprise," Gaz chirps. His girl has found him, and he's made a place for her beside him. You're jealous of her autonomy, especially now. Taken as prisoner, as spoils, and now?

"You promised," you mumble. "You said you wouldn't."

"What's that, love?" Gaz again, but you aren't listening. Blood rushes through your ears.

"You said you wouldn't force me," you look up now, at Simon and his deeply scarred face. He betrays nothing. "Why lie?"

"Didn't lie," he grunts. "Now be quiet."

"When's that, then?" Price asks.

"Before next summer."

The walk back is silent except for the wet slaps of your feet against the mud. The chill is worse at night, biting at your nose and your fingers. At least your future husband - husbands - don't want you to freeze.

The thought hits you like a boulder, heavy and immovable. You stop walking, drawing the attention of the observant men.

"Too tired?" Johnny asks.

You run.

Or try to, as fast as you can.

It's hard in this terrain, slippery and with the cold burning your cheeks. You have no direction in mind, only obeying the mindless terror coursing through your blood, unleashed by this night of truths.

Simon is the one to catch up to you not ten feet from where you started, grabbing the back of your cape and pulling hard until you fall on your butt.

It hurts, the ground has slowly been freezing with the onset of fall and Simon is not nice as he captures you back.

"Ow," you sniffle, fingers wet and muddy.

"Yeah I bet that hurt," his voice has gone hard. "Where did you think you were going?" a laugh, harsh and grating.

"Didnae mean to scare ye," Johnny says. He helps Simon in dragging you back to to cottage.

"In!" Simon barks when you reach the door. You plant your feet, frustrated tears prickling hot and then falling down your cheeks in heavy droplets. "Stupid girl- get inside."

The insult adds salt to the wound as you stumble onto your hands and knees. Pain lances up your wrists.

"Did'ya think you'd be able to what, survive by yourself?" he scoffs. Johnny helps, but mostly just acts as if you're a doll, in removing your cape and sodden woolen dress.

The shift is wet, too. Less muddy than the dress, but still wet. Johnny slips it over your head and you cross your arms to hide your nakedness, still crying.

"Hey," Simon crouches. He puts his face close to yours, noses touching, eyes deadly. "I didn't lie. We won't force you, you'll come to us."

"You'll go to hell," you're upset now, but it only serves to make them shake their heads and laugh breathily, silently. "You stole me."

"Aye, we did," you're wiped dry by big hands. "And you'll be our wife."

Another slip goes over your head, thin and rough on your skin, well-worn.

"Get in bed."

Johnny listens and brings you with him, wiping the tears from your face as he lays you down. You're as helpless as a lamb.

"If I have any choice," you start. "I won't be your wife, and I won't-"

"Wheesht!" Johnny pulls you to him, hand over your mouth, making room for Simon. His other hand goes over your stomach, squeezing. Warmth surrounds you. "You're overexcited, ye need some rest."

God help you, you're so tired you do.

[accecakes]

Remember who you're fighting for <3

The men on board started sharing personal photos of their sweethearts. Unfortunately for ghost, he couldn't share his own 💔💔