disasterofastory

[disasterofastory]

141 x reader reacting to incel/redpill content?

Poison in the Algorithm

Pairing: Poly!141 x Reader

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 life—and 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 aren’t having any of it—not with you, not in this house.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The video’s thumbnail was obnoxious. Red text. Squinting man in wraparound sunglasses. Buzzwords like “WOMEN OVER 25” and “HIT THE WALL” punched across the screen like it was selling a political thriller. You pressed play.

Ten minutes later, your stomach hurt.

You didn’t even realize Johnny was home until he was suddenly standing behind you, towel still looped around his neck, a scowl etched into his face.

“What the fuck is that?” His accent sliced through the audio before you even registered he was there.

You startled, flipping your phone over. ”Just—something that popped up. I was curious.”

“Curious?” Johnny snatched the phone like it personally offended him. “Jesus, babe. This is Andrew Tate’s discount cousin.”

You laughed, thin and nervous. “I didn’t think it’d mess with me this much. I just wanted to see what people are watching.”

Johnny scrolled. “They’re not watching. They’re inhaling this shit like it’s gospel.” His voice was sharp, but his eyes were worried. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The content was stupid, you knew that—but 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.

“Hey,” he said, voice softening. “Don't you dare believe a fuckin’ word of it.”

From the hallway, Kyle’s voice carried in. “What’s going on?”

“She’s watching incel videos,” Johnny called.

Kyle appeared in seconds, dishrag in one hand, brows raised. “Oh, hell no.”

You gave a weak smile. “It’s not like I agree—“

“Doesn’t matter,” Kyle cut in, eyes kind but firm. “That shit gets in your head. You let enough of it in, it’ll start whispering lies in your own voice.”

You tried to brush it off. “I just wanted to understand it.”

John’s heavy footsteps hit the hardwood floor before you heard him speak. “You don’t need to understand it, sweetheart. You just need to stay away from it.”

He walked in wearing an old army tee, sleeves tight on his forearms, mug in hand. He looked like he’d seen this before—like he’d dealt with more than a few young soldiers who came back from leave parroting the same poison.

“They want you to question yourself,” he said, sitting beside you. “That’s the whole point. Convince you you’re not enough so they can sell you the illusion of control.”

You stared at the muted video still playing on your phone. “But what if I am too much? Too opinionated, too independent, too—“

“You’re ours,” Simon interrupted.

He was leaning against the doorway, black hoodie, hood up, mask half pulled down. His voice was dead calm. Dangerous.

“If you ever repeat that shit about yourself again, I’ll break every one of their microphones and necks.”

You blinked at him.

“They want you insecure because insecure people are easier to manipulate, he said. But you? You’ve got four highly trained men wrapped around your little finger. And not one of us would change a damn thing.”

John leaned over and kissed your temple. “Exactly.”

Kyle knelt in front of you, hand on your knee. “You’re not ‘high-value’ like some commodity. You’re just you. Funny. Fiery. Gentle. Smart. Real.”

Johnny nudged your shoulder with his own. ”Also ridiculously hot. Don’t forget that part.”

That got a chuckle out of you.

Simon crossed the room and sat on the arm of the couch beside you. “Tell me something, he said quietly. Do you think I’d share a bed, a life, with someone who didn’t make me feel safe?”

You shook your head.

“Exactly,” he whispered. “You’re the only soft thing I’ve got left. And I’m not giving that up for anyone’s idea of what’s ‘marketable.’”

Kyle grinned. “Besides. If you were some ‘obedient tradwife’ type, Johnny would spontaneously combust.”

“I would,” Johnny said. “I’d set the fuckin’ kitchen on fire out of spite.”

“I’d help,” Kyle added.

“And I’d be recording,” John muttered.

You were laughing now, tucked between them all like you’d never left. Warm. Safe.

Johnny looked at your phone again. “You want me to throw this against a wall?”

Simon held out his hand. “Give it here. I’ll queue up some actual content—cat videos, maybe. Slow cooking. Paint mixing.”

“You’re such a softie,” Johnny teased.

“No. I’m just anti-bullshit.”

John’s arm slid around your shoulders. “You know what I think?” he murmured. “Let them sit behind their cameras preaching loneliness. Meanwhile, you’ve got four men who’d die for you—and live for you, too.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Kyle leaned up and kissed your cheek. “You’re so much more than they’ll ever deserve.”

You let the phone slide off the couch and buried your face in Johnny’s chest. The video kept playing, muffled by cushions. But it didn’t matter.

Because you couldn’t hear it anymore.

Only the heartbeat of the men who loved you—four anchors holding you above the noise.

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

[disasterofastory]

141 x scary!reader. And when I say scary, I mean even ur teammates are wary around u.

You've got that horrible street dog look, glowering eyes, scars, a permanent scowl on ur face. Which, isn't much different from ghost, right? Except you are unpredictable and give absolutely zero fucks. You have absolutely put a soldier in the hospital on multiple occasions when they got too pushy for ur liking.

Unfortunately for gaz, he really likes scary. You bodied someone during sparring and gaz had to physically repress the shiver that ran up his spine. It becomes so much worse when the team decide to hunt eachother in the dark as "training" (dont ask idc). Gaz...may have been taunting u a bit by saying you couldn't catch him, he knows you love challenges.

The entire time hes running through the trees, all he can think about is that dangerous steel cold look you gave him. He's already half-hard just thinking abt it.

When you do catch him? Shove him against a tree and press a blade to this throat? He whimpers, unable to stop himself. Pause. Tilt your head, then chuckle. "Oh. Youre actually pathetic huh?" You grin, shifting so ur thigh slots between his. "Go on then."

And he gets off like that, grinding against you and whining. He doesnt dare move more than the few inches you've alotted, wont touch because he knows you will happily cut him if he does. That just makes it all the better.

Anyways now gaz has an extra hard time watching u spar when he knows how that body feels pressed against his lol.

[disasterofastory]

John Price-Captain

Shopping Style: Dad mode.

Knows what brands he wants. Trusts nothing else.

Buys way too many canned goods “just in case.”

Points at overpriced items with disgust. “Bloody daylight robbery.”

Holds the shopping list like it’s a classified mission doc.

Adds a bottle of scotch and says, “That’s for surviving this trip with you.”

You: “We’re here for vegetables.” Price: “Whiskey’s made from grain. That’s technically a vegetable.”

Simon Riley- Ghost

Shopping Style: Tactical and silent.

Has a literal list. You bet it’s categorized by aisle.

Moves like he’s clearing rooms. Checks corners. Avoids crowds. Hates the loud music.

You grab a bag of chips? He just raises an eyebrow. “You call that food?”

Will not say it, but secretly puts your favorite snacks in the cart when you’re not looking.

Glares at the self-checkout like it owes him money.

You: “Simon, do we need five cans of beans?” Ghost: “You never know.”

John MacTavish-Soap

Shopping Style: Walking chaos gremlin.

Rides the cart like a damn surfboard.

Touches everything. Samples the grapes. Squeezes every loaf of bread.

“Oi, babe, we should try this weird cheese. Just once. For science.”

Gets distracted in the cereal aisle. Ends up picking some cartoon box “because it looks like me.”

You lose him for ten minutes. Find him testing the massage chairs.

You: “Stick to the list!” Soap: “The list is a suggestion, lass.”

Kyle Garrick- Gaz

Shopping Style: Chill but flirty.

Pushing the cart like a perfect husband. Letting you lead, but quietly judging overpriced brands.

Holds your hand between aisles. Sneaks snacks into the cart just to make you smile.

Will carry all the bags in one trip. “I got it, love. Trust.”

Quietly competitive about grabbing deals: “£1.99 for two? We’re winning.”

You: “You’re making this weirdly romantic.” Gaz: “I shop like I love — with commitment and strategy.”

Alejandro Vargas

Shopping Style: King of the produce aisle.

Knows what’s ripe. Taps the watermelon like it owes him rent.

Gets passionate about picking the right avocados.

Gives unsolicited cooking tips to strangers. “You’re buying those peppers? No no, let me show you something better.”

Buys all the ingredients to make dinner for you later.

Will absolutely argue with a coupon if it doesn’t scan.

You: “We only needed milk.” Alejandro: “Yes, but what if I make enchiladas tonight?”

König

Shopping Style: Anxious giant, tries to blend in but fails.

Tries to hide in his hoodie and baseball cap. Still towers over everyone.

Holds the basket instead of the cart because the cart is too loud and the wheel always squeaks and draws attention.

Sticks close to you, like a big quiet shadow.

You ask, “Do we need this?” and he just nods every time because he doesn’t want to say no to you in public.

Gets flustered in crowded aisles. If someone blocks the shelf you need, he’ll whisper, “Do you want me to move them?”

You ask him to grab something from the top shelf and he does it without effort. Bonus: the sweater rides up a little. Nice.

Bakery section. He loves the smell. Buys you little pastries and pretends it’s for you, but ends up eating half.

BUT if his axienty spikes,he is not leaving that cart-go on and make sure you get him those marshmellow bunnies

Phillip Graves

Shopping Style: CEO energy. Wants it over with fast.

Walks like he owns the store. Sunglasses indoors.

Complains about the music, prices, and kids screaming in aisle 5.

Grabs name brands only. “We’re not poor.”

Buys steaks, protein powder, energy drinks, and $10 soap.

Tries to flirt with you in the frozen section like it’s a bar.

You: “We forgot bread.” Graves: “We’ll send a damn drone next time.”

[disasterofastory]

Prequel thought of this bc I need more complex Gaz in my life. Because he was always taught that sharing the pieces of himself was bad. Not in an overt way – he will be the first to tell you that his childhood was fine, thank you very much – but in subtle ways that left him convinced the only way to keep people interested was to take the best traits of those around him and make them his. He was the best of everyone around him, and he always would be.

It starts when he's a child, despite what he says. The first time a teacher tells him that he's asking too many questions about the Roman Empire, and the girl behind him snickered at the admonishment. If you'd asked him at the time he'd say he'd felt hot, molten in his chest like he'd swallowed a spoiled reheated meal. And he learned to take his questions home with him to look up another day.

The first time he says he likes Manchester, while watching the telly with his father, he learns that "in Liverpool, we cheer for Liverpool" and it was not up for debate. So now he owned a hoodie and jogger set that he only wore when he returned to his father's house, and a Manchester hoodie he could wear with his team. (Because Ghost liked Manchester, and if Ghost likes it then Soap will fall in line. And if Ghost and Soap are in line, Captain will give a nod of approval, and no one will know what he's against and what he's for.)

The first time he asks a girl on a date, he awkwardly shuffles toward her, cologne too strong and his stutter stronger – and she laughs at him. He spends the entire year observing, almost falling for tragic advice of negging and peacocking, just to realize what he needed was charm. What he needed was smooth confidence. And he could fake that. He could fake anything. And with enough practice, it wasn't faking, it was real. Confidence was his weapon, and he had enough of it in spades.

He's an adult before he learns to change his approach to each woman he meets, however. Until one night he gets rejected - the hot flame of shame beginning to settle in his chest - before Soap claps him on the shoulder, a tad too jolly, joking about how "a lass like that needs more than you're pretty smile".

That's when he realizes the team has more to them than he realized.

He'd watch as Price clocks girls who prefer a quiet night in to whatever bar they happen to be at. How he'll go outside for a few minutes to let the cigar smoke mute itself on his clothes before coming inside to "happen" to need a drink from the bar at the same time as the girl. Instead of flashing a smile he makes conversation about wishing he was home with the book he's reading - it was always the same book - but it was enough to get the girl to smile at him.

And Gaz would take note. Shift just enough in his routine to draw an eye. A cigarette instead of a cigar. A subtle cologne that gave him an outdoorsy vibe. A dog instead of a book, perfect for pictures and a way to get her phone out.

He'd watch Soap, as brash as the bloak was, he'd often go after girls who seemed like they radiated "do not fuck with me vibes". But he'd find a way to break the ice. First he'd try a compliment. If that didn't work, he'd be honest. "I just wanted you to know I thought you were gorgeous, and if you tell me to fuck off i'll fuck off. But i'd just like to chat." And he'd be in.

Gaz only tried this a few times. Less interested in the work of trying to be interesting and more interested in the conquest. The fuck off girls, rightfully, seemed to only want a real connection - and that was something he could only fake for so long.

Simon was the hardest to pin down. He rarely actively went after a bird, as he called them. They normally came to him. In fact, it took several months of Gaz eyeing the man to realize what was up. Something, or someone, would catch his eye, and he'd sit up a little straighter. Suddenly he was the biggest thing in the room, eyes only occassionally meeting his target as he seemingly scanned around looking for something to interest him.

It was a form of negging, Gaz would realize. Simon would make it seem like their appearance hadn't interested him, and they'd be drawn to it like moths to flame. They'd want to know what could make him interested.

This was the hardest to replicate. The nonchalance, the appearing to not want the chase. There was a certain balancing act to adapting it to his playbook. Only acknowledge once, a curt nod or a raised drink would suffice, pretend to only glance their way when they're glancing at you. But when he got it? He was able to swoop in on every target, until they started partnering off.

First it was John. It only took one canceled outing to know that the Captain would be missing in action for the foreseeable future. And he was. It took five months for the Captain to invite them 'round for a drink at home, a pretty little thing sat on his lap.

Ghost was shockingly next, despite Gaz' assumptions that it'd be Soap. It was on a rare leave, John and Johnny both gone to their respective homes. Gaz's one thought to cure the boredom was his Leftenant. Only to be shocked by a bird, thick as cream and sweet as pie, opening Simon's door in one of the man's training t-shirts. Something the man never acknowledged while they watched the Manchester match.

Soap was leashed by the time that leave was up. Claimed he'd found a "right bonny lass" at a neighborhood potluck. (And seemingly never left her side until it was time to come back to base.) He was almost eager to show a polaroid photo ("she's into photography, that one. But some of these are private, ya know), both smiling ear to ear with matching scarfs. Johnny claiming he'd have her fully moved in at the end of his next leave.

So, in all honesty, Gaz should've seen you coming.

He planned for it, initially. Supposed if the rest of his team was paired off, he needed to be too.

He should've seen the writing on the wall when he was on a rare night out with other soldiers. A popular military bar next to base, crowded and full of people he typically found not worth in imitating. But it was a night to celebrate a successful mission to capture a terrorist in the North Sea. A man who's name he didn't remember, but he'd kiss on the mouth if it meant he'd meet you again.

You were a bartender. Clearly in your element as the room ebbed and flowed in crowd size. Still, he waited til the bar started to get sparce to try anything. First, he attempted Ghost's method. A raised glass as you're scanning the room for anything. You send a waitress over, and it dashes that plan.

He finishes his (new) drink, tossing more than he needed to on the table for the waitress, before relocating to the bar.

It's Johnny's tactic next. A flash smile and a nod to your skills, the compliment rolls off his tongue like honey. You're not impressed. A leveled glare and a shrug as you mosey about cleaning the barback. That's when he decides to remix. A mixture of Soap and Bravado.

"Listen," he says, "I know you're probably tired of all of us soldiers hitting on you – I can't say I blame them. But I'm genuinely impressed. And I just think you deserve to be pampered, is all." It wasn't his smoothest delivery - the drinks and late hour clearly wearing on his charm - but it still was enough for you to pause. Enough that he has you home that night. And he thinks he'll have you every night, if you'd let him.

[disasterofastory]

I dont remember seeing something like this, but how do you think the boys would react to their crush walking in on them jacking off?

Could be headcanons or a short fic/scenario idk have fun with this or just ignore it.

:P

Anon, I'm sure you probably thought this would be something cute, sweet, and fluffy...and I went and made it smutty. Won't lie, anon, my brain saw the way forward, and it was naughty. So...have fun! I know I did!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: masturbation, mutual masturbation, cum swallowing, oral sex, hand jobs, piv sex, creampie, swearing, dirty talk

Word Count: 1.3k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

Price is alone, which is why he feels safe in easing the tension.

A lone lamp on the corner of his desk illuminates just enough of the small office to see by. Price is slouched in his chair, legs spread and relaxed, the front of his pants open. He fists his cock, eyelids heavy as he replays the events of the day.

You’re a sweet thing, but off-limits to him. Every smile and playful wink send blood rushing to his dick. He can’t help himself. Price is enamored with you.

And because he’s lost in your image, too focused on imagining your pussy as his hand, Price doesn’t notice when you enter his office.

It’s the inhale that gives you away. A sharp surprise that has Price’s hand stilling.

Price coughs. Clears his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t—”

“Don’t,” you murmur, hand slightly raised.

Price freezes, his brain stuttering out as you gracefully glide across the floor, coming around the side of his desk. Your gaze lingers on his face before it drops to his groin. You lick your lips, and Price nearly groans at that hungry glint.

Slowly, you sink to your knees. “Keep going,” you say in that breathy tone.

This time, Price’s muscles melt, becoming putty, answering of their own accord. Holding your gaze, he strokes himself, a tightness forming at the base of his spine. When you lean forward, and present your open mouth, Price loses all control.

A few more strokes and ropes of cum hit your extended tongue. Your eyes shine with lust. The tip of your tongue curls to lick up the few remaining drops. Price decides right then. Before you leave, he’s taking you on the desk.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Keys in the deadbolt. Shopping bags in hand. You’re home a bit early, but that’s fine. Johnny, your roommate, shouldn’t be here. But as you enter the living room, everything freezes—grinds to a halt. Johnny is completely fucking naked, and he’s—

Johnny groans your name, head tilted back to rest on the lip of the sofa, his hand around his cock stroking rapidly. You nearly trip over your own feet as you stumble to a stop. The crinkle of the grocery bags fills the room, and Johnny bolts upright, standing quickly, alert and on edge, gaze darting everyone before landing on you.

“Fuck,” he says, just as you exclaim, “Oh my God.”

Every taut muscle is on display. Sure, you’ve eyed him a few times, but you’ve always kept your distance. Been respectful. But you’re salivating over this specimen before you, gaze falling to his erect penis that juts up toward the ceiling.

“Like what you see, lass?” he coos, and your pussy immediately clenches.

Your face grows hot. “I—”

“Put those bags down. Come here,” he says in that same, sultry timbre. Johnny fists the base of his cock.

You promptly drop the bags and take a step forward, unsure of why you’re complying except that your pussy is eager that you are.

“That’s it,” he praises as you draw close. “Stop right there.” You halt, gazing down at him as he spreads himself wide for your viewing pleasure. “Take it off.” Your workout clothes you went to the store in are gone in an instant. “Sit. Spread those legs for me.”

You sink down next to him on the sofa, leaning against the armrest as you open for him.

“Fucking hell, lass. I’ve been wanting to see you like this for ages.” You preen under that praise, wanting nothing more than to please him. “Play with your clit,” he instructs.

As you swirl a finger around that sensitive bud, Johnny starts to masturbate, his gaze locked onto your pussy. “Beautiful. Fucking perfect,” he murmurs.

The two of you move together, and when you dip one finger into your pussy, Johnny’s eyelids flutter, and the moan he releases his downright feral.

With his other hand, Johnny cups his balls, squeezing them slightly as he fucks up into his hand. Another thrust, and then ropes of cum spurt onto his chiseled stomach.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon pretends that it’s a mistake, that he didn’t plan for this to happen. But he’s a selfish bastard, and you’re the woman he’s been lusting after for months. He knew you’d walk in. Knew you’d join in if he remained confident and steadfast in his actions.

Now, here you are. Watching. Staring. Engrossed in the way Simon pleases himself.

“You want me, love? Because I want you,” he croons.

The sweetest thing about it is how you saunter over to him, nodding in eagerness, discarded your clothes like they burn your skin. No. Not a crush any longer. A lover. That’s what you are now, and Simon intends to keep you.

Simon continues to stroke himself, forcing you to stay on your knees—forcing you to watch as he brings himself closer to release. You lick your lips, admiring every stroke and touch, and that is enough to bring him closer.

“In my lap,” he growls, his voice throaty and gruff.

You staddle him, and then Simon is easing you down onto his cock. It won’t be long. Just a couple quick thrusts. And that is all it takes. Simon grips your hips, holding you down on him as he coats your pussy with his cum.

“That was for me,” he murmurs, lips brushing over yours. “Now it’s your turn.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle is naked from the waist down, his joggers bunched around his ankles, his hand fisting his cock. You’re enthralled by the sudden surprise of finding him this way. You knocked on his door, heard a grunt, and thought that meant you should come in.

Clearly, it wasn’t. Clearly, Kyle’s grunt was one of pleasure and not an invitation.

Even standing there as you are, you believe that you haven’t been noticed, that Kyle does not detect your presence. But the smallest gasp escapes you as a pearly bead of cum blooms in the slit, and a sharp desire to lick it up emerges forth without coaxing.

Kyle’s eyes snap open, his entire body tensing as the two of you lock gazes.

“Fuck,” he mutters, sitting up, glancing around like he’s not sure what to do next. “Sorry.”

“No,” you reply. “No. It’s fine, Kyle. I intruded.” Instead of reaching for his pants, he grabs the pillow, covering himself. “Don’t stop on my account.” The words fall from your lips easily.

Kyle glances up in surprise. “You…”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” you murmur, taking a step back.

“Wait,” and his voice is a sharp command. His gaze is serious. Pointed. “Come here.”

Liquid heat swells, urging you forward, urging you on until you’re standing directly in front of him. Kyle removes the pillow and you reach out, fisting his cock.

“Can I?” you ask, and Kyle nods with a groan.

You gently fist him, pumping slowly, watching in fascination as more precum emerges from the tip. Your head dips, tongue sliding over the slit. Kyle shudders, and your pussy grows wet. As your lips suction onto the head, you forget the earlier embarrassment. Taking more each time you come down, the room fills with the wet glide of your mouth around his cock and Kyle’s moans.

You’ve dreamed about this. Dreamed about him. And clearly, he has too, because Kyle is whispering your name, raining praises onto you that makes your cunt clench with anticipation. Another good suction and Kyle explodes down your throat, coating the inside of your mouth with cum.

You lick him clean, then wipe up the remains around the corner of your mouth with your thumb.

[disasterofastory]

“Do not wear anything pretty,” Gaz insists.

“What? Why?” It’s not like you were planning on it. You have a pair of jeans wedged under your arm, and you’re currently searching through your shirts for something medium-cute.

Your boyfriend sighs on the other end of the line. “Wear a hoodie. Maybe one of mine, with the hood up.”

“What the fuck, Kyle? Are you embarrassed of me?”

“No, I… I just think it’s for the best.”

You frown, moving your phone closer to your ear so you can hear every change in his voice. “What are you afraid of?”

“Nothin. Just wear the hoodie. Please, sweetheart.”

Fine.

You show up on base later in a stupid hoodie with the stupid hood up, bringing Kyle his stupid passkey that he stupidly forgot to grab this morning. He’s waiting for you at the front desk, so you don’t even have to check in.

You get a quick kiss and a fervent, “Thanks, really,” from your boyfriend, and then just as you’re opening your mouth to demand an explanation—

“AHH! Ahh! I fookin knew it!”

Some asshole with a mohawk is suddenly striding up to you, arms outstretched and beaming as if it’s Christmas morning.

“Christ, Soap,” Kyle groans, putting himself slightly between you and the oncoming threat, “will you just—“

“Ghost!” the man calls over his shoulder, undeterred. “Get your arse over here, Gaz finally brought that ‘friend’ to meet us!”

Kyle pulls you into his side, whispering, “I am so sorry.”

“The one from the photo?” rumbles a new voice. “Ahh, yeah, it is.”

Turns out he’s been hiding your existence from his coworkers all this time, but that didn’t stop them from glimpsing his phone background one day when he wasn’t paying attention. They’d been hounding him ever since.

Drabble masterlist

[disasterofastory]

hiii i love your drunk in the club series !!

would you write a blurb/fic where johnny shows the rest of the 141 the picture from the bar of reader and ghost? i feel like that could be so cuteee

DRUNK IN DA CLUB — OUTTAKE I

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

I’ve been waiting for this one, let’s fucking go.

It had been less than twenty four hours back on base before John set his mind to ruining Simon’s day.

He was fucking tired— a nice bone tired after a good holiday — no one has really picked up on his oddly serene mood yet, and he was hoping to keep it that way for at least the rest of the day.

Miss you already.

Sent 25 minutes ago.

He wasn’t ignoring you, just waiting for a pocket of silence where he would have you to himself without peering eyes and ears. The dining room was empty as of now, everyone being preoccupied with unpacking their things so he was soaking in the last minutes of peaceful silence until all hell broke loose.

“Restful break then?” Gaz asks, clapping him on the shoulder before taking a seat beside him.

“S’alright,” he mutters through his mask.

“No beach trip like Soap wanted I take it?” He inquires jokingly, broad smile on his face.

Simon rolls his eyes, “Fuck no.”

Price mills in not long after, catching the tail end of the conversation, “Hell would soon freeze over before I here about Ghost at the beach,”

“Can’t argue with that, Cap.” Gaz laughs.

A steady silence washes over the kitchen as everyone goes about their individual things. John is suspiciously absent, he’s usually the first one trying to unpack a conversation—in avoidance of unpacking his bags—Simon thinks he’s probably stealing another minute to talk to that girl he met through you.

He spoke too soon.

Moments later Johnny strides in, first it’s inconspicuous, like he’s just trying to see what everyone else is up too. But then he sees who’s in the room, Simon sitting at the head of the table while Gaz and Price sit either side engaged in small talk. Simon watches as John’s expression morphs into one of concerning mischief. He watches as he cautiously approaches the table, standing at the other end and pressing his fingertips together like a cliché villain would.

John clears his throat, “I’m glad I could bring you all here on such short notice,”

Gaz raises an eyebrow and looks at Simon, “What’s he on about?”

Simon shrugs, “Fucked if I know,” he knows.

“You’re probably wondering why I called you here,” John carries on, pacing back and forth.

“Spit it out son,” Price sighs, “It’s too early for you to be talking in tongues,”

John points at Simon, “He’s the one that’s been talking in tongues,” he shoots back, laughing at his own inside joke.

“Anyway, where was I,” he pauses, “Oh yeah. I am here to tell you the epic tale of the one who crumbled The Ghost himself.”

All three men look at him in silence. If Simon wasn’t wearing a mask right now he’d be pinching the bridge of his nose, he refuses to give into the bait so he just sits there in silent resignation.

Gaz is the first to break the silence, “Five bucks I call bullshit— it’s gonna be some elaborate fairytale,”

Johnny points at him as an auctioneer would, “I call your bet, anyone else in?”

Price sighs and leans back in his seat while crossing his arms over his chest, “Get on with it Soap, I don’t have all day,”

John clears his throat theatrically, “I, ever so graceful—”

“Yeah, that’s the word we’ll use,” Gaz mutters.

“Shut up,” he raises his palm in Gaz’s face, “Ever so graceful, hosted Ghost over the break,” he lowers his hand, “And in that time, I saw this fucker find his soulmate,”

Price raises an eyebrow and looks towards Gaz, “I think I’m seeing the fairytale come to life,”

Gaz hums, “Where did the princess come from?”

John scoffs, “Can’t show all my card yet Gaz, c’mon now,” he looks at Simon, “Anything details you want to add? Wedding plans?

Simon shakes his head, “You’ve lost your mind,”

“Wedding?” Price inquires turning his head to see Simon now. He hates how much they’re both buying into John’s nonsense theatrics, he’d almost rather blurt out the truth himself.

“Who’s best man then?” Gaz laughs, “It’s me, right Ghost?”

“Fuck off,” John spits, “I’m the obvious choice,”

Simon huffs and looks up at the ceiling, shaking his head in disbelief, “Not havin’ this debate, finish your story, Johnny,”

“Eager huh?” He smirks but concedes, “S’lright Gaz, you can be the best man. I’ll be there regardless, being apart of the bride’s family and all.”

He knew the story had an end point, he knew it would end with himself getting outed. He just didn’t think Johnny would drop the bomb like that, but of course he shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“You fuckin’ dickhead, why would you announce it like that?” He mutters.

Gaz squints his eyes, looking a Price for guidance as he works out the mental maths before him, “Bride’s family?”

If he weren’t expecting it, he would have flinched from the way Gaz slammed his hands down on the table and stood up from his chair, “John’s sister?” He exclaims, “You got with his fucking sister?”

He looks at John, “And you’re not pissed off? That your lieutenant is dating your sister?” He looks at Simon, “You really want to marry into his family?” He asks, hitching a thumb in John’s direction.

Simon crosses his arms over his chest, “Didn’t say anything about a wedding,”

“Yet,” John interrupts.

Simon’s silence makes Gaz laugh hysterically, Price who hasn’t said a word at all, just shakes his head in disbelief.

“Alright,” Price raises his hands, waiting for Gaz to simmer down, “I’ve heard more elaborate lies from you over smaller things. I’m not believin’ another word until I see proof,”

John nods, “So glad you said that, Captain,” he reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone. Simon would walk out of the room now if he knew it wouldn’t make his case worse, so he just sits there and grits his teeth.

Gaz is sitting on the edge of his seat, admittedly it’s gotten Price to straighten up too. John clears his throat once he’s found his evidence, “And to back up my claims, fresh off the press, a photo of two birds—one drunk out of her fucking mind—all cozy in their nest,”

Price is the first to lean forward and look at John’s phone. On the screen is the photo he took of the two of you at the bar, its exposure is slightly high from the flash but it’s undeniably himself and you sitting on the barstools. His arm is over your chest while you lie back against him, your arms hugging his own.

It’s damning evidence that even Simon can’t get around.

“Holy fucking shit,” Gaz breaks the silence, “This feels like a relic—like it needs to be preserved behind glass,”

“I fucking told ye, and you didn’t believe me,” John states.

Price looks at Simon and nods approvingly, “Good for you,”

“That’s it?” John asks, “Good for you? I just showed you evidence of the century,”

“I didn’t think you could even tolerate affection,” Gaz adds, looking speechless.

“Get this Gaz,” John continues, “First day there, it’s hot as balls and we go to a local swimming spot,” he puts his phone down, “I turn my back for one minute and when I turn around she’s slathering him in sunscreen,”

“Oh,” Gaz laughs, turning to Simon, “You like her huh? Did she get your back?”

John scoffs and crosses his arms, “She was too busy droolin’ over it to touch it,” he mutters.

“What?” Simon asks, suddenly interested.

“What?” John interjects, “Nothin’.”

Simon sits there and listens to John air out all his business like it’s his own. After the shock dies down Gaz and Price both look at him with a fond smile—in utter disbelief yes, but happy for him.

When time allows it, he sneaks back to his room and finally opens his phone. There’s two messages waiting for him, one from you, and an image from John.

Johnny told everyone about us.

That fucking asshole.

Guess I’m meeting them soon then?

Simon smiles, and types out one last message.

Maybe at the wedding.

Whose wedding???

When your last message shows up on Simon’s lockscreen, the photo from the bar pops up in the background.

[disasterofastory]

"No, no, no, you have to believe me!!" Soap argues with Gaz. "He has a little fiancée who lives in a cottage with him! She planted flowers in his walkway! And she scolded him for crushing them when he was piss drunk!"

"Ghost doesn't even like flowers," Gaz sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as if this is the hundredth time he's heard this. Maybe it is, knowing Soap. "Not unless they're dead, I reckon."

"I swear it on me mum and me sisters!" Soap exclaims, raising his right hand as if swearing on the Bible. "She had a little bookcase under her telly, and embroidered throw pillows on the couches! With blankets softer than anythin' I have ever seen!"

"Enough!" Price grumbles, sitting up from his chair like a father who has heard enough bloody arguing. "Soap, stop making up stories. Gaz, stop instigating shit."

"No, no! Cap, you gotta believe me!" Soap begs. "She answered the door in a pink slip gown! She had paintings of flowers on her walls! With butterflies!"

"Oh, aye, and d'ya suppose she had curlers in her hair?" Price snorts. "I've been to Ghost's house, Soap. It has movie posters, pinup girls, and ashtrays. Nothing like what you're saying."

"How long ago was that?!" Soap exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

"I'd say about two years ago," hums Price, scratching his beard thoughtfully.

Just then, Ghost walks into Price's office, where the boys had been idly chatting. Price offers him a cigarette, which Ghost refuses. "My lady asked me to stop smokin'," he grunts. "Started chewin' gum instead."

"Oh, right." Gaz tosses a crumpled sticky note at Ghost. "You and Soap are trying to play a prank on us, innit?"

"It's real!" Soap shouts, exasperated.

"What's real?" Ghost crosses his arms.

"The woman at your house! In the pink nightie with the pretty eyes and the flowers!" Soap points at him with an accusing finger. "Your fiancée."

Ghost just shrugs and makes a noncommittal noise. Price and Gaz are still looking at Soap like he needs to be locked up in an asylum.

"Johnny, I'm going to ask this gently," Gaz begins. "Are you bloody mental?! Makin' up a story like this?"

"It's not!" Soap whines. "She's real! She told me I could check on him the next morning after he got shite-faced at the bar!"

"She give you a kiss on the cheek too?" Gaz mock-pouts at Soap.

"She better not have," Ghost growls.

All three heads turn to look at him in unison, the argument falling silent. "What?" Price and Gaz ask while Soap leaps out of his chair.

"I fucking-! I fucking told you so!" he stammers. "Tell 'em, Ghost!"

Ghost shakes his head. "Keepin' her safe, Johnny. Not that you'd understand that."

Part I

Tags: @xylov, @just-lilita

[disasterofastory]

Y/n, just looking at Simon: Simon: Don't do this. Simon: I swear it's not working. Simon: nuh huh, my heart is made of ice— Y/n, blinks: Simon: Bloody hell, what do you want lovie? Y/n: Gimme a kiss, pretty please? Simon, getting up to give Y/n a sweet peck: All done? Y/n: Yeah! Johnny: Whipped. Kyle: Simp. John: Good lad.

[disasterofastory]

Thought about Soap having a crush on Prices secretary. Way older than him but he doesn't give a shit.

He starts trying to win her over, and oh boy, he totally fails. He’s only used to flirting with younger or women his own age. First he accidentally makes her uncomfortable (he's ashamed about this) and then she's just confused like what is this 20 something boy talking about? Is he okay?

Gaz watches the whole spectacle from afar and cringes hard. He ends up coaching Johnny on how to deal with older women and charm them (he’s a natural—dated several women way older than him too).

It works. Somehow.

[disasterofastory]

Reader who doesn't speak English as their first language and Simon being so in love !!

Over the dinner course, you leaned forward confidently, like you were sharing a secret.

"I think we should buy a baby wheelchair for them."

Price's missus was going to have a baby shower next week.

"Wot?" Simon blinked.

"A baby wheelchair—" You pulled your fist into a punching stance and moved it back and forth, mimicking a tiny car. "Like a baby car… phew phew."

"Oh, that's a stroller." Simon raised a brow, watching your head bobble in a self-absorbed nod.

"Exactly, baby car… stroller."

And it was so cute when you looked up at him whenever you forgot certain words.

"Simon, how do you say in English? The takka-takka-takka—"

"Helicopter," Simon said fondly, earning himself a sweet peck on the lips.

The task force enjoyed it immensely. When Soap said, “Break a leg !” and you raised up a fight at why Simon should break his leg.

Or when Kyle couldn't stop laughing so much with the way you pronounced, “Bitch” to the bird who was hitting up on Simon.

And Simon loved it all, felt love in your eyes through your words, especially when you used his vocabulary—God, it did something to him.

Saying "bugger" when you put too much ketchup, and "bloody freezin’, innit?!" with that corky little smile because you knew how much it wrecked him.

"Bollocks," you would curse, and he’d already be losing his heart and mind, dragging you to the bedroom.

The way you would slip into your native dialect when you were upset, voice rising as you made frustrated noises—Simon would forget the argument entirely, just watching you with that pretty face he’d go to war for.

And something, something about the way you said "I love you" in your native language first, just as softly, and how you called him "my love" in that same way too.

Bloody hell, he’s so in love.

Masterlist

[disasterofastory]

previous

Before you leave their barracks, the others gently ask for a traditional scenting. There's a slight quiver when you say yes, giving away how nervous you are about it. Ghost moves the low table away and Price kneels in front of you. As pack alpha, he has the privilege of scenting you first.

He gently takes you hands in his and catches your eye. "'s still jus' me," he says, leaning in. He brushes his cheek against yours, the beard softer against your skin than you imagined. He noses at your scent gland, and you tilt your head into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply as he does the same. The comforting smell of autumn washes over you: woodsmoke and freshly fallen leaves, the scent of a forest in October and the fire you light to keep you warm. This close it rocks you. You know this scent. You've curled up with this scent.

Before you can fully place it, Ghost takes Price's place. He doesn't rub his cheek against yours, instead cupping your face in his hand and running his thumb along your cheekbone. His mask stays on, but it's not the full balaclava, so there's plenty of space for you to lean in and scent him properly when he brings your head to his neck. The sharp mix of ginger, onion, and garlic that hit you the first time you met is still there, but now you pick up on how it melds together. You can practically hear oil in the pan as Mum prepares dinner. The feeling of home wraps itself around you like a blanket, and again, you feel a jolt in your center, sure you've wrapped yourself in this same smell in recent weeks.

Gaz comes to you next, wide smile on his lips. As a beta, he lets you lean in first. You take in a lungful that reminds you of spring, of new growth and laundry on the line on a warm day. It's a languid scent, perfectly beta, soothing and peaceful. Your body relaxes more when he leans to breathe you in. The whole encounter sends warmth through you, and a tingle at the back of your brain tries to figure out why.

Finally, Soap's in front of you, more serious and still than you've ever seen him be. You smile through your own nerves and he responds with a grin of his own. "C'mere, lass," he whispers, urging you to scent him. You're met with the smell of the ocean, of brisk wind whipping a fresh, slightly salty sea straight into your veins. It puts you at ease, as beta scent should, but beneath that, there's something that niggles at you. There's a sense you've been soothed by this scent since joining the team.

When the scenting is done, each man quietly revels in your smell of sun-warmed berries and sweetness. The mix of their scents zings through you and you blurt, "The clothes!" The others immediately still, and Price's eyes cut to Soap so quickly you think you imagined it.

"Wha' clothes?" he asks you, looking as unruffled as ever, but now you're scent-marked, you can smell the slight shift, how the old leaves have started rotting, no longer freshly fallen.

You look from man to man despite knowing Soap is the weak link. "The jumper," you accuse, eyes on Gaz who has the good sense to look away. "The Henley," you say softer, disappointedly flicking your gaze to Price. "The blanket an' leather jacket," you state, pointing at Ghost and Soap in turn. "Ya've been scenting me this whole time." You're not happy about it, but recognize the move for its sweetness. It's a damn good thing Dad taught you how to lock down your scent or the others would recognize your pleasure at the move before you could give them a proper scolding. You focus your ire on Soap, remembering he'd given you the jersey first. "Tha's not how ya court an omega. Trickin' 'em inta being comfortable wi' yer scent." You frown at them all and in the stillness, Soap cracks.

"Ah know, Ah know, but Ah couldnae help it!" he pleads, looking at you with hearts in his eyes. "Ah know ye hadnae said ye'd let us court ye," he shrugs, "but Ah didnae see the harm ta get cracking." The lopsided smile he wears melts you, but you don't let it show.

"Tha' could 'a gone all ta pot, and then where'd we be?" You force yourself to keep frowning even though you can feel the muscle at the corner of your mouth itching to tick up into a smile.

Soap drops his gaze from yours and looks at the others. "Ah know, an' Ah'm sorry, Ren," he says earnestly. Looking back at you, he continues, "Ah jus' wan'd ye so bad."

Price cuts in, somber, taking responsibility for his pack even now. "We all did, Ren, and we should 'a been upfront wi' ya about a lot a things much sooner. I'm sorry I didn't stop Soap when he first started with Gaz's jersey." You can read the sincerity in his eyes. This is why he's such a good pack alpha.

No one else says anything. No one moves. With a little internal shake, you realize they're waiting on you. Pack alphas may make the decisions, but omegas are the heart of a pack. They wait for you to decide how to handle this revelation. It's heady to realize these four strong soldiers will take their cue from you, so you smile at them. "I don' like how ya did it, bein' sneaky, but I won' lie. Those things have brought me a lot a comfort." The tension the others had been strung on snaps at your words, and you can see the weight of your forgiveness hit them. Before anyone can say anything, you tack on, "But don' do it again. Any of ya." Quieter, you add, "I've never been courted, and ya already mean so much ta me. Don' cock it up."

next

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

taglist: @sirbonesly @z-wantstowrite @thriving-n-jiving @cecelia97 @theycallmevalen @boogeysmoth @cryingpages @riley13 @luxylucylou @lucienofthelakes @ilyztwo @chaosundcoffee @lostintransist @thegreyjoyed @honestlymassivetrash @thebumbqueen @maliamaiden @mordacioust @bina-passion-fruit @kittygonap @wanderingoperator @marsbars09 @kawaii-michealmyers @muraaaaaa @rpgsandstuff @casualhel @akilababs @thatbeach0 @night-shadowblood-writes2 @echo9821 @capswife @foolishseven @ilovesituationships @person-whomadefr0gsgay @leahnicole1219 @reggiesslut @ur-fav-pixi @gloriousloveduck @mystic60 @letstryagaintomorrow

[disasterofastory]

you know those tiktok dudes that love showing off how much they can lift to make a statement about loving plush babes?? yeah, gaz and soap coded.

and yes, both of them, because they somehow start some sort of competition to see which one of them could easily lift the chubbiest lass

[disasterofastory]

What about Kyle who brings you to a small get together to a pub on base, and while you already know and love his teammates (with all their quirks and flaws), you're not quite ready to meet the tall, beefy Russian pilot who's suddenly just... there?

Even worse when he shamelessly watches you and your boyfriend together—practically undressing you both with dark bedroom eyes.

bf!Kyle Gaz Garrick ⨯ gf!Reader ⨯ Nikolai ensues.

[disasterofastory]

don't mind me just thinking abt cowboy!gaz

[disasterofastory]

you know what? soap is the kind to use sweatpants - with no underwear - and no tee when he's at home. grey sweats and the kind that are quite thin. why do i say this? because the man's packing one hell of a dick and walks around the house parading it, the print of his thick cock showing though them and complimenting the bush that peaks out slightly when they hang low on his hips and his happy trail. even worse, he sometimes takes the trash out in those, full boner showing and the perfect view of his mushroom tip for you, his pretty neighbour, to have something to dream about later ;)

[disasterofastory]

Soap: Don't tell me what to do.

You: Eat me out.

Soap: Ok, tell me what to do.