You Will Live And You Will Say The Wrong Things And Make Mistakes And People Will Love You Anyways.

homemade hair masks for gaz when he comes back from a deployment. especially from dryer places where you know his hair's suffered. aloe vera blended with avocado, egg, honey, and olive oil to help with moisture and protein. maybe a little bit of xantham gum to thicken it up if you want. sitting him down on one of your yoga mats, an old bleached towel on his shoulders as he leans his cheek on your inner thigh while you apply the mask straight to his hair while he watches tv, his shoulders relaxing the longer your fingers work through his hair. eyes fluttering softly as he tries to stay awake at the soft, delicate movements that he only ever receives at home.

You're both already wrecked, sweat slicking your skin, your hands clawing at his back like you're trying to pull him deeper, even though he’s already buried to the hilt.

You’ve been at it for a while now—lazy, slow thrusts that feel more like worship than fucking, his mouth hot on your neck, murmuring filth and little nothings in that rough voice that always makes your stomach flip.

He’s so deep it’s making your head spin. Every drag of his cock feels like he’s carving himself into you, like he wants you to feel him long after he’s gone.

And maybe that’s why it slips out. Maybe that’s why you say it.

You don’t plan to. You just feel so full, so warm, so ruined, that it tumbles out between moans without warning.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Everything goes still.

Simon stops mid-thrust. Doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.

You blink, panting, your hands still on his shoulders, confused by the sudden tension in his body.

“…Simon?”

He pulls back.

Not just his hips—his whole body. Just enough to look at you. His face is blank, eyes wide and dark and unreadable.

You feel cold all of a sudden.

“I—what?” he says. But he heard you. You know he did, because he’s already pulling away.

You try to keep your voice steady. “I said I love you.”

He’s quiet for too long...too fucking long.

Then he exhales, low and shaky, and steps back like you just slapped him.

“Don’t,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Don’t say that.”

You stare at him, still half-naked, still aching, still open. “Why not?”

“You know why.”

You feel it start to break—something inside your chest, something you’d been holding together for weeks with sex and silence.

He grabs his shirt off the floor without looking at you. “This was never supposed to be that.”

“And what is it supposed to be, then?” Your voice is rising now. “Just convenient? Just something to do when we’re lonely and bored and pretending it doesn’t mean anything?”

He doesn’t answer.

He just pulls his shirt over his head and avoids your eyes like a fucking coward.

“So that’s it?” you breathe. “I tell you I love you and you just… leave?”

Simon finally looks at you.

His mouth opens like he’s going to say something—maybe explain, maybe apologize—but then he just swallows, jaw clenched, and turns away.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says.

And then he walks out the door.

You don’t call after him, you don’t chase. You just sit there, still aching from where he was, still wet, still shaking, with the taste of I love you still on your tongue like it’s poison.

PART 2

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@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs

riding nerdy loser simon while he talks about star wars and how anakin does bring balance to the force, but his face is all red and his words get cut off by his moans, his hands gripping onto your sides ad you bounce on him, telling him to keep talking.

(no, im not projecting, what makes you think that?)

Missionary with your fav military man, but his dog tags keep tapping you in the face, causing you to giggle. He scoffs and nips at you playfully before taking the chain in his teeth and thrusting even harder, fucking you up the bed in punishment

141 with reader on their team

You’re a soldier like the rest of them, but know quite a lot about medicine and therefore share the role of both soldier and medic. You’d been with them ever since the task force had been assembled and the rumours flying about on base never really died down.

You, Kyle, Simon and Johnny. Were you friends? Lovers? No one knew. Some swore they’d walked in on you and another kissing, but none of you had ever denied or confirmed that. John didn’t comment on the whispers he heard so frequently, letting his children live peacefully.

Heaven forbid one of them saw John sitting on the sofa alone; because they’d join. If Simon innocently sat down beside him, Kyle would then find him and sit next to him. Then Johnny would find them, dramatically laying across the three of them who had already fallen asleep. Eventually, you’d sniff them out and lounge on top of Johnny, only lightly disturbing him as he rests a hand over your back.

The team worked perfectly together, like a puzzle with all the pieces. A father and his four chaotic children, causing havoc with one another as laughs and giggles filled his office where they lingered after missions.

Even some nights, when Johnny would complain about his sore muscles, he’d always convince one of you to join him in the shower. That’s why peoples opinions were always so mixed on the four of you; how could a group that close not be romantic? Others just suspected friends with benefits and left it at that.

During missions, if any of the boys got injured, you’d be next to them in a heartbeat, staying calm as you patch up a non-fatal bullet wound or force an oxygen mask over their mouth after suffering a concussion or close explosion. You’d kiss their cheek, sometimes with a little too much force, after you knew they were fine and would recover well. Johnny would sometimes ask for one on the lips (and you’d sometimes give it to him).

Gaz would demand massages everywhere after the mission, and Simon (although wouldn’t say directly) appreciated when you sat with him afterwards in silence, and enjoy when you’d yap about random things. It kept him entertained and focused on something other than his negative thoughts. He’d act annoyed when Johnny, Kyle and you would squeeze into his small bed on base and refuse to budge, all lying in the small space, limbs tangled and bodies pressed close together.

However, when they all went home, you’d never mention anything about what you were doing, if you were meeting anyone, seeing family. You were always quieter on the plane ride back to England, more distant and lost in your own head. They knew where you lived, on the outskirts of London, but wanted to know more. One day when Kyle asked if you’d be seeing family, you shrugged your shoulders. “Dunno,” was all you responded with.

So John invited you round his house. Then Johnny found out, claiming his apartment was too far away and convincing John to let him stay round his house as well. Then Johnny forced Simon to stay with them (he didn’t need much convincing); and when they arrived at the airport Kyle somehow ended up in Johns car as well (influenced by you).

At Johns house, the four of you ended up falling asleep over one another on his sofa as he cleaned up the mess of the food you’d nicked from his cupboards. Johnnys snoring woke you up multiple times, but he made up for it in his own ways.

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this was a random idea I had that I needed to get down 🙂‍↕️. Interpret it how you want, they could be just friends or they could all be secret lovers. Who knows? 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

OC Information: "Stone"

Full Name: Vikram Rahul Mishra

Callsign(s): Stone

Alias(es): Ox (only by certain Marine squads), Doctor Cold, Doctor Feral (only by certain fellow Corpsmen... who have been bitten by him)

Nationality: Second-Generation American (Indian mother, first-generation father)

Affiliations: U.S. Navy, U.S. Fleet Marine Force, Task Force 141 (SAS)

Rank: E-7/Chief Hospital Corpsman (U.S. Navy)

Gender: Male (Trans)

Status: Alive

Birthday: November 29th, 1989 (34 as of 2023)

Build: Burly

Height: 6'6"

Marks: U.S. Navy tattoo on his right arm (three swallows representing each 10,000 nautical miles he's traveled on U.S. naval ships), old battle scars covering him head to toe (mostly knife and bullet wounds)

Hair: Black

Eyes: Brown

Background: Classified

Extra: He wears a muzzle-like mask due to when he bit people during his Seaman days, he can act as an extra sniper for the Task Force, and his medical file has a notation not to give him morphine or any pain medications.

do u think the cod men would wanna be pegged that’s crazy who said that

They all be in the showers putting fingers in each others BUTTHOLES man sometimes as a prank sometimes as… uhh…. Uhhh

Gaz will bring it up if he’s playing with your ass and you flinch. “Let you play with mine if you want, love. Hell, I’d let you fuck it.”

Johnny has been joking about it since before you were even having sex. He might be a little blush and squeamish when he has to put his money where his mouth is, but he’s so into it.

Ghost initially says no because he’s terrified of being put in such a vulnerable and emasculating position— he’s insanely guarded. But if you bring it up… he won’t be able to stop thinking about it.

Price is bringing it up, in sincerity, on date 5. He already has all the supplies and his ass is ready.

König like. Is not comprehending the appeal of what you’re asking— on either side. Not sure what you get out of it, what he would get out of it. Just play with his hole a little when you’re giving his head.

Nikolai— see Price’s response, but change it to date 2.5 (Casual breakfast after spending a night together)

im running low in inspo rn i wanna do more soap stuff plz give me ops on his character i need to understand him better x

not friends not lovers but a secret third thing

Thinking abt the secret baby trope with gaz

You’re crouched in the grocery store, inspecting and comparing a few items on the lower shelves (why does there need to be a banana, a vanilla, and a banana & vanilla flavor of these baby puff snacks?) while your baby is sitting up in the cart. She’s an angel— never cries or throws tantrums at the store, just sits patiently with her little pint of blueberries. You’ll pay for the empty plastic container with everything else.

Gaz spots her first. Deep brown eyes staring into his soul from down the aisle. She stops looking at him only to get another blueberry— excellent pincer grasp for her age. He loves seeing babies out in public, and this is an exceptionally cute baby.

So of course he tries to make her smile. Makes some silly faces, he’ll be the first to admit. Sticks his tongue out, scrunches his nose. She bursts into a little fit of laughter, the gurgly kind that babies do— and it makes you stand up to check on her.

And you meet his eyes. The same eyes your baby has. And he meets yours. The girl he met on leave— must’ve been a year or two ago.

Oh.