Hi, I'm Leaf, and I used to write a lot back in the day, and then I didn't for like over 10 years, and now I'm back at it again! I also go by SSP, which is my AO3 handle and what I used to call myself.
Please don't use any of my works in AI or repost them. MDNI.
Ongoing Stories
Fun Secrets to Take to the Grave - Ghoap/Reader | Neighbor AU
You're pretty sure that the couple next door is keeping someone locked in their basement, but that's Johnny and Simon's business, not yours.
Completed
Blast Radius - John Price/Reader | Soulmate AU
You're with your father when terrorists attack Piccadilly Circus and strap a bomb to him. You meet your soulmate that day when he throws your father over a railing with the bomb still attached.
Drabbles
Price Masterlist
Ghost Masterlist
Soap Masterlist
Gaz Masterlist
Series Masterlists
Fantasy Adventurer Party AU - Task Force 141/Reader
You're pretty sure that the couple next door is keeping someone locked in their basement, but that's Johnny and Simon's business, not yours. You refuse to acknowledge both your suspicions and your growing attraction to them. Unfortunately, your neighbors find it highly entertaining to invite you over to watch you pretend like nothing's wrong.
You're pretty sure the couple next door is keeping someone locked in their basement, but that's Johnny and Simon's business, not yours.
Part 13: A secret about change
𓉸 Ghoap/Reader | Neighbor AU | Masterlist | AO3 𓉸
cw: dubcon, manipulation, coercion, implied kidnapping and imprisonment, implied noncon, drugging?
You feel numb when you reach your front door. A chip of paint is peeling below the doorknob, and without thinking, you tear it the rest of the way off. Flecks of white paint mingle with the remnants of blood concealed beneath your fingernails.
After you’ve quietly shut the door behind you, you break down in ugly, heaving sobs. Too many emotions flood your system—relief that’s soured by guilt that’s weighed down by fear and that’s tinged with frustration. You don’t know what you’re going to do. Johnny and Simon have raised the stakes and shown you what they’re capable of. Not that you truly doubted it before, but there’s no more hiding behind “allegedly” or “supposedly.” You sat on their couch and smiled and sipped tea and now someone is dead.
But could you really have saved them? You can’t even save yourself, not when your bloodied fingertips unconsciously make their way to your lips. There’s a part of you that doesn’t want to be free. It wants to crawl into the lap of danger and snuggle with its belly up, begging for pets and treats.
It doesn’t help too that when you fall asleep that night, you dream of your neighbors’ parting gift to you. You relive every brush of their lips, every lance of their tongues, every ounce of simmering heat. What was seconds in reality is stretched out and repeated, but even then, you’re insatiable, so you cling to them just as tightly as they grip you. All things must end, though, and Simon nips at your ear and Johnny murmurs in the other (You’re so good at keeping secrets, love, what’s one more?) and the basement door beneath you forcefully swings open and darkness consumes all three of you.
You wake up, breathless, gasping, and alone again.
The morning unravels as you teeter between fearful anxiety and fervent anticipation, mentally preparing yourself for when your neighbors summon you again. You agonize over how you’re going to face them knowing what you know now—how they secretly took you down to the basement to meet their fourth victim, how they chain them up like animals ready for the slaughter. How encompassing their hands are when gripping your face, how ferociously they kiss like they’re trying to subdue you.
But soon enough, it’s the afternoon, and they’ve yet to contact you. Every notification from your phone gets you skittering to immediately check it, but it’s never them. At one point in the day, the doorbell rings, and you bolt to the door, but it’s just a package that you’d forgotten about.
In the evening, you’re reorganizing a bookshelf for the third time when you hear your neighbors leaving their house. Johnny’s laugh comes through first, warm and boisterous. It draws you to the window. You peek out through the blinds and watch as Simon fixes the collar on Johnny’s jacket, his hand lingering for a moment afterward. When you press closer to the glass, you can make out what they’re saying.
“Still checkin’ my gear, L.T.?”
“Someone’s gotta.”
They lock eyes, holding each other captive. You inhale sharply and keep the air trapped there like they might hear you if you don’t. Your neighbors only soften when they’re looking at each other. That’s the only time you ever see their bodies truly relax, expressions mellowing into something craveably beautiful. It’s always been fascinating to behold this love that coexists so effortlessly with violence. Do they share a look like this when they’re alone in the woods, standing over freshly disturbed earth? Do they share it with their pets down in the basement, fingers curled around a thick, metal chain? You’re the intruder this time, shamelessly spying on the exchange until they both turn and walk down the street.
Neither of them spare a glance towards your home.
You don’t hear from Johnny or Simon that day or the next day or the one after that. Gave you a taste of everything you ever wanted and then make you sleep in the doghouse until you’ve learned your lesson, you suppose. After enduring so much for so long, you break form once with a brief meltdown and a mild sassing, and you’re immediately put in timeout. Stuck in limbo, not invited in, not free to leave, forced to sit perfectly still and wait until they give you the release command. It’s worse than when they left to bury their dead because they’re right there within reach, simply ignoring you.
There’s also a chance they’ve lost interest. How fun could it be to have you over when there’s no prisoner for you to pretend to ignore? Or maybe they’re busy setting up the basement for their next captive, and that next captive is you, where they sent you down there so you’d have a preview of your new living arrangements.
(But what if it’s not you? What if when they left the other night, they were off to search for their next pet? Someone who listens and behaves and doesn’t keep little secrets from them.)
Irrational bitterness festers once again, making a home in the pit of your stomach and giving you something to gnaw on in your solitude. The thought of a fifth victim is unbearable for more reasons than you’re willing to admit.
On the following morning of silence, resentment gets the better of you, provoking you to tug on your end of the leash. Since Johnny and Simon don’t seem to be interested in what you’re up to, you go out for a coffee and do not tell them about it.
You have a horrible time. You’re unable to shake the sense of self-inflicted danger that builds with every second that passes, forcing you to constantly peek over your shoulder, praying you don’t spot two colossal shadows tailing you. There’s a line when you get to the nearby coffee shop, and no amount of nervous foot tapping makes it go faster. Once you’ve finally placed your order, you tuck yourself away at a table in the back and helplessly watch as the barista takes their sweet time making each drink, unaware of the precarious situation you’ve placed yourself in.
This wasn’t the best idea, poking the bear that lives next door with your rule breaking. But you’ve got a craving for autonomy and attention, and you won’t be able to settle until you’ve clawed back even the tiniest amount of either. And besides, they might not even notice you’ve stepped away without giving notice, Johnny and Simon are just toooo busy to—
BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.
Oh shit, oh fuck, that’s them calling, isn’t it? Your phone vibrates on the table in front of you, having been banished from your hands because you didn’t trust yourself to not text your neighbors. You spring forward like a jackrabbit and lift it up.
But once again, it’s not them. It’s a call from a number that’s not in your phone. A familiar number torn to shreds at the bottom of your trash can, a number you’ve repeated in your head like it’s an incantation that might protect you.
A deep chill runs through you. You don’t answer the call and remain frozen while it goes to voicemail, flinching when your phone vibrates again to notify you of the new message. Your spine curls in on itself as you hunch over and listen to the recording.
“This is Detective Callum Bennett with the—” Oh no, it’s really him, this is happening. “—Police Department. I’m trying to reach—” You’re going to throw up. You’re going to pass out. You’re going to throw up and then pass out right here in your local coffee shop, all while lamenting your life choices. “—to discuss a missing persons case. Please give me a call back at—”
The number he leaves is the one you know. You immediately delete the message and clear the record of the missed call. With everything that’s on your plate already, you really didn’t need the police to pile on to your problems as well.
The missing person from the bar is all over the news now. Notably absent from all the articles, though, is any mention of the one who coincidentally disappeared from the same location a year ago. You’ve even searched for them by name, but nothing recent shows up, so as far as anyone else is aware, the police are not actively investigating this cold case. A secret between you and the authorities, apparently, and not one shared with your neighbors.
This could be your chance to escape once and for all. You could meet up with this Detective Bennett and tip them off on your neighbors’ transgressions without Johnny and Simon knowing. The police would have to look into it if you mention there are four potential victims, right? You could even let them know about your date that mysteriously stood you up and whose fate is unknown. And you’re a witness now too. A true witness. Although their face is still blurry and indistinct in your memory, you know you saw a person trapped in that basement.
But at the same time, how are you going to explain why you’re only now coming forward with this information? You don’t think the excuse of it was none of your business will hold up very well in a court of law. You’ve been tossed a lifeline, but your messy involvement and failure to act has tangled the rope. If you’re not careful, you might hang yourself by mistake.
The barista finally calls your name. You gather your befuddled cluster of conflicting emotions and shamble over to the counter, grabbing your coffee and heading out the door. The sips you take from your drink are bland and tasteless, nerves muting any flavor, so you end up tossing it before you get home. A waste of a coffee, a waste of a morning. It was certainly not worth the consequences of partaking in naughty and forbidden behavior, running around on your own without permission.
You’re nearly home now, but nearly won’t cut it. Before you get too close, you stop and take a moment to steel yourself. Eyes closed, fists clenched, deep breaths. Rehearsing the excuses that might placate your neighbors, considering what lip service you might dare to offer, regretting which freedoms you might have to concede. One last weary exhale, and you continue on.
Your house is in sight when you turn down your street, but the light at the end of the tunnel is obscured by a pair of hulking silhouettes. Johnny and Simon are right outside their house.
Your brisk pace is cut off at the ankles, collapsing to a halt. Your neighbors are standing in their yard, shovels in hand, digging up a garden bed near their front door. It’s not a visual you ever wished to see, but at least you aren’t witnessing it while out in the wilderness with your arms and legs bound.
“Ah told ye, we shoulda put in a boxwood. Azaleas are just too much trouble. Not even my mam bothered with azaleas.”
“You’re the one who wanted some color.”
“Yeah, but not azaleas.”
They’ve yet to spot you, seemingly too engrossed in discussing the dead shrub in their midst, but you’ll have to pass by their house to get to yours. Although your legs want to spin you around and sprint back the way you came, you resist and will them to continue forward. If you move quickly and quietly, you can sneak by, hide away in your house, and plan your next move.
“Oh, there ye are, hen!”
You don’t get very far. You immediately stop when Johnny calls out, lingering at the end of the walkway to their home, keeping at a distance. But Simon raises an eyebrow and Johnny beckons you over with a wave of his hand and two pats on his thigh. You take cautious, measured steps to close the gap.
“Hi, guys...” you greet once you’re just at the border of their reach. From here, you can smell the dirt and sweat on them and can see how their shirts cling to their bodies from their laboring. “What are you up to?”
Johnny leans on his shovel. “Just a wee bit o’ landscaping. Gonna rip out this dead thing and replace it with something fuller that fits the space better.”
Simon abruptly turns to you, staring you dead in the eyes with an intensity that paralyzes you on the spot. It has you wondering if this is it for you.
“What’s Johnny’s favorite plant?” he asks.
Huh?
“Huh?”
His chest rumbles with a low, staccato chuckle. Johnny shakes his head and that worries you further.
“A full bush.”
...what the fuck is going on?
“Aye, the man knows me well,” Johnny remarks, affectionately bumping against Simon and clearly enamored by his joke. Simon looks so pleased with himself too.
You, on the other hand, are dumbfounded by your neighbors’ cavalier attitude. This isn’t how you expected the conversation to go.
You thought they’d be mad. You purposefully didn’t inform them of where you went, and you were even gone longer than you meant. Maybe they really didn’t notice you had left. Maybe they really don’t care anymore. But even if they aren’t bothered by your petty act of disobedience, you thought they’d at least address the elephant in the room that’s been trampling you for the past couple of days. But no, it’s just you that’s tormented by their actions. For them, it was just another foster pet that’s come and gone from their lives. It’s as mundane as swapping an azalea for a boxwood.
It irks you, how dismissive they are. Rubs salt in the same wound that they dug into your flesh, and the stinging displeasure leaks through the cracks of your facade. Simon notices.
“What’s the matter, neighbor? Didn’t like the joke?” he questions. “Or maybe you’re not happy to see us after all this time.”
There it is, that hint of malice you had expected earlier. You should have reveled in a good thing when it was absent, now you’ve pushed your luck.
“That’s not it. I’m just having a rough morning,” you hastily insist.
Johnny plants his shovel in the ground with a violent thrust. His now free hand glides to rest on the small of your back. “Why don’t you come in and tell us all about it then? That’ll cheer ye up.”
The offer revives your panic in full and gets you digging your heels in.
“That’s okay, I’m sure you’ll want to finish your digging before it gets too hot out.”
“Shrub’s not goin’ anywhere,” Simon argues, tossing aside his own shovel. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
“Oh, I don’t need any tea, I–”
“We got decaf,” Simon states, as if reading your mind. He must have because otherwise, how would he know you’ve had enough caffeine fueling your anxiety for the morning.
“Since yer lookin’ a little jittery,” Johnny clarifies, but then swiftly changes the subject. “Really, hen, yer gonna hurt our feelings, makin’ us think you didn’t miss us.”
“I didn’t say that,” you refute.
The hand on your lower back presses with more force, guiding you along.
“Maybe you’re sick o’ seein’ our ugly mugs.”
“They’re not—”
The door opens.
“Speak for yerself, Simon. I know for a fact that she likes how my face looks.”
“I like both of your...”
The door closes behind you, and you trail off. You’re inside your neighbors’ house again, effortlessly corralled back onto the path of a death spiral, where you’ll go round and round until you expire. So flummoxed by your situation, you don’t watch where you’re going and proceed to bang your knee into something that rattles on impact.
“Careful there, neighbor,” Simon chastises.
Glancing down, you see that you’ve bumped into a wire dog crate which has made its way into the foyer. For a second, you hope your neighbors will offer up a kiss for your banged knee, but that kind of treatment may only be reserved for when you’re truly suffering. Perhaps you’ll break both your legs and then see what sort of remedy they’d be willing to apply.
Something bothers you about this cage, though. This isn’t the first time they’ve had a suspiciously large dog crate out in the open, but this one is black. The one you’ve seen before was silver.
“Is this new?” you ask.
“Oh, yeah, the old one was all bent and beat up from one too many escape attempts,” Johnny explains with a fond chuckle as if he was chatting about a rambunctious little scamp. “We like getting a new one each time anyway. Fresh start and all.”
“Are you...getting another pet?” you inquire, smiling defensively.
Johnny casually shrugs. “Never know when you'll come across a stray that you can't just leave out in the cold.”
Rancor bubbles and resurfaces. You tighten your smile. “I see. That’s generous of you.”
After maneuvering around the cage, you follow your neighbors further into their house. Back at their beck and call, you reluctantly take your normal place on the couch and see your normal view of the basement door. But nothing seems normal about it. It’s a different feeling knowing the basement is empty. A worse feeling, maybe.
True to their word, you don’t see a trace of blood on the basement door. There’s no more blood on the door and no more blood on your hands, all washed away and out of sight. You know it was there, though. You’ll always know what’s been spilt in this house.
Johnny plops down unceremoniously in his chair across from you, legs spread and hands on either of his knees. Simon settles in his own chair with his arms crossed tightly over his broad chest.
“So what’s botherin’ you, neighbor?” Johnny prompts, beginning the interrogation.
Your gaze dithers between Johnny, Simon, and the basement door. Your clammy hands clasp together politely in front of you and your back straightens to proper posture.
“Oh, well, I didn’t sleep very well again last night. And then I went out for some coffee, which took forever, and...”
And you got a call from a detective who’s investigating multiple missing persons cases, one of which almost certainly has their bloody fingerprints all over it.
And it was mean of them to ignore you for so long, leaving you high and dry when you’ve always done your best to meet their expectations.
And you don’t want them to get another pet to stash in the basement, choosing someone else over you.
And you don’t want to be the pet in the basement that they’ll one day discard like all the rest.
And you don’t know what you can do to prove to them that you’re worth keeping.
“And the coffee wasn’t even that good.”
Confessions won’t solve any of your problems, though. You swallow all your secrets and conceal them with a pleasant smile. Your neighbors mimic it back.
“You went to that place on Brooks, right? They’re always servin’ burnt shite, hen. You gotta go to the one on Somerset instead,” Johnny proclaims.
“One at Terrace is better,” Simon refutes.
“Ye only like that one better ‘cause they’re faster.”
“That’s why it’s better.”
While your neighbors debate their preferred coffee shop, you fight to keep your composure intact. You’re able to keep up appearances for now, but your veneer is worn down. Chipped and peeling, barely masking the turmoil beneath it.
It’s difficult to put back together something that’s been shattered. Try as you might, the pieces won’t quite align like they’re supposed to. Even if Johnny and Simon can continue as if nothing happened, you can’t. You can’t go on living your life as you did before in pretend ignorance, can’t go back to playing happy neighbor in hopes that it’ll keep you safe forever—not after what you experienced in that basement. You need to adapt and evolve and find a way to take a step back from the edge of the cliff you’re always standing on, never knowing when you’ll feel two sets of hands on your back shoving you off.
Could we pleeeeeeaaseeeee get another crumb of the next chapter of fun secrets to take the grave🙈🙈🙈
I actually can't offer any crumbs right now because I'll be posting the next chapter soon! It'll probably be out by the end of the week. Optimistically Thursday, depending on how editing goes.
In lieu of a crumb, I'll leave you with the tidbit that there are currently four "you are Johnny and Simon’s dog" jokes in this chapter, hehehe.
how are you doing!!! Enjoying the spring weather? 🌸🌞
I'm doing well, thanks for asking! There's been a longer stretch of nice weather where I live, so I've been trying to go out more, but it's tough when you're a gremlin that likes to stay indoors all the time and are married to a similar type of person. I did run a 5K last week, though!
I don't know why it never occurred to me before now after rereading it like 8 times that Johnny and Simons foster pets are probably also woman and not men. I dont know in my head I just pictured them having a boy pet and not a girl pet and then i was like wait but they want this girl as their forever pet so theyre probably kidnapping other women 😭😭😭
They’ve had both male and female pets! These aren’t really spoilers, but putting this under a read more in case you prefer your Fun Secrets to Take to the Grave lore to be vague and mysterious.
Their second foster, Luca, was a male. They liked that his name was so close to their first foster, Lucy. They joked about how if they could take Lucy’s collar and carve the Y to an A.
The joke is that there wasn’t actually a name or any other identifier on the collar, which has been incinerated and disposed of. But the idea was amusing enough that it played a factor when choosing their next pet.
As they’re both new to pet owning, each foster informs them more of what they’re looking for. Luca is more willful than Lucy, who was too timid. She cried and whined and whimpered all the time, which was cute at first but eventually got tiresome. It's important for pets to have confidence.
Luca ended up too far in the other direction, though, always attempting to escape and coming close to succeeding twice. He was not given the chance to try a third time.
im like a starved dog gnawing on a dry crumbling bone waiting for the next part of fun secrets to take the grave to come out
I'm working on it now, but it'll probably be a while still, sorry! But here's a sample of the next chapter if you want to chew on this while you wait:
There’s also a chance they’ve lost interest. How fun could it be to have you over when there’s no prisoner for you to pretend to ignore? Or maybe they’re busy setting up the basement for their next captive, and that next captive is you, where they sent you down there so you’d have a preview of your new living arrangements.
(But what if it’s not you? What if when they left the other night, they were off to search for their next pet? Someone who listens and behaves and doesn’t keep little secrets from them.)
Kyle in a survival horror scenario where he falls in love with you through the notes you’ve left behind.
He’s entered the research facility that ended the world. He failed to stop the apocalypse from happening, but anger and purpose and guilt drive him to find a way to end it. Even though the building is barely standing, lockdown procedures are still in place, so he searches for any intel that will help access the lower levels, all while dealing with the deadly creatures lurking around every corner.
It starts as a hopeless endeavor. Most of the computers he comes across are useless, either broken or not on the emergency power grid or password protected. He focuses his energy then on combing through file cabinets and desk drawers.
Your desk was his first stroke of luck. You were training a new hire, so you put together instructions and guides for various procedures—one of them is how to override the ground floor lockdown. It’s well written, explaining the steps in detail while keeping in mind that this would be read by someone with little context. Your documents are typed and printed, but you’ve also stuck handwritten post-it notes on several of them. Kyle peels one off and holds it in his hand.
Good luck!
As he traverses deeper into the facility, battling monsters and madness, he keeps coming across your documents and your notes, picking up vital information with words of encouragement stuck to them.
You don’t have to rush!
He finds himself seeking out what you’ve left behind. Initially, it’s because your papers have been the most useful, but on this solo, self-appointed, suicidal mission, he can’t help but also cling to this connection. Everything fell apart so quickly. His team is gone, his home is gone, his world is gone. There’s nothing left, especially not down here. Nothing but your words.
You did great!
Take it easy every once in a while!
It wasn’t your fault! You did your best!
He keeps that last note. Whenever he’s secured a location to rest, he reads it again and again, taking care not to get blood and grime on it. It keeps him sane, or so he thinks.
After he routes power to the servers that host the organization’s research journals, Kyle searches for yours first. The logs are mostly professional, but you have casual entries mixed in as well—notes to yourself that you probably thought no one else would see. They give him a more candid picture of what you’re like. He reads them all, even the ones unrelated to the world-ending event, taking longer than he should when there are monstrosities lumbering outside the barricaded door to this office.
He risks a detour to where the personnel files are stored. It’s worth it to know the names and faces of the people who destroyed the world, that’s all. When he comes across yours, it has a photo of you. He keeps that too, stashing it with your note. The rest he commits to memory.
Level by level, Kyle descends. He’s still pursuing salvation from the nightmare that was unleashed here, but he’s also chasing your ghost. Your notes continue showing up all the way down. He already knew this from your file, but you had a surprisingly high clearance level. He tells himself that you didn’t know what you were signing up for when you joined the research team here. You didn’t know what sinister plots were being carried out, or even if you did, you probably couldn’t just walk away without consequences.
By the time he reaches the lowest floor, what little hope he started with has run out. He’s found no magic cure for this plague of monsters, no secret weakness revealed. All the information he’s come across indicates that the worst case scenario has come to fruition and this disaster is irreversible. He shifts from searching for a panacea to searching for a way to burn everything here to the ground.
There’s only one sealed section of the facility left. He almost doesn’t bother, but maybe what he’s looking for is just behind that door. (Don’t give up! It’s hard work, but it’ll pay off in the end!) When he manages to open it, it reveals a bunker with survivors.
And you are one of them.
He almost can’t believe it. Out of the hundreds of people who worked here, you managed to be among the half a dozen that made it to this safe room. Since Kyle still has his SAS gear on, your fellow survivors think he’s here to rescue them, as if there was anywhere safe left to take them to. They seem flippantly dismissive of the fact that their actions set humanity on a crash course to annihilation.
You know better, though, warily shrinking back to the edge of the bunker, and Kyle feels a swell of pride. You can recognize that it’s not a savior that’s arrived, but a judge, jury, and executioner.
The rest of the room is a mix of top level executives and researchers. In a previous life, he would have seen this as an opportunity to interrogate them for more information. But that Kyle is long dead, so they’ll meet the same fate. He shoots the others before they can even try to defend themselves. You scream in despair, but Kyle is numb to screaming by now.
Your legs have given out, though you still scramble backwards when Kyle approaches. He knows how he must seem to you with gore and blood all over him, some of it painted on by your colleagues. So he smiles and takes out your post-it note and lets you know it wasn’t your fault. He didn’t find what he came here for, but he’ll settle for taking you back with him.
You're with your father when terrorists attack Piccadilly Circus and strap a bomb to him. You meet your soulmate that day when he throws your father over a railing with the bomb still attached.
Drabbles
You're convinced Captain Price has a secret wife
Gods and goddesses AU where you're a minor deity protecting the 141
John decides to do something about your long, hot showers (18+)
John living in a cabin when there's a bear outside yours
Drabble Series
Knight Captain Price AU Masterlist (18+)
Fantasy Adventurer Party AU Masterlist (Task Force 141/Reader)
Neighbor Price and Air Fryer Simon (Price/F!Reader/Ghost)
Price's neighbor is selling their air fryer and Ghost shows up to kidnap them
Price lets Ghost to come to dinner
Price tests Ghost's patience
Headcanons
Getting home buying advice from Price
Price's "war injury"
Task Force 141
Freshwater!Mer!Task Force 141 and Beta!Mer Reader
Would you love me if I was worm except you're also an earthworm shifter
Just wanted to say I really love your writing, I think ur vocabulary is immaculate <3
Thank you!! But also when I read this, my legitimate initial thought was "oh no, they've sent this to the wrong blog!" because I feel like I still need to improve my vocabulary. I will accept this as sign that I've made some progress, though, thanks again!
Absolutely devoured the fun secrets au and I want you to know how deeply I appreciate you for writing and sharing it with us. May your days be filled with light and all the good things life has to offer
Thank you!! You're very sweet, and I hope your days are just as lovely!
