Note: I do write for a lot of people, if you request something I will try to fulfill it! Iâll also update this as I go, but please enjoy my work!đ⨠dividers by @saradika-graphics
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I understand that itâs been a while. I apologize Iâve had so much going on in my life that I havenât had the chance to write again and then I went through writerâs block and then I never picked up my motivation once more to continue writing my stories. I still see the request and comments and likes that everyone leaves on my page and Iâm very flattered and very happy with everyone loving what Iâve written.
I apologize for taking such a long break. I hope that I can get the motivation to start writing once more and hopefully itâll be soon.
For now, Iâll still be on a break, but I still love and appreciate all of you from the bottom of my heart.
Warnings: Flirty teasing, possessive touches, rough wall pinning, dirty kisses, sexual tension, reader is smug and irresistible, chaotic love energy, suggestive dialogue, boys are down bad, reader shoots them all last second
Author's Note: You didnât just want to winâyou wanted them desperate, breathless, and begging for more. And babe, you delivered.
Summary: A casual laser tag night turns into a dangerous game of push-and-pull, where no one can bring themselves to shoot you. Until you flip the scriptâand make sure the boys owe you for it.
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The second the countdown ends and the maze floods with blacklight and fog, you know youâve made a terrible, wonderful mistake.
Because none of them are playing fair.
You duck behind a glowing plastic barrel, vest humming on your chest, every nerve alight with tension. Somewhere in the maze, a vest blinks red and shuts down.
One down. Not you.
You move quickâsilent over the padded carpet, adrenaline in your throat. The air smells like static, the faint thump of bass-heavy music vibrating through the walls.
You turn a cornerâ
And slam straight into a wall of muscle.
A hand braces beside your head. You freeze, eyes adjusting just fast enough to catch the shape of a beard under the blacklight.
"Thought you were slick, did you?" John murmurs, voice low and smug.
He steps closer, chest to chest, his other hand cradling your hip. You tilt your chin, daring him.
"You gonna shoot me, Captain?"
He smirks. "Not yet."
And then his mouth is on yours. Warm. Commanding. He kisses like he leadsâslow, steady, confident. Your fingers curl in his vest, knees buckling when his beard scrapes your skin.
He breaks it with a low hum.
"Go on then. Run."
And he vanishes.
You lean against the wall, dazed. Youâre not sure whether youâre turned on or winning. Probably both.
You move againâdeeper into the mazeâwhen you hear him.
"Peek-a-boo," Johnny grins, sliding around the corner like a shark on the hunt.
Before you can blink, heâs grabbed you around the waist, spun you, pressed your back to his chest. His lips brush your ear.
"I could shoot you right now," he purrs.
"Then why donât you?" you challenge.
He grins, lifts you higher, presses you to the wallâand kisses you like itâs a sport. Itâs messy, hot, open-mouthed and needy. His hand grabs a handful of your ass like heâs cashing in all his points now.
You melt into it.
Then he pulls back and smacks your vest lightly.
"Still lit," he beams. "Didnât shoot. Iâm so good."
Gone. Like a ghost in a kilt.
You take three shaky breaths. Your vest pulses like it knows something.
Thenâ
A shadow. Larger. Silent.
Simon.
Youâre pinned before you can react. A gloved hand against your stomach holds you to the wall, his eyes unreadable beneath the glow of his mask.
"Youâve been busy," he mutters.
"Jealous?" you tease.
He doesnât answer. Just steps closer. Hand curls around your throatânot tight, just enough to make you feel it.
"I should shoot you."
"But you wonât."
He doesnât.
He kisses you insteadâdeep, slow, and devastating. One hand holding your hip, the other braced against the wall beside your head. You moan into it. It tastes like surrender.
"Youâre lucky Iâm soft for you," he growls in your ear.
And then heâs gone.
You slump to the wall, completely wrecked.
Which is exactly when Kyle finds you.
He slides in fast, vest still blinking, hair a little wild. "Youâve been cheating," he accuses, breathless.
You step forward, pushing him to the wall this time. "I havenât fired a single shot."
"Youâve been weaponizing your mouth."
You smirk, tugging him down by the vest. "You scared?"
Kyle laughsâright before you kiss him. It's needy, hot, tangled. His hands roam your hips, gripping tight, mouth moving like heâs starving.
When you break the kiss, he's dazed.
"You win," he gasps. "Fucking hell."
You step back, gun still in hand, vest still untouched.
Thenâthree red dots light up your chest.
John. Simon. Johnny.
They emerge together like a final boss cutscene. Kyle stumbles back into the fold, breathless, still recovering.
Guns up. Triggers ready.
"You really think we wonât shoot you?" John asks, eyes narrowed.
"You want the win that bad?" you ask sweetly.
They hesitate.
Guns dip.
None of them can do it.
You walk forward, slow, gun dangling loose in your hand. Theyâre staring at you like youâve got them all under a spell.
You stop. Smile.
Thenâ
You raise your gun.
Four shots. Four direct hits.
BZZT. BZZT. BZZT. BZZT.
John blinks in disbelief.
Simonâs jaw clenches behind the mask.
Kyle gasps out a curse. "You littleâ"
Johnny just whistles low, impressed.
You blow an invisible puff from the barrel, spinning it once.
"Oops," you say sweetly. "Guess I win."
You turn on your heel, hips swaying as the final buzzer sounds and the arena floods with red victory lights.
And just before you vanish through the exit, you glance back over your shoulder with a grin that could end wars.
"You boys owe me one hell of a night."
Then you walk away.
Game over.
They never stood a chance.
Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnightđ
Warnings: Immortality, past life themes, obsession masked as love, emotional tension, photo evidence of reincarnation, reader discovering truth, heavy atmosphere, implied past violence, ambiguous ending
Author's Note: This is slow and semi climatic, like a gothic love story dipped in ghost stories and time-bending devotion. Enjoyâ¨
Summary: You find a photo album buried in Simonâs attic. Inside, a century of lovers who all look just like you. But the truth? Itâs far deeper than a coincidenceâand youâve lived this before.
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The attic smelled like cedarwood, old leather, and the kind of dust that only comes with untouched years.
You hadnât meant to find it. You were looking for extra blankets. Something normal, something human. Instead, the loose floorboard groaned under your foot, revealing a shallow crawlspace tucked behind an old trunk. A heavy box inside it, buried under decades of time.
Simon had said nothing about this part of the house. Then again, Simon didnât say much.
The box was weighty. Brass corners, reinforced like something from wartime. Your fingers trembled as they undid the latches, the hinges shrieking like something waking up.
Inside were photo albums.
Beautiful, hand-bound leather, some fraying at the edges. You picked one upâthin and delicate. Your name wasnât on it, but something told you it belonged to you anyway.
You opened it.
Black-and-white first. Women in corseted dresses. High collars. Parasols. Then sepia tones, flapper dresses, cropped curls. Swing dresses in the 40s, bell bottoms in the 70s. Jean jackets in the 90s. All of themâ
You froze.
Your hands stopped moving. Your eyes couldnât.
They all looked like you.
Some had softer chins. Some darker skin, brighter eyes, longer lashes. But the resemblance was undeniable. Uncanny. Faces that could be yours in a mirror if the lighting was just off. Familiar mouths. That same tiny scar youâd had since childhoodâidentical on the collarbone of a girl in a Polaroid dated 1982.
And standing beside each of themâ
Simon.
Unaged. His jaw the same. The same eyes, a little sadder in some photos. Smiling in exactly three. Always in black or muted colors. Always staring only at her. At you.
A photo fell out between the pages. A tintype.
The edges were worn, like it had been handled a thousand times. Victorian-era, maybe older. A woman in mourning black. You again. Her mouth unsmiling, but her eyes held heat. Next to herâSimon. Younger. His hair longer, curled at the nape. No mask. Just that same damn stare.
You turned the photo over.
One line, written in deep, etched strokes.
The face I always find.
You barely heard the door close downstairs.
âLove?â his voice called out.
You didnât answer.
Boots on the steps. Slow. Heavy.
âDidnât mean to leave the attic unlocked.â
You stared at the albums. There were seven in total. Youâd barely gone through one.
Simon stood at the top of the steps. No mask tonight. Just him. Just his face. Older than the photo, younger than the time it carried. Eyes like dusk. Or maybe graves.
âHow long?â you asked.
He sighed.
âA long time.â
You swallowed. âWhat am I?â
He took a step closer. âYouâre⌠you.â
âThat one?â You held up the photo. âShe looks exactly like me.â
âYou were her.â
Your pulse stuttered.
Simon moved slow, like you were a deer with a rifle trained on you. âEvery life, I find you again. Not always at the right time. Sometimes too late. Sometimes you donât remember anything. Sometimes it takes years.â
âYouâve been following me?â
âIâve been waiting,â he said. âYou came to me first. In a war. When I was still human.â
âYouâre not now?â
A pause.
âNo.â
You tried to remember. Something buried deep, deeper than dreams. A melody. A red scarf. A name that tasted like smoke. You blinked, and for a moment, the world flickered. A memory? A vision? You couldn't hold onto it long enough to know.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â
Simon sat on the floor beside you. Close enough to touch, but didnât. He looked tired. The kind of tired that outlives lifetimes.
âBecause every time I do,â he whispered, âyou run. You forget me harder.â
You stared at the photo again. Her lips looked like yours. The curve of her cheek. The fury in her eyes.
âWhat happened to her?â you asked.
Simon closed his eyes. âYou died. I didnât.â
âHow?â
His voice went quiet. âWar. Fire. You tried to protect me. Or maybe I tried to protect you. I canât remember that part clearly anymore.â
You breathed out through your nose. It didnât feel real. None of this did. And yet the albums were real. The pictures. The scrawled messages. The dates. The face. Your face.
âIs this why you donât sleep?â
Simon smiled, and it broke something in you. âI sleep. Just never well.â
You turned toward him slowly. âWhat happens now?â
âThatâs your choice.â
A flicker againâthis time, not a memory, but a feeling. That first time he kissed you. Months ago. That heat in your chest. Not new. Not even close.
The part that scared you most wasnât the past.
It was how much your heart already knew it was true.
âPromise me something,â you said.
He waited.
âIf I donât remember... donât try to force it.â
âIâve never tried,â he said. âI just keep hoping.â
The album slipped from your lap. You crawled closer. His shoulders tensed like he expected you to bolt.
Instead, you laid your hand over his chest. Right above where his heart used to beat. Maybe still did.
âI donât know who I was,â you whispered. âBut I want to know who I am now. With you.â
Simon looked up. There was a storm in his gaze. Grief. Relief. Something endless.
And maybe love.
Maybe it always had been.
You leaned forward. He met you halfway.
And in that kiss, for one split secondâ
You remembered.
The battlefield. The blood. His hands over yours. The promise whispered in your dying breath.
âFind me.â
Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnightđ
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Omg Hiiiii!!!!! Iâve been reading all of your poly 141 task force x reader and Iâm obsessed. I was wondering if you could do one where they have been together for a few years but they donât live together so they decide to go house hunting and find a beautiful house for all five of them and how they help each other pack and move into the new house. But after they move everything into their new home and their settled down in the living room things get steamyđđ
Authorâs Note: After years of stolen time and scattered homes, this one is finally yours. And tonight, they show you just what it means to be loved by all of them.
Summary: You and Task Force 141 have been together for yearsâbut now you're finally under one roof. Between the teasing, the tension, and the overwhelming affection, your new living room becomes the site of something holy: four men, one shared home, and you, utterly worshipped.
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The last box hits the floor with a grunt.
John straightens, sweat at his brow, forearms flexing as he drags one palm down his neck. The front door shuts behind him with a heavy thunk.
âThatâs it,â he says, voice low and final. âWeâre in.â
The room echoesâbare floors, tall ceilings, golden light spilling through the high windows. The whole living room smells like pine and old brick and home.
Kyle is sitting on the floor, back to the wall, sipping the last of the lukewarm coffee from a gas station cup. Johnnyâs laid out on the new couch, shirt riding up, one boot still on, one sock half off. Simonâs by the fireplace, back against the stone, watching you.
And you?
Youâre stretched out on the rug in nothing but Johnâs old academy shirt and a pair of black boyshorts, grinning like you didnât just get scolded three times today for being absolutely no help.
âYâknow,â you hum, arching your back just enough to pull a groan from somewhere nearby, âwe couldâve finished faster if yâall let me help.â
âYou helped by not distractinâ us more,â Johnny mutters, eyes dragging down your legs, already gone in the head. âMostly.â
âYou dropped three boxes,â Kyle reminds you, tipping his cup toward you with a smirk. âOne on your own foot.â
âI wasnât wearing shoes,â you shrug, smile widening.
John walks past, leans over, and smacks your thighâhard enough to sting, soft enough to make you whimper.
âYou think we donât know what youâre doing, love?â
You just blink at him from the floor, big doe eyes, lower lip caught between your teeth.
Simonâs still watching.
Itâs been years. Years of loving them in stolen timeâbetween missions, across cities, in houses that were never quite shared. Years of split drawers, toothbrushes left behind, text messages that ended with see you when I see you.
And now theyâre all here. All four of them. Same house. Same room. Same you.
You stretch again, deliberately. âSâtoo quiet in here,â you murmur. âWe should make it feel lived inâŚâ
Kyle raises a brow. âWhat, you want us to start fighting over the thermostat?â
âI was thinking more likeâŚâ You trail a finger down your stomach. âBreaking in the couch.â
Johnny snorts, sits up. âYou minx.â
Before you can move, Simonâs already crossed the room. Slow, heavy steps. Doesnât say a word as he reaches down and hooks two fingers into your waistband, tugging you gently up.
âCâmere,â he murmurs.
You go. Instinctive. Soft. Bratty and smug but already warm all over.
He pulls you into his lap as he sinks into the armchair. Big hands on your thighs. Palms dragging up your bare skin like heâs mapping you. His mask is offâlong since tossed on a tableâand his mouth brushes behind your ear.
âYou been pushinâ us all day,â he whispers. âThat what you wanted, pet? All of us on you?â
You whimper. Squirm. His thigh under you is rock-solid and so is the heat spreading up your spine.
Johnâs moved to the couch now, sitting across from you. Johnnyâs leaning against the cushions, his arm slung over the backrest, eyes dark.
âYou want attention,â John says slowly, voice low and dangerous. âYouâve got it.â
Kyle gets up last, crossing the room with a little smile. He pulls your legs across his lap as he sits beside Simon, one hand massaging your calf.
Youâre surrounded.
Four pairs of eyes. Four bodies circling you like youâre dinner. Like youâre the thing they moved in for.
âYouâre gonna be good now?â Simon murmurs, sliding one hand under your shirt. His fingers stroke slow over your stomach, up between your breasts. âOr you still gonna play?â
You meet his eyes. Bat your lashes.
âCanât I do both?â
Thatâs all it takes.
Johnâs on you first, pulling you up and into his arms like you weigh nothing. Your thighs wrap around his waist as he kisses you hardâmouth greedy, breath heavy, hand gripping the back of your neck. He lays you down gently on the couch, eyes dark with something thatâs more than just lust.
âYou get one warning, sweetheart.â
âOr what?â you whisper. âYouâll spank me?â
He laughs. âThatâs not a punishment.â
Your panties are off in a heartbeat. John sinks between your thighs and devours you like heâs been starving for it. His tongue is slow, steady, coaxing your first orgasm out of you while Simon holds your hand and Kyle strokes your cheek.
Then he lines up and presses inâdeep, thick, stretching you wide.
You cry out. Grip his shoulders. Youâre still wet from his mouth and somehow still tight enough to make him groan aloud.
âGoddamnâthis pussyâs heaven,â John growls. âYou feel that, baby? You feel how full you are?â
You nod, head back, body already shaking.
âYouâre so good for us,â Kyle whispers, kissing your temple.
Johnny strokes your thighs, humming low. âLook how well she takes him, fuckinâ perfect.â
You come once. Twice. Crying, sobbing under them until John groans and fills you up with a broken gasp. His forehead touches yours when he pulls out, kissing you sweet and slow before stepping aside.
Then Johnnyâs there.
He flips you gently onto your stomach and pulls you back into his lap, one hand guiding himself into your already-wrecked heat.
You scream into the cushions.
âSo fucking tight,â he moans, holding your hips in place. âStill squeezinâ meâafter all that?â
He fucks you hard but holds you soft, kisses the back of your neck, murmurs praise and filth in equal measure while you fall apart again, your thighs shaking around him.
When youâre trembling, breathless, he wraps you in his arms and finishes deep inside you with a whisper of your name.
Then Kyle lifts you gently into his lap.
âHey,â he whispers, brushing your tears away. âYou still with us?â
You nod. Barely.
He presses in slow. Tender. He doesnât thrustâjust rocks his hips, gentle, letting you ride the wave of overstimulation into something almost reverent.
âYouâre incredible,â he says, forehead pressed to yours. âYou donât even know how much we love you.â
You sob quietly. And when he finishes, he holds you longer than the rest, just rocking you gently while you tremble in his arms.
And thenâ
Simon.
Strong arms wrap around you. Lift you up like you're weightless. He carries you to the couch and sits, settling you down onto his lap, cock thick and hot between your legs.
You whimper. âI canâtâŚâ
âYou can,â he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your throat. âJust sit. Just feel me.â
He guides you down onto his cock. Inch by inch. Stretching you wide one last time.
But he doesnât move.
He stays there. Deep inside. Hands cradling your hips. His lips at your neck. The others close in, draping the blanket over you, whispering soft words, holding your hands.
No thrusting. No chasing.
Just warmth. Fullness. Four heartbeats around you. One inside you.
You fall asleep cockwarming Simon on the couch.
And when the sun sets behind the tall windows of your new house, it does so on a living room filled with sweat, sighs, and love thatâs finally come home.
Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnightđ
You voted for it, you deserve it :). Iâm not one to share stuff like this but as someone whoâs mother is a minority. Im not sorry for putting out what I think is true. Iâve written a fic on the 141 boys helping the reader through the panic and pain of today and itâs my own feelings too. This wouldnât have happened if we had Kamala. Now we have an orange in office thatâs making our lives hell. Itâs the chance for us to fight for whatâs right before things get further down the rabbit hole and weâre unable to do anything.
Hi! I don't think I've seen any fluff on poly141 x f reader in the tags on this type of ask, I'm hoping to see in this request. But imagine poly 141 taking f!reader on a local fair date. Things have been going smoothly, eating great food, going on rides, until f!reader saw a cute giant plushie at one of the game booths. She wants one and poly 141 ends up into a small competition? Game? On how many can they win. By the end of it they ended up kicked out đ but at least they won her a plushie and a good time.
Ride or Die
Pairing: Poly!141 x F!Reader
Warnings: Shameless PDA, ridiculous competitive energy, mild suggestive behavior, tension that could ignite a plushie, public teasing, light swearing, handsy behavior, emotional softness, them being completely in love with you and not hiding it
Authorâs Note: What starts as a sweet local fair date turns into chaos, heated glances, and a full-on plushie war. They're competitive idiots, you're their favorite thing in the world, and everyone else is just an NPC tonight.
Summary: You just wanted a fairground date. Your boys just wanted to spoil you. But when a giant plushie catches your eye, they start a war they donât know how to walk away from. Between cotton candy kisses, jealousy-fueled games, and being very publicly in love, itâs anyoneâs guess who gets banned first.
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The fair smelled like fried sugar and hot pavement, thick in the air like summer nostalgia.
The sun had dipped low enough to make everything goldenâcarnival lights buzzing to life as your boys flanked you on either side. Johnâs hand was wrapped around yours, fingers warm and easy. Kyle had claimed your other side, brushing your shoulder every few steps. Behind you, Simon and Johnny were fighting over whoâd finish the lemonade youâd barely had a sip of.
âOi,â Johnny said, stealing it again. âSheâs not drinkinâ it fast enough.â
âBecause you keep draining it,â Simon muttered.
âBoys,â you said, smirking, âif youâre gonna argue over my spit, at least do it with some class.â
Simon choked on a laugh. Kyle turned, eyebrows up, grinning like heâd just won something. John gave your hand a squeeze, his mouth twitching at the corner.
âYârealize we canât take you anywhere,â he murmured.
You leaned up and kissed his cheek anyway. âYet here we are.â
Youâd been walking the midway for maybe an hourâfunnel cake dusted all over Johnnyâs shirt, Kyleâs phone full of silly pictures, Simon grumbling in the background about crowds while still keeping a hand on your lower back.
You were happy. Loved. Completely and utterly seen.
And then it happened.
You stopped in your tracks, heart doing a stupid fluttery thing.
There it was.
A game booth decked out in hanging prizesâand smack in the center, dangling high above the others like a trophy, was the biggest plush golden retriever youâd ever seen. Soft tan fur, lopsided smile, ears flopped like it was already tired of life.
Your eyes lit up.
You pointed without saying a word.
Kyle followed your gaze. âOh no.â
Johnny grinned. âSheâs in love.â
Simon just sighed, muttering something under his breath about consumer traps and plushie scams.
You turned to them, full tilt. âI want it.â
John raised an eyebrow. âThat one?â
You nodded, dead serious.
âItâs huge,â Kyle said.
âPerfect,â you replied.
And just like that, the game was on.
â
They tried to be casual about it at first.
Simon handed over a crisp bill to the carnie like it was a briefing. No wasted movement. Eyes locked. Threw the first ball at the bottle stack like it owed him money.
Clang. Miss.
Johnny snorted.
Simon threw againâbullseye. Half the stack tumbled, but the top stayed balanced, mocking him.
Johnny stepped up next, clapping him on the back. âLemme show you how itâs done.â
He winked at you before hurling the first ball wildly off-center, nearly knocking a nearby prize off its hook.
âSolid start,â Simon deadpanned.
âWarm-up,â Johnny said.
Kyle went for the ring toss. Missed every time. John tried his hand at the dart balloonsâpopped two, got a small keychain.
âThis is bullshit,â Johnny muttered, arms crossed as the carnie shrugged again.
You leaned against the side rail, watching the whole thing unfold like it was the best movie youâd ever seen. The way they kept looking back at youâchecking if you were laughing, if you were still watching, if you were impressed. Their eyes glittered every time you smiled.
âYou donât have to win it,â you said gently.
Simon looked over. âYes, we do.â
Johnny rolled up his sleeves like he was going to war. âFor you? Weâll burn this booth down if we have to.â
That got the carnieâs attention. âHey nowââ
John stepped forward. âHow many tickets for the dog?â
âGotta win the top shelf prize,â the carnie said. âFive knockdowns minimum.â
Kyle grinned. âSay less.â
â
They did not walk away after the first win.
Or the second.
By the time Johnny nailed the fourth prize, they were drawing a crowd.
You were covered in prizesâarms full of teddy bears, snakes, a foam hammer, and a neon star pillow that Simon won after muttering âlast tryâ five different times.
Finally, finally, the dog came down.
The carnie handed it over with a grim look, muttering, âYouâre banned after this. Fair warning.â
You didn't even hear it.
You were too busy squealing as John and Simon lifted the thing between them, showing it off like it was a trophy kill. Johnny kissed your temple from behind, whispering, âTold you weâd get it.â Kyle gave you a little spin, hands at your hips, eyes soft and full of heat.
âYou happy?â he asked.
You nodded, breathless. âSo happy.â
They looked at you like you hung the damn stars.
And then security showed up.
âYou canât keep blocking the booth,â the guy said, arms crossed.
âWe paid fair and square,â John said.
âYouâve been here forty minutes. People are complaining.â
Simon rolled his neck. âWhat a tragedy.â
Johnny muttered, âPhilistines,â while Kyle tried to bribe the guy with a free plushie. You were trying so hard not to laugh your face hurt.
Eventually, they walked you outâescorted, not arrested, but the vibe was definitely banned-for-life adjacent.
You didnât care.
You were holding the stupid dog like a life raft, tucked under one arm as you giggled the whole way back to the parking lot. Johnny was hand-feeding you bits of fried dough, Kyle was still holding your waist, Simonâs arm was slung over your shoulder, and John had your fingers laced in his.
The truck was quiet, finally.
Late night breeze. Prize bags in the trunk. One ridiculously massive plush retriever stuffed across all your laps in the backseat.
You leaned into Simon, curled against his chest, your hand still warm from John's grip.
âWorth it?â Simon murmured.
You looked around at all of them.
At Kyleâs lazy grin from the passenger seat. At Johnâs soft eyes in the rearview. At Johnnyâs foot tapping on the dash while he hummed under his breath.
You kissed Simonâs jaw. âYou won me a dog.â
Johnny leaned over and whispered, âAnd a lifetime ban.â
John sighed. âAdd it to the list.â
You pulled your new plush closer, grinning ear to ear.
They gave you a fair date.
They gave you chaos.
And most importantlyâ
They gave you them.
Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnightđ
Could I pretty please request some fluffy smut with poly 141?
Heated Waters
Pairing: Poly!141 x Bratty-but-Sweet Southern!Reader
Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Group sex (f receiving), fingering, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, light overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise, rough & soft dom mix, possessiveness, jealousy kink, pet names, brat taming, manhandling, aftercare, vacation setting, tender filth
Authorâs Note: One bed. One private beach. One very loved brat.
Summary: You're the sweet-talking, tease of their dreamsâand on this villa getaway, you decide to test every nerve theyâve got. Good thing they planned to break a sweat.
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The private villa sat on a cliff above the sea, all smooth white stone and glass, open air and breeze-kissed linens. You were sprawled across the big outdoor daybed in nothing but your black bikini bottoms and Johnâs button-up shirt â unbuttoned, of course. Skin damp from the pool, hair tousled from the wind, you were the picture of trouble, just begging for it.
And you knew it.
âKyle,â you called, voice sing-song, âyou left your sunglasses out here, sugar.â
Kyle stepped out barefoot, towel around his shoulders, eyes scanning your body with a slow exhale. âThat so?â
âMhm. You want me to bring âem in?â You dangled them between two fingers, lips curled in a lazy smile.
âNo, baby, I think you want attention.â
You grinned. Guilty. âYou think or you know?â
Before he could answer, Johnnyâs voice called from inside. âYou startinâ shit again out there?â
âMaybe.â
âChrist,â Simon muttered from behind a book inside. âSheâs been a menace since we woke up.â
âJust tryinâ to keep yâall entertained,â you teased, dropping the sunglasses into Kyleâs lap. âWouldnât want vacation to be boring.â
âYou keep pushinâ,â Johnâs voice rumbled from the kitchen, where he was shirtless and barefoot, sipping coffee with his hair still wet. âDonât think we wonât take this to the bedroom.â
âPromises, promises,â you said, stretchingâlifting your arms overhead so the breeze caught his shirt and revealed the soft curve of your chest.
That was the last straw.
âââ
It didnât take long.
They moved together like wolves. Johnny grabbed your wrist, yanked you up with a hungry grin. Kyle was already pulling you inside, shirt flung from your shoulders, bare feet slapping the cool tile.
Simon slammed the bedroom door behind you. âYou wanted attention?â
You were tossed onto the bedâpillowy white linen, wide enough for fiveâand Simon climbed on beside you. He didnât kiss you, not yet. Just ran his gloved hand up the inside of your thigh, spreading you with a single push.
âSheâs wet already,â he said low, gaze dragging over your face. âCourse she is. Fuckinâ tease.â
Johnnyâs mouth was on your neck before you could answer, hot and open, tongue tracing the vein there. âLetâs see how long that attitude lasts.â
Kyle kissed you full, hand firm on your jaw. He kissed like he loved you more than airâdeep, slow, a little desperate. Like it physically hurt to be away from you.
John, behind them all, watched you squirm, arms crossed, cock already half-hard behind his swim shorts.
âIâm takinâ my time with her,â he said calmly. âYâall break her too quick and Iâm gonna make you wait your damn turn.â
They worked you open like art.
Simon pushed two fingers in slow and deliberate, palm grinding your clit. You whined, legs trembling already. Johnny moved to your chest, lips around your nipple, sucking just hard enough to make you buck.
âBeg,â Simon said, voice close to your ear. âSay you want us. All of us.â
You bit your lip, barely able to breathe. âWant itâfuckâSimonâJohnnyâpleaseââ
âDonât forget me,â Kyle teased, mouth on your stomach now, trailing heat downward. âIâm feelinâ neglected.â
Then his tongue was between your legs. Flicking, circling, teasing. You sobbed out a moan, head falling back against the pillows as they surrounded youâtouches everywhere, lips, hands, pressure. No room to breathe, no space without love.
You came on Kyleâs mouth with Simonâs fingers still inside you and Johnnyâs hand over your heart, steadying you like you were gonna float away.
âGood girl,â John praised from above, finally stepping forward.
He dropped his shorts.
Your thighs clenched on instinct.
âJohn,â you whimpered, reaching.
âYou ready to behave?â he asked, voice rough.
You nodded.
âYou ready to be loved right?â he asked again.
You nodded harder.
âThen open up for me.â
âââ
He fucked you like he had nowhere else to be.
Deep, slow, heat spreading in your belly with every grind of his hips. You held onto his shoulders, legs locked around his waist, whimpering into his chest while he whispered in your ear how good you felt, how sweet you were when you softened for him.
When you clenched around him, body on the edge, he stilled.
âWait.â
You whimpered. âNoâpleaseââ
Johnny pressed behind you, kissing your spine. âBe good. Almost there.â
Simon was at your side, jerking his cock with slow, lazy strokes, watching your face twist with need.
Kyle kissed you again, lips slick with you, voice full of praise. âOne more, baby. Let John fuck it out of you.â
You fell apart again, hard, nails digging into Johnâs back as he rutted through your orgasm, pace stuttering, hips slamming deep until he groaned against your neck and spilled inside you.
But it wasnât over.
They all took turns.
Johnny nextâfast and playful, all hips and laughter and âfuck, youâre perfect, take it, thatâs it, such a sweet thingââuntil you were arching for him, crying his name like prayer.
Then Kyleâslow and emotional, his forehead to yours, fingers laced with yours as he slid in, thick and sweet and âyouâre ours, always been ours, love you so muchââuntil your legs shook and he kissed you through it.
Simon was last. And he was mean.
He didnât fuck you, he took you. Hands rough on your hips, face buried in your neck, voice cracking against your skin: âYou wanna act like a brat, Iâll treat you like one.â And when you begged him to stop, he didnât. Not until you screamed and shook and came again so hard you almost blacked out.
âââ
When it was over, they cleaned you up slow.
Kyle kissed your ankle. Johnny tucked your hair behind your ear. Simon got you water and held it to your lips. John pulled you into his arms like he never wanted to let go.
You laid in the middle of all four, tangled in arms and thighs and warmth, body sore and loved and kissed breathless.
âYou still gonna run your mouth tomorrow?â Simon asked, rubbing your back.
âDepends,â you mumbled sleepily. âYou gonna fuck me stupid again?â
John laughed low. âOh, weâre not done with you, love.â
You smiled. Eyes closed. Heart full.
Paradise wasnât the villa. It was them.
Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnightđ
Instead of me uploading how I have been recently, Iâve decided to change it up and instead will be uploading every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and possibly every other Saturday or Sunday.
That way I have the opportunity to relax and spend time with my family and myself as well.
I love and hope you have an amazing day! Midnight Shadow Cafeđďżź
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Pairing: Simon âGhostâ Riley x Southern!Reader (ft. John, Johnny, Kyle)
Warnings: Southern drawl & sayings, cowboy hat rule (both ways), flirty dominance, sexual tension, possessive touches, thigh brushing, shirt grabbing, suggestive dialogue, dance floor teasing, cultural confusion, boys being nosy, a soft ending thatâll wreck you
Authorâs Note: Youâre bold, barefoot, and lethal with your charm. Simonâs repressed, brooding, and secretly wrecked by the way you look in your sundress. Itâs dusty, romantic, hot as hell, and Simonâs about to learn that down South, a hat can say everything. Yâknow what they say, Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.
Summary: You drag the boys to a barn party deep in the Southern countryside, but Simonâs still clinging to that British stubbornness. Until you slap your cowboy hat on himâand suddenly, itâs not just a dance. Itâs a declaration.
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The barn glowed gold and low, string lights dripping from the rafters like fireflies caught in a Mason jar. The air was thick with the scent of hay, barbecue smoke, spilled beer, and honeysuckle hanging heavy on the breeze. Boots scuffed against old wood while music drifted lazily through the speakersâsome country-pop beat with too much twang and just enough bass to make it sexy.
Simon Riley looked like a man whoâd been dropped into hell without a map. Or a fan.
Leaning against a post at the edge of the dance floor, arms crossed tight, dressed in all black like heâd just come from a funeralâor a hit job. Every inch of him screamed tense. Big boots planted, biceps flexed beneath that stretched fabric of a T-shirt, jaw ticking every time someone twirled a little too close.
He looked like a hitman who got lost on the way to a job and ended up at a hoedown.
And he looked right at you.
You were barefoot in the dust, sundress hitched a little higher than necessary. Heat clung to your skin, glowed in the shine of your shoulders, the soft sway of your hips as you moved. Wild curls tumbled down your back. Your eyes never left his.
You tilted your head, smirking slow. âCâmon, cowboy. Donât make me come get you.â
He frowned. âI told you. I donât dance.â
âYou fought in a war, sugar. You can survive a two-step.â
âIâd rather fight the war again.â
You clicked your tongue and walked toward him, hips moving like sin and summer heat. You stopped just close enough to steal the breath right out of his chest.
âThen I guess I gotta motivate you.â
Simon squinted, guarded. âWhat kind of motivation are we talkinâ?â
You reached up and pulled your sun-worn cowboy hat from your headâscuffed, sweat-darkened, loved through years of barbecues, trail rides, and backseat hookupsâand placed it right on him.
His whole body stilled.
âWhatâs this, then?â he asked, brows drawn.
You gave him that sweet, wicked grin. âDown here, baby, we got a rule. If a girl puts her hat on a man⌠it means heâs hers. For the night.â
You leaned up, brushing his chest with yours. âNow youâre wearinâ my sweat, my scent, my claim. You belong to me.â
Johnny hollered from across the floor. âShe gave him the hat?!â
Kyle barked out a laugh. âPoor bastard. Heâs been branded.â
John just sipped his drink with a shake of his head. âGod help him.â
Simon adjusted the brim, a little dazed. âYou lot done?â
You grabbed his belt loop, tugging gently. âTheyâre just jealous youâre the only one gettinâ lucky enough to wear it.â
âNot sure this feels lucky,â he muttered, even as he followed you willingly onto the dance floor.
âYou will,â you promised, curling your fingers around his neck as you took his hands and placed them on your waist.
The music shifted to something slower, a little darker, a beat that hit low and heavy, built for hips and heat and bad intentions.
You started movingâgraceful and easy, guiding his big, unsure frame through the rhythm. Simon followed, stiff at first, boots dragging, but his grip on you was firm. Steady. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.
âLeft⌠right⌠heel tap,â you whispered. âNow rock it back. Loosen up, baby. You move like someone glued your spine together.â
âIâm tryinâ, love.â
You laughed and pressed closer, your chest brushing his. âThatâs the problem. Quit tryinâ. Just let go.â
He did. Or maybe he just gave up and let you take over.
Either way, he started to move with youânot against. A slow, rolling sway. Bare skin brushing fabric. The occasional slide of his thigh between yours. A hand drifting lower than it had any right to be.
And that lookâthe one in his eyes. Half lust, half panic. Fully obsessed.
âYouâre makinâ it real hard to focus,â he muttered.
âThatâs the point,â you whispered.
When you spun under his arm and came back chest-to-chest, you dragged your hands down his shirtâreal slowâtil you reached the waistband of his jeans. He hissed in a breath. You looked up through your lashes.
âStill think this hat donât mean nothinâ?â
âNo,â he growled. âIt means everything.â
Behind you, Johnny shouted, âAlright, yâall are one verse away from dry-humpinâ!â
Kyle doubled over. âGet a barn room!â
You flipped them both off without looking.
Simon leaned down, close enough to taste your smile. âThey always this loud?â
You smirked. âThey ainât even started.â
The music slowed. Faded. The barn dipped into that hazy moment between songsâsoft laughter, warm sweat, glowing lights, shadows curling along the rafters.
And you? You stood on tiptoe and slid the hat off Simonâs head.
âThank you for beinâ mine tonight,â you whispered.
But before you could turn away, Simonâquiet, breathless, flushed red to the tips of his earsâdid something that damn near killed you.
He reached up.
Took his own ballcap off.
And gently set it on your head.
You froze. So did Johnny. So did time.
Simon cleared his throat, voice low. âThought that was the rule. Goes both ways, yeah?â
You stared up at him.
He kept going, awkward but soft. âI donât have a cowboy hat. But⌠thatâs the closest Iâve got. So.â
You grabbed his shirt.
Yanked him into a kiss that tasted like heat and dust and everything youâd been holding back.
The boys whooped behind you. The world tilted a little. And Simon?
Simon kissed you back like heâd finally found his footing.
Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnightđ
Author's Note: To every single one of you who helped me hit 1kâthank you for showing up, for staying, and for letting me write softness into the cracks. I never thought Iâd make it this far. I appreciate and love all of you. Thank you and I appreciate it all.
Summary: Itâs been one year since the boys walked away from war and into the house they built with you. But when dinner is forgotten and silence settles over the home, it takes your voiceâand your handsâto remind them just how safe they really are.
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The house they built sat on a hill where the trees broke just enough to let the wind talk through the leaves.
Wooden beams. Fire-scorched hearth. A long porch with room for five rocking chairs no one ever used. It didnât look like a fortressâbut for them, it was. Four broken men and the one woman theyâd kill for, all tucked into one space that smelled like slow-cooked garlic and cedar smoke.
You were barefoot in the kitchen, apron twisted at your hip, gumbo bubbling too high on the stove. Something smelled burnt. Maybe the rice.
You checked the time. 6:17.
Friday night.
Dinner night.
The only real rule in the house: no alone time, no war stories, no guilt. Just the five of you. Youâd been cooking since four. No one had come in to taste the broth, steal a kiss, wrap arms around your waist and whisper about dessertânothing.
Your hand tightened on the wooden spoon.
"Where the hell are they?"
Floorboards creaked under you as you padded toward the den. You passed the muddy boots John left in the hall, the half-repaired drone Kyle said he'd finish last week, Johnnyâs hoodie slung over the stair rail like a flag. But the house still felt⌠hollow.
Then you heard them. Low voices behind the door.
You stopped. Rested your fingers on the wood. Listened.
âI still donât think I deserve this,â Simonâs voice, gravel-low. âNot after all the things Iââ
âYou do,â Kyle interrupted. Quiet but firm. âWe all do. Donât act like we didnât all carry our share of blood.â
Johnny, softer: âItâs just⌠a year, yeah? A whole fuckinâ year since we walked outta that life. How is this even real?â
A beat of silence. Then John: âBecause we built it.â
You pushed the door open gently.
Four heads turned.
You stood there, apron tied, eyes dark with heat and confusion. âYou all forget what today is?â
Kyle stood first. He always did when you were hurt. âShit, loveâno, no, we didnât forget.â
âI burned the damn rice,â you muttered, stepping inside. âAnd none of you were there to tell me it still tastes good.â
Johnny was already crossing the room. âCâmere, bonnie. Câmere.â His arms wrapped around your waist, forehead pressing against yours. âIâm sorry.â
Kyleâs fingers brushed your back. Johnâs large hand settled on your shoulder, grounding you like an anchor. But Simonâhe lingered just out of reach. Mask still on. Gloves still clinging to his hands like armor.
You looked at him.
âSimon.â
His eyes flicked up. A pause. A crack in his walls.
âYou donât have to wear that,â you said softly.
He didnât answer.
âYou know youâre safe here, right?â you added. âWith me. With them.â
He swallowed hard, jaw clenching, chest rising like he was preparing for a blow.
You walked up to him, slow and deliberate. âLet me see you.â
He didnât move. Didnât stop you either.
Your hands came up, fingers finding the edge of the mask. You peeled it back gentlyâinch by inchâuntil the fabric fell away, and there he was.
Scars. Blonde hair, uneven and soft. Full lips. Strong jaw. Brown eyes that held too much pain and too much hope at once.
You reached up and cupped his cheek.
âI love your face,â you said. âEvery part of it. Even the parts that hurt to show.â
Simon leaned into your touch like he was afraid you might disappear.
Behind you, Johnny made a small, aching sound. You looked over your shoulder.
Johnâs eyes were dark and low-lidded, jaw tight, chest rising. Kyle had tears in his lashes, even as he smiled.
âCâmere,â John rasped.
And suddenly you were in his arms. His lips brushed your ear. âSay it.â
You tilted your head. âWhat?â
âSay it again.â
âYouâre mine,â you whispered.
Then it broke open.
John kissed you hardâdeep and slow, like he needed to make a memory. Kyle came up behind, mouth finding your shoulder, arms curling around your waist. Simon leaned in to press a kiss to your throat, breath hot, and Johnny dropped to his knees in front of you, hands dragging down your thighs.
They were on you like hunger. Like need.
âYou gonna make it up to us for missing dinner, sweetheart?â John murmured against your jaw, his hands already sliding beneath your apron.
âShe doesnât owe us shit,â Kyle countered with a grin, lifting your shirt just to press kisses along your spine. âBut I wouldnât say no if she wanted to.â
âYou all are lucky I love you,â you said breathlessly.
Simonâs voice hit low and rough. âWeâd burn the world to keep that true.â
They undressed you slowly, reverentlyâhands brushing every inch of skin like they were mapping it to memory. The firelight painted your body gold. Johnnyâs fingers skimmed your stomach as he nipped your inner thigh. Kyle whispered dirty things in your ear while Simon kissed a line down your back. John knelt behind you, thick hands holding your hips like you were something sacred.
The rug scratched at your knees, the air heavy with sweat and want. Four bodies surrounded youâwarm, aching, starved not just for touch but for you.
âYouâre not just ours,â John said, kissing the space beneath your ear. âWeâre yours.â
You blinked hard, breath stuttering.
All of them.
Their weight.
Their love.
Their need.
This house wasnât just a safe place. It was a promise.
And when they laid you backâarms tangled, breath shared, kisses tradedâyou didnât just feel loved.
You felt home.
Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnightđ
i think itd be really funny to do a poly141 x reader where the reader is heavily southern american, and similarly to Ghost not being able to understand soap sometimes he also cant understand the reader.
Bless Your Heart, Lieutenant
Pairing: Poly!141 x Southern!Reader
Warnings: Heavy Southern accent, regional idioms, thick sexual tension, suggestive language, flirty teasing, emotionally constipated soldiers in love, Ghost being linguistically defeated, polycule tension, soft possessiveness, dangerous charm, lazy touches
Author's Note: This fic is hotter than asphalt in August and twice as chaotic. Our reader is pure Southern charm and mischief, and poor Simon Riley is one idiom away from medically combusting.
Summary: The boys of Task Force 141 have handled just about everything. War. Wetwork. Interrogations. But what they werenât prepared for? You. A dangerously flirty Southern transplant with hips that sway like sin and a drawl that Ghost canât understandâor resist.
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The base was quiet in the late afternoon. Heat rolled in through open windows, sticky and golden, baking the concrete like a cast-iron skillet. Outside: dry wind and desert silence. Inside: clinking tools, murmured curses, the low hum of fans pushing dead air.
And you.
You leaned into the open doorway of the armory like you were posing for a slow camera pan. Sunlight kissed your shoulders and sweat caught in the hollow of your collarbones. Dog tags bounced gently against the swell of your chest. Combat boots. Rolled-down cargos slung low on your hips. Tank top tied tight to bare a tease of belly. You looked every bit the Southern storm that had blown into their lives three months agoâand none of them were safe.
"Yâall really tryna fix that bolt with no elbow grease?" you asked, voice syrupy as pecan pie and twice as dangerous.
Kyle looked up, blinking. "What?"
You strode in, multitool twirling in your fingers. "This boltâs stickinâ tighterân a tick on a fat dog, darlinâ. You gotta lean into it."
Kyle wheezed, nearly dropping the rifle in his lap. âIâm gonna need subtitles.â
Johnny, hunched over the bench, grinned without looking up. âYouâre like a Southern crossword puzzle.â
You clicked your tongue. âAinât my fault yâall ainât got no flavor up in your dialect.â
Then came Simon.
Simon Rileyâmask on, sleeves rolled, forearms dusted in oil and tension. He walked in like a man already regretting it, only to freeze when his eyes landed on you.
âLieutenant,â he said, stiff as always.
You smiled slow. âWell hey there, big fella. Ainât you lookinâ meaner than a snake in a sugar jar.â
Simon blinked. âWhat?â
Johnny lost it. âHeâs already glitchinâ!â
Price followed Simon in, raising a brow. âThe hell does sugar jar have to do with anything?â
Kyle leaned back, grinning. âMeans he looks dangerousâbut, like, sexy.â
Simon turned to him like that made it worse. âHow?!â
You stepped close, brushing your hand along Simonâs forearm. âDonât get your feathers ruffled, sugar. You look real handsome when youâre confused.â
âIâm not confused,â he muttered.
âYou are,â Price mumbled behind him.
âSheâs just talkinâ in riddles again,â Simon grumbled.
âSheâs speakinâ poetry, mate,â Johnny corrected. âYou just donât speak heartache.â
You turned toward Simon again, voice dipping sweet and low. âI could give you a lesson or two, Lieutenant. Teach you how to speak Southern⌠real slow.â
Kyle clutched his chest. âGod help him.â
â
Later.
The rec room buzzed low with evening tension. Lamps glowed golden in the corners. Ice clinked in glasses. One fan rattled lazily in the ceiling.
You sprawled across the shared couch like a throne was built just for you. Simonâs black shirt swallowed your frame, sleeves rolled up and hem knotted at your ribs. Your bare legs stretched over Johnnyâs lap, toes brushing his thigh with idle affection. Kyle sat near your feet, playing with the charm on your ankle bracelet.
Across the room, Price sat in the leather armchair, legs spread, drink in hand, eyes fixed on the scene like it was the best entertainment of his week.
Simon stood by the door, arms crossed, tense as a live wire.
Watching.
You stretched, arms overhead, shirt riding high. âYou just gonna lurk, Lieutenant? Or you cominâ to get cozy?â
Simonâs eyes dipped. He didnât speak.
âCâmon now,â you drawled, slow and sinful. âYouâre lookinâ at me like you seen the devil in a sun dress.â
Kyle choked on his drink. âGod damn.â
Price chuckled. âLetâs hear the list.â
You grinned, fingers trailing Johnnyâs chest. âOne: heâs still stuck on what I meant earlier about his attitude beinâ drier than a biscuit at a Baptist potluck. Two: heâs mad I stole his shirt and made it look better. Three: heâs dyinâ to say somethinâ clever but knows Iâd run circles âround him. FourâŚâ
You sat up slowly, fixing Simon with a knowing look.
âFour: heâs imagininâ what Iâd sound like sayinâ please in that deep voice of his.â
Johnny outright groaned. Kyle looked like he was praying.
âAnd five?â Price asked.
You smiled. âFiveâs between me and God.â
Simon shifted like the ground under him got unsteady. âWhat the hell is a Baptist potluck?â
Kyle patted your calf. âMeans your personalityâs like stale bread, mate.â
âIâm not stale,â Simon growled.
âYou sure ainât sweet tea either,â you teased.
His hands tightened over his biceps. âI donât understand a thing you say.â
âYou donât need to,â you said. âYou feel it, donât you?â
He stared. Silent.
âI told yâall,â you added, twirling your hair. âHeâs slower than molasses in January.â
âWhat does thatââ Simon started, then paused. âThatâs an insult, isnât it.â
Johnny was crying laughing. Kyle nodded solemnly.
Simon sighed and started to turn awayâthen stopped.
Then turned back.
And crossed the room.
Every bootstep was heavy. Purposeful. Final.
He stood over you, towering and unreadable.
You tilted your chin up, daring him.
âYou mean everything you say?â he asked, voice low, gravel thick in his throat.
You blinked, slow and hot. âI wouldnât waste my breath if I didnât.â
He reached down.
Touched your chin.
Tilted your face gentlyâlike he was checking if you were real.
Then his thumb brushed your bottom lip.
Once.
You didnât breathe.
No one did.
And then he walked away, back to the shadows, back to himself.
You exhaled, slow. âLawdamercy.â
Price groaned. âWeâre all so screwed.â
Johnny leaned in, wide-eyed. âHe understood that one.â
Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnightđ
imagining the 141 men letting you practice mock-exams on them while pursuing a medical degree, johnny would not be able to stay serious, simon would just sit there but not answer any of the questions, but i think john and kyle would be the perfect patients just happy to help you
Authorâs Note: For every tired med student whoâs ever begged their partner to let them check reflexes or palpate lymph nodes. The 141 are here for youâwith varying degrees of helpfulness.
Summary: With OSCEs fast approaching, you need real humans to practice your mock exams on. Luckily, the 141 boys are more than willing to helpâwith varying degrees of seriousness.
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The living room looked like a crime scene if the victim had died under a pile of flashcards and highlighters. Notes, textbooks, and anatomy diagrams were sprawled across the couch, floor, and coffee table. Your stethoscope dangled from your neck like a noose. You hadnât seen sunlight in three days.
And somehow, you had four of the most elite military operatives in the world sitting in a semicircle around you, waiting to play pretend.
"You all promised you'd take this seriously," you said, attempting to muster some authority, despite the fact that your hair was frizzing out of your bun and your scrub top was definitely inside-out.
Johnny raised a hand. "Scoutâs honor."
"You werenât a Scout."
"Aye, but I knew a guy who sold their cookies."
You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Johnny, sit."
He leapt onto the armchair like it was a throne, peeling his shirt off with dramatic flair and slouching with his legs wide, covered in tattoos and smugness.
"Right then, Doc. Diagnose me with whatever makes you touch me the most."
From the couch, Simon groaned audibly. "This is gonna be a long night."
You continued as if Johnny hadnât spoken. You took his pulseâelevated, but that was probably because he kept laughing. When you asked him to breathe in and out, he dramatically puffed his cheeks.
When you tapped on his abdomen, he made exaggerated fart noises.
You stood up straight. "Youâre impossible."
He shrugged. "But hot."
"Next."
Simon stood without a word, towering in front of you with his mask still on. He sat in the chair like a silent shadow, posture perfect, arms folded.
You cleared your throat. "Can you tell me what brings you in today?"
Silence.
"Simon?"
His eyes blinked once.
"...Are you gonna say anything?"
He slowly turned his head and gave you a look that said, you brought this on yourself.
Fine. You adjusted your stethoscope and started taking vitals. His heart rate was slow and steady. His breathing was controlled. He didnât even flinch when you palpated lymph nodes or checked his reflexes.
"Can I at least get a fake cough?"
Nothing.
You sighed. "You're healthy, quiet, and emotionally repressed. Go sit down."
Kyle stood up next, hoodie already halfway off as he walked to you with an easy grin.
"Chest pain post-exercise. No radiation, non-pleuritic," he recited like a script.
You blinked. "Have you been reading my study guide?"
"Maybe." He winked and took the chair, posture relaxed. "What can I say? I like helping you out."
He was a perfect patient. He answered every question with textbook clarity, allowed you to guide his movements through the exam, and even asked you mock follow-ups like he was the examiner.
When you palpated his chest, he looked at you like you hung the moon.
"Youâre really good at this," he said quietly. "Iâd trust you to treat me for real."
Your fingers paused. You looked up, caught in the soft warmth in his eyes, and felt your chest tug.
"Thanks, Kyle."
He grinned. "Now go make Johnny redo his whole exam. That was a disaster."
Last up was John.
Heâd been watching you the entire time from the couch, a book in his lap and a steady gaze on your every movement.
"You ready for me, love?"
You nodded. "Always."
He peeled off his Henley with the efficiency of a man whoâd been through a hundred medicals before. His chest was broad, scarred, a map of stories he never spoke about. But his eyes never left yours.
"Any complaints?"
"Just a bit of tension. Probably from worrying about you burning yourself out."
You bit your lip, focusing on your stethoscope. As you pressed it to his chest, he inhaled deeply, his body calm beneath your touch.
"Youâve been up late every night this week," he said softly.
"Thatâs what med school is."
"Youâve got to give yourself a break, sweetheart."
You checked his reflexes. "I will. After this."
When the exam was done, he gently caught your hand. "Youâre brilliant. Youâre prepared. But even machines overheat. Let us take care of you for once."
The words caught in your throat.
And just like that, the tears came.
You didnât sob. You just sagged, eyes stinging, lungs tight.
Kyle was already there with a blanket. Johnny set down your anatomy model and walked over, pulling you into a hug that smelled like his cologne and faint sweat. Simon didnât say anything, but his hand was steady on your shoulder.
John pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Weâre proud of you. No matter what."
You sniffled. "Thanks for being my patients."
Johnny smirked. "Anytime, Doc. But if you ask me to bend over for a rectal examâ"
"âyouâll do it and say thank you," Kyle interrupted.
You laughed. Actually laughed.
Four of the toughest men in the world, and here they wereâholding your notes, playing sick, making fart jokes just to see you smile.
Youâd make a damn good doctor. But you already had the best medicine.
Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnightđ
I love your short fics, love when they come across my dash, they live in my head rent free đ¤
Thinking about one (or all, your pick) of the 141 boys getting called in because their kid is in trouble at school, but when they arrive they learn that their kid was only standing up for someone else who was being bullied. Bonus points if it's their little girl standing up to a big mean boy.
They learn this by walking in on their non-confrontational, normally pacifist partner (the other parent) absolutely ripping the headmaster a new one for putting their child in this situation.
The boys thought they were going to be the bad cop in this scenario, but instead they are the ones having to rely on their hostage negotiation training to get their little loves back home.
(It's hard not to feel something at the sight of the mama bear energy... It might be pride but it's probably something else đ¤)
Xoxoxo
Daddyâs Little Defender
Pairing: Poly!141 x Reader
Warnings: Mild language, parental rage, school bullying mention, protective reader, found family parenting, soft domestic tension, lots of heart
Author's Note: Domestic chaos meets protective firestorm. This oneâs for the softies who would go feral for their kid. Based on a beautiful request about mama bear energy, nervous dads, and a little girl who refuses to let injustice slide.
Summary: A call from school sends the 141 into panic modeâyour daughterâs in trouble. But when they arrive, they find you already handling it in a way none of them expected. What was supposed to be a parent-teacher meeting turns into a standoff... and maybe something a little more emotional.
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
It started like a perfectly normal Wednesday.
Toast crumbs scattered across the kitchen counter, Kyle and Johnny bickering over whose turn it was to pack the lunchbox, Simon groaning at the sound of Peppa Pig playing in the background, and John sipping his coffee with the paper tucked under his arm like he was already ten years into retirement.
You kissed foreheads, wiped faces, and reminded Bonnie for the third time to wear socks that matched. Your little girlâseven years old, gap-toothed, and bright as a firecrackerâgrinned up at her dads like she was the queen of the castle.
Everything felt routine. Cozy. Soft.
Then Simonâs phone rang.
He frowned at the screen, answered calmly, then froze halfway through âThis is her father.â
John looked up. Kyle stopped stirring the oatmeal. Johnny leaned off the counter slowly.
Simonâs face didnât changeâbut something in the room did.
He ended the call, voice tight. âSchool. Something happened with Bonnie.â
No one wasted a second.
They loaded into the SUV with terrifying efficiency, each man scanning the situation like a mission. John drove. Johnny had his arm slung around the passenger seat, tapping his fingers. Kyle checked the school address twice even though he knew the way. And Simon just stared straight ahead like he could will the truth into existence.
âSheâs a good kid,â Johnny murmured for the third time. âWouldnât start nothinâ. Sheâs just like her mum.â
That much was true.
Your girl had your heartâsunshine-bright and gentle-handed, always the first to share her juice box and stand up when someone cried. But when they arrived at the school office, the secretaryâs expression was pinched.
The principal was waiting in his office, awkward and pale, fidgeting with a folder.
âIâm afraid this is a behavioral issue. Bonnie kicked another student. In the shin.â
The room went still.
âShe what?â Kyle blinked.
âApparently, he was pushing another boy. And she intervened. Verbally at first. Then physically.â
The principal adjusted his tie. âShe told himâverbatimââDo it again, and Iâll break your nose like my Papa Simon did to that man in Berlin.ââ
Johnny wheezed. âShe what?â
Kyle covered his mouth, eyes wide with barely contained laughter. Simon looked like he was deciding whether to be proud or terrified. Johnâs jaw clenched.
âSheâs suspended for the remainder of the week,â the principal added, as if it was the only logical outcome.
Thenâ
Boom.
The office door burst open.
And you were there.
Not the quiet, honey-voiced version of you who made bedtime tea and hummed lullabies.
No.
This was war.
âWho the hell do you think you are suspending my daughter for protecting another child?â you snapped, voice low and crackling with fury.
The principal flinched. âMaâamââ
âShe didnât start a fight. She ended one. Where were your staff when a third-grade boy was getting pushed around hard enough to bleed? You want to discipline someone? Try disciplining yourself.â
âMrs.ââ
âNot MacTavish. Not Garrick. Not Riley. Not Price. Just Mama. And Mama is pissed.â
The room crackled with tension.
Outside the door, Bonnie sat cross-legged on a bench, head bowed, chewing her sleeve.
You didnât even wait for a response. You stormed out, dropped to your knees, and pulled her into your arms.
âYou okay, baby?â
She sniffled. âI didnât mean to get in trouble.â
âYouâre not in trouble,â you whispered fiercely. âYou did exactly what I taught you. You stood up for someone who couldnât. Thatâs bravery, Bonnie. Thatâs being a good person.â
Behind you, the boys emerged one by one.
Johnny knelt first, ruffling her curls. âShinâs a solid target. You alright, little one?â
She nodded into your shoulder.
Kyle crouched next, eyes full of admiration. âDidnât think youâd use Berlin as an example.â
âShe listens,â Simon muttered.
John crouched in front of her, calm as ever. âYou scared us, sweetheart. But weâre proud of you.â
âEven though I kicked him?â she whispered.
âEspecially because,â he said.
You stood slowly, heart still hammering in your chest. All four men turned toward you with something unreadable in their eyes.
Admiration. Awe. Maybe something else.
John reached out first, brushing your wrist with his fingertips. âDidnât think Iâd walk in and see you going full recon mode.â
âI was livid,â you muttered. âThey were blaming her for doing the right thing.â
Kyle slipped an arm around your waist. âYou were amazing.â
Johnny leaned in with a low whistle. âHonestly, might be the hottest thing Iâve ever seen.â
Simon, of course, deadpanned, âYou did use my Berlin story. I feel oddly honored.â
Back in the car, Bonnie happily sipped her juice box from her lunchbox, swinging her legs like nothing had happened.
You sat sandwiched between Johnny and Kyle, your hand in Johnâs, Simon driving up front.
And in that moment, everything settled again. The storm passed.
Your girl was safe.
Your boys were here.
And theyâd all learned something important today.
No oneâno oneâmessed with your kid.
Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnightđ
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Warnings: Misogyny/redpill content (as a narrative device), emotional distress, swearing, comfort, light suggestive references, mentions of toxic internet culture, soft polyamory, fluff, hurt/comfort, domestic dynamics, protective!141
Author's Note: This one-shot explores the impact of redpill/incel rhetoric when it bleeds into everyday lifeâand how love, trust, and shared warmth push it back out. Featuring your favorite grumpy-soft boys being protective, supportive, and just a little bit petty.
Summary: A spiral of doomscrolling lands you in the middle of a redpill echo chamber. Your boys arenât having any of itânot with you, not in this house.
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The videoâs thumbnail was obnoxious. Red text. Squinting man in wraparound sunglasses. Buzzwords like âWOMEN OVER 25â and âHIT THE WALLâ punched across the screen like it was selling a political thriller. You pressed play.
Ten minutes later, your stomach hurt.
You didnât even realize Johnny was home until he was suddenly standing behind you, towel still looped around his neck, a scowl etched into his face.
âWhat the fuck is that?â His accent sliced through the audio before you even registered he was there.
You startled, flipping your phone over. âJustâsomething that popped up. I was curious.â
âCurious?â Johnny snatched the phone like it personally offended him. âJesus, babe. This is Andrew Tateâs discount cousin.â
You laughed, thin and nervous. âI didnât think itâd mess with me this much. I just wanted to see what people are watching.â
Johnny scrolled. âTheyâre not watching. Theyâre inhaling this shit like itâs gospel.â His voice was sharp, but his eyes were worried. âYou okay?â
You didnât answer. Couldnât. The content was stupid, you knew thatâbut somewhere between the charts, the smugness, and the cold detachment with which women were dissected like faulty products, something inside you cracked.
And Johnny saw it.
âHey,â he said, voice softening. âDon't you dare believe a fuckinâ word of it.â
From the hallway, Kyleâs voice carried in. âWhatâs going on?â
âSheâs watching incel videos,â Johnny called.
Kyle appeared in seconds, dishrag in one hand, brows raised. âOh, hell no.â
You gave a weak smile. âItâs not like I agreeââ
âDoesnât matter,â Kyle cut in, eyes kind but firm. âThat shit gets in your head. You let enough of it in, itâll start whispering lies in your own voice.â
You tried to brush it off. âI just wanted to understand it.â
Johnâs heavy footsteps hit the hardwood floor before you heard him speak. âYou donât need to understand it, sweetheart. You just need to stay away from it.â
He walked in wearing an old army tee, sleeves tight on his forearms, mug in hand. He looked like heâd seen this beforeâlike heâd dealt with more than a few young soldiers who came back from leave parroting the same poison.
âThey want you to question yourself,â he said, sitting beside you. âThatâs the whole point. Convince you youâre not enough so they can sell you the illusion of control.â
You stared at the muted video still playing on your phone. âBut what if I am too much? Too opinionated, too independent, tooââ
âYouâre ours,â Simon interrupted.
He was leaning against the doorway, black hoodie, hood up, mask half pulled down. His voice was dead calm. Dangerous.
âIf you ever repeat that shit about yourself again, Iâll break every one of their microphones and necks.â
You blinked at him.
âThey want you insecure because insecure people are easier to manipulate, he said. But you? Youâve got four highly trained men wrapped around your little finger. And not one of us would change a damn thing.â
John leaned over and kissed your temple. âExactly.â
Kyle knelt in front of you, hand on your knee. âYouâre not âhigh-valueâ like some commodity. Youâre just you. Funny. Fiery. Gentle. Smart. Real.â
Johnny nudged your shoulder with his own. âAlso ridiculously hot. Donât forget that part.â
That got a chuckle out of you.
Simon crossed the room and sat on the arm of the couch beside you. âTell me something, he said quietly. Do you think Iâd share a bed, a life, with someone who didnât make me feel safe?â
You shook your head.
âExactly,â he whispered. âYouâre the only soft thing Iâve got left. And Iâm not giving that up for anyoneâs idea of whatâs âmarketable.ââ
Kyle grinned. âBesides. If you were some âobedient tradwifeâ type, Johnny would spontaneously combust.â
âI would,â Johnny said. âIâd set the fuckinâ kitchen on fire out of spite.â
âIâd help,â Kyle added.
âAnd Iâd be recording,â John muttered.
You were laughing now, tucked between them all like youâd never left. Warm. Safe.
Johnny looked at your phone again. âYou want me to throw this against a wall?â
Simon held out his hand. âGive it here. Iâll queue up some actual contentâcat videos, maybe. Slow cooking. Paint mixing.â
âYouâre such a softie,â Johnny teased.
âNo. Iâm just anti-bullshit.â
Johnâs arm slid around your shoulders. âYou know what I think?â he murmured. âLet them sit behind their cameras preaching loneliness. Meanwhile, youâve got four men whoâd die for youâand live for you, too.â
Your breath caught in your throat.
Kyle leaned up and kissed your cheek. âYouâre so much more than theyâll ever deserve.â
You let the phone slide off the couch and buried your face in Johnnyâs chest. The video kept playing, muffled by cushions. But it didnât matter.
Because you couldnât hear it anymore.
Only the heartbeat of the men who loved youâfour anchors holding you above the noise.
Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnightđ
Just popping back in to say a quick thank you for 1k! I love and appreciate each and every single one of you who love and appreciate my work!! Iâll be releasing a 1k special once Iâm back from my mini break!
