#poly tf141

You're slumped over your bed, feeling the familiar feeling of a dick sliding through your wet folds, but the thing is you're fully dressed and home alone, the team left hours ago to the pub.

Your back arched, clit throbbing and slick pooling in your panties. The person could be any one of your team mates, they're all horny mutts who can't keep it in their pants.

A moan slips from your mouth, feeling a fat tip slip in and out, nothing more nothing less.... clearly ghost.

That's until you felt another head slip in beside it, your back arched even deeper, knees digging into your bed. Soap. They're both taking turns sticking just the head in, it's driving you crazy.

A few minutes of this and you feel the familiar buzz of a vibrator press against your clit, you gasped, grabbing your phone to text the team but before you can even hit send your body locks up into a strong orgasm, legs quivering violently and your jeans getting soaked.

With a body like that, it would be hard not to stare 18+ mdni tf141 x reader

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In the absolute back-ass of some godforsaken country on a mission, you and the rest of Task Force 141 finally managed to crawl back to a proxy safe house. You’d been awake for forty-eight straight hours, your skin caked in layers of sweat, field dirt, and dried blood.

You wanted nothing more than a boiling hot bath to ease your tense, aching muscles. Instead, you were going to have to settle for a dingy, makeshift shower setup. 

The safe house was far from luxurious, but it offered the team enough sanctuary to rest up and scrub the grime of combat off your skin before continuing the op.

The one major drawback of the temporary base was its size. It offered virtually zero privacy, but none of you had ever really cared. 

The professional respect and tight-knit bond among the team ran deep. It also helped that the men treated you as one of their own—or, at least, that’s what you had assumed.

As the gruelling team debrief finally wound down, you decided to make your move with impatient haste. Wanting to be the first one in, you grabbed a change of clothes and called out to the room that you were heading to wash up.

The shower cubicle was actually situated just outside the main structure. It didn't offer much in the way of shielding—just a single brick wall. If anyone felt like walking around the corner, they’d get a completely unobstructed, full view of the stall. 

Stepping onto the cracked tile floor, you stripped down out of your heavy tactical gear. Since there were no locks or even a proper door, you just threw a loud warning shout out to the yard to let the guys know you were showering.

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

Simon Riley didn’t do soft.

He didn’t do gentle smiles across a room or teasing glances that lingered too long. He didn’t know how to lean against a wall and charm someone with a few well placed words. Those were things other men did—men who grew up in homes where love looked like laughter and warm dinners.

Simon grew up where love looked like broken dishes and bruised knuckles.

So when he realized he liked you, it confused the hell out of him.

It started small. You worked nearby—same building, different department. He’d seen you around enough to recognize the soft way you moved through rooms, like you were trying not to disturb the air. Always polite. Always quiet. Eyes that never quite held his for long.

At first, he thought you avoided him because of the mask.

Wouldn’t be the first.

But then he started noticing other things.

The way you’d freeze when he walked past, shoulders going stiff. The way your fingers would tighten around whatever you were holding. The way you’d duck your head so quickly he barely caught a glimpse of your face.

Right.

You were scared of him.

Simon leaned back in his chair in the rec room one night, arms crossed as he stared at the ceiling.

Brilliant, Riley.

Still… it didn’t stop the feeling.

It was strange, liking someone. He didn’t know what to do with it. Soap had once said something about flirting—buying drinks, cracking jokes, smiling.

Simon wasn’t about to start cracking jokes.

After two weeks of overthinking it, he came to a conclusion.

Best to just ask.

Direct.

Clear.

Efficient.

All the things he was good at.

So the next morning, when he saw you standing alone near the coffee machine, he decided that was as good a moment as any.

You didn’t notice him at first.

You were focused on the coffee cup in your hands, carefully stirring sugar into it. Humming under your breath as the small spoon clinked softly against the ceramic.

Simon approached like he would a hostile building.

Measured steps. Quiet. Controlled.

When he stopped behind you, his shadow fell across the counter.

You noticed immediately.

Your shoulders stiffened.

Slowly—very slowly—you turned.

And then you saw him.

Six foot something of silent military presence, broad shoulders filling the small breakroom doorway. His skull mask stared down at you, dark eyes watching from behind it.

Your brain immediately chose panic.

Your hands tightened around the coffee cup like it might protect you.

Simon studied you for a moment.

You looked… small.

Not weak. Just… delicate. Like if someone spoke too loudly you might flinch.

He frowned slightly behind the mask.

Right.

Words.

He cleared his throat.

It came out rough.

“You.”

That did not help.

Your eyes widened immediately.

Simon mentally swore.

He tried again.

“You’re… uh.”

Christ.

Why was this harder than interrogation?

“You’re the one who works down the hall.”

Your voice came out soft and nervous.

“Y-yes, sir.”

Sir.

He hated that.

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh—sorry—”

You looked like you were about two seconds from apologizing yourself into the floor.

Right. Focus.

Simon straightened slightly, forcing himself to just say it.

His tone was blunt. Matter-of-fact.

“I want to take you out.”

Your brain completely short-circuited.

“…what?”

Simon nodded once, like he was confirming a mission objective.

“Dinner. Or coffee.” He gestured vaguely at the machine. “Whatever people do.”

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Your face slowly turned pink.

Simon misread your silence immediately.

His stomach dropped.

Right. Of course.

Why would someone like you want anything to do with someone like him.

“You don’t have to,” he said quickly, voice flattening into its usual military tone. “Was just askin’. Forget it.”

He started to turn away.

And that’s when you panicked.

“N-no!”

Simon froze.

Slowly, he turned back.

You were gripping your coffee cup with both hands, face red, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

“I mean—” you swallowed hard. “I—I’d like that.”

Simon stared at you.

“You would.”

It wasn’t a question.

You nodded quickly.

“Y-yes.”

Simon studied you again.

You were clearly terrified.

Fidgeting. Avoiding his gaze. Nervous energy practically vibrating off you.

And yet… you said yes.

Something unfamiliar settled quietly in his chest.

Not pride.

Not victory.

Just… warmth.

He nodded once.

“Alright.”

You waited.

Simon waited.

Neither of you moved.

Finally you asked softly, “S-so… when?”

Simon considered it like he was planning a tactical operation.

“Friday.”

“O-okay.”

“Six.”

“Okay.”

Another pause.

You looked like you might faint.

Simon shifted awkwardly.

Then, after a moment, he added gruffly,

“I won’t wear the mask.”

Your head snapped up in surprise.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck again, clearly uncomfortable.

“Figured it might help.”

Your expression softened just a little.

And for the first time since the conversation started…

You smiled.

It was small.

Shy.

But real.

Simon felt something in his chest do a strange, unfamiliar flip.

Yeah.

You murmur amid desperate moans. The bed frame creaks as the movements of whoever is fucking you intensify.

Johnny grabs your chin tightly, brushing his lips against your cheek as he speaks in an irritatingly complacent voice.

"Oh, come on, bonnie, try a little harder."

The four men — Price, Simon, Johnny, and Kyle — had blindfolded you and tied your hands to the bed. The intention was to play a "guessing game," as Soap had dubbed it, but with one condition: you only get to cum if you guess who it is. Now, you are desperately trying to get your relief.

"Ughh... I don't know. Is it Simon?"

You guess sadly, eliciting a feigned sigh of disappointment from Johnny.

"I don't want to hear you saying anything, baby. Come on, feel that cock. Think: who makes love to you like this, huh?"

You do as the sargent says — think a little more, which is difficult when the man penetrating you makes you see stars. You feel — the well-defined veins, the long but not too thick length that could reach deep inside you, the firm but not too rough movements. It could only be one person.

"Kyle! It's Kyle, isn't it?"

You try again, and get a satisfied chuckle from the rest of the men.

The figure above you, who you now know to be Kyle, leans over your body, planting a slow kiss on your lips.

"Thank God, baby. I had to hold myself back from moaning with that tight little pussy of yours."

And they do as they promised: Kyle continues his advances on you while Johnny reaches down to caress your clit until you reach your limit.

In the next round, you're lying face down, mouth open, ready to receive the next cock. The man approaches you slowly, grabbing his penis while holding your chin delicately with one large hand. Your mouth is guided to the tip, which is already dripping with pre-ejaculate. This time, it's Price who is encouraging you.

"Hey, honey? Whose cock is this, huh?"

The hoarse voice whispers in your ear, pausing to distribute wet kisses down your jaw, neck, and collarbone.

You distribute provocative kisses along the blunt tip, and the man allows you to do whatever you want with him. Soon your tongue leaves your mouth to lick a long streak of saliva along its entire length. Then you realize: this penis is huge. It could be two options: Johnny or Simon. To remove the only doubt you had left, you wrapped your mouth around the glans, sucking and licking the sensitive skin before taking the penis almost entirely down your throat. From your conclusions, it could only be one person: Simon.

With a pop, you took the cock out of your mouth for a moment just to say, convinced:

"It's Simon."

Price let out a satisfied murmur.

"That's right, sweetheart. You know us so well."

john likes to think he domesticated you, but it's really the other way around. you pout as you rub his shoulders and he does anything you ask. including semi retirement. it wasn't on the cards until you came along. you knew exactly what buttons to press to get anything you wanted from him.

simon saw the way johnny bent his knee to your every whim. called him a pathetic mutt when he saw him buried between your thighs. "not a pathetic mutt," you said, smoothing johnny's hair back. "just knows what's best for him."

simon rolled his eyes, but he found himself watching you and johnny more and more. a pretty smile, a batt of your eyelashes, and he was ready to fall at your feet, too.

kyle was the smart one of the group, clearly. he watched with an amused smile as you had everybody else dancing around you, doing anything you wanted. he wasn't going to break so easily.

he raised his eyebrow at you as john passed you a cup of tea. he kissed your head and sat down with the newspaper as johnny threw a blanket over you. simon hadn't made an appearance yet, but he'd be all over you once he did.

"enjoying yourself, sweet?" kyle asked, entirely too amused.

simon walked in just in time for you to pass your steaming cup of tea to him. he took it and took a sip (you enjoyed the same amount of sugar in your tea: entirely too much).

"maybe i am," you said as you sauntered over to kyle. slipping onto his lap, you wound your arms around his neck. "c'mon, kyle," you said with a pout, nails scratching against his scalp. "don't you think you'd be happier if you just gave in?"

"saying you don't like the challenge, hon?" he asked, hands on your hips.

"i love one." you went to kiss him, just about held back. torture for him, but kyle knew it was torture for you, too. he was willing to keep this up as long as you were. you may have domesticated the others, but kyle wasn't going to let you domesticate him.

good thing you were as stubborn as him.

You’re just not used to it being with them since they took you from your real— no you’re bad owner.

He wasn’t bad to you. Atleast, that’s what you thought. That’s what your heart told you.

Him being gone didn’t mean to just start acting out of character, it was hard to adjust. To live somewhere new, and to sleep alone, and not being told what to do when you needed some help. You knew the list to control yourself ingrained in the back for your brain.

Deep breath, hide your ears & tail, another deep breath and there wouldn’t be a reason to be so hyper all the time, another breath, and he’d do all the thinking for you. Don’t worry that pretty little head, he said.

And it wasn’t so easy on the 141 either. You’d go on missions, listen so well and when all is said and done you’d dart to your bedroom. Didn’t want to hang out or just talk outside of work. The one place that’d become your safe haven. The one place that had your previous owners shirt that started to smell less and less like him.

You couldn’t help but feel more and more alone even when you were surrounded by people.

But you started noticing things from being so alone.

You’d realized something as Gaz was patching up in the helicopter— they all have big hands. Large Calloused hands with thick fingers. John’s were hairy, so rough from working in the field for so long, you’d felt his hand on the back of your neck while he guided you somewhere, he runs warm.

Gaz’s hands are so well taken care of, manicured, long like he could be a hand model but still rough, like he’d been to hell before despite his softer exterior, and always has the least bit of grime unlike Soap’s.

His are a little shorter, but thicker, he a few tattoos on the back of his hands, a couple rings always stay on his fingers with chipped nail polish.

And then there’s Simon, who has the largest hands, most rough despite him wearing gloves, there are a lot of scars, maybe even a burn or two, said himself, “Almost lost my thumb with this one.”

And it makes you almost yearn to hear the story behind it, feel his— or any of their hand on you and rub your back or pay your head while you sleep.

It was an act of you being desperate for something. Anything. Dead of night during a mission, you managed to sneak passed Simon and John, light as a feather. You stood over the makeshift cot Gaz was sleeping in with bags under your eyes, exhausted. You bend down on your knees, laying your head on his stomach and placed his hand to cup your face, letting his thumb drag itself across your cheek. So soft, so warm— had your ears and tail popped out from holding it in for so long. Tail swishing from excitement. You were out like a light before you could try to regain yourself.

It took everything in Gaz to not react when he’d found you there, sleeping so soundly on him. Pretending to be asleep once you finally woke up so cutely.

And then Soap who has patted your knee after a tiring mission, you couldn’t even control your body when he shyed away, firmly placing his hand back to where it belonged on your thigh before resting your head on his shoulder to take a quick nap.

Simon who unconsciously tickles the bottom of your chin just like Soap and Gaz when they listen well, you can’t help your tail quickly swishing behind you, nuzzling your face in his hand.

And then John, who takes his big hand in yours whenever he has to take you anywhere. Worse, he’ll let his hand find your back, soothingly rubbing circles on your waist—

Okay, maybe you were starting to see the benefits of the 141.

You open your bedside drawer getting the Small gun they made you get lisensed for. You disengage the safety on the weapon and get out of bed.

The rustling stopped but now you hear havy feet drag over the floor downstairs.

Slowly you open the bedroomdoor, you see the lights downstairs. Deep voices reach your ears and you stop in your tracks. Your sleep mind doesnt recolect the voices which makes you inch closer to the stairs.

a man with a weird looking hairstyle walks up the stairs.

Before you think you shoot a warning shot into the wall next to the Mans head.

a short silence follows the shot before the man starts screaming.

"Bonnie it´s just me." soap Holds up his hands in surrender and your Brain finally understands that the only thing that happend was that your boys came back home.

The gun sinks back down and you look at soap who´s wearing his big smile.

"You´re.... You´re home." you nearly throw yourself at the golden Retriever man.

Soap catches you in a hug, picks you up and goes back down the stairs to the others.

the two of them decide to play a little game... guess who's who?

at first it's easy, you know the cocks you love. every vein, every ridge, every.little.detail.

but then whose cock is inside your gummy walls?

you didn't recognize the hands that roamed across your naked body, groping you.

noticing your rising panic, a voice shushed you. a voice you knew. johnny mactavish.

seconds after, another unknown pair of hands joined, teasing your clit as johnny's dick bullied your insides.

"you like that, hm, honey?"

kyle...

you'd recognize that nickname everywhere.