#TF 141

[beloveds-embrace]

(Arranged marriage to duke john price except it means you married four instead of one 👁️👁️)

Your marriage to Duke Price is one out of necessity: you need a husband before high society begins rumoring you to be a barren woman and too old to be married off, and Duke Price needs a wife who is able to take on Duchess duties of his duchies.

You do not expect love, though you suppose it’d be a nice bonus. You are merely glad that Duke Price is a reasonable handsome man, and he informs you on your wedding night that he will not force himself on you, and there is no need to immediately begin attemtping for an heir.

You take admirably to your new duties, have been raised practically for this purpose though the head butler Kyle is wonderful in helping you as well- actually all the servants have been wonderful towards you. You have regular dinners with John, though they are a bit stilted but at least Chef Johnny’s food is good enough you can easily forget the tense atmosphere. You can tell your husband is hiding something- you are sometimes barred from going to his office to him, certain rooms are not allowed for you, and you are not allowed anywhere near the letters addressed to him- but as long as it isn’t hurting you, why should you bother him? So you never ask, and he seems happy enough that you don’t.

Until you accidentally stumble upon him and Duke Riley exchanging tongues. Very heatedly, hands grasping and tugging on each other’s clothes and Duke Riley sat on your husband’s desk.

It’s hot.

What’s not so hot is the way they both look at you when they realize you are there. You stutter, face a red so fierce it’d put a furnace to shame, and bolt out of the room despite hearing John call your name.

And you also skip out on the dinners for now, pretending you are sick with the help of your maids and their makeup skills.

But suddenly, it’s like your eyes have been opened. It’s not just Duke Riley who seems to hold a part of your husband’s heart; the one time you gather enough courage to maybe go speak with John and address the situation, you see Kyle stumbling out all disheveled and flushed, though he has a very satisfied air around him. He freezes when he sees you, and your jaw drops.

“My lady-“

“I- I’ll just- I’m taking a walk! Alone!”

You go to the kitchens instead, hoping that Johnny would have something delicious you can eat. Maybe something cold enough to wash away the blush on your cheeks.

Johnny is weirdly silent, however, even as he whips up chocolate mousse for you. His silence is not normal, it feels… almost guilty…

You sighs, take in a deep breath, and gather your dress. “Johnny… are you too…-?”

“Aye, m’lady. But-“

You can’t take it anymore. You leave the kitchens, and go straight back to your bedroom to bury your face in your bed. It’s not as if you are upset! It’s just- a rather befuddling situation?

Two nights later, it’s John himself who comes to you. You had assumed it was one of your maids returning with a new jar of oil for your nightly hair routine, but it’s your husband. You are glad it’s winter, and you aren’t simply in a thin nightgown.

“Wife.” He says, voice steady yet strained.

“John.”

You can’t call him husband. You’ve spent the last two days thinking and you were… rather sad. You were in the way of whatever they had (you saw Kyle and Johnny kissing, Johnny specifically sending food addressed to Duke Riley), weren’t you?

John sighs, sitting down on the settee while you remain on your vanity. After a moment of awkward silence, he opens his eyes and looks at you. “…what do you want to remain silent about this?”

You blink, raising an eyebrow. “…huh?”

John’s fists clench. “How much do you want in return for your silence?”

Frowning, you set your brush down and fully turn to him even if you feel exposed despite your thicker nightgown. “Is this about your… partners?” You say the word delicately, then shake your head. “I want nothing, John. If you are worried about me starting anything, I won’t. I just… hope this doesn’t mean you will divorce me?”

Being a divorced woman might as well be a death sentence on its own.

He looks at you, shocked into silence, and you quickly explain; his relationships have nothing to do with you and you aren’t a petty woman, who are you to come between what he and they have? You only hope this won’t take away the protection this marriage gave you.

That night, thus, you and John reach an agreement you are sure both of you are satisfied with.

Except, months later, John is no longer satisfied.

With the ice broken between the two of you. The dinners have become so much more… relaxing and comfortable, far less than they had been. No secrecy was needed when you were around anymore, and you only giggle and look away, feigning innocence when they share tender kisses between one another… and the less polite kisses.

John can’t remain satisfied with this arrangement. You are such a sweet thing, now that he’s become to know you far better. He can see the way his men are looking at you now, something between fondness and hunger and want; Kyle helps you far more often now, despite your insistence that you can do it yourself. Even when you do it yourself, he stays by you and ensures you are comfortable.

And he joins your evening walks, arms looped as the two of you speak, laughing and giggling.

It’s similar to your late night chats with Johnny, where he plies your full of sweets and desserts until even your dreams are full of sweeter kisses you are sure will never be for you. Johnny, who cooks your favorites on hard days and who you heard from Kyle is even more serious about only having the best of the best in vegetables and meats and seasonings.

And Duke Riley… for all his stoicism, he is gentle with you. Even when he’d stared at you with doubt and mistrust, no doubt believing you to be lying to John and simply waiting for the shoe to drop and for you to ruin them. Yet it never happens, and now, during the galas you attend all dolled up on John’s arm and ignoring all murmurs about still having no children, you even dance with him and giggle at his terribly dry jokes, even share a few of your own with him.

Steadily, slowly, obliviously, John has watched each of his men fall for you. This, obviously, made you theirs. It made you his, more and more than you already were.

It’s why your current request is making him clench his glass in his hand, with Kyle looking on in displeasure as well, giving him subtle glances.

“-So that’s why I was asking, John,” you remain sweetly oblivious, adorned in a pretty dress Simon had gotten for you recently. “He will not spread any rumors, I’ll personally make sure of that-”

Your cheeks darken then, and you glance away. “I- I am… merely a bit- unsatisfied, if you understand my point. And the stable man is loyal to you, he wouldn’t say anything.”

It’s clear he needs to keep a better watch over you. Where and when did you even interact with his stable boy, Graves? Though he focused on your words.

Unsatisfied.

Well, he can’t have that, can he? You’ve done your wifely duties so admirably, it’s about time he took care of you as well… and maybe dealt with the baseless barren rumors as well. A baby would keep you nice and content and focused on them alone, wouldn’t it?

Oh yes. Yes, it would.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

59 / 3.4k / part 3 of shark mermen Gaz and Soap with human!reader <3

kinktober keywords: dubcon, monster mermen, monsterfucking, teratophilia, overt predator/prey dynamics, hypnosis/hypnokink, praise

...

"You gonna behave?"

You bite your lip and keep your arms tightly wound around your upper half. "I thought I was."

The movement catches Gaz's eyes. They darken. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

He reaches out, catching your bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. He pulls it gently lower and lets it snap back into place, and your lip stings with saltwater. "That."

You squirm in his hold.

Gaz keeps his grip, but lets you keep moving. His gaze drops again to your lips and keeps getting lower until it's obvious that he's staring at your neck. Even if he weren't a predator sensitive to the quick heartbeat and rushing blood of startled prey, he'd see the nerves all over you. He draws closer.

"You're so small," he murmurs.

You press back, but it does no good.

"And weak," Gaz continues. The clawtip of his index finger presses into the damp flesh of your stomach. "I could crack you open like the shell of a clam. Can I touch you?"

Before you can answer, Soap's hands wander up your legs again. You tense. Gaz's tail tightens under you in response.

"Bit late to ask if you can touch her," Soap says in their mer-tongue.

Gaz ignores him. "Stay still," he murmurs, his tail tightening. Not quite enough to crush anything, but enough to restrict more of your movement. "I won't hurt you."

As Soap makes a grab at one of your wrists, the coldness of your skin and the quickness of your pulse sends a small thrill down his spine.

You try to still your movements and steady your breath. It seems like the more you squirm and protest, the more it snags their interest. You're pretty sure by now they're not going to eat you, but their interest in you has taken an unmistakably carnal tilt.

"See?" Gaz says. "You can be good." He drags his claw lightly over your belly again, and you feel all the muscles of your midsection tense. If it weren't for him squeezing you so firmly, you'd almost be lifted out of the water.

"Good," he murmurs again.

"What do you want to see? I already showed you my legs."

"Everything else."

It's a blunt, straightforward answer. The way Gaz says it seems almost disinterested—matter-of-fact—but his gaze is fixed intently on your belly. He wants to see every inch of you, the softness and the curves and the hollow spots and the sharp dips.

Soap's hands find your waist, and he pulls you closer in in a way that forces you to arch your back, bough toward him, and spread your legs wider over Gaz's tail.

You steal a glance down at the glass-sharp rocky sand and the cold waves rising in. "Here?"

They don't bother to answer. Gaz shifts your hips up his tail, contorting you further. Soap stares openly down at your tits through your wet shirt as he drags his massive hands down your thighs and back up in an exploratory motion.

Gaz's scales push up against the crotch of your shorts. Your brain skips. This can't be happening right now and you can't be feeling kind of hot under the collar about it. No, nah, nope.

You plant your hands against Soap's shoulders and push him back. "I said not here! Take me somewhere nice." No, that's not quite right. "Somewhere private."

nsfw ⬇

Gaz digs his fingers into your hips and pushes you further up his tail. The movement grinds you into him like he's starting to feel you get warm and wet.

"Yeah?" Soap purrs, letting you push him away. There's no way you could throw him off unless he lets you, but he does. "Where d'you want us to take you, little human?"

"Somewhere soft and dry."

The two merman trade looks with one another. Gaz tilts his head down at you and narrows his dark eyes. "I know a place."

You swallow. "You do?"

"Mmhm." His tail shifts beneath you. "Have you ever seen a merman's bed?"

"No..."

Gaz’s tone drops to something just above a murmur. "It's carved out of sloping reef rock and lined with the softest, sun-warmed sand. Perfect to lie in."

Despite his attempt to soothe you, Soap's claws catching the hem of your torn shirt make you even more tense. You grab his hand and push it down. A muscle in your jaw jumps with irritation.

Soap stops pushing, but there's a look in his eye that you don't like at all. He knows he's bigger and stronger than you. All he has to do is pull back a little too hard, and he could easily yank you off Gaz's tail and into his own arms instead. He can make you do whatever he wants, and he knows it.

It makes you all the more aware of the strength of his body between your knees. He could pin you down so easily—he could crush you with the sheer size of him—and you'd never be able to do anything about it.

Before either of you makes a move, Gaz growls at Soap in their mer language. Soap's eyes snap up to Gaz's. His face tightens. His hands loosen and slide slowly out from under your shirt.

You watch it happen with an unsteady glare. But now they're watching each other rather than you. It only holds for a moment before Soap pulls his gaze away. He looks almost bored as he lets his hands drift back to your thighs.

"Fine," he murmurs. But the look in his eyes still leaves you with the uneasy feeling that he isn't entirely done with you.

Fine is the only word of it you understand, but you still feel the agitation in their tone and the subtle shifts of muscles in Gaz's back and shoulders against your chest. Still, he seems fine with Soap's hands on you as long as he's not agitating you further.

You look down at Gaz's claws. His grip on you stays tight. He isn't rough, exactly, but his hands are big and his touch is insistent and slightly possessive. His hands drift lazily over your hips, up your ribs, across the tops of your thighs. It feels like he's keeping track of every inch of you he's already felt.

You squeeze your legs together stubbornly when he gets close to your inner thighs.

His grip is like iron. You feel the muscles of his tail working beneath you as he shifts to get you just right again.

"Let me in," he murmurs.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"And why not?" His hands wander up and down the seam of your legs.

You get the impression that he can smell you getting wet when you when you're squished up close against him like this. Does he think you're putting out crazy pheromones or something? A twinge of shame makes you look away. "Because we're mismatched."

"Mismatched?" He snorts and pulls you forward so you're leaning further back and against his chest. It exposes your neck to him and his eyes darken. "Your kind has a real obsession with categorizing everything, don't you? We can be matched just fine."

"But we're not, like, physically... you know... it would be weird. It's like having sex with an animal."

"I don't think humans are animals," Gaz murmurs. He draws his claws over the outside of your thigh--not causing pain or leaving marks, but stimulating the nerves under your skin with small jolts. "Besides in the literal sense. But then we both are."

You say nothing. His fingertips brush up the backs of your knees, and a shiver of awareness travels all the way down your spine to your toes. His voice is low and soft as he speaks to Soap in their language again. He rubs his thumb in tiny circles on the back of your knee.

If you knew what he was saying, you'd realise that he's telling Soap that you're nervous.

"It would be weird," you say again.

Soap scoffs. "You keep saying that word. Weirrrd," he repeats in a voice edged with disdain and mimicking your accent. "Why does it matter? There's no one else here."

Gaz tilts his head down in an attempt to catch your eye. "You're not even a little bit curious? You humans are always so desperate to know why and how things work. You used to poke and prod us. You're usually curious about stuff like this." His voice drops lower. "About new experiences. What if I told you that this could feel good?"

"It's still wrong." Even as you say it, you're starting to wonder. You're already pretty sure they won't hurt you. They would have already if they didn't care, right? But you can't bear to think about how disgusted people would be if they knew you were seriously considering this.

"You think it's wrong?" Gaz’s voice takes on an edge. "Humans have a lot of strange rules that don't make any sense. Do you really think we're that different?"

"Yeah."

His gaze drops to your lips. "That's what you humans get so wrong. You think everything means something. Rubbish. Sometimes things can just feel good. And this" --he strokes the sensitive skin of your ankle-- "could feel so good. If you let me in, you'll be warm and safe. That’s what you want, yeah? To be looked after?"

"I don't... I don't know."

Gaz hums and rubs your ankle. Your skin is softer than the salt-smoothed calluses of his hands, and your leg is so small. He feels like he would barely have to squeeze to break it in two. "It's okay not to know, you know," he says. "You've been through a lot. Can I tell you more about us?" he asks, voice low and soft. "About our kind?"

His voice seems to soothe your ragged nerves. "I guess so."

"Good human." He leans very close, his mouth against the shell of your ear. His hands tighten on your thighs again. You’re at his fingertips. You’ll be his in no time. "We're not so different. We hunt and we play. We fight and we... enjoy things." He traces his claw along the line of your legs again. "We can feel things other creatures can't. Sounds too quiet for other prey, smells under water, under the salt. We like the smell of other creatures. What do humans like to smell?"

"Um... flowers, I guess. And food. Baked goods."

He huffs a laugh. "What a waste of your senses." He slides his claw along the outside of your calf. "You humans like things to be clean, huh? Nice warm water and soap. So many rules and little rituals with your cleaning."

"Yeah, so?"

"But then you spend half of your time dirtying each other again. Fighting and rutting and making messes. Humans are strange. Your rules get in the way of your senses."

"We need rules to protect ourselves."

"You need rules to limit yourself," Gaz says. "No wonder you act so fragile. If you'd let yourself enjoy things, everything wouldn't seem so dangerous."

Soap watches you steadily. He can smell the way you're reacting as Gaz's voice washes over you and the way you melt slightly every time he touches you.

You huff. "That's easy for you to say."

"Humans keep themselves vulnerable. No claws, no callouses," Gaz says as he runs his free hand over your upper arm. Your skin is so smooth, he can feel the tiny hairs standing up as his hand passes over them. You really are like a seal—all big eyes and soft give everywhere and no bite to you whatsoever. Except your words, maybe. " How do you defend yourself like this? How do you hunt?"

You don't reply.

His hand finds its way into your hair, claws tracing lines over your scalp. "Do you know what it is to hunt by yourself? Taking charge when something catches your interest. Taking things that you want."

"Not really."

"It's thrilling."

"To be stronger and faster?"

"More than that. Feeling another creature's pulse beneath your teeth, hearing the crunch of bone as it gives way. Knowing you've caught your prey." Gaz strokes the hair back from your ear. His voice and fingers send pleasurable tingles down your spine. He pulls you closer to himself as he speaks so you can fully feel his large frame cradled around yours. “We don't have many possessions," he says. "We like having something that's ours."

"Oh."

"And humans are small," he murmurs. "So soft and small." He rubs circles into your scalp, and you feel his voice as much as you hear it. "So warm and pliable. Easy to hold and keep."

You catch Soap grin and realize you've been staring at him.

"See somethin' you like, hen?"

You flush and look away.

Gaz shifts to comfort you. "Don't look away," he murmurs. His big hand comes up and catches your jaw to make you look up at Soap again. "Watch his eyes. Listen to my voice."

You blink at Soap. Your mind feels sluggish. But Soap is nice to look at. And Gaz is nice to listen to. His voice is low and soothing. His hands drift. The fingertips of one hand trace your collarbone and the other strokes the softness of your throat. Your eyelids are a little heavy.

Gaz watches you for a moment before leaning very close. "Good," he whispers, and Soap's eyes darken. "Easy to hold. Just like I said."

You feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest. His voice soothes you so completely that the old legends about sirens enticing humans with their hypnotic voices surfaces briefly in your mind. Then it disappears.

His hand continues, and the soft, slow touches lull you further. Your stress ebbs away grain by grain. It’s replaced by anticipation. He rubs the soft skin of your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you feel the calluses on his hands.

"That's a good human." He keeps using that low voice to praise you. Soft warmth and anticipation curl low in your belly. "Just keep looking." He slides a hand down your spine and across your lower back. Your muscles and your mind unwind slowly like a fraying rope. "You remember when I was telling you about a merman's bed, yeah?"

"Mm."

"That's good. Now pay attention. I want you to hear what I say. They're comfortable," he murmurs. "Warm and soft, all lined with sand that's been warmed in the sun. Perfect to lay in. To writhe in. To sink into." As if to show you, his hands slide under your wet shirt and press against the small of your back. He rubs the warm softness of your skin, and goosebumps rise where his hands pass over. "Imagine it. Imagine sinking in. Sinking in. Sink with my voice."

Your eyelids droop even more. You're sleepy.

"You're doing so well." Gaz feels how relaxed you are—the tension out of your muscles and how your limbs feel like they're melting into his. "Sink with my voice," he repeats. "You don't need to struggle anymore. Everything's alright. You're safe with us. Just let yourself… drift."

A sweet, heavy, warm softness like sinking into a hot bath. Like sinking into the sand under his hands. He guides you into a light doze and continues stroking your back and murmuring praise, your body growing heavy and lax beneath his warm hands.

"Shh," Gaz says. You're sinking deep. He guides you down into a soft, warm haze full of quiet, soothing sounds. Even Soap is watching you with a soft, rapt interest, not wanting to ruin the moment. They're taking care of you right where you belong. Deep. Safe. Warm. Comforting.

"What do you see in that bed with you?" Gaz murmurs. "One merman? Two?"

"Hmm?"

"Can't think straight, can you? You're so relaxed." He moves so his hands slide around your waist again. He knows you can't escape this time, even if you wanted to. And you look so sweet and soft. He knows you're almost asleep, almost floating away from him. "I know. Keep listening. Can you tell me what you see yet?"

"Blankets."

"That sounds so nice, doesn't it?" Gaz murmurs. His hands shift again, one drifting all the way to the back of your neck. His voice is as quiet and warm and comforting as a blanket over you. "Just sink into my voice. Keep listening. What else is in that bed with you?"

"Stuffed animals."

Gaz laughs, but it's low and soothing. "Like a child has? That's cute. But it's not like you need them."

You huff, your hypnotic trance vaguely disrupted by his words. "You asked me."

"And I got my answer." Gaz's hand slides up your neck to rest on your jaw. He strokes your pulse point again. "You're getting a little too close to falling asleep. You need to stay awake for this."

Soap has drifted closer, his dark eyes watching you. He looks hungry, but Gaz doesn't push you towards him yet. Not while you're so out of it. "Fine, fine." He rubs your neck again, and you feel your muscles melt under the pressure. "What kind of stuffed animal?"

"Hmm..."

Gaz hums back, his voice deep and soothing. Your eyes are already so heavy, your body is so relaxed in his arms. Your breath is slow and steady, and your skin feels warmer to his touch. Gaz can smell the change in your scent, your body's response to him—to all of this.

"I'm curious now." His voice is low and dark against your sensitive ear. "If you're going to have stuffed animals in your bed, I want to know what kind."

"Octopus."

"An octopus?" He murmurs. "So you want something with so many arms to wrap around you? Something tight and big?" He's so close to your ear now that his lips brush it. "You want to be wrapped up and covered and surrounded?"

"Mm... maybe. Yeah."

Your voice is heavy with drowsiness. He keeps you skirting that line between consciousness and sleep. Your body in his arms is puppet-like.

"You want to be surrounded by so many arms. Maybe even pressed against us with no space to move, yeah?" He slides a hand down your stomach.

"Mmhmm."

"Mm. So you want to sink into a nice bed, surrounded by an octopus with its big, plush arms. Surrounded on all sides with soft, soft tentacles that cover you. You want something big and soft and heavy on top of you--resting between your legs and keeping you warm and safe." His hands slide around you again. "Would that make you feel safe and protected?"

You murmur an affirmation.

"And do you feel safe and protected here? Now?"

You murmur another one.

Something like a smile curves Gaz's mouth. It's sweet that you're answering without thinking. "Mm," he hums, and he slides both hands down your thighs. His claws trace little circles on your sensitive skin. "Very good. Hold onto that feeling as you come up, human." Gaz lifts his eyes to Soap's. "We're just curious. We won't hurt you. We just want to see what you feel like. Is that alright?"

"What I feel like?"

Soap looks down at you. You barely open your eyes. Barely even react, even though you can feel his claws grazing your thigh, even though his eyes are dark and his lips parted slightly. Your eyes are so heavy, your brain so slow.

"Mm," Gaz murmurs again, and his chin brushes your ear. "Your skin's soft. Soft and warm. We want to feel you." His hands slide up your chest again, your breath shuddering at their passing, and he holds you up so your back is against his chest but your legs are still spread over his tail. He smiles. You're so close to sleep, but he doesn't want you to miss this. "Shh. You'll see. You just need to let us touch you, okay?"

"Oh." You let your legs slide to the sides of Gaz's tail and into Soap's waiting palms. "Okay."

...

part 1 / part 2 / [part 3] / part 4

more Gaz / more Soap / more mer au / masterlist

[thatoneghostcosplayer]

DarkFox: Me and @hiro--aoki

手

[morinthou]

'bout time i drew the otter duo of 141

[docdudo]

Aye, aye, you know how some people make their beds basically nests if they have enough sheets and plushies? What if- and hear me out- what if user does that, but like, they do it for the first time ever in the 141's house becase user had never had the chance to do it before bcs of stuff, so it's new to them and they feel a bit childish, maybe try to hide it, but the 141 is like "Aww, they're nesting >w<" Tini tiny idea, just saying

So, the thing is... even tho humans could technically "nest", we don't really have instincts to do that. So, to other races that actually nest, it might seem like we are doing a "pretend nest".

For example: Dragons, Harpies and Werewolves all nest. It's a different kind of nesting for all of them, but they all nest none the less. Wraiths like Ghost don't nest, but he's mated to races that nest, so he's used to the practice.

A nest for humans may feel more like a pillow fort. Like you're just playing with the bedding. For races that actually nest, they take nesting pretty serious, like a confort and safety kind of thing. It's something that can actually affect their health, because it will mess with their instincts if, for example, a Harpy can't nest. They could loose their feathers, sleep poorly, or even get depression.

So, as a human, you could technically nest. But you lack the instincts.

Of course, at some point, you would get curious and start to mess with your bedding a little. Move a few things here and there, maybe even start to use the nest in the middle of your room a bit more. And of course, you don't tell them anything about it, but they would notice.

They would probably think it's the cutest thing they have ever seen, when they first lay eyes on the modified nest in your room. One of them sees it first, and suddently, the four of them are standing around what you made. It's so... human. It lacks all and everything that makes a nest a home for other species.

For Harpies, and for Dragons, and for Werewolves... hell, even for a Wraith like Ghost who has decades of his life mated with these species, this little nest you tried to make was... pitiful, really.

But you made one. And humans don't make nests. But you made one. You made one because you were living with them, because you saw them nest. Because of them, you, a human, tried to nest.

And if they ended up with many, many pictures of your little nest in their cellphones, saved and well kept to show to the rest of their pack later, it's no one bussiness but theirs.

And if in the next time Kyle and Johnny talked to you they were gently and subtly trying to hint how to build a proper nest, you could only pretend you didn't understand what they were talking about as your cheeks burned a cute red color.

[gottalovetumbler]

𝑫𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖?

¹⁴¹ ˣ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝐷𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛!! 𝑆𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑚 🎺🎺

𝙸𝚗𝚏𝚘: 𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚒-𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕/𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚕, 𝚍𝚎𝚏 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 😅, 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚈/𝙽 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙻/𝙽, 𝚢𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐

——— 🚔🚨🚓 ———

-Your boyfriend wasn’t the best man and you knew that. That didn’t stop you from loving him. You just learned that sometimes you needed to love him from a distance, to save yourself heartache.

-When he got mad, he got mean.

-It was your 3 month anniversary. It’s cheesy and embarrassing to celebrate such a short time together you know.

-It’s also your first ever relationship and your hoping to maybe even have your first kiss by the end of the night. If things get risqué that is 😉 (lmao)

-You were so excited and blinded by love in fact, that you even got said boyfriend a bouquet. A candy bar one. A gorgeous lily bouquet caught your eye but you know he’d flip his lid over you insinuating he’s a feminine man

-You pull up to the gate, full of smiles. Of course you were, how were you supposed to know that a base trespasser escaped in the exact make and model of the car you were driving not even 15 minutes before?

-Of course you don’t question it when the guards greet you confused before buzzing you in, not even asking for your credentials

-You didn’t question it because that had to mean that your boyfriend talked about you so much, his buddies are able to recognize you!

-You park at what looks like the main building and climb out of the car, smiling brighter than ever before. He must tell all his friends how much he loves you, how much he misses you when he’s on base and he also has to show them lots of pictures. How else would they recognize you?

-The pep in your step is paused as a man taps you on the shoulder.

-‘Hello luv, were you by chance drivin tha’ car right there?’ A kind eyed man asks, pointing at your car. You answer in the affirmative, happiness never leaving your eyes.

-He tells you to follow him real quick and oh gosh! I wonder if Chad has a surprise for me!?!?

-Your joy begins to fainter as your lead from the big building to a smaller, run down one. All concrete with minimal windows and lots of rooms

-Your led to a room towards the back and step in. Confused, you try to turn and question the nice man when you’re shoved into a chair. The gift and your bag are torn from your hands and thrown to the wall.

-In-front of you is not in fact the nice man. No he’s standing in the corner staring at you, accompanied by a man with mutton chops and one with a Mohawk.

-The only thing you can see clearly on the man who is in-front of you, are his eyes. Stark white against the eye-black and balaclava

-‘Who are you?’

-‘Y/N’ his stare somehow becomes meaner. ‘L/N’

-‘Ok, Y/N L/N. Wanna tell us how you got out and then tell us why the hell you came back?’

-‘Haha…… is this some joke from Chad? Cause it’s not very funny. Can you just tell him I don’t wanna joke around right now, I just wanna see him after-‘

-The man’s large hand slams down on the table with force that shouldn’t be humanly possible. All feelings are now replaced with fear. So much fear in-fact that your eyes begin to tear up.

-Growing up, your dad had a habit of getting mad at you when you did/got something wrong. His reaction brought you right back to being 8 years old again.

-‘Do you think this is some fuckin’ joke? You snuck onto this base and attempted to break into the armory. Is that fuckin’ funny to you? Are you that dumb?’

-Fear grips you and all you can do is repeat the same mantra from your childhood. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. No sir I don’t.’ Over and over, tears streaming down your face.

-Growing up you learned that the easiest way to get out of trouble, was to agree and apologize. To just get it over with.

-The giant masked man continues to berate you as you just cry and apologize. It continues for several seconds till one of the men in the corner, a new one, steps in.

-‘Hey si, lay off her fer a sec. She looks pretty terrified. Are we even sure it wa’ her, wasn’ the description o' a bigger 6'2 man, nae a 5'8 bonnie lassie.’

-The living shadow seems to suddenly snap out of whatever trance he was in and truly looks at you.

-Wide and scared… no… terrified eyes stare at him, full of tears. Apologies still falling from your lips seemingly not noticing he stopped questioning you almost a minute ago.

-Not sure what else to do he’s about to turn to the one man who would but he’s beaten to the punch.

-‘Hi luv, can you take a breath for me? Good now another one.’ His Captain says, crouching down to your level. ‘Do you mind if we help you walk. There seems to have been a misunderstandin’ and I wanna get you looked at. Make sure you aren’t hurt anywhere.’

-Still petrified in fear and not wanting to do anything else wrong, you nod weakly and allow him to support your as the mohawk man guides the 5 of you to the infirmary.

-About 60 feet from the stark white building a familiar voice calls out your name. Turning toward the voice, you see your knight in shining armor coming to your rescue.

-The men though, they see a furious ball of anger, one that looks like it wouldn’t stop for anything. Not even the fragile Bonnie little bird they were currently transporting.

-‘Are you fucking kidding me?? What happened?’ He yells as he gets closer. You look at him, drunk on appreciation and happiness.

-You’re glad he’s willing to step up for you even against four terrifying men. Your so love stuck that it takes you a few seconds, after Chads’ reached your little group, to realize he stopped in-front of you. He was yelling at you?

-‘Wha-?’

-‘Are you kidding me? Wow, you’re such a little bitch, I can’t have one damn thing in my life without you trampling all over it! Now you’re here EMBARRASSING Me?! How the hell did I get stuck with such a shitty girlfriend!’

-‘Chad? What are you-?’

-‘Yea chad, who th' fuck dae ye think yer yelling at? Aye know yer nae yelling at this wee birdie. If you are, then we're goin’ tae hae some big feckin' problems.’

-Mohawk man steps between you and your supposed ‘beloved’ boyfriend. The masked man standing beside him, fully blocking you from view.

-Your eyes begin to drip again as you try to listen to the angry exchange of words. You’re interrupted by a gentle hand grabbing your chin and turning you towards the kind man from before. His thumb comes up and wipes the tears away.

-‘Okay luv, let’s get you inside yea? Let LT and Soap deal with that asshole.’

-‘He’s not an ass*sniffle*hole. He’s my *choke* boyfriend.’

-‘Ex-boyfriend luv, ex-boyfriend.’ The man called Captain murmurs as you’re led through the doors.

-Unknowingly, the men that scared you shitless not even 10 minutes ago. Are the same ones that will soon show you how to live a happy life. A truly happy one.

——— Hope y’all enjoyed! ———

[simons-bambi]

texts in the tf!141 groupchat

hey someone draw this

[xyras-maze]

IM SORRY CAN WE JUST TALK ABOUT HOW ADORABLE JOHN'S SMILE IS?

Like whenever I see his smile I automatically smile too it's like a natural reaction ughhh

Credits to the oc

[beloveds-embrace]

(firefighters!141 x chubby reader… 👁️👁️ )

A friend of yours is a fire chief for your town’s local fire station. They ask you to help the fire station do some training drills for rescue operations. Your friend says it’s because you have acting skills, but you both silently acknowledge it probably has to do with the fact that you are chubby. Not fit, not thin, not easy to carry as evident by all the partners you’ve dated before- whatever you wanna call it.

It’s alright, you are pretty used to it. If they weren’t your friend, you would have honestly refused and saved yourself the inevitable humiliation, but alas. You are used to it, you really are.

You are introduced to Captain John Price, who holds your hand so warm and snug you have to will your blush away, but there’s nothing that can help you as he lays a big hand over your lower back and leads you to the waiting firemen. Three men, though you expected far more but John- Call me John, sweetheart. Captain is just for thos muppets- explains that they’ll be doing it in groups.

You are introduced to the three firemen (a Scot, and two Brits. Johnny, Kyle and Simon respectively. Unlike the other two, though, Simon is wearing a balaclava) and by god, you almost want to say that just for today, there is a different source of water they can use-

“Lay down here, sweetheart.” John’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts, and with a blush, you scramble to obey. The good girl you receive in return might as well be the best thing you’ve even been told in your entire life and the heat between your legs agrees as well.

Though you are quickly reminded that this will probably not go so well, considering your size and everything and maybe you should just apologize and leave already-

Before you can think about leaving, Johnny steps forward with that smirk he’s had since the beginning and a glint of mischief in his eyes. He crouches down next to you, stretching his arms out. “Alright, lass,” he says with a wink, “don’t be shy now. Let’s see if I’m up for the challenge.”

Before you can even process it, he slides his arms under you and lifts you up effortlessly- still mindful of your “injury”. Your face goes bright red as he shifts you in his grip, making sure you’re comfortable and safe. He gives a low whistle as he run around with you in his arms, a teasing grin plastered on his face. “Not too bad, eh? Thought I’d be struggling, but you’re light as a feather.” His grin widens, smug, as he watches your flustered reaction. “Didn’t expect me to be so strong, did ya, lass?”

You mumble something incoherent, trying to avoid his eyes, and he laughs, his deep chuckle vibrating through his chest. When he finally sets you down, you’re left feeling a little dazed, and before you can catch your breath, Kyle steps in and helps you lay back down.

“Alright, my turn,” he says with a gentle smile, his hands warm and careful as he reaches down to lift you. His grip is steady and secure, and he holds you with a tenderness that has your heart pounding in your chest. Unlike Johnny, Kyle doesn’t say much, but he gives you soft, reassuring smiles that somehow fluster you even more to the point where you really, really just want to bury your face in his shoulder. His arms feel solid around you, and there’s an easy confidence in the way he carries you that leaves you a little breathless.

“You doing okay, doll?” he asks, his voice low and soothing, and you nod, struggling to keep from blushing harder. He catches the faintest smile on your lips and chuckles softly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before he gently sets you back down.

Simon is next. He’s quiet as he approaches, his intense gaze flickering over you. Without a word, he slides his arms under you and lifts you in one smooth motion that leaves you drooling (in more ways than one). His hold is firm, and you can feel the strength in every part of his frame. If you weren’t playing the role of an injured, barely-conscious woman, you would honestly be begging to feel under his clothes.

He doesn’t say much as he carries you, but his steady breathing and the quiet intensity in his eyes speak volumes. You can barely hold his gaze; there’s something about his silent, stoic demeanor that sends your heart racing.

Finally, John steps up, and you realize you’re already blushing before he even touches you. Honestly? You doubt your face will return to normal anytime soon. “Alright, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet authoritative. He wraps his arms around you, lifting you with an ease that leaves you a little lightheaded. The warmth of his embrace and the strength in his arms make you feel small and delicate in a way that you’ve never felt before. It leaves you breathless, but in a good way. John holds you close, his breath tickling your ear as he chuckles. “Not so bad, is it?”

By the end of it, your cheeks are burning, and the four of them are all sharing knowing smirks- you can even see the slightest crinkles of Simon’s eyes.

“Well, I’d say you’ve helped these muppets passthe test alright, sweetheart.” John huffs, his voice warm and full of amusement, and the others chuckle in agreement, each of them clearly enjoying your reactions far more than you anticipated. You can barely meet any of their eyes, your heart still pounding from the attention- and the teasing glances they keep exchanging make it clear that they noticed every flustered look and blushing smile.

As you’re still catching your breath, John tilts his head, an amused smirk tugging at his lips, and continues. “Well, we’ll have to call you back soon for another round, sweetheart. Can’t let the boys get rusty.” he teases, giving you a wink.

Johnny chimes in with a grin, taking your hand and kissing your palm. “Aye, can’t let you off that easy, bonnie. We’ll need plenty more practice to make sure we’ve got it down, yeah?”

Kyle nods as well, his gaze fixed on you. Never before have you had so much attention on you, and you never realized how much you quite love it. “Wouldn’t be proper training without our favorite helper.”

Simon, ever the quiet one, just gives you a small nod, but there’s a glint of promise in his eyes that makes your stomach flip.

You can’t help but smile, feeling a warmth you didn’t expect filling your chest. “I’ll… I’ll look forward to it. I’m glad to be of help.” You manage, your cheeks still tingling from the attention.

As you turn to leave, maybe go and ask your friend what else they could need you for since you are such a gracious friend, John’s voice calls after you, low and steady. “Soon, sweetheart.” The words linger, making you wonder just how soon “soon” might really be.

You hope it’ll be soon enough. Very soon enough.

[seaglass-fox]

OH MY GOD I LITERALLY JUST HAD AN IDEA JUST STAY WITH ME.

YOU KNOWS THOSE STORIES OF PEOPLE MAKING BUILD A BEARS OF THEIR LOVED ONES WHO GO OFF TO WAR? I HAVE TWO SEPARATE IDEAS

1. MW3 canon campaign happens, and 141 recieves personalised build a bears with different messages said by Johnny for every member. Heartbreaking angsty shit. John puts his on his desk and doesn't let anyone comment on it, Kyle sleeps with his every night and plays the message before bed, Simon hugs it before every mission for good luck and kisses its forehead. Even Laswell gets one (much to her distress), hers stays right in her living room, right next to a "family photo" as Nik called it. It's just a group picture but holds a very special place in her heart.

Every build a bear also has some sort of "charm" inside. It's right next to stuffie's heart and has matching bracelets because Johnny loved braiding.

2. MW3 Canon never fucking happened and Johnny survived, so 141 makes him a build a bear to hold onto while he's in a coma. He wakes up while they're gone and accidentally plays the audio. Every press has a different message and Johnny holds onto that bear like his life fucking depends on it. He will not let the nurses lay a goddamn finger on it because it's his. They made it for HIM, and he's not going to let go of something so precious and dear. When he's in surgery? That stuffed toy stays with him, and is NOT allowed to be removed.

Ever.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Shadow and Paws

Chapter 3: Trust and Territory

Pairing: Task Force 141 x reader

AU: Hybrid 141 x reader

Warning: Mild Violence/Tension, Injury and Medical care briefly mentioned, mentions of isolation and survival

Authors Note: The reader’s nickname is Foxy, we get the chance to build more of a relationship between the reader and the boys!

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist | Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Dawn was only a gray smudge on the horizon when Foxy woke, feeling the cool weight of the morning fog settled on the forest floor. The team was already stirring, shaking off the stiffness of a night in the woods and preparing for another day’s trek. Foxy made quick work of dousing the remaining embers of their fire, keenly aware of the silent eyes watching their every movement.

They’d stayed longer than planned, both sides testing the unspoken boundaries of trust. There was a growing familiarity between them—a faint, hesitant bond weaving itself into place. Price caught Foxy’s eye with a curt nod. “We’ll keep a steady pace,” he said. “You lead.”

Foxy gave a slight grin, checking their gear. “Think your boys can keep up?”

Soap rolled his eyes but bit back a retort, while Ghost’s silent, appraising gaze betrayed no reaction. Gaz, perched above in falcon form, scanned the trail ahead as they moved out.

They traveled in a silence broken only by the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional call of a distant bird. The terrain grew steeper, winding into dense clusters of trees, where every step required precision and awareness. They were heading deeper into rogue territory, and each of them felt the tension thickening, the unspoken need for unity pressing on them all.

After hours of careful travel, Foxy stopped short, raising a hand. “Ravine up ahead. Narrow, but deep. You’ll need to jump across, one by one,” they said, casting a knowing glance at Soap. “Or is that too much finesse for some of you?”

Soap grinned, never one to back down from a challenge. He took a few steps back, then launched himself across the gap, landing with a triumphant nod. Foxy’s expression betrayed a hint of approval as Gaz made a smooth glide over, his falcon wings catching the morning breeze. Ghost was next, his leap almost noiseless, landing without so much as a whisper of sound. Price was last, his jump solid and controlled, meeting Foxy’s gaze as he landed.

Foxy moved ahead, navigating through twisting trails and overgrown paths. The day stretched on, each step taking them deeper into territory that bore Foxy’s subtle mark: worn trails, signs of old camps, and hidden paths only someone deeply familiar with the land would know. Finally, they stopped at a secluded glade, sunlight filtering through the trees in muted streaks of green and gold.

Foxy set down their pack and pulled out a flask, taking a long drink before wiping their mouth with the back of their hand. “Get comfortable,” they said, glancing at the team. “We’re safe here, for now.”

Soap sidled up next to Foxy, ever curious. “So, Foxy, if you’ve been out here this long, you must have a story. What’s kept you here?”

Foxy’s gaze flicked to Soap, a flash of hesitation crossing their features. “Not much to tell,” they replied curtly. “Surviving is all there is to it.”

“Come on,” Soap pressed, flashing his easy smile. “We’re all out here for a reason. None of us would’ve lasted if we didn’t have one.”

Foxy’s gaze grew distant, their stance subtly guarded. “Another time, maybe,” they murmured, gently but firmly deflecting. Soap respected the boundary with a nod, though the curiosity in his eyes remained.

They settled into a comfortable silence, each member of the team adjusting to the newfound companionship. Price watched Foxy carefully, noting the way they held themselves—a confidence tempered by caution, the mark of someone who’d long walked alone.

After a while, Ghost’s voice broke the silence, low and steady. “What exactly are we up against here?”

Foxy’s gaze shifted, and for the first time, Price caught a flicker of something unguarded—a mixture of worry and resolve. “The rogues don’t play games,” they said. “They want control of this territory, and they’re ruthless. It doesn’t matter if you’re a hybrid or human; they’ll use you or kill you if it benefits them.”

Price’s jaw tightened, his protective instincts flaring. “And you’ve been handling them alone?”

Foxy shrugged, brushing off the concern. “Someone has to. They don’t care about anything but power, and they don’t belong here. That’s reason enough for me.”

There was a silence, heavy with respect, as each member of the team absorbed the reality of Foxy’s situation. Price gave a nod. “We’ll handle them together,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Foxy looked at him, a spark of defiance in their eyes, as if challenging him to mean it. But seeing his steady gaze, their shoulders relaxed just a fraction, and the faintest smile tugged at the corner of their lips. “Guess you might be good for something after all.”

As they trekked on, Foxy’s demeanor softened just enough for them to offer guidance, pointing out landmarks and hidden dangers with the ease of someone who had mapped these woods in their soul. Soap, ever eager, matched his pace with Foxy’s, peppering them with questions about everything from forest survival to the best way to navigate a rogue ambush.

The sun was beginning to sink low when they stopped by a small grove, and Foxy knelt by a patch of vibrant green underbrush, plucking a handful of small berries. “These can help if you’re injured,” they explained, crushing a few into a paste. “Stops the bleeding, at least.”

Soap looked at the mixture with interest. “You’ve got some tricks up your sleeve, huh?”

Foxy shrugged, a faint smile playing on their lips. “Only what I’ve needed to learn to survive.” They looked away, glancing at Soap’s hands, which bore old scars of their own, evidence of battles won and lost. “When you’re out here long enough, you pick things up.”

Gaz, quiet as ever, nodded. “We’re still here for a reason.”

Foxy’s smile grew, just a bit more genuine. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

As dusk fell, they set up camp again, each member settling into familiar routines. Foxy found themselves next to Ghost, who had been watching them from the corner of his eye all day.

“You’re still not sure about us, are you?” Ghost asked, his voice soft but direct.

Foxy looked at him, their gaze wary. “Trust isn’t something I give easily.”

“Nor do we,” Ghost replied, his tone unexpectedly gentle. “But it’s worth trying.”

Foxy held his gaze for a moment before giving a slow nod. “Maybe.”

When the fire crackled to life, casting a warm glow around the group, Price lifted his mug in a silent toast. “To the pack,” he said simply, his voice warm with solidarity.

Foxy’s expression softened, and they raised their own mug. “To the pack,” they echoed, the words carrying a weight that felt more honest than anything they’d said before.

The firelight danced between them, each shadow cast by the flames a reminder of the trust and companionship growing between them. And for the first time, Foxy allowed themselves to hope—just a bit—that even the fiercest of lone souls might find a place to belong.

——

End of Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[thatoneghostcosplayer]

Soap: Price! Bravo 0-9 Is down!

Price: What!? What happened?

Soap: he's...sick

DarkFox: *groaning* take me out of my misery....

[morgz-q]

the fuck bro smiling about

[ghostwhippet]

Same

SAY GOOD MORNING TO OUR TROOPS

[splendsay]

COD FF // Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 41: Picture in a Frame

HEY SO YEAH sorry it's a lil late I got writer's block out the ass

love u mean it

pls enjoy

..................................................................

Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 41: Picture in a Frame

Rating: 18+ !!MDNI!! Chapters: 41/? WC: 109,583 Pairing(s): TF141 x F!Reader (You) Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, mature (sexual) content Chapter Excerpt (🚨spoilers!!🚨):

You spend most of the rest of the morning nursing your single cup of coffee and begging Gaz to make you something heavily salted and carbohydrate-dense. He obliges, but not without some good-natured ribbing, eventually setting a plate full of steaming potato wedges down in front of you. 

"Some chips should help, you lush" he coos, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. 

You're so grateful, you don't even bother sticking your tongue out in answer, you just shovel a handful in your mouth and release an appreciative moan. He chuckles and ruffles your hair before turning to wipe down the counter behind him. 

Maybe it's psychological, but you instantly feel better, and your headache is almost gone now, thanks to the aspirin. Gaz is such a good little den mother. You tell him as much and he replies with an unappreciative gesture, eliciting a few huffs of laughter from either side of you -- Soap and Simon.

Most everyone else has left, off to make arrangements for the company's departure. Pull transportable resources, contact folks on the ground in and around Boston, find someone to fly the whole group over there...Cap had a whole list of to-dos. 

 Soap reaches across you and takes a fry, holding it between his index finger and thumb as though it might sting him, delicately nibbling at one end. He looks a little better after hurling a few times, but he's still pretty green. 

"I'm surprised at you, Soapy," you tease. 

He glances at you, chewing his little bite slowly. He doesn't open his eyes fully, like the light is still hurting him. You know Gaz slipped him some drugs too, so his headache must be worlds worse than yours. "Why's that, love?"

You tilt your head.

"I'd've thought a man with such expensive taste in whisky would have a better tolerance."

He scowls. Gestures at you with a tiny wand of potato. "Oi -- vodka is a different beast altogether, lass. 'Specially whatever shite you fed us last night." He pales a little at the memory and takes another, even smaller bite.

You nod somewhat grimly and pop another fry into your mouth. "It was shite, I'll give you that."

"You two are pathetic," Simon murmurs, lifting his mask just enough to slurp his coffee. You don't miss the slight upturned curve of his lips.

One of your elbows reflexively finds its way into his ribs, but he catches it before you can do any real damage. You squeak in protest, snatching your arm back, not missing how his eyes twinkle with mischief. Your belly flutters lightly -- not unpleasant or liquor-driven. Delicate. Happy. You give him a little wink.

Gaz turns halfway from the sink, brows raised. "You got these two to drink vodka?"

You shrug and brush salt off your fingertips. "What can I say? Putty in my hands."

Simon and Soap make synchronized noises of incredulity. 

Gaz turns on the faucet and shakes his head, chortling to himself. 

You glance from side to side, grabbing another fry. "What? Am I wrong?"

"Careful, darling," Simon murmurs, sending a bolt of lightning through your core. 

Soap lets out a strangled groan and leans over his lap, panting like a dog. 

"Not on the floor, Soap, please," Gaz whines. 

"How the hell are you not hungover?" you ask, turning to face Simon more directly, only partly because you really, really don't want to see Soap yack. 

"Who says I'm not?"

You frown, a protest on your lips, when Cap swoops back into the room.

"What are you lot complaining about now?" he asks, rubbing his hands together like he's plotting something. His gaze snags on Soap, but he doesn't slow down as he walks straight up to the other side of Simon, eyeing the four of you. He plucks his hat off his head and grips it in one hand, bracing the other against the island.

"Nothing, Cap."

He snorts and snags a fry. "Somehow I doubt that. Good as always, Gaz."

"Thank you, sir," Gaz replies, holding a small bucket out at arm's length, offering it to Soap, who snatches it without looking up. 

"What's the progress so far?" Simon asks.

Cap makes a disgruntled noise. "Waiting on some call backs. Keller's got some people on the ground in Pennsylvania. I've got some friends in New York. Otherwise it's quiet out there. No comms from major orgs, not since Kate and Sunny were taken."

Your heart sinks a little. You hadn't expected much, but...you'd hoped. 

Maybe you should stop doing that. Hoping.

No, you chide yourself. Don't be silly. You have an entire crew here willing to travel across the ocean with you. If nothing else, that's remarkable on its own.

You just had to get there...if Cap could just get you there...you could figure out the rest. You could. You��would.

"Just so you know," Cap says, eyes landing on you. "This is going to be a hell of an operation."

You lift your chin a little. "I know."

"I don't want you to worry. We'll manage."

"Can I help?" you ask. Your voice sounds kind of small.

"No, no," he shakes his head. "I don't think there's anything for you to do, love. Just -- try not to worry."

"You keep saying that."

"Yes, well, I mean it."

"No offense, Cap, but it's sort of having the opposite of your intended effect."

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Right. Well. In that case, since I've sufficiently bungled this conversation, maybe I'll just go. Calls to make, what have you."

"But...you just walked in."

"And now I'm walking out."

And he does, taking his hat with him, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. The four of you exchange a look. Soap's nausea must've subsided because he's upright again, bucket in his lap.

"That was weird," he mutters. 

"Yeah...it was," you agree. 

..................................................................... Links to: Spotify Playlist Full Fic

[docdudo]

do u think reader can reach the door handles in the house? xD

They can, if they are on their tiptoes kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Since the 141 had a lot of kids at their house, they do have some adjustments. One of them is that the doorhandles are slightly lower than normal.

They still need to go on their tiptoes tho.