#Swell squad
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They've landed on a name pals. Welcome the Swellers/Swell Squad/ Swell Quatro - Charlie, Baghera, Foolish and Jaiden.
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Fine I'll send another. Captain MacTavish ON THE BEACH. 🥵
I love the beach. I live on it during the summer. It's my second home, I swear. And the way the sea salt air and warm waters can cure the soul is something I just can't ignore with this man. I love this ask so much!!!
18+ MDNI Sexual Themes
You sat alone, comfortably in your beach chair with a cold beer in hand under a magenta colored sky as the sun set beyond the horizon of a turquoise painted surf.
The rhythmic sound of the waves synchronizing with the beat of your heart as the scent of sea salt and sunscreen etched itself into your skin.
The air was still warm, yet it carried a cool breeze off the waters edge as the slow curtain of dusk crept over the white sanded landscape.
It was perfect. A picturesque conclusion to a hot summer's day.
And off in the distance, with a Yeti tumblr of whisky in one hand and a cigar permanently clutched in his mouth, Captain MacTavish cast out his last line into the crashing surf and placed the warn grip seamlessly into its plastic holder dug into the sand.
The beach had done wonders for him since his retirement only a few years ago.
Soothed his war torn psyche with the constant ebb and flow of the tide. Molded his scars beneath a layer of sun kissed skin that further accentuated the seascape blue of his eyes and made every woman swoon with just a mere glance and a smile.
Yet it was here, under the blanket of encroaching night that you saw the man he had truly become.
A man at peace with himself. Letting the setting sun and roll of the tide absolve him of his past and breathe fresh life into his lungs at dawn's first light.
You couldn't pull your eyes off him anymore, and you were no longer ashamed about how your stare lingered on him.
The loss of sunlight elongating the shadows within the curves of his musculature. Accented by the seafoam swim trunks that hung perfectly on his hips. Creating a more defined sculpture of his frame as he effortlessly strutted along the sand to take his place beside you.
"How long you gonna fish for tonight, John?" You asked quietly, rim of the beer can caressing your bottom lip.
"As long as you'll let me, m'lass."
You smiled, watching him raise his tumbler in cheers to take a healthy swig while gently tapping the ash of his cigar into an empty can.
"Guess we'll be here all night, then."
"Aye. Looks that way."
As he relaxed back in his Tommy Bahama chair, your hand reached out to instinctually cusp the back of his head. Thumb and index finger pressing into the back off his skull, pulling a slight groan from his chest as your touch soothed his sun drenched soul.
"Careful, lass. Y'know what that skillful touch a'yers does to me."
"Mhmm. It's a good thing we brought the boat."
Soap rolled his eyes, glancing between your smirking expression and the vessel anchored just beyond the last sandbar.
"Which one ya love more, hm? The boat, or me?"
You raised a brow at his testing inquiry, firmly pressing into the back curve of his jaw with your fingertips as a hushed murmur fell from your lips.
"Don't ask questions you know the answer to, John. Won't get you anywhere."
Soap growled in response. Placing his hand on your thigh and giving your flesh a firm yet playful grip.
"May have ta shorten th'fishing trip then. Looks like I gotta assert my claim over you again."
"Claim over me, John?"
"Aye. Ain't no way I'm losing you to a gas guzzling bàta."
-
You both lasted no more than another twenty minutes before loading everything into the skiff and jetting back to his prized vessel. Where Soap MacTavish made good to his word and staked his claim over you once again.
Spreading you over every flat surface beneath the bow and docking his thickened cock repeatedly into the deep cove of your cunt.
Master of the Swell Masterlist
This is but a taste of the new WIP I have in store for you, Soap Squad. Johnny's got the 4Runner, the Captain's got a yacht. And goddman, do I have plans to rock that boat.
Tagging those who showed interest. Let me know if you liked to be tagged for further posts. Much love 💛
@deadbranch @ohgeesoap @astraluminaaa @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @d3athtr4psworld @ghosts-goldendoodle @homicidal-slvt @shotmrmiller @glitterypirateduck @macravishedbymactavish @sofasoap @tacticalanxiety @random-thot-generator @writeforfandoms
#teaser for master of the swell#this asked warmed my sun kissed soul#love the beach so damn much#soap squad™️#glitterypirateduck#the brainrot of Captain MacTavish#captain soap mactavish#captain mactavish#captain soap x you#captain soap x fem reader#og soap x you#og soap x fem reader#soap smut#call of duty#cod
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#smosh#smosh squad#smosh pit#shayne topp#swell entertainment#noah grossman#video#reading reddit stories#50+
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ULTIMATE QSMP GROUP BRACKET: A GUIDE(I used the fandom wiki as a guide but I didn't include purgatory teams)
Buenos Dias/Noches! This is a fandom where everyone can love any dynamics and still co-exist right? Well the correct answer is WRONG. No fandom can be a fandom without a friendly fight, and oh boy do I have a treat for you qsmp community.....
LET THE GAMES BEGIN
#qsmp#qsmp group bloodbath#qsmp favela five#qsmp morning crew#qsmp death family#qsmp halo family#qsmp breakfast club#qsmp swell squad#qsmp radio egg#qsmp town of fobo#qsmp Jaidens#qsmp theory bro#qsmp french#qsmp the overlooked
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Koori Ui literally always sitting at the front row of the bullshit in Tokyo Ghoul has been rent free on my brain
and now I just want to imagine him in every culturally significant or event, front row seats to bullshit he didn’t pay for.
Like my guy was probably there when Will Smith slapped Chris Rock or when Queen Elizabeth died.
#I would edit this#But what would be swell#is if people reblogged this saying koori was there at insert event here#tokyo ghoul#tokyo ghoul re#koori ui#arima squad#squad 0#s3 squad#ui koori
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I don't normally like posting MCYT stuff because the fandom both scares me and also tend to engage with it in a way I don't. Not hate or to yuck anyone's yum if that's your thing, it's just not normally how I engage with SMPs at least not the stuff from the dream influenced side.
But I will say as someone who's been watching Lizzie and Joel for basically as long as I've had a YouTube account, (they were both some of the first channels I ever subbed to and the original Shadowcraft was like the first every long form YouTube content I ever watched) and who has Joel screaming Lizzies name in terror shock and awe at the insanity of her antics as a deeper core memory than my mother's voice, the exchange with Grian in the the most recent episodes of secret life of:
"I thought you two were married"
"that doesn't mean we have to be nice to each other"
did make me cackle. They're dynamic is iconic and I love them both dearly
#secret life smp#grian#ldshadowlady#smallishbeans#i will say i love that some of the old trollcraft gang are on smps with the hermitcraft squad now#i got into hermitcraft way later when i wanted to see more high level mc play as i was older but it warms my heart#those are my old faves with my new faves#every time scar grian or mumbo talk with lizzie joel or scar my 13 year old heart swells a little#for the record the thing i domt like os shipping#those are real people with real friendships and im sorry it grosses me out#like its fine with shit like saying an actual irl marriage couple are cute or that a pair of irl friends have good chemistry#but like beyond that i get really grossed out#i was a dan and phil fan i know how this shit ends even if you're right about the signals your picking up
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NICK AMARO MY BELOVED
#the way i physically felt my heart SWELL#nick amaro#law & order: svu#agghhh i miss that squad w him so much#m rambles
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It's a Match! || 141 x reader
[ Chapter 5 ] || [ Chapter 7 ]
Pairing: Price x gn!Reader || 141 x gn!Reader
Words: 1.4K~
cw: firing guns, i guess (but John's teaching you).
Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?
Chapter 6: John.
You crossed the entrance to the small pub, head held high, in your most honest attempt at feigning confidence.
After you had accepted, jokingly, to meet with this ‘Captain John’, only as an opportunity to roast the three men behind the account some more, Kyle had reached out to you, through John’s account, saying he also accepted and wanted to meet you today, Friday night, at 8 P.M.
You almost backed out.
Keyword, almost.
Because when you went to your groupchat to ask for support from them, your girlfriends encouraged you.
You almost set a Siri reminder to get better friends.
Either way, you have to admit that it feels… better to meet up John. Your heart is still a bit sore, the wound of heartbreak still struggling to swell closed…
Meeting with Simon or Kyle or Johnny would’ve meant rehashing it. You couldn’t risk getting attached to them after a night of casual sex. But there’s no expectations here… John is older than you, than them. This is just drinks, according to Kyle. He had insisted, in fact, that it be just drinks.
It felt more comforting to know you weren’t expected to go home with him at the end… Even though he’s handsome enough that you wouldn’t exactly refuse had your heart not been in its current state.
So, here you are. You keep his Tinder profile open on your phone, like it has been since you left the house, trying to memorize his features so that when you spot him, you recognize him instantly.
In a way, this feels like a blind date… And it’s strangely exciting.
You spot him from the door the moment your eyes scan the room. He’s at a table in the far corner, his back against the wall, taking up a bar stool. You stop by the bar before making your way over, getting yourself a drink.
You’re not sure if he’s spotted you, if he knows who you are. So you take the time to get a proper look at him that isn’t through a grainy picture on your phone.
He’s about as wide as he is tall and his forearms are covered in hair (“built like a bear”, check.). He’s got a tumbler of ambar liquid in front of him, you can infer it’s whiskey (“likes Whiskey”, check.). His beard is a bit thicker than in the pictures you were sent, and he looks knackered, his eyes surrounded by heavy dark circles.
He sits with his back straight, however his head hangs low and he keeps looking around through his eyebrows like he’s suspicious of everyone. His legs are spread, heels hooked on the footrest of the stool, the jeans he wears clinging tight to his strong thighs. His hands hang limply between them. He’s wearing a maroon button-up atop a white crewneck t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show a black watch on his left wrist.
In short, he’s handsome. And does not look his age.
Stopping in front of the table, you offer him a smile. “John?” You ask, as if you don’t already know it’s you.
He seems to finally notice you, and his harsh face softens with a smile that scrunches his nose.
“Hi. How are you?” He asks politely as he pulls back the stool on his right side for you. You take the seat, squirming a bit as you look for a good position.
“Can’t complain. You alright?” You return and you catch how he looks at you, up and down, his head hanging low, as he glances at you.
“What are you drinking?” He asks.
“Oh, just… a Sprite.” You answer as you keep glancing at him.
He goes quiet and nods, looking away for a moment, giving you every indication that he’s not interested in being here.
“I get it, you know.” You say after a beat of long, strenuous silence.
John’s blue eyes immediately flitter over to you, eyebrows raised in confusion.
“Get what?” He asks with a mix of confusion and disdain in him.
“Being forced to go out… Meet someone.” You explain as you sip your Sprite through the black straw the bartender gave you.
“Oh, really?” He retorts as he leans his left elbow on the round table and swivels to look over at you.
“Oh, yeah.” You say with a nod. “Recovering from a break-up.” You tell him. “My friends put me up to the whole… dating app-get laid thing. So, I get it. It’s… awkward.” You add.
“Hm.” He says with a nod and presses his lips together a bit, as if conceding to you.
“We don’t have to make this a whole thing, if you don’t want to.” You tell him and smile a bit. “I can leave, if you’d like. Or you can.” You offer, noticing how his eyes soften a little.
“No… it’s alright…” He tells you. His eyes slip away from you and he looks down at his lap, blinking a little. He seems… a bit lost in thought. He goes quiet again.
“Okay, then.” You say simply. “I just figured you needed a distraction, you know… Your lads were complaining about you being stressed…” You add, your eyes stuck on him, to try and spot his reaction.
He curls his fists closed and then uncurls them, running his clammy palms over his jeans for a moment. Then, he inhales sharply before slapping his hands on his thighs and turning to you swiftly.
“You ever shot a gun before?” He asks you, causing your brows to raise in surprise.
“No?” You answer, watching as he downs the rest of his whiskey and jumps down from his stool.
“C’mon. I’m teaching you.” He demands as he contours the table and helps you down, guiding you back out of the pub.
-
“Bend your arms about 10 degrees at the elbows.” John tells you from behind you, his big rough hands adjusting your shape with tender but determined touches.
John’s driven you to a firing club’s range just outside of London. You’ve been at this for an hour now and it’s… surprisingly fun.
You’ve yet to land a proper shot, your arms always shaking a little out of aim… But you’ve landed them in the target, which is more than you thought you were going to succeed.
“How the fuck do you handle this every day? This damn rifle is heavy, my arms hurt and we’ve only been practicing for an hour!” You tell him after firing another shot that did not land.
“Lots of practice, love.” He replies, his tone amused. He stepped up behind you, once more fixing your stance, giving little taps to your hip with one of his large hands to force you to stiffen.
John’s been trying not to snicker every time you fire. At first it was because you were flinching, but now it’s because your aim is that bad. But you don’t mind the mockery. He’s got a smile on his face, his smile lines and nose all crinkled.
“Go on, again.” He demands as he helps adjust you, his breath brushing against your ear, the warmth of his torso against your back, and his eyes above the rifle, to try and see if you’re in target. He makes some last second adjustments and then you fire.
This time it was a bull’s eye. “THERE WE GO!” You cheer for yourself and shimmy your shoulders a little while holding the rifle steady. This time, John doesn’t contain himself, and fully laughs. Deep and rich, right next to your ear, making you shiver a bit, your skin covered in goosebumps.
“Good job.” He praises you and gived you another little tap on your hip, this time, sort of catching the side of your ass. Your eyes widen a bit in surprise and you bite your lip before looking up at him.
“You’ve had enough yet?” He asks you with a cocked brow as you lower the rifle into a safe handle, pointing down and to the side.
“Depends.” You find yourself saying as he takes the rifle from you to return at the rental counter.
“On what, love?” He asks you, eyes locked on yours as you turn to face him fully. He seems to be in a much better mood.
“Me having enough of shooting…” You trail off. “Will that end the night? Are you going to drop me off at home?” You ask him.
His eyebrows raise for a bit, but then they lower and his eyes narrow as a ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Oh no, I’m taking you home, but not dropping you off. I’m spending the night with you.” He assures you.
Then, he walks off out to the armory counter, as if he hasn’t just said that.
taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak , @wittleespur , @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago
#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic#cod modern warfare#cod fanfic#captain john price#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#text story#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#john price x reader
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The Tattooist
The first clone trooper client she tattoos is an act of remembrance.
The man stands forlorn and desperate in the reception area, his borrowed clothes fitting poorly on his slumped frame. His face is tight, like a man on the edge of screaming, holding it back by the skin of his teeth. She recognises this pain, and quickly ushers him into her workroom, calling for A'maa to take the front desk while she speaks to a client. He breaths slightly easier once they are no longer in public, and she gestures for him to sit on the well-worn sofa she reserves for guests.
“I haven't got many credits,” he admits straight up. “They don't exactly pay us. I just wanted to see what could be done for what I have.”
She nods and grabs a pad and stylus, settling herself into her armchair and crossing her legs. “Tell me what you want and how much you've got and I'll see what I can do.”
He swallows painfully, and reaches into his pocket. “I have exactly 134 credits,” he holds a handful of ingots, and she glances down before looking back at his face. “I looked you up; I know it's not much in terms of tattoos. It's just... It's all I could scrape together...” he stumbles over his words, embarassment curling his lips.
“And what you want?” She interrupts, halting his ashamed attempts at explaining himself.
He takes a deep breath, grimaces, then sighs. “My brother was killed in the last battle. His name was Star. The long-necks... The Kaminoans I mean, never let us mourn each other where they could see. But he's my brother. We were born of the same batch, he helped me when I struggled with the maths tests, we had each others backs... I have a million odd brothers, but he was mine...” He presses his thumb and forefinger into his tightly-shut eyes, choking back a sob. “I want to honour him forever. I want to carry him with me, in a way they can't take away from me.” At this he straightens, bringing his hand down to stare at her determinedly. “They can make us wash our armour off, take our possessions from us. They will have to flay my skin from me if they want to take this.”
She stares back, stylus against her lips, and feels a swell of righteous fury in her throat. She's always had a mild force-sensitivity. Not enough to make training her of any worth, but enough that she can get a feel of a person, enough she can get a taste of their emotions.
This is a proud, strong man. And he is not broken by the hardships he faces, as much as he should be.
She will honour his brother with him.
The design practically leaps from her stylus, as she coaxes little stories from him. Little tales of his brother. His name was Star, he tells her first, and she sketches the rough outlines of one. He named himself, the man tells her, not giving his own name. Named himself after the balls of fury in the universe that were always out of their reach of Kamino. He laughs quietly, painfully, as he tells her the first time they had snuck out on a rainless night, when there was a brief respite in the clouds of Kamino, and by chance, there was a meteor shower over head. They'd all been amazed, confused and delighted by the sight, their little squad of five. One of the trainers, a kind man named Kal, had chuckled and told them “That'll be a shooting star” when they ask him about the phenomena, and Star had whispered to him in their bunks that night that he had decided on his name.
“I used to call him a shooting Star when we were in sims,” the man admits, a crooked grin on his face. “He kicked me in the shin for it once. Think he actually kinda liked it though.”
She adds a trail of dust behind it.
“He was so proud of being an ARF,” the man whispers. “So proud when I was nominated for ARF training alone with him. I was never as good as him, but he always took me with him, wherever he went. When the Commander told us we were getting the training, he basically hugged him. The Commander just gave him a pat on the back and told him never to do it again or he'd demote him quick as sithspit” the man snorts. “He didn't mean it, but Star'd never moved so bloody quick back into a salute, I couldn't help laughing at him, the idiot.”
She tabs out and finds a reference for an ARF troopers helmet on the 'net, and draws the trail of star dust bursting out of it and curling round to meet with the star itself.
“Our battallion wears green. Mainly olive-green. The commander started it, reminds him of the General I suspect. We became Green Company.”
The dust trail gathers sprinkles of olive green, the Star limned in the colour. She hesitates for a moment, then asks. “What markings did he wear?”
The man startles; she'd been loath to bring him out of his memories, but she wants to make it accurate. Needs to make it accurate really. She can feel how important this piece is to the man, and she finds herself strongly opposed to disappointing him.
“He had two stars on the left hand side of his helmet, one within the other.” The man indicates a point on his crown, above his ear. “And his visor was lined in green. He had a stripe vertically down the right hand side, ending just under the visor itself. On his chest piece...”
She lets him continue detailing his armour, drawing another star in olive green within the big one, then delicately tipping the helmet to conceal where the star would have been on the left. She's good, but it would have been too small to depict without potentially bleeding into a solid line, and she doesn't want that to happen. Instead, she marks in the line on the right-hand side, and ensures the big star is representative of what she imagines was on the helmet.
He's trailed off, staring sightlessly at his hands in his lap. She doesn't want to shake him, suspects alarming a trained soldier out of his own mind would be a bad idea. Instead, she uncrosses her legs, and clears her throat lightly. He glances up at her, and she smiles and extends the pad to him.
“Is something like this what you had in mind?”
He blinks at her, than reaches over and takes the pad. She sees the moment when he takes in the image. His eyes widen, and a tear he's been holding back since well before he got here slides down his cheek. He presses his fist into his mouth, other hand shaking where it holds the pad and he nods, clenching his eyes shut. “y-yes... Oh yes...” He stammers, voice thick.
“Where would you like it?”
“Over my heart,” he whispers. “I will carry him always in my heart.”
She stands abruptly, making him jump slightly and reaches out for the pad. “Okay, shirt off and lie down on the bed for me please. I assume as a clone trooper you're routinely screened for any blood diseases?” He nods, standing up with a slightly dazed expression on his face. She nods back and turns away, beginning the ritual of preparing her inks. She's playing a game of avoidance now, knows she won't take this man's money, and if she can keep him from asking about it she may be able to get it finished before he finds out. She suspects he'd do the honourable thing and refuse to get the tattoo. It'll be harder for him to do if it's halfway done. And while normally she'd insist on a full disclosure form and signature, she gets the feeling having no hardcopy evidence of what is about to happen will be a very good idea. The pad will need reformatting after she's done, but she's been required to do that for other clients who want their body art to be completely untraceable, so she doesn't store anything of any import on it for long anyway. She hears the rustle of cloth behind her and smiles slightly to herself, pleased at a plan going well. “Would you tell me more about him please?”
The man takes a deep breath behind her, even as she hears the bed creak as he clambers onto it. “He was always good at slipping by unnoticed. It's how he kept us both out of trouble back in training...”
She finishes mixing up the colours she needs as he begins to tell her about their childhood, what little of it there was. Checks her machine and cleans the patch of skin above his heart as he laughs about a prank played on one of their batchmates. It warms her and chills her at the same time, realising how little they had, but what great things they made of what they did. She prints out the stencil and places it over his chest as he whispers about Star easing him through the tail end of a nightmare, checking quietly that he's happy with the position before pressing the needle to his skin. He breaths in through his nose once when she starts, and she glances up at him, but he smiles and continues on into a story about when they first met their Jedi, and how Star gushed about her afterwards. She sinks into the meditative process of stamping lines into being, bringing colour to life, all the while surrounded by the man's soft voice building a memorial to his brother in their room.
When it's finished, the man looks surprised. “I thought it would take longer than that?” He blinks at her, “And be more painful in all honesty.”
She grins, “You did your research well hon, I'm good at what I do.”
He laughs and sits up, wincing slightly as the skin stretches around the wound. She squirts cleaner onto a cloth and holds it towards his chest, pausing before touching the tattoo for him to give a nod of permission, then wipes carefully across it, removing excess ink and stencil gently. Looking it over critically, she's happy with what she's done, knows she's poured herself into this tattoo as well. The lines are clean and crisp, the colours deep and rich. The helmet tilts up to look at the star above it, the trail of stardust sweeping behind it and curling up to emerge from the opening of the helmet at the bottom. Olive green accents in the tail, the line over the right-hand side of the helmet and around the visor, and the outer and inner two stars. She nods to herself, and grins up at him. “Ready to see it?”
He swallows nervously, but nods. She feels her grin quirk into a proper smile, then holds out her hand to him. He looks at it for a second, then places his own in hers, and she helps pull him from the bed. She keeps hold of his hand as she guides him to the full length mirror just beside the couch, and gently pulls him to stand infront of it. The hand in hers trembles as he stares at his reflection, taking a moment on his own face to gather his courage, then looks down at his chest.
The noise that punches out of his lungs is almost animal, and she grips his hand tightly. He cries openly, other hand reaching up to hover just under the tattoo as he looks down at his own chest. It's several moments before he can say anything, and she stands next to him the whole time, holding his hand as he clenches onto hers. He cries and cries, grief finally allowed expression, as she gives him silent comfort in proximity. His first words are “thank you”, and she smiles at him, as he starts to collect himself and turns away from her to try and pull himself back together.
“I'll give you a few minutes to check it over and make sure you're happy before I bandage it up,” she murmers, and steps quietly out of the room, giving him privacy in his sorrow.
A'maa glances up at her as she steps out, raising an eyebrow. Strictly speaking, she wasn't supposed to be working today, and she hadn't considered that A'maa might have had to turn away one of her own clients when she committed to tattooing the man. But A'maa glances over at the door to her workroom and shakes her head. “Don't worry about it Elaah,” she whispers, “Whatever it was, it was clearly important.”
“Yes,” Elaah whispers back, walking over to cradle herself in A'maa's outstretched arm, seeking the comfort of her own found family. “Yes, it really was.”
It's a few more minutes before the man opens the door, glancing around the edge of it. She quickly cuts off her conversation with A'maa and smiles at him. “Ready to get bandaged up?”
He nods and smiles, face a little blotchy from the tears, though neither she nor A'maa say anything. She gives A'maa's shoulder a quick squeeze, then heads into the room, leaving the door ajar this time. The man stands infront of the mirror again, gazing down at his new ink, and she quickly grabs the bits she needs to finish off. He smiles at her as holds the fake skin bandage up to his chest, carefully sizing it up to fit nicely over the tattoo.
“How much do I owe you?” he asks, and she shakes her head.
“Nothing hon, you paid me in stories.”
He protests immediately, as she suspected he would. “Too late hon!” she grins at him. “It's already on your skin and I'll throw your credits out onto the street after you if you try leaving them behind. Good luck winning this one!” She winks and pats him on the shoulder, turning away to grab his top and thrusting it into his abdomen. He grabs it and gapes at her, clearly not quite sure what to say, before straightening and flashing a sheepish grin at her.
“You planned this from the start didn't you?” He asks, pulling the top over his head and rolling his eyes as she throws him a cheeky wink and nods.
“I've got to give you something, this means so much to me... You have no idea...” He gulps and shakes his head, blinking fresh tears out of his eyes. “Tell you what, I'll make sure anyone else who might be thinking of getting some ink heads this way?”
She shrugs. “I'm not going to turn down customers, but you don't owe me anything. I just hope you think of Star whenever you see it.”
“I will,” he murmurs, a hand going to rest over where the tattoo sits over his heart. He glances up at her. “My name is Trix. I just... wanted you to know that.”
She smiles at him, and gently rests a hand over his own. “Thank you Trix.” she says, smiling up at him, “Thank you for everything you and your brothers do for us.”
He grasps her hand with his other one and squeezes it tightly for a moment, before turning around and walking out the shop.
#the clone wars#clone troopers#fanfic#fanfiction#feels#tattoos#tattoos as healing#star wars#oc characters#also posted to ao3#CentrauGuardian
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what if the resistance tried to, and somehow failed to kill monster!konigs mate? I know you said they usually do mercy kills but how would Konig react?
If you think you were a prisoner before, you need to rethink your whole freaking existence. You were allowed even too much before - eat outside of your room, follow your monster-husband-owner around, sometimes even explore the base while Konig was away for ten minutes or so, allowing you to stretch your legs just a little...well, it's all gone now.
You don't even remember how you got caught by human resistance - you just remember standing there, in the middle of the battle, a bullet passing you only barely. It scrapped your side, dangerously close to the swell of your egg-filled tummy, and Konig thought he might just die on the spot. He can try to convince himself that you don't matter, that he can just ask for the cleaning squad to let his annoying little pet wife disappear after she is no longer useful...but he knows it's false, he is lying to himself, and failing at it.
You're his everything - his mate, his pet, his precious incubator, and the most perfect being to ever lay in his nest. When he saw the humans getting their dirty hands on you...god, he wanted nothing more but to ignore the treaty with humans, all the laws about not eradicating humanity as a species, and wedge war against every single one of the fuckers trying to hurt his wife. When you cling to him, barely escaping certain death, he knows he will never let you outside your room again.
If you lose the eggs from stress, he wouldn't even care about the clutch - he only cares about you, dumb and trembling in his hands, too freaking fragile to even think about resisting or escaping anymore. If eggs are safe inside, he almost wants to stop breeding you like this, putting you in such a dummied-out fragile state that you can't even resist attackers trying to kill you. This incident is forcing Konig to finally confront his feelings about you - and to hell with any of his subordinates who think that pamper and coddle your pet humans is too unmanly. He will bathe you with gifts and best nest materials, even allow you to wear clothes to hide the wounds while you're still sensitive...
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jealous simon but it’s in a self-destructive way.
how he isolates himself and forces his own desires into the yawning of his heart so that they won’t see the light of day because he knows, more than anyone else, how he doesn’t deserve you. and so he would rather burn with the ferocity of his unreturned love than burden you with his devotion.
how he draws away from the easy companionship that you two have; what were once hour-long phone calls peter into minutes of checking in, until they simmer into sparse messages. sometimes you two won’t even talk for months.
how he begins to avoid you. he misses out on cafe dates or movie nights, or hangs out with the squad almost everyday.
how he burrows at his safe house—he hasn’t been home (withyouwithyouwithyou) for months now.
he thinks time will fix him. he thinks distance will do him some good, but—
“please,” you whimper, voice trembling with the weight of your heartbreak. “please, just talk to me.”
(you are just as beautiful as he remembered.)
simon digs his fingernails into his palms, hoping that the stinging of his skin hurts more than the pain swelling in his heart.
of course it doesn’t; nothing will hurt more than leaving you.
and simon knows this, but—
“there’s nothing to talk about,” he finally replies, forcing the nonchalance in his voice. he fakes a smile. “what’s got you worryin’, huh?”
your lips wobble. “how could you?”
“c’mon,” is all what simon could force out, ignoring the way his tongue feels like it’s sticking to the roof of his mouth. “y’ve got no reason to be throwin’ a tantrum like this, kid.”
he sees the moment your hackles rise, hurt bleeding into fury.
“oh, fuck you, riley,” you spit out, vitriolic in the way it dribbles from your snarling lips.
(your anger will be the last memory that simon has of you. he knows he will regret this moment.
he already is.)
but—
this—you, leaving him, and him, forcing it all to fall apart—is for the best.
#i wrote this half asleep on the car ride home and theres smthn here i like but i just cant name which part#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#suns#q
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Can we get Captain MacTavish on a date? Can end in smut or not up to you :)
18+ MDNI
Dates with Captain MacTavish were, unfortunately, few and far between when he was active duty. Constantly being whisked away at a moments notice to thwart the next objective who dared rise up against the world.
However, now, with retirement settling into his bones and the sun baptizing him of his previous sins, he always managed to find the time for date nights. More often than not, on his boat. Preferring the vastness of the water to the closed environment of the land.
And the privacy to lay you out within the bow, not too dissimilar to your current disposition.
Spread out and on display, the rolling of waves lapping at the stern as his tongue lapped long stripes against your luscious folds.
Your eyes lost in the colors of the setting sun as your body lost the battle of control to his languid ministrations.
A rumbling moan reverberated from within his throat and echoed against the silken flesh of your cunt. Teasing a whimper from the cage of your chest as your back arched off the leather and fiberglass.
"John," you murmured with the threat of an orgasm trembling on your tongue.
"Tha's it, m'lass. Make a mess. All over yer Captain's face," he crooned into your cunt.
His broad hands moved to pivot on your hips, cementing you to the soft white leather as he encapsulated his mouth over your mound.
You dared your eyes to take in the sight of him. His crested scalp undulating like a dorsal fin between the swells of your thighs. And his eyes hauling your soul into their hungry maelstrom as you threw your head back and released a tsunami of pleaure into his gaping maw.
Master of the Swell Masterlist
#soap squad™️#asked and answered#master of the swell#date night with the captain#the brainrot of Captain MacTavish#glitterypirateduck#captain mactavish#captain mactavish smut#og soap#09 soap#mw2#cod fanfic#call of duty
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#smosh#smosh squad#smosh pit#shayne topp#swell entertainment#noah grossman#video#reading reddit stories#fav
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#qsmp#qsmp empanada#qsmp breakfast club#qsmp swell squad#qsmp slimecicle#qsmp codeflippa#qsmp jaiden#qsmp baghera#qsmp bagi#qsmp mouse#qsmp tina#qsmp niki#queued
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Warnings: smut w/o plot, fem!Reader, doggy style, spanking
Synopsis: fuming with anger after losing to Kenichirou, Marito heads back to the Siguma Squad base. There's only one way to help him de-stress, and you're more than ready to help
OTHER FANDOMS MASTERLIST
As you sat on the worn-out couch in the Siguma Squad base, your heart raced with fear.
Marito, the leader of the Siguma Squad, had just returned to the base after a heated confrontation with his archenemy, Kenichirou. Another confrontation with his greatest foe had left him feeling defeated and humiliated. His fists clenched and unclenched as he tried to suppress the rage that threatened to consume him. His body was drenched in sweat and his breaths were heavy, filled with rage and frustration. "I need a release," Marito muttered under his breath, pacing back and forth through a spacious chamber.
You could see the adrenaline coursing through his veins. As you approached Marito, you could see a storm raged in his eyes, a tempest of anger and hurt. You steeled yourself, knowing you must act carefully. "Easy there, tiger," you whispered, trying to calm him down, rubbing your hands up and down his robust chest.
But Marito had other ideas. He grabbed you by the waist, pulling you closer to him. His rough hands slid up your skirt, finding their way to your cotton panties. It turned out there was a damp spot on them already. "Ah, you're already wet for me," he snarled, his fingers exploring your folds after pushing your panties aside.
You moaned softly, surrendering to his touch. You understood that when he was filled with anger like that, there was only one way to ease his tension. Sex.
Marito wasted no time, tearing off your panties and unzipping his pants with a shaking hand.
He pushed you down on the couch, your chest pressed against the cool leather. Marito roughly grabbed your hips, positioning himself behind you after pushing his dark pants down his legs.
You felt his hard cock probing your entrance, threatening to plunge deep inside you.
"Oh, tiger…" you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't need any more encouragement - your voice was so sweet that his hard cock twitched uncontrollably. With a powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you, filling you to the brim. "Fuuuck," he grunted, delivering a harsh spank to your left ass cheek. "Always so fucking wet and tight." Marito started pounding you hard, his hips slapping against your ass with each brutal stroke.
You cried out with pleasure, the sound of your moans mixing with the sound of your skin slapping together.
"Fuck, you feel so good," Marito growled, his hands gripping your hips tighter. He began spanking you, the sound of his hand connecting with your flesh echoing through the room. He lifted your short skirt, raising it over your hips to watch his dick covered in your slick moving in and out of your pussy. "Yeah, fuck yeah."
You yelped with each strike, the pain only adding to the pleasure. "Harder, Marito, harder," you begged, pushing back against him.
He obliged, his thrusts becoming more forceful, his spanks more brutal. Marito reached around, finding your clit with his fingers. He began rubbing it in circles, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. He then pulled you closer, his other hand reaching for the small of your back. He grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing it as he pushed into you, staying still for a second or two, only to start fucking you hard again, watching your ass jiggle with every thrust he delivered.
You could feel your orgasm building, your velvety muscles clenching around his cock. "Tiger, 'm gonna cum," you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper as you went lower on your hands, sticking your ass more to him.
"Cum for me, babe," he growled, his fingers moving faster.
The couch creaked under your combined weight, threatening to give way any moment.
You could feel Marito's cock swelling inside your pussy, and you knew he was close too. You pushed back against him more, meeting each thrust with one of your own. "Yes!" you cried out as you came, your pussy clenching around his throbbing cock.
Marito followed soon after, his cock twitching inside you as he filled you with his sticky cum. "Fuck, I needed that," he whispered, his lips finding your neck.
You smiled, your body still trembling with pleasure as you looked at him above your shoulder. "I always know how to calm you down."
Marito chuckled, pulling out of you, spreading your ass cheeks to watch his cum seeping out of your pussy. "Yeah, you do, babe." Jin stood up from the couch, readjusting his pants, tucking his flaccid cock in them, and stretching like a cat. "Forgot how tiring sex can be. I'm hungry. Want some maji kebab?"
#bucchigiri?!#marito#marito jin#bucchigiri x reader#marito x reader#marito jin x reader#bucchigiri imagine#marito imagine#marito jin imagine#bucchigiri smut#marito smut#marito jin smut#x female reader#anime smut#smut writing#divider by cafekitsune
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Watch my shattered edges glisten| Leah Williamson x young!reader (platonic)
Summary; Being so good so young brings a lot of attention to you, especially when you make a simple mistake. Leah notices you struggling and helps you as you begin to crack under the pressure. Inspired by "Mirrorball" by my mother, Taylor Swift.
Pairings; Leah Williamson x young!reader (platonic), lionesses x reader (platonic)
Words; 2k
Warnings; sad, swearing, angst.
A/N; Is it too much to ask just to be comforted by Leah. Sorry about the sadness but it's so fun to write and play it out in my head. A little it rushed but I wanted to get something out and i'm off work sick so very clearly bored atm. Enjoy.
It was no secret that Leah felt a need to protect you and basically adopt you when you entered the senior team just a few months ago. You were quite young, like most of the other girls were when they got their first call ups, but there was a naivety and innocence to you that she felt the need to take you under her wing very quickly.
You had excelled very easily in the youth and U23 squads, becoming one of the best defenders for your age and following closely behind in the footsteps of the one and only Leah Williamson. So when you got that call from Sarina inviting you to your first senior camp, you were both excited and extremely nervous to be in the presence of your biggest inspirations.
There was a lot of press when your call up was publicly announced, people who had watched you in the younger squads cheering you on and other fans ready to see how you would fit within the senior team. A lot of the younger players in the squad were more than excited to hear of you finally moving up, most of you playing together and growing up together at national camps over the years. So there was no reason for you to worry about when arriving at St Georges park for the first time.
But the thought about being in an unfamiliar environment with new people and a new team still made you nervous. So it was understandable that you were quiet and reserved for the first day, still greeting everyone but unsure of where your place in the squad was just yet. The girls you had grown up with were lovely as always but it had been a few years since you were all together, so it was different.
That's when Leah knew she had to make the effort and ensure your transition to the senior squad was smooth and easy, making you comfortable with the girls which would benefit your performance on the field.
"Hey, y/n!" A voice called out to you, making you turn your head to find the Leah Williamson waving you over to her table. You swallowed your nerves before walking over to her with your breakfast tray in your shaky hands. She shifted over to make a space for you between herself and Keira. That was the first and certainly not the last time Leah had made sure you felt welcome and supported on the team.
A few camps in and everyone was calling you a mini Leah, not that you minded. You and the older defender had a lot in common, making it easy to get along and create a sisterly bond quite easily.
Despite being in a lower-ranked team of the WSL, many people already knew who you were and were ready to support you as you joined the senior squad. This helped with your nerves as you waited to sub on during your first national game, hearing the home crowd cheer as your number displayed beside Leah's.
"You've got this little one." Leah whispered as she hugged you, making your heart swell and your eyes roll at the nickname before you ran out and took her place on the field next to Millie and Lotte.
It's safe to say your run with the national team has been going quite well since your first game, finding yourself appearing in every match and even starting in the two in the previous camp.
Your impressive defensive skills and tactics had been noticed when you were on national duty and during regular matches, causing your agent to call you with many offers from many different clubs in the WSL and even other leagues. But there was one that stood out and would be a no-brainer to transfer during the January window, especially as a place to work on your skills ahead of the World Cup this summer.
So you officially left the club that started your professional career at 18 just three years ago and set off to North London, moving into Leah's flat; nice and close to the Colney.
It was in a friendly against Australia where you made a simple mistake that would impact you and your career so harshly, so quickly.
3 months out from the world cup and this one mistake almost cost you your spot in the World Cup squad... or so you were made to believe.
It was a simple mistake that plenty of players all over the world had made before; stepping out that little bit too much during a tackle and risking the player you were trying to mark, especially with the current weather conditions. That's all it took. But you knew the moment your studs hit Kyra's boot, your match was over.
The whistle was blown within seconds of her body hitting the floor and her grabbing onto her foot where your studs had accidently landed. You looked down to where her team was beginning to surround her, frozen in place until a hand on your shoulder shook you out of it and your head moved the ref who was reaching in her back pocket. The red card came into view and although you knew it was coming, your heart still sunk as she wrote your number on the back.
A few of the England girls began to start arguing with ref that it should have at least been a yellow, but you knew there was no point, anyone could see that it was a definite red and you were officially benched for the rest of the game and the next one coming. So with a hung head you walked off the field and over to the tunnel, the voices of your teammates and the disappointed home crowd blurring into the background, everything feeling as though it was in slow motion as the rain continued to fall.
"I'm sorry." You spoke to Sarina who silently nodded her head at you, both a sympathetic and disappointed look on her face as you passed by and walked down to the change room.
You sat down on the bench in front of your cubby and stared down at the boots that let down the team and left them a man down with 20 minutes still to go.
There was something bubbling in your chest that should have been anger at the situation but it was just bitter disappointment in yourself and that was ultimately worse. Water formed in your eyes and your throat began closing up as you bit back the tears that were trying to escape, but you couldn't let them.
You ended up showering and changing into your tracksuit as you waited for the match to end and what you presumed would be a lot of upset teammates ready to storm in and hurl their anger towards you. You curled up in your cubby, headphones on but no music playing, and closed your eyes as you waited.
You were so buried within yourself that you hadn't noticed all the girls coming in and spotting you making yourself so small, breaking all of their hearts as they could see how hard you were taking this.
It was Esme who eventually disturbed you, tapping your shoulder gently, silently nodding to the door of the once again empty changeroom after everyone began to leave for the bus.
She threw her arm around you, tucking you into her side as you walked out to the back and towards the bus where everyone was waiting. Once again you were left alone by the girls on the bus, they could see you were utterly disappointed and didn't want to accidentally make it worse. So although you were sat by yourself, you could feel 22 pairs of eyes on you every so often, but most intensely from a blonde captain further back on the bus.
It didn't take long for the press to have their say on the incident, immediately shaming you for your mistake and basically flushing your name and reputation down the toilet. So as you mindlessly scrolled through social media on the way back, your feed was filled with posts and comments about the incident. You knew better than to read what they wrote about you, but you couldn’t stop, obsessed with reading every article that featured your name.
Most of the comments were the same, things like "how dangerous it really could have been" and that you were "young and reckless and irresponsible with your choices as a defender." Deep down you knew they were wrong about you but it was hard to fight through the voices saying they were right and that you were a bad footballer.
Leah started to get worried when you were not only ignoring the other girls, but then you began distancing yourself upon returning home with her. You stayed in your room as much as you could and tried to stay away from Leah but it was hard when living in the same house.
The night that you got back she barely heard from you, wanting to respect your privacy for as long as she could but when she heard your soft cries through the door she couldn’t ignore it any longer.
“Y/N?” She knocked softly on the door, waiting for a response but you stayed quiet. “I’m coming in okay.” She gave a warning before opening the door softly, her eyes instantly finding you tucked into the covers facing away from the door. “Oh little one.”
Her soft voice made a sob finally escape and you began properly breaking down for the first time. She hated seeing you like this, contrastingly different to the bubbly, mischievous person you were known to be. She crawled up under the covers, rolling you over and placing your head upon her chest.
“What can I do?” She began smoothing your hair with her fingers, she knew this is what came with becoming a footballer in the spotlight but she didn’t think it would get you this early in your career.
“Just hold me please.” Your voice was soft and broken, trying to stop the images and words they were saying from spiralling in your mind.
“None of what they say is true, I need you to know that.” Leah spoke again after a few minutes of silence, finally feeling your breathing slow and the tears stopping. “It was an accident and you know it, I know it, she knows it and they know it too.” She was referring to Kyra who you had already sent a message to, apologising for hurting her and the media who were riling up a story to fill their articles full of nonsense for more money.
“This does not change who you are as a person or a player, it happens to everyone and it will go away once they find something new to talk about. But you need to ignore them.” She continued, waiting for any kind of response. “Promise me you’ll ignore them.” Leah looked down at you, tapping your head as a signal to look up at her.
“I promise.” You gave her a small smile while nodding.
“Come on, let’s go eat some smileys.” She flung the covers off and pushed you up with a laugh, getting one out of you for the first time since it happened.
“You have the pallet of a five year old.” You shook your head as you crawled out of your bed.
“And what about it?” She wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you exited out to the kitchen, pressing a small kiss to your head as you walked together.
It was at that moment you felt truly grateful for Leah and all she had given you since joining the Lionesses and Arsenal. She took you in and gave you an environment to thrive and be comfortable in a new place when she didn’t have any obligation to. But you would forever be in debt to her kindness and never reject anything she gave to you.
#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso x reader#leah williamson#leah williamson x reader#lionesses#england wnt#engwnt
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