Need Someone To Write A Full Fic For This🙏

bro. bro you are romantisizing the secret history. bro you are enamored with the greek class just like richard. bro you are ignoring the bad things and creating aesthetics based on a book telling a murder of a young man. brother.

when i was a homeless 20-year-old i was rejected from multiple housing opportunities because i had 5k in medical debt from going to the ER after getting roofied and sexually assaulted (i was unconscious so calling 911 was not my decision) and UHC denied my insurance claim. so yeah, i'm actually deriving an enormous amount of pleasure from watching health insurance CEOs snivel and hide like the heartless cowards they are. may those who profit from our suffering live in fear of those they seek to deny.

Childhood best friend!Gaz

Who you had the biggest crush on growing up.

Who always bitched about not being able to take girls from school on dates because they all thought the two of you were an item.

Who gave you all of his jerseys to wear to his sporting events and made you swear to come to every single one. Insisted you were his good luck charm- even if he lost. “Can’t expect me to play well when I’ve got such a good looking cheerleader to focus on.”

Who took you to formal and took your virginity in the same night. You still have the corsage he gave you tucked away somewhere in a sentimental shoebox in the corner of your closet.

Who is always your date to weddings. So frequently so that people have started addressing the envelopes to the both of you.

Who calls you at least once a week to catch up and chat, even after moving away from home and joining the service.

Who sometimes whines his way into a video call with you. Both of you in darkened rooms, trying to mumble your way through a rushed rendition of phone sex when he’s got fifteen minutes to himself on a mission. Moaning about how he can’t be fucked to sift through a porn website. “C’mon, darl. Call it a favor. Nobody can see. Don’t even have to talk. Please, darl.”

Who still comes back home when he’s got enough time off the base.

Who insists you come stay at your parents when he’s at his.

Who still sneaks over in the middle of the night to watch movies like he did in high school even though you’re both far too grown. Still sneaks in through the small window in the basement despite fully being allowed in through the front.

Who practically moves his shit into your flat every time he’s got a week or two off of work.

“Jus’ a few weeks, darl. Won’t even know I’m here.”

You’ve stopped protesting at this point, but he still likes to make a scene about it when you make a sarcastic snark about his commandeering the entire living room.

“Couch is a bit cramped, though. Could let me sleep in the bed. We can play house like we used to, yeah? Mums and dads are s’posed to sleep together. Mums and dads are s’posed to do loads of things together.”

"Nobody writes of Holmes and Watson without love." - John le Carré 

in all timelines and in all possibilities 🫶🏻

key frames below the line!!

It's been seven months since she's stopped holding his hand all the time and started walking four little steps ahead. Simon grapples with his daughter's newfound independence.

She is his measure of time.

Simon makes sure to count every inch his daughter grows. How much bigger and looser it feels every time she holds his hand while they walk down the block to see what the new weekly special is at the ice cream parlor. His little bug’s favorite flavor changes every time they go – it was Lemonberry Crunch last week, now it’s一

“A scoop of the… Maple… Buttercream Delight.” 

“Two.” she corrects him, tugging on his hand. Her eyes sparkle at him, and a soft quiver hits her lips. She got that look from you. Simon doesn’t approve of it, not at all. It weakens him and makes it harder to deny you both anything, but he pushes through today with a pat on her beanie-covered head. He’s been meaning to buy her a new one after she pulled the pom-pom off.

“No, sweetheart. Jus’ one, yeah? Two’ll make your tummy upset.”

The sulking, woeful look shrouds her face in an instant. It’s fatal. Her little hand drops from his jacket to her side, and he’d buy out all the tubs of ice cream for her if he could. 

“Sorry, bug. Jus’ don’t want you gettin’ sick ‘cause o’ me anymore.” he apologizes, nodding and mouthing ‘one’ to the girl on the other side of the counter to confirm. She smiles and fills the stubby paper cup up with one scoop, and his daughter sighs and longingly looks up at it as they weigh it, tiny fingers twiddling at the edge of her puffer. 

“It’ll be three-oh-four, sir.”

He opens his wallet (the one his little girl made for him herself with zebra-print duct tape and neon-colored construction paper – incredible what kids can do) and pulls a tenner out. Before he can hand it to the young lady, his hand knocks on his thigh, smacking with urgency. 

“I wanna give it, Daddy!” she says, buoyant on the tips of her toes, hopping up and down.

“Y’do, do ya?” 

“Yes! Please!” She’s already being given the tenner, a wide smile on her face as she clumsily pushes the note into the woman’s hand. “Here y’go!”

He can’t help but chuckle a bit, thanking them before telling them to keep the change. Asks for a single pence back before they leave just because his little one’s been obsessed with collecting one from everywhere they go – she likes to tape them inside a notebook and label their source. Simon takes the ice cream and drops the coin into her waiting hands. She pockets it with a toothy grin, cheering and skipping over to their usual booth by the window.

It's been seven months since she's stopped holding his hand all the time and started walking four little steps ahead.

Simon grapples with his daughter's newfound independence.

It’s a funny thing to mull over in the middle of an ice cream shop, yet so easy to do when he watches her act so brazen with him, waving him over like he’s a servant who’s fallen behind. Not much of a difference anyway, is there?

They settle down in the chairs, and she digs into the creamy dessert. 

“Oh, this is excellent.” she sighs, nodding. He’s raised an ice cream critic. Terrible influence, he is. “Five hundred stars.”

A smile tugs on his lips again, and he folds a napkin to wipe off the ice cream she unintentionally smears on the corners of her lips, leaning over the table一

She stops him and grabs the napkin. Tiny hand with a determined grip. “I can do it, Daddy.”

The words dig at his heart. He almost frowns, but lets go of the napkin for her.

“Alright, bug.”

It gets harder every time, facing the inevitable interruption of a constant in his life. He loves to see it though. Loves to watch her grow into her own person. She picks out her own clothes一has been for a while now. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t dare to. He thinks the lion on her shirt pairs nicely with the blue camo pants anyway, topped off with the purple puffer she picked out last month, and yellow, squeaky rain boots. 

The rain is picking up, and he wonders if you’re still sleeping in. Should be, he hopes. You need the rest.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, love.” he hums.  

“Do you want some?” 

“No, sweetheart.” he chuckles. “M’alright, thank you.”

She eats until two more spoonfuls are left, not bothering to hide the unpleasant expression on her face from a full belly. Simon finishes it for her before they leave to walk it off, and again, she’s prancing ahead.

Her feet land her in every puddle she can find, her voice says a seraphic ‘hello’ to everything they pass (even the lonesome squirrel she spots at the park and the jogger with headphones in), and she’s dancing in the rain like a little drunken man with no worries or doubts in the world.

“C’mon, bug, up,” He lifts her up, sitting her on his forearm and pulling her hood over her head. “Gotta ge’ ‘ome before it starts stormin’.”

She lays her padded head on his shoulder, and he pats her back. She’s stopped gluing her hand to her father’s everyday, but she still burrows into his chest like a kitten. It’s the safest place she knows.

“Can we all huggle when we’re ‘ome, Daddy?” 

“Y’wan’ a huggle, love?”

“Yes, with Mum an’ Chunky. When it rains, it’s the… the best time for a huggle.” Chunky, her beloved toy gorilla. Simon recalls catching her bathing the poor thing in the soapy water-filled sink. It took him half a day to figure out how to properly dry the toy without permanently damaging his daughter’s cherished friend.

He presses a kiss on her dampened, plump cheek.

“‘Course, sweetheart. All four o’ us.”

Thinking about Reader who feels like she's never feel like she was treated like a woman

I'm talking about getting flowers, good morning texts from 'guy friends', or getting a barrage of compliments on her pictures on Instagram

Growing up, she never fit what was expected of her, always heard how she was very unladylike, whether it was her attitude or her appearance she was not soft and delicate

I'm saying, resting bitch face, being tall, also muscular

It's not like she was desperate or anything, just thought it must be nice to be treated like a princess

Getting into the military at young age, following her oldman footprints

And then she met Gaz

Gaz who opened doors for her whenever they were walking, being considerate when he touched her as he fixed her gear. She didn't want to think much of it, but it's kinda hard to when it seemed like he was looking for an excuse to touch her, with him standing behind her, hand on her hip, guiding her shot at the shooting range

Gaz who made her blush by slipping her hair behind her ear

Gaz who picked a small flower and slip it to your ear with that charming grin of his

Gaz who made sure to walk on the curbside when he was beside you as the team go out to hangout at a pub

Gaz who made you involuntarily tear up when he said you're pretty

Gaz who made you more confident in your appearance by taking candid pictures and sending it to you

Gaz who punched a recruit when he overheard him making an attractiveness tier list of the women in the base with his buddies, without you in it because you're 'too manly' (he thought the tier list itself is just weird, but their comment of you is what made him snap)

cw: death

overlooking the coffin of your mate is an experience most military men share.

not johnny though, no. johnny was immortal. in simon’s mind, at least. reluctant to admit it, simon imagined growing old with johnny. maybe going back to johnny’s family farm and living off the land.

it’s so odd to see him in this state, livor mortis. lord knows johnnys family couldn’t afford the luxury costs of a good mortician so his skin maintains the lifeless, gray look he died with.

he’s still. quiet. very unlike him. it’s eerie. an uncomfortable feeling crawls up simon’s back. the sounds of johnnys mother weeping rings in his ears. a kind woman, she is. always was inviting when johnny suggested the two of them going up to the highlands on holiday. simon never accepted though… he wish he had.

members of johnnys expansive family intermingle with the somber military crowd. they all stay under a the tent. lush green grass spreads across the cemetery as light rain pitter patters above their head. some of johnnys favorite weather.

when johnny was younger his mother would have him go out in the rain. splashing in puddles, rolling around in mud, wrestling with the dogs…

everybody wears black, which is a typical choice for simon. ordinarily he’d silently commend everybody for their shared color. but now it feels wrong. like an insult.

anguish wasn’t a feeling johnny felt often and he certainly wouldn’t want his family and friends to be feeling in such a way. but johnny was a light. was. and now that light is gone.

simon takes a leave of absence from his station. the leave stretches days, which morphs into weeks, and eventually months. he becomes a brittle shell of his, already cracking, former self. he does not understand how the rest of his team could continue in this way.

simon’s behavior is unusual. when his family had died he took less than a day off. he refused to process. not even severe injuries could keep him away from work. so why now?

well, his johnny is gone. his mate, his best friend, his first and only love.

smut! 18+ below, minors dni.

thinking about ellie accidentally sending you a video of her fingering herself.

the video preview is completely dark, so you have no clue what to expect when you click the play button. you assume it’s another one of her rants - lately she’s taken to sending you clips of herself complaining about her family, work, politics. she’s sent a few videos of her trying new foods while completely obliterated on an edible, too, which you’re kind of hoping for. her eyes look so pretty all droopy and red, and she has the cutest laugh when she’s high.

but oh, no. this is… nothing like that.

you’re lounging in bed, head propped up against a pillow, when you get the notification from ellie and click to your text thread. you hit play on the video, watching with a furrowed brow as the camera moves from darkness - the forest green fabric of ellie’s duvet, you realize - to reveal her room. and it’s a familiar sight; you’ve been there a hundred times. but that’s where the familiarity ends.

because this new camera angle shows ellie naked from the waist down.

she’s flushed, her cheeks tinged the faintest shade of pink. her chest rises and falls in a quick rhythm; the light catches on a smear of wetness on her inner thigh, and you realize with a flutter in your belly that she’d been going at it for a while before she’d pulled out the camera.

“okay, fuck,” ellie pants, her voice a bit tinny through the speakers of your cell phone. she lifts one muscled thigh to her bed, which she’s standing before - right in front of the camera. your mouth goes dry as your eyes flicker over her body: heather grey tank riding up her toned hips, the faintest sheen of sweat on her chest, her thigh flexing as she spreads herself in front of the camera.

“i got close beforehand so i wouldn’t… didn’t wanna be nervous,” she says, avoiding eye contact with her phone. “but i’m - wait. why the fuck am i talking? you’re not supposed to talk in these, are you?”

blood rushes into your cheeks, warming your face until you feel like your skin is about to burn off. you should probably stop watching, shouldn’t you? you should click out of the video, pretend you never opened it in the first place. this is clearly not for you to see.

but you can’t look away.

ellie reaches her hand between her legs, and your stomach warms with arousal. there’s a flutter between your legs that leaves you squeezing your thighs together, seeking pressure.

“oh god,” ellie mutters as her fingers play in her own pussy, the lewd, wet sounds echoing. she slips a finger inside of herself, then two, her eyes fluttering shut as a string of curses leaves her lips.

she starts to pump her fingers, the heel of her hand pressed to her clit, and your breath catches in your throat when she looks up at the camera. you know she’s not really looking at you this way, but you tense up regardless. the look in her eyes is sultry, lustful, hungry.

there’s a growing damp spot on your underwear.

ellie’s getting close; her brows are pinched together in concentration, and each of her moans is more ragged and high-pitched than the last. beneath the thin fabric of her tank, you see her abs tense with her impending orgasm. you bite your lip until you’re sure you taste blood.

she comes with a shuddering cry, bicep flexing as her hand stalls between her legs. strands of auburn hair, darkened with sweat, cling to her freckled forehead. she lowers her leg from the bed and stands upright again, still panting. she reaches for the camera and the video ends.

you’re still staring wide-eyed at your phone when a series of texts come through from ellie.

oh my god

please tell me you didn’t see that

holy fuck i’m an idiot

i’m so sorry

i did not mean to send that to you. holy shit i’m sorry

your chest tightens with sympathy - you can imagine how panicked ellie is on the other line, how utterly ruined her post-orgasm bliss must be.

you type out a quick response: it’s okay. give me a second to reply, alright?

finding a convenient place to prop up your phone, you hook your thumbs over your underwear and tug them off, leaning forward to press record on your phone.

read part two here!

• I love this trend sm!! 💫