#soft price is my new favourite thing ever

[yeyinde]

YES the smoking kink is developing... im asthmatic but im also a whore so id give anything to sit on price's lap while he smokes his cigar. idk if you do smuts BUT mmmm imagine c*ckw*rming him, sitting all nice and pretty for him, him calling you a good [insert nickname here] or "sweet little pet, behaving so well for me" abdvsvdhisb my brain is short-circuiting there is only daddy price thots

"Good girl—," it's a coarse purr slurred around the end of his cigar, billowing with satisfaction. Dark, rich. The euphonious praise makes you shiver. "—bein' so good for me, ain't you, mm?"

⇾word count: 2,2k

⇾warnings: cockwarming, mentions of smut; dom!Price; breeding kink; feelings resolution (kinda)

⇾notes: i'm back on my soft Price agenda.

There is a dull throb in your body—the twinge of a low-grade fever—that simmers in your marrow. You feel like a massive contusion: worn and sore, tender. It’s not entirely dissimilar to an elastic band pulled too far, stretched too taut; it slips, skin smarting where it strikes. The burn makes you mewl into the soft, damp heat pressed beneath your cheek. The rich scent of oakmoss and cedar fills your nose, settling heavily in your lungs. 

You find comfort in the charred sycamore and sweat that trickle down your throat. 

Lashes flutter in a futile effort to blink away the milky cobwebs that spool over your eyes and shroud the world in moondust, but each blink feels like an offering to Hypnos. It keeps you in that equinox of sleep and wakefulness: a borderland between two states. 

You blink again, lashes connecting like a lock and key. An anchor. 

It feels like a battle to open them, but you do when the land beneath you ripples. Rumbles. The movements of tectonic plates; the aftershocks jar you into cognisance. 

Your heavy eyes lift. The world is condensed into a blurry varicoloured smear of wry burnt umber curls, blotchy peach and pink flesh dusted with topaz freckles, and the hazy edge of a white collar.  

It takes you a moment to shake off the tendrils of Hypno's grip, and then you’re back—back, but not quite. You exist in a hazy realm of understanding. A strange purgatory where you last remember searing heat, and pressure, and—

Being battered by the thick of his cock, wrenched around like a rag doll as he planted his feet on the floor, and canted his hips into your quivering body. It is all a murky bog of bliss and euphoria. Gentle words. The grind of him digging into the plug of your womb, the searing heat when his mouth latched onto your pulse point. The molten bloom in your cunt when he came, filling you up. 

Resting your head on his chest—eyes mercury and head fuzzy; somnolence leaking over you like slow-rolling molasses. Just for a minute, you slurred out, basking in that liquid pleasure that spooled inside you. Just a minute. 

It all lingers in a gossamer of pleasure that bleeds over your thoughts.

And now:

Cognisance returns in a slow drizzle of familiarity. 

Rough skin grazing yours. Thumb brushing the aching knob of your hips where he dug his fingers into the soft give of your flesh, rutting into you like a man starved. The deep, even breaths that crackle in your ear; the rise and fall of his chest. The warmth of his body. The heavy scent of him permeates around you—amber, cured spruce wood, burning tobacco leaves, and smoke. 

The sizzle of burning tobacco leaves. Charred ashes. The scent of his cigar clots in the humid air.

Your head pounds from the explosion of endorphins that ripped through each synapse until they were liquid, and brimming with bliss; your body buzzing as each and every nerve pulsed with the deluge of dopamine. The crash of it leaves you feeling windswept, and conquered. 

A low hum resounds through your chest, the echo of it reverberating through your ribcage. The hand slides from your hips, resting heavily on the small of your back. Coarse hair ticking your nose. The rustle of paper sounds somewhere in the distance—clearer, now, that the world has stopped spinning. 

An elastic band stretches, and stretches, and—

Pressure. Tacky warmth. A fullness that perches on the equilibrium of familiar and foreign.

—snaps back. 

You mewl at the liquid fire in your veins, and the too-full feeling inside of you. 

"Shush, shush." His beard grazes your cheek when he lowers his chin to your ear, voice thick and full of smoke, drenched in nicotine. "Easy, love. Sleepin' beauty back with me, eh?"

You huff into his neck, throat thick with his taste and barren of words. Bone dry, your tongue slips out, drags over your kiss-bruised lips, accidentally catching the iodine on his skin. Balmy sweat. The sea in autumn. You press your mouth to his pulse, feverish for the familiar taste, and eager for more. Teeth scrape across his skin, suckling in the ambrosiac tang of him until it floods your mouth.

He rumbles again, a throaty trill that makes your core throb. Another inhale around his cigar; a crutch, you think, to stem the want.

Price pulls it away, arm brushing over your back. You can see the smoke rise out of the corner of your eye. It's clutched between his thumb and forefinger, dangling over the armrest.

"Start that again, and I'll end up throwin' my back out." He husks, warm hand dragging up the length of your spine until he cups the back of your leaden head. "Ain't as young as I was." 

The heat of his voice, the way the smoky roll makes your belly flutter, brings awareness to that strange sensation inside of you. Your sore muscles clench around the thick of it— 

"Fuckin' hell—!" His head falls back, tipping against the back of the seat. The groan that slips out is stretched taut and frayed. 

Your thighs flex, shifting. You feel the sticky mess pooling in his lap, glueing the coarse hair dusting over his thighs to the back of your legs, under your ass. It leaks out around the plug of his softening cock. 

He's still inside of you. 

It ricochets through you, rippling down your spine. 

The sensation of it sits in a strange haze of pleasure; it feels good to have him inside you like this, but without the normal movement, the grind of him against your walls—brassbound, thick—it feels foreign. Different. A dip into too much. The pressure of him sitting there, still stretching your walls taut, makes you keen in your throat. 

"Ah—John—"

“I got you,” he says, etching small circles over your spine, head tilting to nuzzle his chin over your crown. Soothing. Calming. "I want you like this," he murmurs, throat clicking when he swallows. "Want you sat on my cock—just like this—while I finish up here. Can you do that for me?"

You huff, breath pluming over the skin of his neck until goosebumps form. It's strange, and too much, and—

"It's okay," he rasps, cock thickening with each of your exploratory wiggles. His hand slides down your back, settling you with a soft noise. "Easy, now. Just take it, yeah? Keep me inside of you like this. All my cum inside of your cunt."

He burrows his head into your neck, beard scratching over your raw skin. It makes you moan, makes you flutter around him, pulsing like a heartbeat. His words are nirvana in your veins; a bludgeon to your core.

"Might even take hold, eh? Filled you up—nice and deep—and now it's gonna stay here, mm? Gonna—fuck—gonna get you—"

He bites the word off with a growl when you moan, muscles spasming around him. More cum leaks out of the tight seal.

He groans again. A purr imbued with smoke. "You want that, don't you? Want to be good for me, mm? Just like this."

You swallow down the briny taste of him on your tongue, lashes fluttering. Heat pools in your belly. 

Just like this. Just like—

You’ve never considered keeping him inside of you after he was finished, sat pretty and fucked stupid on his cock, but it ignites a fever under your skin. There is something intimate about it that makes your heart prickle, and your breath quicken. You shift, burrowing deeper into his hold. It's easy to find comfort on his lap, in his arms. You exhale deeply through your nose, breath ghosting through the coarse scruff on his neck. 

It's a strange feeling being completely bare, stuffed to the brim with him. Your thighs are tacky from his spend slowly leaking out around the bulk of him as he moves in his chair, finding his own comfort. 

His gaze slides to you when he brings the cigar to his mouth, eyes pitched low and liquid in the soft, jaundiced light of the lamp on his desk, waiting. The spark of ochre, bright vermillion, as he inhales catches in the sapphire pools. Magna in shades of blue. Mercury congeals on the rim.

He looks good with a cigar dangling from his teeth.

"Alright?" He murmurs around the thick of it, soft and velour—eyes brimming with something thick, syrupy sweet. 

It surprises you sometimes that this man who's often nursing tea to soothe the rawness in his throat after howling himself mute on the battlefield can speak so gingerly. Growling whispers; pinched commands barked out in rasps are one thing, but this—

Soft curls of smoke seep into the aether. Mild and molten. Liquid fire.

The fact that this adamantine man speaks to you, only you, in abated whispers, as if he's softening himself, scourging the grit from his throat after years of screaming himself raw, sneaking his father's cigars in his youth, and down glasses of scotch as if it was water makes something rear within you. 

It clots inside your pericardium: a mass of affection, cloying and full. 

He wants this. You can see it in the dichotomy of blue that fixes itself on you, firm and unyielding. He wants it, but he won't take it. He won't make you stay here if you don't want to. You feel him inside of you, and the contrast juxtaposition between earlier when he was seated just as deep, in this very position, to now, when the room is bathed in ochre, and thick with the scent of sex and sweat and stale tobacco, is worlds apart. Different. But—

It's somehow more intimate than when he'd sat over his knee, and slapped the cheeks of your ass until it was bright red and blistering. Or when he perched you on the edge of his desk, growling out commands when you adjusted, trying to stem the sting when you sat, and buried his face between your thighs, drenching his beard in your slick. 

Him, inside of you like this feels—

Natural. Domestic. 

You flush, heart thudding as the bloom of—

Affection. And something else, something you bite into pieces, chewing between your molars until it's ground down into ash, masticated before it can be spoken aloud. Unutterable words not meant for the brisk and brutal physicality of your relationship, and yet. 

It's there. Lingering. 

Your head swims. You drop your forehead to his chest, greedily soaking in the warmth that bleeds through his still-damp shirt. His heart thuds in your ear, crown pressed beneath his chin when you turn. 

Price waits for a moment, eyes still burrowing down at you, searching for any flicker of discomfort. Always the dutiful leader even when he's buried to the hilt inside of you. At your soft, breathy sigh, he turns away from you. Clears his throat of the smoke, thumb cresting over the knobs on your spine. 

"Good girl—," it's a coarse purr slurred around the end of his cigar, billowing with satisfaction. Dark, rich. The euphonious praise makes you shiver. "—bein' so good for me, ain't you, mm?"

"Yes," it's tremulous, brittle. The breathy whisper makes his pulse quicken. His nostrils flare. His brows tick, waiting. Expectant. And you flush, words thick and soporific when you utter them:

"Yes, daddy."

He groans, throbbing inside of you. The cigar wobbles, teetering dangerously between his lax mouth. He rights it, biting into it with a snarl. "Bloody hell…" 

He doesn't act on it. His eyes crest, lidded and full of smouldering want, but he lets it rest, lets the flame simmer. It's not about that right now. Not yet. Not when there is a small fell of paperwork on the desk behind you, and sleep beckons you, spits poison in the crest of your eyes, glossy and lachrymose until your eyes grow fuzzy, thick with exhaustion. 

His weighted gaze lifts when you melt in his embrace, settled, secure. Just where he wants you. Needs you. 

Price reaches for the paper, trading it for the cigar. His gaze oscillates between the report in his hands—unspeakable evils in underbellies unknown—and the soft way you muzzle into his chest. You can feel his eyes on you. A pendulum. It makes you smile, heart singing. 

When he eases in his seat, eyes drifting back to his work, low hum and murmurs falling from his lips as he loses himself in the ugliness of the world, you press your lips to the tender beat of his pulse and whisper those unutterable words into the smoke-drenched warmth of his chest. 

His breath catches, a shallow exhale. His hand stills. Body tenses. 

Your lashes flutter when you open your eyes, meeting his liquid gaze.

His shoulders sag. You hear the rising crescendo of his heart when he presses his lips to your crown. He clears his throat again. His thumb brushes your spine, slower this time. Reverent.

Charred, husking words, the colour smoke seeping from the end of his lit cigar, spill from his lips, tender, softer, than ever before. 

#this was really fun to write ngl #soft price is my new favourite thing ever #i also listened to nothing but lana while writing him #so i guess i should tag that as a mood #captain john price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price #john price cod #john price x reader #john price x you #call of duty modern warfare

[sl0t4matt]

m. guiu bf! head canons (requested)

❀ he‘s crazy about you.

❀ his friends like to tease him about how obsessed he is with you but he doesn’t care. how could he not? in his eyes you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on. outside and inside.

❀ he doesn’t want to spend his time with anyone that isn’t you.

❀ “marc! we’re gonna go out to eat with the team. you know, to celebrate tonight’s win.”

❀ “i’m okay, my girl is waiting for me.” he would say.

❀ you on the other hand like to also go out with your friends, since you never want to be that person, that does nothing with her friends anymore just because she’s dating someone.

❀ marc understands and waits in your bed for you, or calls hector out, since he’s always pissed marc completely neglects him when you’re around him.

❀ he just can’t help it. he’s head over heels for you. you got him charmed.

❀ you always send thirsty edits of him to him on tiktok.

❀ “fuck i look good.” he would say.

❀ but oh, can he be a part of the sassy man apocalypse. hitting you with comebacks you wouldn’t have even thought about. not even just that he would hit you with smart ass remarks. he was good with them. leaving you speechless sometimes.

❀ one thing about marc is he will spoil you. no matter how many times you tell him not to. that you do not need that prada bag on your pinterest board. it seems to be going in one ear and out of the other because he has almost bought you your whole pinterest wishlist.

❀ one of his most expensive gifts would be the catier bracelet that has his name engraved on it. you wear it every day to show everyone off but also feel close to him no matter where he is.

❀ you were so mad at him for buying it at first because of the price and how you don’t need all of that. that he’s enough. but he says he “wanted to” and shushes you.

❀ you’re his passenger princess.

❀ you have all of your lip products in his car. it almost looks like it’s your car.

❀ he always lets you put on your playlist since you think his music taste is shit.

❀ you influenced him though, because now he knows almost every song of your favourite artists and also listens to them while practice.

❀ he gets you your favourite flowers on every date you guys have. you could say it’s his love language to surprise you with flowers. even if the both of you just lay in your bed and watch a movie.

❀ when he’s coming to your house, he not only brings you flowers but also your mom and sweets for your siblings.

❀ another one of his love languages is physical touch. from only holding your waist in room full of people to kissing up your thighs as he goes down on you.

❀ he loves giving you head and tasting you. you think it gives him some sort of ego boost to please you.

❀ he also thinks it’s so hot when you wear his barca jersey while riding him. when you tried it for the first time it was just for fun wanting to try something new. you moaned “visca barca” in his ear, meaning for it to be funny. but he took it seriously and came three seconds after you said it. (😭)

❀ “please ma keep it on!” he would groan.

❀ can be such a whiny bitch sometimes when it comes to waiting to fuck you.

❀ it doesn’t help he would get hard at the most random moments.

❀ you lean into marc, your hand steading yourself on his leg to kiss him. your soft lips meet his for a few seconds then pull on his bottom lip teasingly.

❀ “let’s go in!” you pat his leg, leaning back in the seat as you wait for marc to open the door for you like he always does.

❀ “i-. uhm. can’t.” he coughs. you laugh loudly. “marc!! again?” you shake your head. “you’re pathetic!” you tease him laughing.

❀ you look down at the tent growing in his pants. “you’re not helping!” he groans his head falling back.

❀ “you want me to help you?” you poke his chest, winking. he sighs looking out. people won’t see us due to his black windows anyways.

❀ “fuck yeah. please do.”

❀ like said he loves you wearing his jersey that also speaks for the matches. it gives him strength to win, so you make sure that the barca jersey you’re wearing has the number 38 printed on it.

❀ you’re an emotional mess on his games. one time you’re celebrating that your boyfriends team scored, the other you’re cursing the refs and opponents.

❀ no one wants to face you when marc is scoring a goal. you’re going full crazy. yelling and chanting his name like an embarrassing mom. clapping and jumping like you’re completely mental.

❀ he points up to the bleachers to you, taking every opportunity on dedicating the goal to you. he would blow a kiss and you’d do the same after calming yourself down.

❀ you have a ritual for after the game. when the both of you come back from the game, you would give him a little reward for scoring ;)

❀ though it’s not really a valid one because when he loses, you try releasing his anger with doing the same thing.

❀ he would drag your hair while you give him head due to his anger.

❀ after completely ruining you he would apologise like the soft boyfriend he is.

❀ “sorry if i was too rough, baby.” he would say looking down on you.

❀ “it’s okay.” you would smile, eyes still glossy.

❀ after, you would lay your head on his chest and force him to stroke your arm until you fall asleep.

#marc guiu #Spotify #barca #fc barcelona #joao felix #lamine yamal #pablo gavi #hector fort #fermin lopez #guiu #la masia

[dovabunny]

Angsty Ghostsoap Idea of the Day - Not Soap anymore

Cw: angst, misunderstanding

Soap was so sure his heart was safe in Ghost's hands, his place was secure in the 141.

2 hours he stood there in the disciplinary hearing, listening as his every insecurity is turned on him.

Every thing he hated about himself, was self conscious about, or wishes was different is read out loud.

'Unprofessional. Insubordinate. Talks too much. Appearance not regulation. Too loud. Disruptive. Too familiar. Undisciplined.'

He fought back the tears.

'Too emotional'

He doesn't look up from the floor. Doesn't want to see Price and Laswell at the table with his old smug commander he thought he finally got away from.

He was wrong. He disobeyed a direct order to turn back and plant explosives to prevent the building from being used again.

The premise had been cleared 5x in the past 3 years of human traffickers. It was secure and by the docks. They were gonna come back. His suggestion was shot down but after what he saw in there.. he decided to do it anyway.

So yes, he was wrong. No, he doesn't regret it.

But then Ghost had yelled at him over the comms for all to hear. Calling him a danger, an idiot who can't listen, a liability.

Then he reported it to Price who wrote him up for it after shouting the same words.

Price didn't know it would be the third strike on his record.

💰Soap didn't see Price flinch as words he'd written were shot at Soap like bullets. They were taken out of context, and never meant to be used like this.

He sees the man tremble, sees his eyes glaze over. He could see this destroying his boy and he couldn't stop it.

💀 A firm hand settled on his leg and Ghost looks up at Gaz. He didn't even realize he made a motion to stand in his anger. He was beside himself. This was his fault - he did this to Johnny. The commander's vitriol as he dug into Soap's character felt like a knife to his chest.

This wasn't what he wanted! He had been so fkn terrified when Soap ignored him and ran back into a crumbling smugglers den alone to blow it up. It came from a place of overwhelming worry but all he knew was violence. So he snapped and hurt, just so Johnny won't ever do it again.

He told Price, had to. He knew Price had a soft spot for Soap and was also worried at how reckless he got. To show him how serious it was he wrote him up.

Not knowing there was a commander who had been waiting for a third strike on Soap's record.

Soap's punishment: 6 months off the task force stripped of his title as he was sent to undergo training with new recruits. To 'remind him how to conduct himself as a soldier'. All of it at a base away from the 141.

Price tried, he really did, Laswell too. It was helpless. They just had to wait it out.

6 months later Ghost, Gaz, and Prize stand excited on the tarmac awaiting their favourite Scott's return to the 141 and as Sargent. Gaz is excited to hear all the stories of Soap kicking his instructors' asses, Price hopes he slept well. Ghost just wants him close again.

The man who steps off the heli, however is not the Soap they were waiting for. He doesn't have a mowhak, or trademark t-shirt and jeans, confident swagger or beaming smile.

He walks upright, his gaze his fixed but distant, his hair buzzed to the roots dressed in full basic fatigues.

"... Johnny?" Ghost asks as if he isn't sure who this is.

"Captain Price, Lieutenant Riley. Sargent John MacTavish, reporting in."

"Welcome back son. Your room is how you left it." Price says slowly.

Soap nods and goes to walk off but is stopped by Gaz's hand on his shoulder.

"Soap? Are you okay, mate?"

He stopped, took a moment, then looked back at the three staring expectedly at him.

He was fixed now. Like they wanted.

"I'm not Soap anymore. My call sign has changed."

He takes off his dog tags and hands them over.

Sgt. John 'Hazard' MacTavish

#soapghost #ghostsoap #johnny soap mactavish #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain price #john price #my writing

[sentientcave]

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Had to stop working on everything else and write a whole bunch of this instead. Usually I like to finish things that I think might be on the longer side before I start posting, but we're gonna live on the edge with this one. Expect updates in 1-2 Bearimys.

Chapter One - Sweetpea

Next Chapter >

Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, Large men picking up reader like a football, No Y/N, A spot of magic, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through. This is just me having a bit of fun with a fantasy setting because it is my favourite type.

~3.4k Words - MDNI

Sunlight streams down through the light scattering of clouds above, as you carry your nearly empty basket into town to buy a few things for your auntie Kate. She’s not truly your aunt, but over the past few years it’s hard to think of her as anything less than family. She’s not warm, exactly, but she’s honest, and you know that you can trust her with anything.

Kate would usually be at your side when you go into town, watching the crowd with hawkish intensity, as though she still expects agents of the new king to materialize and snatch you away, but she’s away on business, and her wife much less paranoid. You expect that anyone who was ever looking for you has given up on you now. After the civil war, there was a time of instability, and you laid awake many nights, half expecting armed men to break into your bedroom and snatch you away, but everything is smoothed over now, and there’s no reason why Price would feel like he needed you to cement his rule.

You’re happy to just let him have the kingdom. You have more freedom as an ordinary girl, and you’re happier now than you ever have been. You were miserable living in your father’s halls, just a spindly little flower growing without enough sun or rain. And your people are happy now too. It twists your stomach something fierce, to think that your father was never a good king, but the reality is that he wasn’t. People starved while he feasted behind his walls. He sent good men to wage war on his behalf, to die in far off lands when they should have been home building better lives for themselves and their families. He allowed his chosen men to terrorize the women and children and old men living in the towns still. Things had been bad.

So yes, let Price have the crown, and the castle, and the responsibility and anything he likes. What difference does it make to you now?

What matters now is the sun on your face, and the gentle sound of birdsong around you, and the dull bite of the occasional stone through the soft leather soles of your shoes. The air smells sweet and green, although there’s a slight prickle at the back of your nose that tells you that there will be rain tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest. There’s nothing to worry about aside from whether or not the children in town will like the end of the book you have tucked into your basket.

You see a young man sleeping by the side of the road on your way into town, his horse tied to a long halter while he lounges beneath a tree. As you pass by, a bird flying too close startles the horse, and it pulls up the peg it’s tied to, and bolts. The young man doesn’t stir, so you dash after the horse without a thought, dropping your basket so you have both hands free to seize the halter.

You try to dig in your heels to stop the big, white-stockinged horse, but it half-drags you a little ways down the road before finally stopping, swinging it’s head around to look at you as though you’ve personally offended it. “Come on,” you tell it, exasperated. “You don’t belong out here.”

Arms wrap around you from behind, hands much larger than yours close over your wrists. “You’re awfully pretty for a horse thief,” a voice says in your ear.

“I’m not a horse thief!” you protest. “I was trying to help!” The horse snorts, as though it intends to tattle on you for something that you most certainly were not doing.

“And you didn’t think to wake me up?” The man behind you lets go of one of your wrists and spins you around, the movement smooth and graceful, like you’re two dancers at a ball, rather than two strangers meeting along a country road. But when you look up, you find the all too familiar face of one of Price’s knights.

“Sir Garrick!” you gasp.

“Princess,” he says, smiling. He’s far too handsome, his smile bright, teeth a little bit too sharp. “How very nice to see you. I thought for sure you’d have left the kingdom by now.”

“No! Oh no.” You push against his chest uselessly. He’s strong, so much stronger than you. Despair claws at your ribs. Your nightmare-come-true may be wrapped in a pretty, familiar face, but you have no desire to return to the capital. “Please let me go. I promise I don’t want the kingdom. Price can have it— You can have it. I just want to be left alone, I swear, I’ll never—”

“Hush, sweetpea.” He tucks a few of your thin braids behind your ear, fingertips grazing down your neck. “I have to bring you in. But you can make your case to Price. Maybe he’ll let you come back, alright? Don’t fret. He’s always been reasonable.”

You’re not certain how to get out of this. Sir Garrick has kind eyes, but his grip is like steel. He lifts you up easily and sets you on his horse before you so much as think of protesting or making a feeble attempt to fight him off.

“We’re not far from the capital. We can make it there before dark,” he continues, voice low and reassuring, as though you’re worried about the travel, and not the destination.

“But— What about my aunt? I should let her know where I’ve gone.”

“We’ll send word. Don’t you worry, your majesty.”

“No, no, don’t call me that. That’s for kings and queens, and I’m neither.” I’m no one, you want to shout.

He's amused by that, amused by you, as if you're just being a silly little girl. "I suppose we'll settle on sweetpea for now." He holds his palm out and three little white birds materialize and fly off in different directions, spectral and iridescent as soap bubbles. And then he swings into the seat behind you and pulls you most of the way into his lap, wraps strong arms around your waist, and nudges his mount into a walk.

“So,” Sir Garrick says conversationally, his voice low, lips far too close to your ear. It’s overly familiar, but you’re already practically sitting in the man’s lap. “What have you been doing out here all these years?”

“Um. Gardening. Embroidery. Taking care of my chickens. Lessons, for some of the children that live nearby. Just letters and arithmetic. I’ve been thinking about organizing a proper schoolhouse.” You can feel your nerves bubbling up as you babble, thoughts coming to you disorganized and stilted. “I never realized how few people can read. It seems a shame. I do a few hours of reading around town, help out at the church. I keep busy. I haven’t any real purpose, so I have to go out of my way to make one.” You sigh, thinking of how you had left things at a particularly gripping point in a story you’d been reading to the town children. They’ll be disappointed if they never hear the end of it, but you still have hope that Price will decide you’ve become something of a country bumpkin with no place in the court, and let you go back home soon. “How have you fared? Is your family well?”

“Quite well. My sisters will be glad to see you again. They always thought you were sweet. Rosie’s opened her own dress shop in the city, and Camellia has five children now. I think Kylie and Jorah were just two or three last you saw them. My mother lives with Cam to help out.” Sir Garrick’s mother and sister used to work at the palace, and he had been apprenticed to the court wizard before he specialized in battle magic and became a knight. You hadn’t been friends, exactly— You’re not sure you ever really had friends— but he’d always been nice enough, when your paths crossed.

“And what of you?” you prompt gently. “Have you found yourself a wife?”

He laughs lightly. “I’m working on it. I’ve a girl in mind, but I think she’ll take some convincing.”

“Oh I doubt that, Sir. You’re perfectly unobjectionable.”

“High praise indeed, princess.”

The two of you chat idly as you travel, mostly about nothing, but it’s pleasant enough. Sir Garrick— Kyle, he insists you call him— is far more charming than you remember, and he makes you laugh so much that you’re certain that you’d simply fall right off the horse if he wasn’t holding onto you so securely. He’s the very picture of a romantic hero, all chivalry and smiles, handsome in the dappled light under the canopy of trees as the road carries you from farmland to forest. You come to a bridge, and he dismounts so his horse can drink, and lifts you down so you can stretch out stiff muscles. His touch lingers, strong hands resting on your hips for a few beats longer than would be appropriate, but you don’t really mind.

You part from his company so you can relieve yourself a little ways into the trees, glad he’s not concerned about you making a run for it. His assurances that Price can be reasoned into letting you go home once you’ve spoken to him is enough to make you cooperative. You’re certain that he’ll take one look at you now and send you right back home. You’ve never had any luck with the young men in town, and if that’s any indication, you’ll be back to your little bedroom in Kate’s house before the week is up.

You fix your clothes and walk back to the road, humming lightly under your breath. Kyle is speaking to a flat glowing disc that hums with energy, floating above his palm. He gives you a smile and a nod and retreats to the tree line while he finishes his conversation. You catch a glimpse of a face on the disc as he turns, searing blue eyes meeting yours for a moment. Price, certainly. You recognize those eyes.

Kyle’s gaze slips over to you again as you kneel by the creek, one arm keeping your skirt out of the water while you trail the other hand through the water idly, the cool stream a pleasant offset to the heat of the afternoon. If you were alone, you would consider stripping down and going for a swim, but as nice as Kyle is, he’s still a man, and not one you know particularly well anymore, if you ever did.

When you look over again, he’s tucking the crystal disc into the front of his tunic, and a wolf is behind him, stalking out of the woods, low to the ground and ready to pounce. “Kyle!” you shout, pointing behind him. He turns quickly, a spell glittering on his fingertips, but the wolf pounces before he can cast it, both crashing into the packed earth along the side of the road.

You rush over, although halfway there you wonder what help you expect to be, and an arm snatches you around the middle, hauling you back. You’re beginning to get a bit annoyed at how much you’ve been manhandled today, and you start kicking as you’re lifted off your feet. “Let me go!”

“Easy, sweet girl. Let the lads say hello,” a deep voice says behind you, the sound rumbling through you like a cat’s purr. “No danger ‘ere.”

You look at Kyle and the wolf again. Only there isn’t a wolf anymore, just a large, naked man laying on top of Kyle, kissing him ardently and more than a little messily. The sound of it makes your cheeks burn. “Oh.”

The man who was a wolf stands up, and you look away, too flustered by the sight of so much bare skin to do anything else. The big man puts you down and turns you to face him, putting your back to the werewolf. “Johnny, put some clothes on before you say ‘ello. We know you were raised by savages, but you don’t need to act like it,” he says firmly, his heavy hands on your shoulders.

You stare at the skull embroidered on the black tunic in front of you, recognizing the emblem, and then the black fencers mask tied around the man’s face, obscuring even the shape of his features. You see a glint of light when he drops his chin to look at you though, gleaming eyes that look at you inscrutably. You know him, by name and reputation and deep, rumbling voice, if not by his face. No one knows him by his face, but he was as highly ranked a knight as Price was, one of your father’s personal guard before the war. Often tasked as your guardian, a solemn but comforting presence always. “Hello, Ghost,” you say, cheeks burning all the hotter. “Been a while.”

“Not as long as you might think,” he says. You can almost hear the smile in his voice. “Been keepin’ an eye on you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. “For how long?”

“Knew where you were this whole time. Wun’t about to let you disappear, princess.” He tucks you against his side, keeping an arm around your shoulders protectively. “Johnny. Come meet our girl. Best behaviour.”

Johnny the werewolf grins at you as he walks up, still adjusting the drape of the tartan fabric around his hips, broad chest bare and dusted with hair, swirling blue tattoos printed on his scarred skin. His hair is shaved on the sides, a stripe of it left long in the center. “Nice ta finally meet ya, princess. Officially, anyway. We’ve bumped intae each other once or twice, but I was told no’ ta approach unless ye approached first, aye? Shame ye never did.” His smile is crooked, his too-bright blue eyes intent on yours. “Think we’ll get along.”

“The whole time?” you ask, skipping back a few paces in the conversation, glancing up at Ghost. “But Kyle said—”

“Sorry, sweetpea,” Kyle says airily. “I lied.”

“Typical tricksy wizard shite. But dinnae ye worry none, we’ll keep him honest for ye.” Johnny grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, and then to the inside of your palm. His rough fingertips push your sleeve back, and he kisses the inside of your wrist too. When you squeak, he gives you a heated look and does it again, teeth grazing sensitive skin as he opens his mouth and licks a stripe across your pulse.

You’re warm from the tips of your ears to your chest, your breath catching on ragged nerves. You tug your hand out of his grip and cradle it with your other, like you’ve been burned by his brash touch.

“Johnny,” Ghost says, exasperated. “S’that what you call best behaviour?”

“She likes it, sir.”

“I most certainly do not!” you protest.

“Oh, aye ye do. Werewolf, ye ken. Can smell ye.” Johnny taps the side of his nose and winks at you. “Ye dinnae need ta be embarrassed, sweetpea. Ye can hardly blame yerself, faced with all this.” He gestures to his admittedly impressive physique, the broad and lean shape of near-perfect manhood on immodest display.

“Let’s move.” Kyle’s hand brushes your elbow. “You can ride with me again.”

Ghost shakes his head and turns, pulling you with him. “No. Come meet Nox.” He whistles, and a huge black shape hurtles down from the sky, glossy black wings snapping open just before the creature hit the ground, flapping a few times so that it lands lightly on four mismatched limbs, stirring up dust leaves. You shrink back against Ghost’s side, eyes wide. A gryphon.

The massive beast has a raven’s head and wings, and shiny black fur on it’s haunches. The catlike tail, with it’s tuft of feathers at the end, twitches back and forth as the bird head tilts to regard you, dark, slit-pupil eyes watching you with interest.

You look up at Ghost for reassurance, and he nods. “Go on. Offer ‘er your ‘and. She won’t bite. Hey, girl?” he scratches the gryphon behind the ear, and it opens it’s mouth to make a vibrating, keening sound that makes Kyle’s horse snort nervously. “That’s right, sweetpea’s a friend.”

You offer your outstretched hand to the giant creature, bolstered by Ghost’s calm, and it sticks it’s beak under your palm, making the same keening sound again. The last of your apprehension melts away, and you step closer, smiling. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?” You scratch the spot where her beak meets her feathers, and her eyes close for a moment.

Johnny reaches for the Nox’s side, and she whips her head around and hisses at him, her throat feathers fluffing up defensively. “Och, yer no’ goan ta git my fingers, ye wee beastie. Thought ye was gettin’ soft.”

“Away, Johnny. Let the girls get to know each other.” Ghost stands behind you and guides your hands to points just behind Nox’s jaw. The gryphon croaks and leans her head on your shoulder, nudging Ghost with her beak.

“Not so scary,” you coo, pressing your face into the soft cloud of feathers. “What a sweet girl.”

“How about it, Nox? Can she ‘op up?” Ghost asks. The gryphon croaks again and backs away enough to lean her front half down. Ghost picks you up and sets you on her back, on a flat saddle that sits right behind the joint of her massive wings, which fold up over your legs like she’s holding you steady. He pats Nox on the neck and starts walking, and she follows, padding beside him, sticking her beak between the joints of his leather armor playfully whenever he takes his hand off her.

You grab the edge of the saddle, mindful of Nox’s feathers, and it takes a moment to adjust to her movement. It’s not the side to side sway of a horse, but she’s steady, like she’s trying her best not to spill an inexperienced rider. Thoughtful of her.

Behind you, Kyle scrambles up onto his horse, and Johnny hustles to catch up, positioning himself on Ghost’s other side, giving Nox a wider berth.

“Thought we weren’t supposed ta tell her we were watchin’,” Johnny said. “Price said—”

“She ought to know. I wun’t too ‘appy about it in the first place, but a deal’s a deal.”

“A deal with who?” you ask.

“I’ll let Price tell you that much, sweetpea. But if it were up to me I’d’ve dragged you back home years ago.”

You shake your head tiredly. “Home is where I was. And I’m going back as soon as this business with Price is done. I don’t know what he wants, but I’m sure we can work something out. Kyle said he’s reasonable.”

“Oh, did ‘e?” Ghost asks, amusement colouring his deep voice. “S’pose that’s ‘ow ‘e had you comin’ along purrin’ like a kitten, hm?”

The blood drains from your face as you turn to look at Kyle, but he doesn’t look guilty, or like he’d been lying to you. “Well, again, I’m perfectly happy to cooperate. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t let me go when he gets what he wants, is there?”

Johnny chuckles, exchanging a look with Ghost that’s inscrutable. “Aye, ye’ve got a point. I’m sure ye’ll have no trouble dealin’ with the old man. Born diplomat, aren’t ye?”

Your stomach twists with nerves. It’s been many years since you’ve seen John Price. You don’t know him as well as you know Ghost. You’d always found the big, faceless man strangely comforting, easy to talk at, if not to, especially when you were still young and silly. But John Price, when he fixed you with those fathomless dark blue eyes, had always rendered you speechless, turned your usually clever tongue to lead. He was a knight captain then, a natural leader of men, a hero. Not someone that your father wanted you to get close to. It’s easy for you to see why now, with your father dead in the ground and Price wearing the crown, but you were glad for any excuse to stay away.

You wish you could ask Nox to fly away with you on her back, maybe home, but maybe somewhere else entirely, where no one knows you, where you can start again without the weight of the crown hanging heavy over your head, an executioner’s ax waiting to fall.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

#Fantasy AU #cod mw fanfiction #x reader #x fem Reader #141 x reader #Heavy Weighs the Crown #Cave Writing #This is mostly gonna be fun and light-hearted I just really enjoy fantasy and I've been watching a lot of DnD content lately #“He's always been reasonable” Kyle lies thinking fondly of his boss - the least reasonable man in the realm #Let me know if you need any content warnings in here but I feel this one's pretty light

[mykneeshurt]

141's S/O DID A SECRET BOUDOIR SHOOT HOW DO THEY REACT TO BEING GIVEN THE PHOTO ALBUM AS A VALENTINE PRESENT

These boys would LOVE a boudoir album, they wouldn’t know what to do with themselves! They’d have to hide it somewhere super secret haha. Gender neutral reader

Warnings - allusions to smut

Price 🥃

Handing Price the heavy album he’d initially be confused. Not too sure what was going on.

On opening it to the first page he’d find you in a suggestive pose, soft lighting illuminating your body in the most sensual way.

Hed go silent, taking in the photos before him. Slowly raking his thumb over the glossy picture before rubbing his beard.

‘You did this for me?’ He’d ask, unsure what he’d done to deserve such a thoughtful and steamy gift. Looking at you with a twinkle in his eye he’d put the album down before suggesting you show him some poses in person.

Soap 🧼

He’s thrilled. Beyond excited. He’s open mouthed at the photos of you draped across soft velvet furniture. Silk caressing your body. The look of confidence in your face.

He’s trying to pick a favourite already but he can’t choose, he loves them all. He keeps flitting back and forth, finding something new he loves about them each time.

Hissing through his teeth he breaks out into a huge smile, ‘move. Upstairs. Now. Come on.’ He ushers you upstairs unable to keep his hands off you for much longer.

Ghost 💀

You’re over his shoulder in seconds. He hasn’t even looked the entire way through. He doesn’t need to. He’ll look after. He knows what he wants. He wants the real thing, right here right now.

Gaz 🇬🇧

Gaz is confused when you hand him the album, he’s in the middle of getting ready for the dinner you have planned. Opening it he catches a glimpse of the first photo and slams the cover back down. A cheeky smile across his face, blushing slightly.

‘Oh my god. When did you do this babe?’ He laughs, astounded at how amazing you look, not that he ever doubted it. He’s in disbelief at how beautiful you look in the photos. He scans them meticulously taking in every part of your body. Seemingly unable to find any imperfections.

Pulling you onto his lap he strokes your back, kissing your neck. ‘I love it babe, thank you.’ He prompts you to get ready for dinner, each picture replaying in his mind like a slideshow all night.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #ghost x you #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #fluff #soap call of duty #soap mctavish #john soap mctavish x reader #gaz mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #gaz garrick x you #captain price x you #price x you #captain john price x reader #captian price #captain john price #simon riley #soap mctavish x reader #request #headcanon

[macravishedbymactavish]

Comforting Them Headcanons (TF141 + Alex x GN! Reader)

Can these even be considered headcanons when they're unorganized drabbles in a HC design? We're blurring the lines and inventing new things today apparently

TW: Lots of angst, the guys are dealing with a lot emotionally (very closed off about it though), suggestions of some depressive episode symptoms, some mentions of arguing and one injury while cooking.

| Blog HQ |

Captain John Price

Just a heads up, he's taking this one pretty hard the text from Kate read, a couple days before John would be returning home. Your heart sunk reading the words, mind immediately planning and preparing for when he arrived.

After so many years of marriage, homecomings following deployment went from a grand guesture (ie. Hugging you tight and spinning you softly as he whispered about how much he missed you) to more intimate moments hidden away from wandering eyes.

Maybe that was just the two of you getting older.

Ultimately you decided to play things by ear, follow his lead and love him a little more. Hold him a little tighter. Kiss him a little longer.

The first thing you noticed when he came home was the bags that formed under his eyes, and the pain hidden deep within. Despite the horrors he saw, the moments replaying in his mind, the decisions his soul screamed at him to change...

He still smiled at you, eyes lighting up as he pressed a loving, deep kiss to your lips. Pulling you tight into his chest, a small reminder of why he was fighting so hard to make the world a bit of a better place.

You noticed he was quieter over the next couple of days, wrapping up paperwork and administrative tasks before taking time for just you and him. This wouldn't normally be cause for alarm; he's done this every time since forming the task force. What really concerned you though?

How he holed himself in his office, spending most hours of the day hidden away.

You knew better than to be here. His office, his space. The threshold being the physical divide between head and heart. Work and play. Tactical and tactful.

Yet, there you stand. Watching him lean over his desk, worry lines creasing his forehead, shoulders shaking slightly.

The physical divide between past and present.

"Love..." You started softly, watching his muscles tense up immediately. "I'm coming in" you declared, feet moving a moment after when he didn't protest.

Soft footfalls and heavy breathing filled the room as you made your way over to what was currently the shell of a man. A hand resting softly between his shoulder blades, you felt the muscles tense, shake, release, then repeat. He was holding back.

Pulling in a shaky breath after a few moments of silence, he whispered: "thank you for the concern, darling. But don't stress yourself over me. I'll be fine"

Rubbing soft circles overtop his t-shirt, a silent check in. You're not okay, my sweet love. Are you?

You weren't convinced. Not in the slightest.

Continuing to rub your hand across the expanse of his back, you felt the shakiness return. You could see the storm waging behind his eyes. Hand sliding fully across his shoulder, dipping to wrap around his middle you held him; determined not to let him get lost at sea. Lips pressed against the top of his head as you felt his body shake with silent sobs.

"Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway" you whispered to him, voice breaking as you pressed a loving kiss to his hair.

Sobs now wracking his shoulders, you sat there silently. Holding tightly onto him as he felt every emotion he needed to, whispering soft details about what haunted him every so often.

Calming down, he moved from your embrace to stand up. Pulling you against his chest properly as he mumbled a soft I love you so much

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It was supposed to be a beautiful night, exploring his hometown. Wandering the streets, admiring how beautiful everything looked lit up under the street lights.

"This was my favourite resturaunt for so many years" he chuckled, eyes scanning over the menu. Giving you his recommendations at your request as you felt your heart fill. He had been smiling all day, excited to be showing you off to everyone he knows. To show you the people and places that made him who he is today.

The two of you fell into easy conversation throughout your meal. Discussing his favourite memories from eating here, to where he wanted to show you next.

Fingers intertwined, stomachs and hearts full, arms swinging obnoxiously as you walked down the street. Your eyes wide as he pointed out buildings, mentioning which shops used to be there. Or which shops he promised to show you in the morning.

His demeanor shifted entirely about halfway throughout your journey. Something, or somewhere leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

Except, his body language didn't translate that very well. Leaving you confused and concerned as to why he was suddenly closed off and only speaking when you asked questions.

Even then his responses were short and seemingly disinterested.

You debated the entire walk back to his flat on whether you should mention it. The pain feeding on the unknown pushed you to gently ask:

"What's going on?" A few minutes after you two made it inside. He shrugged the question off, assuring you it was nothing as he went to the bedroom to change and likely shower.

One could argue that what you did next was selfish, un-needed. Pure unfiltered emotion that came out before your mind could filter the words.

"Are you sure? Because it doesn't seem like nothing" you intended for the sentence to portray your concern, not for frustration to take over and spark an argument.

He stopped, shoulders tensing before he turned his head. Glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

"You'll never understand" he started with a sarcastic chuckle. You went to defend your point, admit you won't know unless he let's you in and tells you.

"You'll never fucking understand!" He snapped, turning to face you now. Angry tears streaking down his face as his lip quivered. Pain twisting into his features as he stood in front of you.

Guilty. Angry. Hurt. Helpless

"No, you're right" you were fighting tears of your own now. Partially due to the shock, and pain of his outburst; though you knew he wasn't doing this intentionally. "I'll never know the true extent of your work, Kyle. But fucking hell, give me a chance to help. Or at least try!"

Both of you standing, closed off as you processed your emotions. Chose your next words wisely before letting your high strung emotions make accusations and digs you'd never be able to take back.

Staring ahead, unfocused as tears ran down his face. Breathing heavily as the weight of his mind came crashing down. "Just go" he muttered, causing the reasonable side of you to falter. Being replaced by loving rage as you snapped:

"Tell me every terrible thing you've ever done, and let me love you anyway!" The words were said through light sobs. Your heart ached for him, wishing to ease his mind of the darkness, to erase what broke his kind hearted soul.

"Let me love you" you whispered pathetically, a feeling of relief washing over you when he caught your mouth in a kiss.

A silent sign that he was willing to at least try.

John "Soap" Mactavish

For most people, it was tough to see past the positive, lighthearted exterior. Anything remotely negative being washed away with a smirk and joke. While an acquired taste, everyone had to admit he did boost morale.

You however, saw right through it. Having the privilege and luck of being loved by Johnny for the last 3 years gave you a different view. You had the privilege of seeing the raw and real sides of his soul.

You could tell the difference between when he was volunteering out of duty, or out of recklessness. The natural and artificial light that would shine behind his eyes. When he was truly happy vs when he put up a front to hide the barricades he built over his heart.

Your intuition when it came to his mind was never 100%, the only person (well, thing) that had clear insight to what was going through his mind was the journal he kept close by. You knew it held everything from doodles and drawings, to battle plans he was trying to memorize, all the way to pages he wouldn't show anyone. Filled with memories and screams that kept him awake at night.

Which is why you would willingly break the kneecaps of anyone who came remotely close to trying to sneak a peek.

Right as the team returned, you noticed he wasn't himself. Despite still smiling and taking the piss out of Simon, he was pulling back emotionally. Putting distance between himself and the world.

"You know, at some stage teasing Ghost like that is going to become more dangerous than the actual mission" you joked, holding your arms out to him for a hug when he was close enough.

Happily obliging, he pulled you tight. Rocking your bodies back and forth slightly as his eyes closed. Letting his muscles relax and mind shut off for a second.

He was home.

Walking out from your shower that night, your brows immediately furrowed when you noticed one very alarming detail:

The journal hadn't moved an inch.

As mentioned before, for anyone else this would have been normal. But for Johnny? It was an extension of his being. He'd normally sit for hours the first night after a mission, getting the stress and exhaustion out of his system. Translating everything he couldn't say into marks on a page.

You didn't mention it, but the concern kept growing when 3, 4 then 5 days passed and it still wasn't touched. There was no way he was using it and placing it delicately back into the exact position every time. Especially when he had a habit of tossing it gently to the side, or onto the nightstand the entire time you've known him.

It was at lunch a week after his return when the realization hit you, his sudden aversion to using his one tried and true coping mechanism. His free (well, cheap) therapy as he called it once.

He would have to face whatever happened on this mission every single time he opened the book. A journal filled with too many memories that he isn't willing to give up just yet.

You forgot your lunch and appetite quite quickly after putting things together in your head. Determined to quietly help your boyfriend through whatever he was trying to fight on his own. A fight without any weapons at that.

A new, cheap journal you bought from one of the stores 5 or so minutes from base. With a small note in your handwriting in the front cover:

Tell me every terrible thing you've ever done, and let me love you anyway.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

To anyone else, they wouldn't have noticed anything wrong. Just Ghost being....well, Ghost.

You, however started noticing the small details:

The way he got quieter, becoming more distanced from conversations and others. The way he would hold you, but not pull you as tight as he normally did. Sleeping for longer and longer.

The sleeping in during the day was the major giveaway that he was currently dealing with something below the surface.

Simon couldn't argue that sleeping until your body felt rested, and spending a lazy day in bed (especially with someone you love) wasn't a blessing all in its own. Life's simple pleasures he would whisper on these days, holding you tight as he pressed soft kisses across your face and lips.

Sleeping in hours past your normal almost every day off, however? Barely being able to wake up to your alarms? Red flag.

Despite your concern, and the heartache these episodes would bring; you knew better than to corner the man. Than to try and dissect what he was feeling before he was ready to. He's gotten a lot better at letting you in once he's on the other side of this. Especially in the last few years.

So you waited, you supported him from an arms length. Ensuring he ate, shifting your sleep schedule to spend a few minutes in the morning with him. Holding him a bit tighter at night and during hugs. Passively reminding him of all the things you love about him, about your relationship.

He once told you the small things you did brought him back to the present. Reminded him that there were some good things in his life; even when his mind tried blinding him to this.

When all he could see was the failures, the losses, the obvious signs he missed in the moment.

This episode lasted longer than any before, causing your concern and his guilt to grow. Despite all the assurance from yourself and his friends -- he still beat himself up for closing off so badly. Everyone has their demons, don't need to be reminded of them every time I walk into a room.

He tried opening up a few times, to let you know what burdens he was carrying. None of these alleviated the heaviness on his heart -- if anything they caused his walls to thicken and rise.

It was one night, the two of you getting ready for bed. Rain pouring down against the roof as you slid under the covers.

He softly apologized again, promising that he was trying to open up to anyone. That he had a personal debrief about the last mission with John today. Eyes meeting yours, guilt finding forgiveness. Terror finding patience. Love finding love.

"When you're ready..." You started, shifting closer and cuddling into his side. Fingers intertwining with his over his chest. His heart beating below the skin. "Tell me every terrible thing you've ever done, and let me love you anyway"

Alex Keller

He was laying on the bed, mindlessly scrolling his phone. One arm behind his head as he laid, staring at the screen with half lidded eyes.

"You look bored" you commented, busying yourself with putting clean laundry away. Glancing up when you didn't hear a response, watching him shrug at your comment.

It had been a little over 2 months since he returned from his latest mission; past the catching up phase, not quite in the savour every moment while we have it phase. There was a sense of normalcy for the last week, minus the subtle changes in his behaviour.

You've never seen him lay bored and occupy his thoughts with meaningless activities, at least not to this extent. All week if it wasn't his phone, it was a controller with a game he wasn't totally interested in. He would always write this off with this week just being "a lazy week"

For most people, this is a totally valid point. Lazy days, lazy weeks especially for someone with such a high stress lifestyle should be a godsend. A moment to be cherished.

Except Alex wasn't most people -- he would take a lazy day at most (which would still be filled with something remotely productive). He liked knowing his actions made some form of difference, he loved seeing progress.

So to spend the last week lounging on the couch or bed passing time with nothing to show for it was concerning at the least.

"We could repaint the cupboards later this afternoon, like we've been talking about forever" you offered, moving around the room.

"If you want to, sure. What are you thinking?" He responded half heartedly; causing your eyebrow to raise. Glancing up, watching him scroll for a couple more seconds before meeting your gaze. "What's going on?"

You dropped your eyes to avoid his gaze for a second, contemplating whether or not it was worth mentioning. Maybe you were in fact reading too far into this, and he was taking time to recoup before being sent out again. But it never hurts to ask...right?

"I could be asking you the same thing" You countered, moving to sit on the corner of the bed. Eyes scanning over his features -- feigned confusion glazing over what was really going on.

"If this is about the cupboards, we can do that today if you want. We'll go grab supplies, I'll drive" he shrugged with a light chuckle, phone still in hand.

"It's not about cupboards, or reno projects. You're not yourself lately" you whispered, watching some pain and guilt start to surface.

"It's...." he paused, hand rubbing over the lower half of his face before continuing "it's nothing you need to worry about. You'll be the first to know if there is" he crawled off the bed, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head before leaving the room.

It wasn't until later that afternoon that the conversation came back up. He busied himself with cooking supper, while you sat atop the counter keeping him company. Debating the plot points to the movie you two had watched a few nights prior.

In the moment, you convinced yourself you read too far into his recent actions (or lack thereof). The current interaction was natural, normal for the two of you. Laughter filtering through your heated exclamations about how the other person was wrong.

Until a call came through on his phone, you caught a glance of the name before he grabbed the device. Quietly answering the call as he left the room; the concern creeping back into your chest as you picked up making supper.

You were focused in on the task at hand, not hearing him walk into the room a few minutes later.

"That's my job, you know" he teased, hands on your waist as you jumped in surprise. Somehow pressing your forearm into the edge of the hot pan.

Cursing, you jerked your arm back. Nerves screaming as you felt yourself being guided to the sink. Soft repeated apologies being whispered above you as his hands brought your arm under the lukewarm water.

Body relaxing from the initial shock, you listened as the apologies didn't stop. The guilt and pain in his words as he took the blame for the minor accident.

"Hey, hey" you cut in softly, turning to look up at him. "Stop, you don't need to apologize. These things happen, I wasn't paying attention. This is on me"

Despite your words, he was visibly distraught. Looking at you like he just drop kicked your puppy. This wasn't about the burn.

"Talk to me" you whispered, one hand sliding over his back as the other cupped his cheek. "What's going on in that mind of yours?"

Eyes shifting between your face as the floor, he shook his head. Far too much for him to dump onto you...

"You don't want to know. Lots of horrible things, but I'll get through it. I'll figure it out" he promised, pressing a shaky kiss to your hairline. Body shaking with silent sobs at your next words:

"What if I want to know?" Arms sliding fully around him, pulling him tight as you shifted to rest your forehead against his chest.

"Tell me every terrible thing you thing you've ever done, and let me love you anyway" you whispered, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt as he held you tightly against him.

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @bowtruckleninja @v1naco

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #alex keller #call of duty mw2 #call of duty headcanons #cod mw2 headcanons #john soap mactavish headcanons #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley headcanons #simon ghost riley x reader #captain john price headcanons #captain john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick headcanons #kyle gaz garrick x reader #alex keller headcanons #alex keller x reader

[konigbabe]

NSFW alphabet with (Capt.) John Price

Pairing: John Price x fem!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Tags/Warnings: smut; nsfw; filthy language; p-in-v sex; dirty talk; dom!price; top!price; praise kink; pregnancy kink; breeding kink

A/N: This is essentially my own interpretation of what Capt. Price's NSFW alphabet would look like. | source |

masterlist • faq • taglist • AO3 • ko-fi

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

John is a big fan of aftercare. He would always make sure there is a glass of water in your hand after he's done fucking the soul from your body, give you a cuddle and start the bath for you.

He'd sit you against his chest, head resting on his shoulder as his fingertips trace your soft flesh tenderly while he washes away the smell of arousal and sweat off of your exhausted and used body, allowing you to relax and enjoy the well-earned comfort of his embrace.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your hips; that man is obsessed. He loves leaving his marks on them, hands squeezing so tightly that he can see his own handprints afterwards while you're bouncing on his cock. They're a perfect size and shape for him to clutch - just right in his hands as he ruts into you like a man starved, the intense pleasure he gives you enveloping your body in a cloud of ecstasy.

His arms and hands are your turn-on. The veins prominent as he holds you down, kissing and worshipping your body. Years of physical strain have left scars on them, the same ones you'd always lovingly kiss when he's cradling your head in his calloused hands while you kneel before him, watching as he takes a painfully slow inhale of his beloved cigar, puffing out a cloud of smoke, while you yearn to please him in any way that you can.

“Just like that, doll. You’re so good to me.”

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum)

In the early stages of your relationship, he'd always make sure to pull out just in time for your eager mouth to envelop the head of his cock, tongue swiping on the underside of him as his eyes never leave yours and just as he feels his high nearing, he'd pull out and finish on your face. He likes to admire his work; and once he's done with that, he'll use his fingers to collect his own cum and let you suck it off his fingers.

Nowadays he goes absolutely wild at the idea of fucking some babies into you. He'd make sure you take everything he has to give you, pumping you full of his cum all while whispering sweet yet filthy words in your ear.

"I'm gonna pump you so full you'll be leaking for the rest of the week, love."

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He acts like he doesn't really care and it's not a big deal but he secretly loves the fact that you're younger than him. He isn't really into the whole daddy thing; yet your age gap makes him feel alive again...something he hasn't felt in a long time. Knowing that he's there to take care of you, to show you what no boy your age could've ever shown you, fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

No doubt this man has experience. Not really with one-night stands, he's more old-school; more into getting to know his partner's body, what makes you moan the loudest, what makes you squirm and scream with pleasure. His passion lies in the pursuit of discovering what makes you tick, exploring your body, and finding new ways to make you see the stars, his name slipping off your tongue sweet like honey. Music to his ears.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying.)

Anything where he's able to see your face; let it be missionary with your legs over his shoulders as he pounds into you relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping skin filling up the room as his face hovers over yours, watching the way your eyes are squeezing shut tightly - similarly to how tightly you're squeezing his cock - mouth opened in a silent scream...

...or cowgirl; his back pressed against the couch cushions as you bounce on his cock, his eyes lingering at the place you two are connected, how your juices are leaking around his cock and straight on his thighs, the mix of both of you staining his hairs while your nails create a moon crescent-shaped imprints on his war-scarred shoulders.

"Bloody hell, you're such a good girl, doll, takin' me like that."

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Not really goofy, definitely on the more serious side when it comes to sex. That doesn't mean John isn't a teaser, taking his sweet time tantalizing you, dragging out his touches, caressing you everywhere but where you desired his touch the most.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

I can see Price taking care of himself once in a while. He already has to keep his beard groomed and soft for you, don't want to give you a beard burn again since the last time you weren't able to walk for days because of the discomfort. So he keeps himself trimmed; not too long nor too short, just the right length for you to be comfortable as you're taking him whole, feeling the head of his cock pushing to enter your throat and fill your mouth.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

Depending on the mood, he's a switch; still predominantly dominant but allowing you to take control from time to time, even though he is aware that he has ultimate power over you.

He doesn't mind taking it slow, showing you a more affectionate side of him, savoring his sweet time with you and bringing you to the brink of pleasure with nothing more than the delicate skill of his tongue.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He used to masturbate quite frequently after missions, using it as an outlet to release the pent-up adrenaline from being on the battlefield. However, nowadays he prefers to take out his frustration on you, as he knows you will always be there to gladly take whatever he has to give you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

I've already written about those before; this man is a sucker for breeding you...but he's way filthier than just that.

At times, he would just sit you down on his cock while being busy with paperwork, still on a base and knowing damn well anyone (especially his very own team) could walk into his office anytime and see you there, warming their captain's cock, head buried in his chest to muffle your pleasure-filled chokes, your body quivering at the sensation of him inside your tight walls, all while John casually goes on about his day, one hand resting underneath your shirt, on the lower of your back, drawing circles on your flushed skin while he reads the files on his desk.

“Look at you, getting all worked up by nothing. What’s wrong, doll? Am I making you nervous?”

“Aw, so needy already. You want me to move, innit? Are you not pleased with me right now?”

L = Location (Favourite places to do the deed)

Price always thought of himself as a gentleman, only taking his partner in the privacy of his bedroom, where you two could spend hours tangled together in the dance of your bodies between the sheets.

However, ever since the first time he made you warm his cock in his base, he found out just how much he likes you bend over his table, one leg beside you, asscheeks spread for him as he nudges his cockhead over your walls, sending shivers of pleasure through your body and watching as your arousal drips on the floor...all while the door remains unlocked.

“Gotta keep quiet, doll, don’t wanna Ghost or Soap seeing you all cock drunk with your captain’s cock, ain’t that right? Or is it something you want? Want me to call ‘em in? See you getting fucked all nice and heavy, doll?”

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

The thought of you. Just knowing how eagerly you respond to him, the way your body quivers when he touches you, the way your heart races when you hear his voice. He can't get enough of you, always craving that feeling of intoxication he gets from your presence but Lord helps you when you dress up just for his eyes, the barely-there lingerie hugging your body in the right places...you know you won't be leaving the bedroom for the rest of the night; not be able to walk tomorrow.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Anything involving violence, blood and degradation. He doesn't mind a little breath play; knowing that the right squeeze of your throat will only add to the overwhelming pleasure your body is filled with, or some spaning, leaving his handprint on your flesh and watching you with an amused grin as you try to sit down the next day, squirming uncomfortably, trying to find just the right position for you sit in so his handprint wouldn't hurt. But that's it, he will never dare to bring a knife or any other sharp object into the bedroom or anything like that.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He's undoubtedly a pussy-pleaser. His tongue skilled, fingers always knowing what to do to make you scream. Price absolutely loves watching you with his head between your legs, hands holding your legs over his shoulders while his gaze lingers on your face, on your erect nipples and the way your breasts spread as you arch your back, hand pushing his face into your dripping pussy.

On the other side, he would never say no to you giving him a head. As much as he adores seeing you being so docile underneath his touch, he loves seeing you taking him just as much, watching that one string of saliva connecting your kiss-bruised lips with the head of his painfully swollen cock.

“That’s it, doll, takin’ me so well.”

“That tongue of yours is driving me bloody crazy…just like that.”

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It really depends on the amount of time you have available and how you are feeling emotionally. If you are in the comfort of your own home, he enjoys a slow and leisurely approach, savoring every moment of pleasure he brings you before he even takes his cock out. When the time is short and/or any of you are in the mood, John does like to be rough, pounding into you vigorously, bathing in the bliss of your pleasure. Overall, he still prefers it slow and sensual.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Not a fan. They don't really give him the time he wants to savor you. If nothing else, he's always up for some good old-fashioned fucking, and if he knows that's all you can do, he's more than happy to take you somewhere quiet and fuck you good and proper.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He's pretty much open to whatever idea you might want to try. He's not particularly enthusiastic about taking action independently, but if it will make you happy, he is ready to do whatever you ask him to do.

“So that’s what you want, huh, doll? Really want me to call ‘em and watch? Or do you want ‘em to join too? Can do both.”

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Years of experience on the battlefield had allowed this man to build up his stamina magnificently, even though his best years may have already passed. He may not be the same 20-year-old he once was, and one round may be all he can manage, but that doesn't mean he isn't determined to go the distance or willing to continue with just his sheer will to make it up for you.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

No. He's a practical and old-fashion man + plus he doesn't really believe in the need for toys in the bedroom and you never asked him to bring any either as this man is fully capable of taking care of you with his own skill set.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

No doubt, he is an incorrigible tease. He takes pleasure in it and seems to be addicted to it. Whenever he is around you, he makes sure to touch you, to make his presence known to your body.

His eyes tend to linger on you. The feeling of his gaze making you shiver as you remember the promise he’s made to you last night; all while seated deep within your walls, the head of his cock nudging your cervix as his hands squeeze your hips, skin reddening underneath his touch.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Price is not very vocal in expressing himself. He would rather bury his head in your shoulder and let out a few soft growls and groans but he is certainly a talker; it's mostly just little praises followed by pure filth as he lets the pleasure of the moment envelop him.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He absolutely loves having sex when you're pregnant; it's one of his favourite things about you being pregnant apart from the impending child. Obviously your growing stomach rules out various positions including missionary, which he’s initially disappointed by, but soon realizes how incredibly satisfying it can be when you're both lying on your sides, him thrusting into you from behind with his hand stretched over your bump. It's truly a unique experience, something that you wouldn't be able to enjoy if you weren't pregnant, and it quickly becomes one of your favourite things too.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

I don’t believe John is extremely ripped but not does he have a dad bod. Definitely muscular, especially his arms. I’d say he has soft abs, the kind that becomes prominent when he flexed them. As of his cock; solid 7 inches, curved to the right a little bit; circumcised.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It isn’t what it used to be; but that doesn’t mean he’s not capable of keeping up with you.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He takes his sweet time falling asleep; much more prefers to watch you sleep in his arms, on his chest. He adores watching your flushed cheeks return to their normal color, the orgasm bliss leaving your body as you drift into sleep; sometimes he likes to run his fingers through your hair, thinks about the time when he used to dream of a girl like you. Nowadays he’s afraid to fall asleep, afraid that you are just a fewer dream and once he opens his eyes the next morning, you’ll be gone.

#captain price #john price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #captain price smut #john price smut #captain john price #captain john price x reader #cod #callofduty #codmwii #callofdutymodernwarfare2 #codmw #callofdutymodernwarfare #moni writes #smut

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

Sweet confections

Oneshot Summary; Price brought the pastries to 141 as you asked him to, who could’ve thought sweet confections would spur the thoughts of sweet confessions?

Pairing: John Price x reader (sunshine!universe)

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Onehsot 

Word; 4k

Warnings; relationship-angst, fluff, implied age-gap

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing​

A/N: This was originally 2k🙃 Buuuut, I got carried away with delving into Price after seeing a post theorising about his previous dating life and just couldn’t help myself but write a snippet of the morning after their liquor-tasting date when sunshine!reader asked him to bring pastries to the 141 squad from Price's perspective.

SUNSHINE UNIVERSE MASTERLIST

On your first date, you'd brought him to 'the little coffee shop on the corner' you so endearingly called it. It wasn't as much a coffee shop as a bakery, Price remarked then. He even mentioned it the second time you'd come here to buy some bread together for dinner at your place. The third time, he'd shaken his head as he drove and spoke with you over the car's built-in phone, 'I've been working in the little coffee shop on the corner, I can wait for you here and we can go together to mine'.

Most of the space belonged to the bakery, stone ovens and counters to assemble the pastries. The rest was a quaint sitting area, with soft couch-looking seats compared to wooden-legged chairs and tables. Indeed, it was charming, gentle in a sense, concerning the neutral colour schema and warm bakery air.

Now Price stood in the same space smelling like newly baked bread and confectionery. It was early, before seven. Hence, the ovens were on full blast, loaded with loaves of bread and danishes. On the baking counter, cold sweets awaited completion, his presence suspending the process.

"Is that all?" Price's eyes focus on the cashier. According to you, she's the owner. She opened the place a few years ago to keep working with her passion after the official year of retirement, at her own pace and with her own ideas to fulfil a childhood dream.

His eyes fall on the things before her.

The usual for him and the rest of 141 on days likes these, coffees to everyone's taste and something to chew on. None favouring breakfast served on base since Price had brought something from his local place. He could scoff that a single prompted decision turned to habit on days like these when they would gather for meetings ahead of missions.

Usually, he would say yes. But this time, Price's eyes flickered to the right. 'Bring them something sweet in my name', your voice echoed from just 30 minutes earlier.

"I'll take some of those", he nods towards the colourful pastries behind the viewing glass.

"Any particular?" The woman asked. His eyes glide over the confections, some seemingly with a base of berries or other fruits, some with chocolate.

Price isn't too fond of sweets. Consequently, neither invested in what's good or not. Thankfully, he recalls which ones you'd pointed out as your favourites. 'Always taste the new ones when they come', you said when you'd visited the place together. Even if that hadn't been the case, Price would've trusted your tastebuds over his.

"Hm, I'll take two of each", he pointed to three different sweets, not attempting to pronounce their name even though in English. What he knew, or rather remembered, was your description of them. The pink one had a base of pomegranate with some curd, sweet but refreshing. The orange one contained peaches and syrupy cream, honeyed but with a delicate fruitiness. The tan one was some brownie fusion, if you ever want to taste diabetes. He'd chuckled when you explained the taste differences.

"Buying them for your girl?" Price's eyes jumps to the woman, who barely spared him more than an amused look between picking the pastries he'd directed her towards and packing them into small cardboard boxes.

"What?"

"Did your girl make you sleep on the couch after some argument? That's why you're trying to win her over with this?" She nodded to the first box of sweets she placed amongst his order.

You, she was talking about you. Price dipped his head, shaking it with a slight chuckle.

He wasn't startled, per se, that the women recognised him. He'd been here a handful of times in the last few weeks.

If it would've happened in the regular place he usually stops by on the way from his home, he wouldn't have even reacted. It was local, small, an everyone-knew-everyone case sooner rather than later. Although quaint for a city with its cosy inside, this place was still strategically placed on a corner between the juncture of two streets. And that's why Price isn't surprised the woman recognised him but tied him to you in the way she had.

"No, ordered me to bring some to my mates". He knew the woman had scanned him today, taken in his hard-to-misplace attire. Where there earlier only been a question mark, he'd now been placed in the box reading soldier within seconds of turning to face him from where she stood further inside the bakery after having called 'one minute' over her shoulder.

"Smart women, know you boys probably deserve it". She commented in passing, bending down to pack up the second sweet. Price hummed in return. "Hopefully, they'll like them, though I don't second her taste", the woman chuckled more to herself even though Price listened.

From how the woman dearly greeted you by name each time and a short conversation if it wasn't too hectic, he'd quickly gathered you were a regular here, your knowledge for someone who tasted but didn't bake the confectionaries giving it away as well.

"That'll be all?" She repeated the question from earlier when finally boxing up the last pastry. The three boxes were now effectively tied together and pushed together with the rest of his order.

"It'll be all", Price returned, reflecting the woman's smile as he reached to pay.

"Tell her I said hi and that I've got something new on the way for her to look forward to". He raised his elbow in an attempted wave, nodding a goodbye as he exited the bakery.

Not until Price stood at the curbside, a tray of coffees, one letter scribbled in neat handwriting on each cartoon cup, and two rather than one takeaway boxes of something to chew on did he realise he hadn't corrected the women once.

Your girl.

Price looked back inside through the windows lining the wall of the bakery. He couldn't see the women, probably already set off to complete the morning routine he'd interrupted.

Did she take it for granted that you bringing him here meant he was something more than just a date, someone you casually met? Because this wasn't neutral ground but a special place to you?

He faced his car, looking at his reflection.

His girl.

Price huffed, shaking his head and opened his car, placing what he'd bought in the passenger seat. He could only speculate why the woman had assumed you were a couple. But he knew why he hadn't corrected her, why he barely even had cringed at the notion of someone calling you his.

...

When arriving at the base, Price wasted no more time than to gather the mission files he'd had delivered to his office before heading to the scheduled meeting room.

When he pushes the handle down with his elbow, the door to the meeting room swinging open, he finds the rest of 141 inside. With his added appearance, whatever conversation they had halted.

"Morning, Captain", Gaz greets him, to which he nods his silent hello, clearing his hands by placing the things from the bakery on the table they sat around.

"Help yourselves to your usual", Price gestured to the things he'd brought. "And a mission file", he continued as he put down the folders he'd kept beneath his arm when not juggling the other things around.

His men reached forth, each taking the coffee cup with their initials along a sandwich wrapped in plastic foil. At first, their eyes were only swiftly shifted to the added boxes with intrigue until Soap dared to unwrap them, catching a look at what was inside.

"The place from yours gotten sweets now as well, Price?" The Scot looked over with a cocked brown, opening the rest of the boxes without taking more than a swift look down. Of course, Soap would be the one to inspect the boxes standing out from the team's usual orders.

"No, stopped at one in the city". Price shrugged, reaching for his cup of coffee but waiting with his sandwich. He would eat it, knowing you would give him a disapproving look if he didn't, though only later, when the coffee kicked in and made him hungry. The first visit back at base after a leave always does wonders of curbing his appetite.

As the black bitterness of coffee bit his tastebuds, he eyes Gaz as he lean forward, inspecting the boxes Soap opened and picked a pink pastry from. As his sergeant's eyes fell to the contents of the packages, he found the variety the Scot inspected seconds earlier.

"Why the hell the detour?" Gaze's eyes met Price, who took another drink of his coffee before he answered.

"No detour. I was in the city already".

Soap, who'd tasted the sweet he'd picked out and whose eyes rolled, accompanied by a content hum, leaned back in his chair as his attention travelled to Price. "What-", he began, eyes widening a wee bit as they locked with Price's. He doesn't know what the Scot saw, but whatever it was, it stopped his sentence abruptly with a rise of brows, a straightening of his back and a curl of his mouth's edge. "It's the lass, ain't it?"

Price didn't know why he stalled, why the takeaway cup halted in mid-air, why he didn't just say yes. 

It wasn't that his men didn't know. It was impossible for them not to. They'd been there the night he met you at the bar. They, or Gaz and Soap, having encouraged him to talk to you when he'd hesitated because why would you be interested in him. Ghost hadn't said anything on the matter, but Price bet he found entertainment in how the Seargents' jabbed at their Captain at something so trivial. And much like pushing his first step, their reaction to seeing the two of you leave together followed the same characteristics.

So no, it would be hard for them not to know about you. And there went one of the reasons Price would hesitate to answer.

"S'pose it can't be anyone else", Price relented. The biggest reason he wouldn't indulge the rest of the fact a dispensed reasoning of keeping you hidden meant safety.

It made Gaz whistle, leaning back with one of the orangey sweets in his hand. Soap drummed his hands against his thighs after inhaling the rest of his small pastry. Ghost shifted in his seat, head cocking, eyes sweeping to inspect the confections the other two men had indulged in fleetingly before his attention returned to Price.

"How's it goin' then? Asked the lass out since last we saw the two of ya disappear in the sunset?" Soap asked, his question prodding for two answers rather than one. But rather than levelling the Scot with a look, something that silently would confirm his suspicions of what happened the night Price drove you home, he leaned back in his chair with a tip of his head.

"We've talked some, met a few times as well". Price took a sip of his coffee as if it would do anything else than exacerbate his nerves upon you being the subject of conversation and the memory you'd more than just talked after some of your dates. "Got those from one of the places we went, some of her favourites".

"Old romantic, you are, Cap". Gaz's comment made Price clear his throat. It was followed by a 'yeah, yeah' muttered under his breath almost bashfully.

"Well, I'd say the lass is rubbin' of good on ya", Soap steered the conversation in his ever-present direction of jest on topics like this. "Ain't all time our dear Captain spoils us with such sudden acts of kindness", the Scot reached forth, picking one of the chocolaty treats this time with a smug look and a glint in his eyes towards Price.

He can't help but roll his eyes at the jab. "It's her spoilin' you, not me. Ordered me to buy some for you lot as a greeting".

That made Soap's signature grin form. "The lass orderin' you around already, Price?"

"The real question is why he's accepting it. He doesn't like us bossing him around and barely any higher-ups as well", Gaz stated, lightly elbowing the Scot at his side with a chuckle, the latter joining in agreement.

"Did the request come this morning?" Ghost pulls his attention away from his snickering Seargents.

With his eyes settled on the man who'd been quiet until this moment, Price knew his Lieutenant didn't ask the question because he needed the answer, only the confirmation. If anything was Ghost's forte, it was gathering the scattered pieces of information dropped throughout the chat, what’s between the lines, enough to build a picture of what went on behind the scenes.

Price clocked that for the veteran, who'd nursed his coffee with sparing sips and lifts of his mask, there'd been enough details throughout the conversation for him to flesh out the parts left untold. The knowing look reflected in Ghost's dark eyes exposing it as well.

"We went out yesterday, stayed the night", Price brushed off. Knowing Ghost, he'd say there's a smile hidden beneath the mask, equally as smug as those visible and directed at him from the other two men.

"Starting to think you don't want to indulge us, Cap", Gaz pointed out. "It seems to be going very well between you two".

"Aye, Price, when will we meet ya lass again?" At Soap's question, the morning flashed before Price's eyes.

He'd woken up before you. No need for an alarm that Price was scared would wake you up in the process and he would hurry to shut off. The military had since long engrained the early hours in the back of his mind.

He'd woken with a blink of his eyes rather than a slow descent from slumber, immediately noting that during the night, the two of you had shifted to something more comfortable for sleeping than the previous cuddling. Your back was towards him, a little gap between you. Even so, his arm draped over your waist, and your warmth reached his front angled towards you.

Price had dragged his hand lightly down to your hip, feeling the skin beneath the oversized shirt you'd gone to sleep with, but his hand managed to sneak beneath nonetheless. When his palm settled on the curve of your hip, your skimpy panties beneath his skin, he'd pushed up on his elbow.

His eyes had travelled over your face, or what could be seen of it as your arm partly covered it, checking if you were awake even though your breathing already suggested you weren't. Noting your stillness, Price made his way out of bed slow to not stir you.

Dressing into his jeans and shirt felt wrong as he watched you continue to sleep soundly. He wanted to stay for a few more moments, press close to your back, bury his head in your nape, and linger in the moment. But he knew his willpower to go to base and hold the meeting he was supposed to would wain if witnessing you slowly coming to in his arms.

Price had debated how to leave your flat and fetch the things in his car without getting locked outside. He just brought your keys with him in the end, deciding against leaving the door ajar behind him, concerned for your safety despite the second gate out to the street.

He didn't meet anyone as he went down to his car and up again, allowing Price to wallow in the lingering warmth of your body close to his as he pulled his jacket tight around him in solace. Despite being summer, it wasn't warm in the mornings, crisp and slightly chilly until the rays peeks over the edges of roofs.

A feeling that hadn't been present in a long time, not a genuine one, at least, settled in his bones as he walked through your home with his bag slung over his shoulder. Domestic, his thoughts supplied a label to the feelings growing in his bones, muscles and every fleshly part of him as he slowed his pace past your bedroom, the door open enough that he spotted your sleeping figure beneath the covers.

It lingered as Price had taken a shower, using the towel hanging beneath yours on the rack when done. He'd stopped asking what towel to use just a week before, as a second joined your smaller one near the sink and one by your body towel.

He'd felt something warm enter him when he first noticed the newly added additions, even more so when he'd asked about it to be entirely sure and your head had popped into the opening. Explaining almost shyly you thought he should have his own from how often he's been staying overnight, and so he doesn't need to ask every time.

And since then, Price had become used to moving around your apartment without you by his side. Something about you giving him permanent things at your place erased that 'stranger' feeling one had before getting comfortable in someone else's space.

That's why, when he'd crouched by the side of your bed this morning, dressed in clothes portraying such a different reality to what he felt like this fever-induced daydream was, Price couldn't wait for you to prove that this wasn't just a morbid fantasy created under the influence of morphine taken to ease the pain of a nasty wound, one he was too incoherent to remember.

You'd shown him a part of yourself, your most intimate space, your home, to him, making him comfortable here. He could relax when stepping over your threshold. Knowing he stepped into your world. And yet, everything feels tied to you, not him. That's why he invited you over to his place, wanting not only to see your reaction to stepping into his world but seeing you in his home would settle the anxiety gnawing at his bones. Or so he hoped.

Price felt his fingers, which rested on his thigh, twitch. He wanted to reach for the phone in his pocket and settle the plans for the weekend that were coming with a quick text, even though it was only Monday.

He sighed at himself, remembering correcting the faulty phrase concerning you and his relationship, even though it came from someone much closer and who knew more about his relation to you. "She ain't my girl".

"Why? The two of ya already act like a pair, it seems". Price's eyes flickered to the pastries' Soap motion to, or more so, the significance behind them.

"They've known each other for a month, Johnny". Ghost's comment eases his nerves.

Yes, he'd gotten to know you well over a month. Outside 141 and his nearest circle within work, you were the one he felt the closest to. He'd caught himself entertaining the idea, not only upon talking with the lady at the bakery and now with the men surrounding him, but this morning when he'd walked around in the silence of your flat. He didn't dislike the idea of enjoying his or someone's space together with the other. But it was the first time he liked someone enough to tie into that future.

You brought so much for Price to look forward to, but most of all, you were the embodiment of comfort. Just your presence was enough for him to relax, let his shoulders drop and the tension in his neck ease. That's why it felt right spending time with you, why Price didn't think even a second about how much time you'd spent together despite meeting a month ago.

And yet, today, this morning, made him hesitant to go too fast forward, to let the previous night and this morning make him let go of all reins and fall headfirst into whatever this was.

Today this life, the one his occupation as a Captain of a task force entailed, merged just slightly with the reality he'd created with you on his leave.

You knew he was military, SAS, but neither of you mentioned his work, the topic not easily slid into, despite that you'd explained your job in more detail. It would've been more than right of him to do so in return, but explaining and talking about his profession was one of few included in general parentheses.

There was only so much he could clarify about the field he operated in. And legally, he couldn't disclose much about the task force either. If you hadn't known they were military the night you met and he hadn't gotten to know you'd dabbled in his field of work, he probably wouldn't have mentioned many of the things he had. He didn't keep it a secret, not the basics, but neither was Price one to bring it up in conversations.

Still, you stayed. After everything told and not, you were still here. You wanted him, or so Price assumed since the first night you'd met.

He assumed it wasn't simply feigned interest you'd shown when you'd concerned yourself of what haunted his mind when on leave. He assumed, that when he'd seen the gears turn in your head of how you could voice your questions without overstepping, it was from the sincere concern of doing so, not a forced attempt at seeming friendly. He assumed, that when you so sweetly looked at him only to say in that purred voice that you wanted to help him relax, it didn't only mean for the night.

Otherwise, you wouldn't have entertained him for this long. Yet again, that was what he thought. However, what Price knew what that he needed to give you something to work with. You couldn't support him without him relenting something about himself, this side of him.

He didn't blame his previous partners for his fleeting relationships. Not entirely. He'd remained strict with letting too much spill too early, knowing how some may react, how they try to pull away gracefully. Somehow it was a test, an unintentional one but a test nonetheless. And the answer didn't come until after his first deployment, when he found out how his supposed partner reacted to his previous emotional distance and later physical disappearance. A test of boundaries, one could call it.

And concerning it was only a few weeks more until his first one with you, he thought about it. A lot.

Price shook his head. He blinked, eyes refocusing, noticing his gaze had gotten stuck to the pastries on the table. As his eyes flickered up, he found that Soap and Ghost still exchanged arguments.

"Shouldn't stop him from askin' the lass if it feels right", the Scot said, arms now crossed over his chest, his shoulders resting against the backrest of his chair, spine curved.

"Can't rush", was all the masked Brit responded with, along with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Enough of his. Let's get on with the meetin'", Price interrupted, effectively ending the conversation. None of the others argued, noticing it was their Captain rather than Price commanding them to drop the subject as he opened the mission file before him.

Nevertheless, as they started the meeting, Price couldn't help that Soap's and Ghost's arguments replayed in the silence. Neither how you entered his mind when listening to the others discuss the details of the OP. It never overtook his attention, but it lingered in the back of his mind, gnawing away at the nerves in his inner skull.

After this mission, Price thought, he'll see how you've held up and maybe have a conversation with you.

He didn't like making promises he wasn't sure could be kept. But, this one, that he would come back to speak with you about it, he would go above and beyond to keep. Because it felt different this time, he longed coming back to you before even shipping off.

#john price #captain johnathan price #captain price #price cod #captain price x reader #captain price x you #john price x reader #captain John price #captain John price x reader #John price codmw2 #John price fluff #John price angst #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 fanfic #cod mw2 #John price fanfic #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #sunshine universe

[blingblong55]

Exciting// -John 'Price'Soap' MacTavish//John Price NSFW

Based on a request:

Hello!!!I i hope the spots for kinktober are still available. I'd like to request Wax play with Soap or aftercare with Price if that's not taken. Thank you 😊💐💞💞 --- F!Reader, MDNI, smut, 18+, wax!play, aftercare, pain!kink, use of safe word --- A/N: Double feature because why not,? These are two completely different fics but in one post :)

Soap:

"Wax play?" you ask him to see if you head right. "Yes, but it's not like I'll burn yer, it'll be more for fun, to add something new to our sex life." He had already bought the right stuff for it too. "And again, remember your safe word will always be at hand, so what do you say, my love?" You think of it for a minute, looking around the dungeon of toys he and you loved. "And if I don't like it?" You turn back to him. "The immediate moment you say your safe word, I'll clean it off and we won't ever and I mean ever try it." He reassures. You nod, "Okay." You accept and smile.

Later in the night, you lay in bed, already recovering from an orgasm. He turns the candle on, kisses on your collar bone and looks at you. "My love, are you ready?" His calloused hands caressed the spot that you agreed on. The warm wax falls onto your skin, you whimper and he stops. "R/N?" He wipes the wax with care. "More," you look touching his hand. A smirk on him, the pleasure this pain caused you, leaving you wanting more. He lets the red wax fall, you whimper and look at him, he leans down and kisses the areas around it. "Such a good girl," he whispers and lets the wax drip down. "Johnny~" you squirm, he smirks and nibbles on the reddened skin.

A/N: there was more but my head is a mess, sorry --- Price:

He was in the middle of spreading your already abused cunt when you cried to him. He swore it was because you were already overstimulated, his goal. "Stop, John, please...please...it hurts," you tried to push him away. He kept going until he heard it, "Green, babe, green, please...stop....green," you cried. He immediately stopped all and apologised multiple times. "My love," he couldn't bring himself to touch you. Never had you cried and used the word. The thought of him actually hurting you in what was supposed to be fun, what a damned day this is. He rushes to the water and towels, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeats to you and himself. Sits himself against the headboard and brings you to his arms, a small frame of yours compared to him. "Does it hurt?" he kisses your shoulder and then wipes the tears and sweat off.

You nod, not being able to form any other word due to the exhaustion. "Oh, my love," he holds you close and rubs your back. In that moment he swore not to touch you for a good month or two. You are the most precious thing this man can have and knowing you cried your safeword out, is not an ideal moment for him. The lukewarm water gives your sore throat some comfort, he looks at you, frown in his mouth. The bite marks, bruises and his cum that dripped from your inner thighs were all kissed or cleaned by him. His husky voice whispering sweet nothing to you. Promising tomorrow to be a day to spoil his little princess. "And then, we'll get you all your favourite snacks, extra cuddles and even more hugs than you could ever ask for. Anything my love wants I'll get, okay?" his voice gentle, and soft even when speaking to you. One simple nod and he smiles, "Good, you deserve it all," he kisses your temple and makes sure your head is resting on his chest.

A/N: I think this is okay, but be honest if it isn't.

Tags: @airghostlyfox

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod #mwii #johnny soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap x reader #soap call of duty #codmw2 #mw2 #modern warfare 2 #price cod #price x reader #price mw2 #price call of duty #mw3 #warzone #callofduty #mwiii #modern warfare #john price cod #captain price #cod price #kinktober 2023 #aftercare #wax play

[elysian0612]

sending my mutuals silly little drabbles of them with their faves 🥳

John Price, a man feared by many recruits soon learn just what a goof he truly is. Nudges and hard teasing with teammates and recruits and overall dad energy

John Price, a man who is loved by you and loves you. He can't help but look at the beautiful smile you give him every morning without feeling so goddamn lucky.

A beautiful laugh and giggle you had, music to his ears.

The only thing his grouchy ass wanted to wake up to in the morning.

Like a coffee, one glance at you and he feel energized and ready to start his day again. Of course he will soon

Just let him hold you a little while longer

a little while longer may be 4 more hours but that's okay 💗

ugh. YES. This is my favourite thing ever. Is it that obvious that I’m a Price girly? I hope it is. Thank you for this ask <3

Obviously the beginning of your relationship was a bit rocky, given he was your Captain. John was determined to make you his, HR and Laswell be damned

It wasn’t hard for him to woo you, of course. Look at that face. And his body, too! But more importantly, the sheer adoration on his face when he looks at you. His soft words of encouragement whenever you were too hard on yourself. The extra training sessions to help you hone your skills. Anything to help his team

Really, he was just obsessed with you. John needed you near him. His heart yearned for you. It wasn’t long into your relationship until he’s dragging you down to the courthouse and making everything official. After all, he wanted nothing more than to court you and settle down

Years later, you’d retire from active duty upon learning of your first pregnancy. John is ecstatic. He has a picture of the ultrasound on his desk and tucked in the pocket of his vest. He keeps your dog tags tucked into the very same pocket. Every time a new ultrasound is done, he replaces the photo and stores them in a photo album

Eventually, you give birth to a very strapping lad, who’s the spitting image of John.

He’s there for the birth, having barely made it. He still smells of smoke and gunpowder, but you don’t care. You reach for him and press your sweaty foreheads together.

He takes your hand and whispers sweet nothings into your ear as you push. You end up naming your son Simon, after the Lieutenant.

John retires from service after the arrival of your son. He still keeps in touch with your friends from base, but with five children running around the house, his hands are often full of toys or other shrapnel the kids throw around

#captain john price #john price x reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x reader #elyasks #john price is daddy

[scope-dogg]

What mecha shows did you enjoy but would not recommend to people (flawed personal favourites, shows with high entry barrier, etc.)?

Several come to mind.

Blue SPT Layzner: TV run got shitcanned prematurely and has probably the mast slapdash ending of any mecha show save maybe the TV run of Ideon. OVA adaptation opens with rushed compilation of first half of TV series that's dull to watch and not especially coherent on its own before it gets to the altered and much improved ending. Feels like there's no right way to watch it, you have to do both and piece it together in your head. Definitely one to check out after you've seen Takahashi's better work like Votoms and Dougram, though it's infuriating because the series has banger music and mecha design, and the hypothetical ideal version of the plot that you don't have to basically kitbash together in your head is really good.

Dancouga: Production values are amazing in first episodes and then turn to complete dogshit shortly thereafter, like they literally spent their whole budget up front and then had to pay their animators in loose change and leftover fast food. Very strange pacing. However I've always really liked the main protagonist Shinobu Fujiwara whose voice actor honestly carries the show on his back, and I've had a soft spot for Dancouga the mecha itself for a long time - but it doesn't actually show up until half way in. Yet somehow I can't deny the charm of the show despite how slapdash it is thanks to its interesting approach to the super robot formula, and it leads into Requiem for Victims which is the true ending for the TV plot and a followup called God Bless Dancouga, both of which are banger OVAs (and then another kinda shitty one after that but who cares.) Unfortunately they all make no sense without watching the TV run. It's a franchise for hardcore mecha fans only, though IIRC the 2000s sequel Dancouga Nova is basically disconnected and stands on its own, for better or worse. I've yet to watch it.

Tryder G7: 80s super robot show that's kind of like a part slice-of-life anime, honestly ahead of its time in a lot of ways. Would be my go-to recommendation for 80s super robot shows if there was a decent fansub. The one that exists is a Russian translation of the official Italian subs that then got translated into English and it's as disastrous as you might expect. Not only is it incoherent but even as a non-Japanese speaker I can tell it's often inaccurate. Frustrating because I can tell it's a good show that deserves a proper English sub for fans.

Cross Ange: Notorious show by the Gundam Seed creators. The concept and lore of this show is batshit insane, the mecha are cool, the main character turns out to be interesting and likable despite very negative first impressions, however there's no denying that it's buried under a thick vaneer of shallow coombait and it runs itself off the rails with zany plot at points. Honestly better than its reputation suggests but hard to recommend without looking like a pervert.

Shinkon Gattai Godannar: Basically the same thing, coombait super robot series, fun action, not a bad story. At the same time if you've ever seen a gif of absurd breast physics in anime from the 2000s there's a decent chance it's from Godannar. Good show at the end of the day, better than it has a right to be, artstyle is gonna be a big turnoff for many people and I don't necessarily blame them.

Gundam Build Divers Re:Rise: Probably the weirdest of the build series, also IMO the best. Downside: you have to suffer through the profoundly mediocre original Build Divers to get the most out of it and I'm not sure that price is worth it.

Probably more that I could add. Honourable mention has to go Gundam Seed Stargazer because you have to suffer through Gundam Seed Destiny to get to it, but I hear that the new Gundam Seed movie that's also set after Destiny is good so perhaps the cost-to-benefit ratio of suffering through Destiny has changed.

[delirious-donna]

Hello there,

I just read your Obito NSFW Alphabet and it was simply… breathtaking 😳 Furthermore your writing style is amazing 💕

Could I ask for another alphabet with either Tobirama or Itachi? 🥹

Thank you and have a wonderful weekend 🥹

NSFW Alphabet [Itachi Uchiha]

an: hi sweetie! Thank you so much for the kind words, it means more than you could ever know. ^^ I decided on Itachi, I hope you don't mind? I have quite the soft spot for the Uchiha men with Itachi being number one by a country mile!! (2023 update - no longer correct! Obi is my man)

Masterlist

A - After Care

Itachi is the softest man, he is just all kinds of sweet once he has well and truly satisfied both you and him.

Would you believe he owns an entire range of aromatherapy oils? Well, he does…

“How are you feeling my beloved? Would prefer peppermint or sandalwood?”

His eyes light up as he gazes at his collection, already rubbing his hands to warm them in anticipation of the smooth glide across your velvet skin.

Itachi will work out every knot and stress point on your back, shoulders, and thighs - wherever you ask. You will be a boneless puddle on the bed while he hums happily.

B - Body Part

This is a touchy subject for Itachi.

Without hesitation, it’s his eyes, but as well as being his favourite body part, they are also his most hated.

A constant reminder of the hardships that his clan has faced, an identifying marker that means he could never be considered as anything but an Uchiha.

However, there is also a deep reverence in his eyes, especially as he was gifted one by his most trusted friend - awakening his Mangekyō Sharingan in the process.

For this reason, he values his eyes extremely highly despite the price he and others have had to pay for their unique abilities.

To lighten the mood a little, he does enjoy putting you under genjutsu - willingly, of course - to indulge in the pleasures of your flesh endlessly.

C - Cum

Itachi is quiet when he cums, you’ll know he has found his release as every muscle stiffens, his teeth gritted and the searing heat that coats the walls of your cunt.

Uchiha cum is sacred, not a drop is to be wasted so you best believe that it is either ending deep in your pussy or down your throat.

Let even a single drop fall from your lips and he’ll tsk softly.

“So wasteful, my beloved. I’m wounded, how do you plan on making it up to me?”

You’ll spend the next thirty minutes bringing him to orgasm again, simply so you can demonstrate that you won’t make the same mistake twice.

D - Dirty Secret

It only happens when he is sick, but he still doesn’t want anyone to know. Itachi loves to be babied.

This strong Uchiha male just wants to be rocked in your embrace when he isn’t feeling too good. He wants sweet forehead kisses, cooing melodies and no control.

He doesn’t do well when he is ill, pouting and whining that his throat is sore, his head hurts and he needs a tissue every ten seconds.

Considering how much pain this man has gone through, you’d be surprised by how easily he is floored by a common cold.

The man is close to sucking his damn thumb as he rests his head in your lap, nudging you gently to play with his hair.

How could you deny him when he looks this adorable and dependent on you.

E - Experienced

People seem to think that Itachi has bedded his fair share of women, but it’s not true.

He is far from a virgin, but he had little time for distractions such as sex.

Now that he has you, he is making up for lost time.

Itachi wants to experience everything and is very open to trying new things - well, he won’t know what he likes and dislikes if he doesn’t try everything once.

He’s a quick learner though and has never failed to make you a quivering mess.

The notches on his bedpost might be very low, but to say he is inexperienced would be an injustice to your man.

F - Favourite Position

He has to be in a certain mood for this position, but nothing beats how it makes Itachi feel as well as giving him the best view of your beautiful body.

He knows that you sometimes feel self-conscious about yourself, and it is completely unfounded in his eyes - he adores every inch of you.

What’s better than sitting with you on his lap at the edge of the bed, your back pressed to his chest as you both face the standing mirror that rests in the corner.

In this position he can caress you, narrating the journey his hands make before lifting you to slide his aching cock in your tight cunt - what a sight.

His whispered words are like magic, his lips feather light as he kisses your neck and shoulders. Itachi makes sure you watch the sinful image reflected in the mirror, forces you to recognise how fucking sexy you are and uses his hands to play with your tits and clit until you cream around his cock.

Nothing beats this position - nothing.

G - Goofy

Itachi will look at you with the most bemused expression when you try to make jokes. He doesn’t necessarily find them funny but he laughs because he finds you adorable.

He has a sense of humour but it is wickedly dark, like the most razor-sharp sarcasm - you will feel physical pain from his burns.

Goofy isn’t quite his thing, he has no interest in looking silly so he simply steers away from it. He can be lighthearted in other ways that suit his nature better.

H - Hair

Boy, does that man have good hair. His long hair is silken black gold spun by the Gods themselves.

He uses expensive hair care products, the price tag is enough to make your eyes bulge but he just laughs and waves you away. His shampoo smells like exotic orchids and it only heightens the mysterious air that surrounds him like a cloak.

Only you know the true Itachi and you love that he trusts you so implicitly.

He likes to let you comb out his lengthy locks, enjoying the gentle tune you hum whilst you work and now and then he will indulge your pleas to let you braid it.

Itachi is so pretty for you.

As for the rest of his body, the man is smooth and silky all the way down to his happy area. Short hairs nestle around the base of his dick, neatly maintained for your pleasure.

I - Intimacy

Intimacy with Itachi is unlike any other kind you have experienced. It can be either intense and soulful or light and irreverent.

He understands his emotions well, and although they may be very complex, he shows every facet of his soul.

Used to concealing his thoughts and intentions, it is cathartic that he does not need to hide anything from you. Itachi can bear his soul and still find unconditional love in your arms.

On the other end of the scale; he loves to spend hours in bed with you, chatting about nonsense, comparing hand sizes whilst you giggle at his reaction to how much smaller your hands are in his own and sharing hopes about the future.

Intimacy is an important part of your relationship, not a day goes by where he doesn’t let you know how cherished you are - make sure to return the gesture.

J - Jerk Off

There are times when Itachi finds himself parted from you, missions that mean nights spent alone.

He hasn’t told you, a little embarrassed by the ritual that has become a part of his nightly routine when away, but he strokes himself to the thought of you.

Itachi has so many moments of you and he stored away in his memory that it is like his own personal porn collection. It’s his way of feeling close to you even when the distance might be great.

The Uchiha is also a fan of fisting his long cock whilst he watches you get ready for the day ahead. You look so irresistible as you fasten your earrings. He knows you are watching him through the mirror and if the way you’re chewing your lip is any indication, he is about to find you crawling onto his lap.

“Am I doing it wrong beloved? Show me how to stroke it just right.”

K - Kink

We have to talk about the well-known breeding kink of the Uchiha men, and although Itachi is fairly unique amongst his clan, he is not unaffected by this trait.

He tried to hide it from you at first, he was pretty ashamed to already be obsessed with the idea of making you round with his child early in the relationship.

The way he would stare at your cunt once he had cum deep inside, his cock jerking and twitching was the biggest clue to his thoughts. He would practically growl if any creamy seed would dare to try to push out, pulling himself out just to gather it all up and press his cock back in to stuff you full. It was arousing, watching him so determined in his mission.

You’re on birth control, it was an agreement you made with Itachi so he could fuck you raw - nothing compares to the feeling of his naked cock dragging against your clenching walls.

Feeling especially bold one night, Itachi has you held tightly in a mating press, his mouth planting open-mouthed kisses on your shoulder as he ruts into you, and you decide to toy with him.

“Tachi, mmm. Wanna make you a daddy.”

He stops.

Blazing orbs of crimson stare into your soul, tightness lines his jaw and he looks absolutely feral. Perhaps you’ve made a mistake…

“Is that so?”

Itachi bends you even further in half, a hand flying to grip your chin as he resumes his thrusts.

“Get comfy beloved, you’re not moving even an inch until I’ve filled you to the brim.”

He is true to his word, pounding you into the mattress until you are sweat-soaked and delirious.

“You’ll look so beautiful carrying my child… when the time comes,” he says, stroking your belly gently.

He knows it was a game, but he will follow through when the time is right.

L - Location

Anywhere.

Itachi is down for fucking literally anywhere.

He’ll whisk you deep into the forest to brace you against a tree and take you furiously. He’d happily let you suck his cock in the shadowy recesses of Konoha, ever vigilant for prying eyes and teasing you about it.

“So hungry for my cock beloved? Couldn’t wait til we got home? I hope no one finds you looking so desperate.”

Itachi especially likes to fuck you in the kitchen. Slipping his hands around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder whilst you prepare food.

You already know what’s gonna happen, it is inevitable. He’s eaten you out on the kitchen island and now you’re bent over it with his cock drilling into your mess of a cunt, the lewd squelching making you blush like a ripened tomato.

“Stop squirming.”

M - Motivation

Itachi is a complex man. He has a lot on his mind, what feels like the weight of his clan on his shoulders and a rather pesky little brother to keep an eye on.

This means that every now and then, he isn’t in the mood and it’s down to you to change his mind.

So what sends this sinfully sexy man into feral beast mode?

He really gets a kick out of domesticity, add in a sexy twist as you slink around him completing chores in outfits that are best described as lingerie and he’ll be a slobbering mess in no time.

Did you really just bend over right in front of his face wearing that skirt, and fuck, are you wearing a garter belt and stockings?

You won’t make it to the bedroom, there is no time for that. Not when he could lift you against the nearest wall and slide straight into that needy little pussy.

“Am I neglecting you, beloved? Let me make it up to you.”

N - No

He won’t hurt you - and this includes emotionally and mentally, as well as physically.

Mind games are his speciality, but this is not something he would even contemplate with you. He couldn’t bear to see your face twisted in any kind of pain.

A few spanks to your butt are different, same with making you cry as he brings you orgasm after orgasm, but he’ll never cause you any kind of anguish.

He’d have no hesitation in slaughtering anyone that dared to even look at you in the wrong way.

O - Oral

Pleaseeeee, Itachi lives and breathes to bury himself between your soft thighs. He’d worship every inch of your juicy pussy for hours on end, pushing you closer into the realms of overstimulation.

You’d think the man was starving and you were the only thing that could slack his voracious hunger.

Itachi has serious oral game, he is packing a punch when he plays so sweetly with your aching clit. Rolling the nub between his lips in search of more of your nectar.

He is practically making out with your cunt and he won’t stop until you’ve gushed all over his mouth at least twice.

Why does he have to be so damn pretty? Thick black lashes fanning softly as he stares at you with those blazing carmine eyes, and the knowing smirk is enough to make you huff.

He’d rather give than receive, although he does enjoy you sucking him off. It’s more that he knows he can be a little rough when you wrap your cute lips around his cock. It’s such a sinful sight.

It will end in him face-fucking you, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as he grips your hair and makes you deepthroat him. His hips thrust up with every bob of your head.

Itachi can’t bear wasting cum, get ready for a hot load right down your throat.

P - Pace

Itachi prefers a combination when it comes to pace.

He wants every stroke of his cock to be impactful, therefore he is gonna set a rhythm that is powerful but languid.

Even if you are on top, he is dictating the pace with his steely grip on your hips. Making every descent mind-numbing, lustful groans escaping both your throats and enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your head.

This is a marathon, not a sprint so expect this to be drawn out until your muscles have dissolved into pure jelly.

Q - Quickie

He can take them or leave them.

If it’s a choice then he’d rather spend hours lost in the comfort and solace of your body, nothing quite takes the edge of his anxieties than making you blissfully happy.

Urgent mission? He needs to leave like ten minutes ago? Get ready for some steamy quick fucking.

Itachi makes it his personal mission to leave you adorned with his marks all over your throat and shoulders, just a reminder of who you belong to.

Losing himself in a bubble of pure lust that can only last minutes if he doesn’t want to be late.

“Be good, my beloved. I love you.”

R - Risk

Itachi Uchiha is not risk averse, in fact, he gets quite a kick out of seeing how far you’ll go with him.

Can he get you to bend to his lustful will in this crowded cafe?

His hand slips beneath the pretty tablecloth, resting gently on your knee. He feels you tense so he waits, Itachi is patient.

As soon as you relax he’ll be easing that hand up your thigh, tsking softly as you try to deny him entry. He can feel the heat radiating from you, he knows you are aching for him but you’re shy.

Not this time, but soon.

Itachi continues this game every time you visit this spot, and soon enough he is knuckles deep in your cunt as he tells you to be quiet.

“Aren’t you going to order, beloved? What would you like most?”

You almost say him, he says it’s flash through your eyes and he smirks - yeah, these are the risks he likes to take.

S - Stamina

When it comes to foreplay and building the tension, Itachi’s stamina is limitless. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, he can spend hours drinking your nectar. Making your lips puffy and swollen from his kisses, your clit far too sensitive.

If he is in the mood to put you under genjutsu, which is a rare treat, it’ll feel like he has spent hours with his hot wet mouth claiming your cunt. In reality it’s been five minutes, and you’ve much more to endure before he is willing to release you.

Itachi is good for a few rounds of sex before he is truly spent, and even once he knows he has no more to give, he is still so hard for you.

Before he pads away to grab a washcloth, he sinks into you for a final time, holding you still as he peppers your face with such sweet kisses.

T - Toys

Nope.

Hard pass from Itachi.

Why would he have something else bring you pleasure when he can do it himself?

His fingers are long and slender, perfect for reaching into your depths and coaxing the most delicious sounding moans from you. He’ll concentrate his chakra into the pads of his digits and stroke the energy straight into your g-spot.

A hand clamps on your thigh as you try to close them, your nails scrambling at his wrist but he refuses.

“C’mon my gorgeous girl, cum on my fingers. I can feel you clenching them, so needy.”

He can take care of your every need, no extras required.

U - Unfair

This really divides him.

On the one hand he loves you dearly. Itachi wants to lavish you with his time and attention, to make sure you truly know just how cherished you are.

But he really enjoys winding you up, it is like cat nip to an especially playful kitty.

He taps into his predator instincts, ready to pounce when you least suspect it.

Itachi will kindle your fires for what feels like an eternity before he give in, and sometimes he’ll even leave you to go to sleep entirely frustrated and furious with your lover.

The pretty yet smug smile that decorates his beautiful face is so infuriating. You’ll whimper, you’ll beg, make the cutest faces at him and he’ll still only kiss your forehead and wish you a good night.

He wants you raw, a tigress ready to bring down your prey and in the morning, he is more than happy to be your victim.

Is Itachi unfair? Yes.

Always? No, definitely not.

V - Volume

Itachi is not loud, not by any stretch of the imagination. He is softly spoken at the best of times, his tone low and laced with authority.

He’ll for sure groan as he sheathes himself in you for the first time, he’ll moan quietly against your sopping folds - the vibrations only heightening his actions - and he’ll hum appreciatively in his throat.

What he will do is narrates his actions, praise your heavenly body and make you feel like the most attractive girl in the whole damn world.

Itachi has an innate way of zoning in on the areas you hate the most, and loving them for what they are - they make you unique.

Stretch marks on your thighs? He is nuzzling them with his cheeks. Feel like your tummy is too soft? Itachi is lightly biting your velvet flesh. He is telling you how wonderful you are at all times whilst you lose your sanity to this man you love just as equally.

“I’m lucky to have found you, you saved my soul, my beloved.”

W - Wild Card

Has and will continue to fuck you in any onsen, at every opportunity he gets.

How mysterious that every other patron within the gently steaming waters all decide to leave or return to their rooms at the same time. It’s almost like some kind of spell has been cast. True enough, Itachi appears with glowing coals for eyes and the intent is clear.

He loves to play with you in the water, your pebbled nipples slick and delicious as they graze against his own chest.

Itachi will take you with your legs wrapped around his hips and then again with your upper half against the tiled edge. One hand on the small of your back as he arches you just right.

Don’t accept an invitation to the bathhouse from Itachi unless you are ready to get railed.

X - X-Ray

You’ve managed to find yourself sat atop your absolutely gorgeous man, Itachi’s head rests against the pillows with his raven hair fanning him like a dark halo.

His smile is cunning, knowing of your intent as you look down on him. His dark eyes shine with humour, sparking to scarlet when your nail grazes against his nipple. Itachi’s jaw is angular, with cheekbones many would kill for and you enjoy tracing it with your tongue. His lips are as soft as petals and simply perfect for kissing you soundly.

Itachi is lithe; strong but not in a bulky way. His strength is honed to perfection and it shows through the small muscles that define his stomach.

You could spend an age caressing his pale skin, committing every inch to memory. He is hairless right until you reach the happy zone, short black hair nestles around his cock.

Now this is an area you know intimately. He’ll groan as your dainty fingers grasp his base, he is thick but it’s length that really makes him stand out of the crowd - he is big in a “I’m gonna pound your cervix” way.

The shaft is fairly smooth except for the prominent vein that wraps around the underside to curve his left side.

“You like what you see?”

You nod fervently, and he crooks his finger until you are draped over his chest, shifting his hips and a hand curls around your ass to part you. Before you realise, he is spearing into you with a soft growl.

“Thought so.”

Y - Yearning

Itachi wants you, but he can be secretive.

Often he will make himself wait patiently, driving himself slowly insane by denying him your tantalising taste and feel.

It is almost as if he uses it as a form of training his mental defences, this man is practising torture on himself and there is no need.

He knows you’d be down for his loving as often as he wanted to give you it, but good things come to those who wait - words that Itachi lives by.

Why give in so readily when he can wait until you are both coiled springs ready to pop from the tension?

Z - Zzz

Itachi loves to sleep, sadly it doesn’t always love him in return.

He finds solace by wrapping a protective arm around your stomach, his hand resting over your heart and one leg draped over your waist.

To make up for the sleep that alludes him at night, he is more than willing to nap with you during the day.

“Come here,” he purrs, patting his lap.

You curl up like the cutest kitten and Itachi slowly sinks back until you are both cocooned on the bed and asleep in minutes.

#delirious writes #uchiha smut #itachi #itachi uchiha #itachi smut #ask game #itachi x reader #itachi fluff

[softeninglooks]

i never dreamt of times like these | oihina

oihina are my favourite friendship in hq, so after seeing this lovely piece of fanart, i couldn’t stop myself from writing about them 🥹

When Shoyo slowly blinks slumber away from his eyelids, the spot on the other side of the bed still retains some of its former warmth, though the sleepy hand that he runs over it is met with the cold softness of empty bedsheets at the end of his fingertips.

A ray of early sunlight is streaming into the room, gently falling onto Shoyo’s bare freckled shoulder. He can hear the distant murmurs of the waking city, beyond the half-open windows and fluttering white curtains, and feel the gentle morning heat rising. It will be another sunny day, filled with the familiar scorching of the sand under his feet and the coolness of beers with friends in the evening.

Shoyo yawns into his pillow, lazily turning over in the few seconds of drowsy bliss that he savours before decisively jumping to his feet. A professional athlete, he no longer counts on lying in to properly delight in the benefits of a good morning - a delectable and energising breakfast, this is what he enjoys the most. Quickly pulling a cream-coloured t-shirt over his head, Shoyo stops by the bathroom before heading toward the kitchen, where a certain person may be waiting for him. The delicious wafts of coffee and sugar floating into the rest of the apartment is enough to tell him that Tooru is making breakfast.

He finds him by the hotplates, an old light blue San Juan VC t-shirt hugging the defined muscles of his supple torso, and his short brown hair slightly disheveled from the night. In his hand, a pan is happily sizzling with eggs and spices, while fresh coffee is brewing on the kitchen counter by a plate of diced fresh fruit. They bought the apartment together only a couple of months ago, but the cooking utensils playing hide and seek all over the place, the matching hand-towels hanging by the sink, and the chipped mug that Tooru insists on keeping—for old times’ sake—already make it feel like home. There are trophies and medals gathered on a shelf, pictures with friends and family put on display in the living room, the Olympic flag hung on one of the walls, a new couch that they bought for half the original price, volleyballs stacked in a corner of the room. 

Tooru cranes his neck to see him when Shoyo walks in, his face illuminated by a warm smile. “Morning, Sho-chan.”

The endless care in Tooru’s eyes, aimed at him; the affectionate nickname that he gave Shoyo when they started going out, rolling off Tooru’s tongue; they send shivers down Shoyo’s spine as his hand sets on the small of Tooru’s back. “Good morning, Tooru.”

How has Oikawa, a high school rival that seemed to him so unreachable, become this to him? How could it be that their paths crossed again, so many years later, and ever since intertwined? Shoyo presses a kiss onto Tooru’s arm, and he tells himself that he cannot think too much into it. Somehow, he caught Tooru’s eye, and all he wishes for is to offer him a lifetime of the heaven that they first shared during those couple of days in Rio, when they had found an unexpected fragment of home in each other. Unbeknownst to them, back then they had given each other the very thing that they needed. A breath of passion; a friendly hand to pull oneself back up.

Peeking at the golden omelette in the pan, Shoyo feels the caress of Tooru’s lips on his temple. “The omelettes will be ready in a minute,” he says, focused on the dish he is preparing. It had not taken long for Shoyo to notice that whatever Tooru sets his mind to, be it volleyball, assembling furniture, or cooking, he does with the utmost dedication, never accepting to back down or leave it be if he cannot achieve the goal he imagined. Discipline, consistency, hard work; Shoyo and Tooru live by the same principles. But when they are together, the fun part never dies out. Shoyo wraps his arms around Tooru’s neck and plants another kiss onto his cheek, which has Tooru chuckle and teasingly mumble “the omelettes will burn if I get too distracted, Sho-chan.”

Shoyo pours steaming coffee into their mugs while Tooru is taking care of their meal, and when Tooru returns to the kitchen counter with two plates, the two of them are caught in the familiar rhythmicity of domestic routine. Shoyo’s body moves instinctively to leave room for Tooru who is setting down the plates, their arms brushing against each other, their legs bumping under the surface of the table. A tender touch, the gentle collision of their movements, fitting together. Tooru’s hand cups Shoyo’s cheek and he leans across the counter to kiss him on the lips, enthralled by the kindness that he reads on Shoyo’s face, the unbounded love that he sees in his brown eyes, speckled with gold under the morning light. Shoyo kisses back, with the impulse of a thousand butterflies taking off in the pit of his stomach. 

“Thank you for the breakfast,” Shoyo murmurs against Tooru’s lips, his hand softly going up Tooru’s tight forearms.

“Anything for my beloved,” Tooru flashes a smile at him, ever playful and loving, and glances at their plates. “Dig in while it’s still hot.”

“Itadakimasu!” 

The omlette is delicious. They eat, chat, and discuss the latest V. league news. Laughter is echoing in the kitchen, the sunlight is pouring into the room, catching in Shoyo’s blazing hair, and they cannot take their eyes off each other. In the afternoon, they will be playing beach volleyball again, then Tooru is to write back to a journalist who wishes to interview him for a Brazilian sport’s magazine—Shoyo took care of teaching Tooru the basics of Portuguese. Never has Shoyo thought that his life would come to this, having breakfast with Tooru in their very own apartment, their futures full of dreams that once seemed impossible. And, with every bite into the omelette, he tastes all the love that was put into building this life.

#hinata shoyo #oikawa tooru #hinata shoyo x oikawa tooru #oihina #oihina fanfiction #hinata shoyo fanfiction #oikawa tooru fanfiction #haikyuu! fanfiction #hq fanfiction #my writing #writing #haikyuu! one shots #hq one shots

[branwendaughterofllyr]

Branwen reads ASOIAF (again) - AGOT Daenerys I

Alright, fam. Confession time. The first time I ever read AGOT, I loved Dany. She was absolutely my favourite character, and I would skip ahead to her chapters to find out what happened next. As I continued through the series, I absolutely believed that Dany was hero. A complicated hero, with flaws and mistakes, but still fundamentally a good person who was going to pull through in the end. And then I read ADWD. 

And, uh, Dany does not come off well in ADWD. I can’t remember if it was when the bones of the child eaten by Drogon was brought before her, and she didn’t really seem as bothered by as it as I was, or if it was when she’s wandering in the grasslands, and committing to “fire and blood,” and “dragons plant no trees” that made me go “oh, she’s a villain now, isn’t she,” but I definitely remember having that moment. Yeah, I was more than a little upset, and on the second go around, all I could see in AGOT was how her descent begins early. 

I still think AGOT Dany’s story is so damn compelling, and I will always have soft spot in my heart for baby Daenerys, but I’m going to be real about the darkness that leads to that realization moment I had in ADWD about where she’s headed. Okay? Okay. 

So here we are, at the beginning once again. 

Viserys is showing off Dany’s fancy new dress to her, a fine smooth cloth, gifted by Illyrio. 

She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft. It frightened her. She pulled her hand away.

It makes me very sad that the first emotion we ever see Daenerys experience is fear. And it’s made clear from the start, that she's not had a very happy life so far. 

“Is it really mine?” “A gift from the Magister Illyrio,” Viserys said, smiling. Her brother was in a high mood tonight. “The color will bring out the violet in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well, and jewels of all sorts. Illyrio has promised.

Illyrio is a liar, and Viserys seems to be the only one who doesn’t realize. As a side note, we are already introduced to how unusual the Targaryens look, starting with the purple eyes. I don’t know about the rest of you, but that sounds like it would be a little odd to encounter in person. Just saying.

Tonight you must look like a princess.” A princess, Dany thought. She had forgotten what that was like. Perhaps she had never really known.

I mean, she really hasn’t. She’s spent her entire life moving from place to place, reliant on the good will of others. She has no idea what it means to actually be a  princess, or to be much of anything. 

“Why does he give us so much?” she asked. “What does he want from us?” For nigh on half a year, they had lived in the magister’s house, eating his food, pampered by his servants. Dany was thirteen, old enough to know that such gifts seldom come without their price, here in the free city of Pentos.

Dany is only a kid, and she already knows how this world operates. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, especially in the Free Cities. 

Which, ah, I hope that she remembers later. Something, something, ships  two books from now. 

“Illyrio is no fool,” Viserys said. He was a gaunt young man with nervous hands and a feverish look in his pale lilac eyes. “The magister knows that I will not forget my friends when I come into my throne.”

Yeah, I’ll buy into the theory that Viserys has syphilis and it’s contributed greatly to the brain rot. I can see it. Or maybe he’s just regular Targaryen crazy. Or both. 

And Viserys is right. Illyrio isn’t a fool. Which is exactly why he’s not banking on the skinny weird kid with weird eyes. 

Dany said nothing. Magister Illyrio was a dealer in spices, gemstones, dragonbone, and other, less savory things. He had friends in all of the Nine Free Cities, it was said, and even beyond, in Vaes Dothrak and the fabled lands beside the Jade Sea. It was also said that he’d never had a friend he wouldn’t cheerfully sell for the right price. Dany listened to the talk in the streets, and she heard these things,

So, I just have a question. Who exactly is Dany talking to that she hears these things? There’s for sure gossip about Illyrio and how shady he is, I’m just curious about who Dany would be hearing this from at this stage. I guess the servants. It’s really not that important, but I think we’ll make note of the fact that baby Dany actually pays attention to what’s going on around her, and tuck that away for later. 

Also, Illyrio has his fat fingers in all the pies. Can’t wait for that payoff. Spices, gemstones, and dragonbone, and other less savory things feel like they could be references to other things and people, but I doubt it, lol, and I’m not going to figure it out.

but she knew better than to question her brother when he wove his webs of dream. His anger was a terrible thing when roused. Viserys called it “waking the dragon.”

Oh boy, oh boy. She knows better than to question Viserys when he weaves his web of dreams. Web of dreams. This feels very significant, beyond just characterizing Viserys. Let’s put a pin in that.

Is this entire chapter just going to be me saying “That seems significant” and moving on? Yes. 

But also we establish very early the connection between anger and dragons. Specifically with “waking” a dragon and rousing anger. I’m sure this will in no way be relevant later. 

And Viserys is an abusive little shit, and Dany needs an actual adult around. 

Her brother hung the gown beside the door. “Illyrio will send the slaves to bathe you. Be sure you wash off the stink of the stables. Khal Drogo has a thousand horses, tonight he looks for a different sort of mount.”

NO, not that adult. 

Viserys is literally selling Dany like a horse, my god. 

He studied her critically. “You still slouch. Straighten yourself.” He pushed back her shoulders with his hands. “Let them see that you have a woman’s shape now.” His fingers brushed lightly over her budding breasts and tightened on a nipple.

EW EW EW EW.

Will people in these books stop molesting little girls??????? If I had to read that again, you do too. 

“You will not fail me tonight. If you do, it will go hard for you. You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

Leave her alone! 

We’re going to keep making notes of whenever “wake the dragon” comes up. For reasons. 

It’s so clearly tied into her messed up childhood, and we’re going to have to unpack that, since Dany clearly doesn’t.

Her brother smiled. “Good.” He touched her hair, almost with affection. “When they write the history of my reign, sweet sister, they will say that it began tonight.”

I mean, the history of a reign certainly begins tonight. Just not yours. 

When he was gone, Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay. The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo’s manse.

Alright, what I am looking at here. 

Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay. 

I’m also going to start taking notes of Dany’s connections to water, especially large bodies of water like this. I don’t think that this line has any particular significance in and of itself, but Dany does have a lot of large bodies of waters at certain turning points in her life, and I’ll count this as one. 

The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun.

Ah, square brick towers, you say? Black silhouettes against a setting (red) sun, you say?

I wonder if this is at all relevant to anything. Brick and black and red, against a setting sun. Hmmmm.

Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires

Night fires and red priests. Interesting that these make an appearance in literally her first chapter. (Also, fire and singing. Feel like I should also make another of that.)

the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo’s manse.

So, I think there are two things going on here. One has to do with Dany herself, who is pretty much trapped by her past, both her personal past and her familial legacy, and her refusal to see how that influences her future later on. _If I look back, I am lost. This also feels like it might have something to do with Arya, _a barefoot child in rags, with no past and no name. (Also maybe Viserys, who ends up in rags as the “sorefoot” king. Eh, I’m not committed to that, unless it’s also foreshadowing for Dany as his parallel.)

This entire paragraph of Dany looking out through a window, could be read as looking out into her future, with added Arya as no one foreshadowing. Hmmm. 

The history of her reign really did begin tonight. 

Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords. The Dothraki called that land Rhaesh Andahli, the land of the Andals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros and the Sunset Kingdoms. 

Alright, lets start keeping track of what Dany thinks of the Seven Kingdoms. Westeros as the Sunset kingdoms comes up pretty much exclusively in Dany’s chapters (at least until Tyrion makes his way over to Essos.) Sunset and setting suns come up lot with Dany, and Westeros is very much associated with it in her story. Is this significant?   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

But also look at how romantic her view of the Seven Kingdoms are. I see the Crownlands (green hills), the Reach (flowered plains), the Riverlands (great rushing rivers), possibly Harrenhal (towers of dark stone), and the Vale (magnificent blue-grey mountains). I think that the omissions of Westerlands, the North, and Dorne might indicate something, but probably not. I think the point is to establish how romantically she thinks of Westeros, especially with the knights under the banners of their lords. 

Her brother had a simpler name. “Our land,” he called it. The words were like a prayer with him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. “Ours by blood right, taken from us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragon remembers.”

Blood right, huh? Taken by treachery, huh? “ours forever”, huh?

Crazy ramblings about right by blood, and treachery. The true sign of peak mental health. 

The dragon remembers. What does the dragon remember? An excellent question. Perhaps it’ll be answered later. 

And perhaps the dragon did remember, but Dany could not. She had never seen this land her brother said was theirs, this realm beyond the narrow sea. These places he talked of, Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn, Dorne and the Isle of Faces, they were just words to her. Viserys had been a boy of eight when they fled King’s Landing to escape the advancing armies of the Usurper, but Daenerys had been only a quickening in their mother’s womb.

Again, Dany doesn’t know all that much about Westeros, she’s never been there and only knows what the extremely stable Viserys has told her.

Casterly Rock, the Eyrie, Highgarden, the Vale of Arryn, Dorne, the Isle of Faces.

Does this mean anything?????? I can I change my answer from the Crownlands to the Westerlands for “green hills” or is that cheating? I’m going to say it’s interesting she doesn’t mention the North at all, but we do get the Isle of Faces.

Also, our first mention of “Usurper.” We’re going to be seeing a lot of that in the future. 

Yet sometimes Dany would picture the way it had been, so often had her brother told her the stories. The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship’s black sails. Her brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident and dying for the woman he loved. The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword.

Oh boy, oh boy. There’s a lot going on here. 

Again, Dany just knows her brother’s stories about Westeros, a reliably unbiased and reasonable source. And she’s picturing it “the way it had been” in her head. Am I making a point here? yes, but it won’t be relevant for a couple chapters, shhh. 

The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship’s black sails. 

Why do I feel like we’ll get a redo of this? Also, midnight and black sails. Hmmm. Just making a note. 

Her brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident and dying for the woman he loved.

Oh, here we go, with Rhaegar and the trident. Let’s make a note of the “bloody waters”, shall we? And Dany seems to go back and forth on whether Rhaegar loved Lyanna. This is also the first mention we get of that story. Interesting, I guess? 

The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark.

Oh yeah, the first time we see “the Usuper’s dogs,” Lannister and Stark. There is no difference between them, in this telling. 

Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. 

This will never not be sad. Poor Elia. 

(I’ll just note that Aegon is not named, and he’s specifically “Rhaegar’s heir” rather than his son. And way to not mention that it’s Elia’s baby! Sorry, I just get heated when it comes to Elia. I’ll save it for later.)

The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword.

Kingslayer, skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly, a golden sword. I know Jaime wore his golden armor, but did he have a golden sword? Also, the skulls of the last dragons watching sightlessly feels like something. Maybe they’ll see another Targaryen ruler dead? Unclear. Maybe it’s just cool writing. 

She had been born on Dragonstone nine moons after their flight, while a raging summer storm threatened to rip the island fastness apart. They said that storm was terrible. The Targaryen fleet was smashed while it lay at anchor, and huge stone blocks were ripped from the parapets and sent hurtling into the wild waters of the narrow sea. Her mother had died birthing her, and for that her brother Viserys had never forgiven her.

The most obvious thing is the Tyrion parallel, being blamed by a sibling for their mother dying in childbirth. But also a summer storm specifically? Am I allowed to add this to the “Dany is Azhor Ahai” evidence pile? I feel like I am. Also, more  Dany surrounded by water at a key moment. We’ll return to the Dragonstone stuff later, when we actually get to see it. 

She did not remember Dragonstone either. They had run again, just before the Usurper’s brother set sail with his new-built fleet. By then only Dragonstone itself, the ancient seat of their House, had remained of the Seven Kingdoms that had once been theirs. It would not remain for long. The garrison had been prepared to sell them to the Usurper, but one night Ser Willem Darry and four loyal men had broken into the nursery and stolen them both, along with her wet nurse, and set sail under cover of darkness for the safety of the Braavosian coast.

Uh, I guess more Dragonstone significance? It’s all of what remains of their kingdom, but not for long?

Also, our first House Darry mention. I will figure out what is going on with House  Dary, even if it kills me! 

Stolen from her nursery by five men, alongside her wetnurse? How many men did Ned bring with him to Dorne? Five, but that makes six total. Damn. I was going to say it was a parallel, but now I feel upset with the numbers being one off. 

She remembered Ser Willem dimly, a great grey bear of a man, half-blind, roaring and bellowing orders from his sickbed. The servants had lived in terror of him, but he had always been kind to Dany. He called her “Little Princess” and sometimes “My Lady,” and his hands were soft as old leather. He never left his bed, though, and the smell of sickness clung to him day and night, a hot, moist, sickly sweet odor. That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window. After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen what little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house. Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever.

A great grey bear of a man? I smell foreshadowing and parallels. He never left his bed, though, and the smell of sickness clung to him day and night, a hot, moist, sickly sweet odor. First mention of sweet smells in Dany’s chapters, and it is not off to a good start! (Could this be foreshadowing another “sweet” old bear? I don’t really care, frankly.)

And the house with the red door and the lemon tree.

Listen, the whole lemon tree conspiracy theory is ridiculous, there’s nothing in Dany’s chapters to indicate that it matters all that much if the house itself is in Braavos or not, and Braavos is clearly based off of Venice and other Italian city states, all of which have lemon trees. This isn’t the important part, shoo. 

The red door is the important bit. So we have our first red door=home. Red, what an interesting color for a Targaryen to associate with home. Also, “the red door closed on them forever” sounds very ominous. Let’s keep an eye on that!

They had wandered since then, from Braavos to Myr, from Myr to Tyrosh, and on to Qohor and Volantis and Lys, never staying long in any one place. Her brother would not allow it. The Usurper’s hired knives were close behind them, he insisted, though Dany had never seen one.

Uh, why aren’t the lemon tree truthers jumping on the fact that Dany stayed in Qohor? That seems way more interesting to me. 

Dany is skeptical of Visery’s paranoia, and we get confirmation that Jon Arryn and Robert never sent any assassins after them. We’ll see how long that lasts, lol.

And it’s not a very unreasonable fear that Viserys has since an heir in exile can cause a lot of problems. It’s just one that never has any backing for them specifically. I guess nows a good time  as any to bring up Dany’s Henry Tudor parallels in the Wars of the Roses. An heir to a defeated house in exile, retuning with an army for the crown. Let's put a pin in that. I’m sure George is in no way planning to subvert or play with that trope/parallel.

At first the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to welcome the last Targaryens to their homes and tables, but as the years passed and the Usurper continued to sit upon the Iron Throne, doors closed and their lives grew meaner. Years past they had been forced to sell their last few treasures, and now even the coin they had gotten from Mother’s crown had gone. In the alleys and wine sinks of Pentos, they called her brother “the beggar king.” Dany did not want to know what they called her.

Yeah, no free lunches in the Free Cities. So, it’s made clear that Dany and Viserys are pretty down on their luck before Illyrio picks them up. Makes it clear why Viserys is so desperate. Also, the selling of their mother’s crown, and Viserys being the “beggar king.” We all know when we’ll see this again. 

Dany did not want to know what they called her.

I’ve always found this line kinda interesting. The surface meaning is of course, that Dany doesn’t want to know what horrible names and insults call her, a princess without a crown or home, relying on charity. But I wonder if this is the start of Dany’s need to name and title herself, so someone doesn’t do it for her. And maybe that she might bury her head in the sand at times?

“We will have it all back someday, sweet sister,” he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. “The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King’s Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back.” Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

Visery’s shaking hands? Feel like a reference to Aerys. And more fuel for the syphilis theory lol. @starkmaiden, don’t ever say I never give you anything. 

“Viserys lived for that day.” Hmm. I feel like I might bring this back around when Dany starts her relentless journey forward. 

Also, it seems like Dany has two choices here. The Iron Throne, or the house with the red door, “the childhood she never knew.” The two seem to be presented at odds with each other this whole chapter. 

Ilyrio’s servants enter, to help Dany get ready, and we get this line. 

They were slaves, a gift from one of the magister’s many Dothraki friends. There was no slavery in the free city of Pentos. Nonetheless, they were slaves.

Uh. This feels significant. Is Daenerys I just one big block of foreshadowing for what Dany’s going to do in the next books? Sure feels like it. I feel entirely justified in interpreting what she sees out the window as foreshadowing now. 

The old woman, small and grey as a mouse, never said a word, but the girl made up for it. She was Illyrio’s favorite, a fair-haired, blue-eyed wench of sixteen who chattered constantly as she worked.

Do these descriptions mean anything? @istumpysk‘s reread has me hyper attuned to see grey rodents everywhere. I’m going to say no, aside from the Doreah introduction.

They filled her bath with hot water brought up from the kitchen and scented it with fragrant oils. The girl pulled the rough cotton tunic over Dany’s head and helped her into the tub. The water was scalding hot, but Daenerys did not flinch or cry out. She liked the heat. It made her feel clean. Besides, her brother had often told her that it was never too hot for a Targaryen. “Ours is the house of the dragon,” he would say. “The fire is in our blood.”

Hot, scalding water? Back to back with the icy pool in the godswood? If that’s a coincidence, I’ll eat my copy of AGOT. 

(Also, is it just me, or does Dany have a quite a few Cateylyn transition chapters? Or am I just making that up. I guess we’ll see.)

But also, Dany loves the heat, it feels cleansing to her. “the fire is in our blood.” Do I even need to explain it? (mother of dragon, bride of fire plus Mel’s cleansing flame!? Anyone!?)

The girl scrubbed her back and her feet and told her how lucky she was. “Drogo is so rich that even his slaves wear golden collars. A hundred thousand men ride in his khalasar, and his palace in Vaes Dothrak has two hundred rooms and doors of solid silver.” There was more like that, so much more, what a handsome man the khal was, so tall and fierce, fearless in battle, the best rider ever to mount a horse, a demon archer.

Aside from the absurd rumored wealth of Drogo, I swear my head whipped around at doors of solid silver. DOORS! I don’t think it means anything, but just, doors, there are lot of funky ones in this series. I need answers. The description of Drogo feels like it might matter, but I don’t really care, so let’s move on!

She had always assumed that she would wed Viserys when she came of age. For centuries the Targaryens had married brother to sister, since Aegon the Conqueror had taken his sisters to bride. The line must be kept pure, Viserys had told her a thousand times; theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men. Yet now Viserys schemed to sell her to a stranger, a barbarian.

Someone call CPS, I am begging. 

Nevermind. Knowing Pentos, CPS is actually just a brothel. Child procurement services. I think I just made myself throw up a little.

Back to the text, I feel like I need to break this down a little. 

So, wedding brother to sister is a Targaryen custom, from Old Valyria. It’s meant to keep the blood pure. 

theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. 

Can I say blood magic? I’m going to say blood magic. Considering how much emphasis there is on kingsblood in Dude!Dany’s chapters, and how suspicious I am of anything Valyrian, I’m calling blood magic being the basis of this tradition.  And also weird superiority complex. 

The idea that the Valyrians practiced incestous marriage to maintain whatever spells they needed to maintain control over their dragons isn’t an unreasonable idea, but I’m highly skeptical that blood of the dragon is required to ride dragons or that it protects a person (poor Quentyn).

But the line that really caught my attention was this one:

Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men.

Dragons don’t mate with the beast of the fields, you say? Is there a character strongly associated with beasts? Perhaps has even been called a beastling? Is currently vacationing in the head of one such beast? I’m sure this could be construed as positive foreshadowing for a relationship between Dany and such a character! 

Just pointing it out.

When she was clean, the slaves helped her from the water and toweled her dry. The girl brushed her hair until it shone like molten silver, while the old woman anointed her with the spiceflower perfume of the Dothraki plains, a dab on each wrist, behind her ears, on the tips of her breasts, and one last one, cool on her lips, down there between her legs.

Yeesh. Talk about a yeast infection. Stop writing this type of perfuming George, it’s weird and I don’t like it. 

(I haven’t really mentioned it, but Dany and Sansa have a ton of parallels this chapter, but the perfume on their breasts is what finally broke me. Stop describing this, George. Please.)

Magister Illyrio had sent up, and then the gown, a deep plum silk to bring out the violet in her eyes. The girl slid the gilded sandals onto her feet, while the old woman fixed the tiara in her hair, and slid golden bracelets crusted with amethysts around her wrists. Last of all came the collar, a heavy golden torc emblazoned with ancient Valyrian glyphs.

PLUM! But what does it mean????? Also amethysts. (like another child bride? Purple and silver and Targaryens).  If anyone brings up the Bloodstone Compendium, I’ll be shooting on sight. And I don’t think we get any pay off yet for the Valyrian glyph torc, really? I actually kinda hate Valyria. Just tell us about the blood magic, and go, George. 

A princess, she thought, but she remembered what the girl had said, how Khal Drogo was so rich even his slaves wore golden collars. She felt a sudden chill, and gooseflesh pimpled her bare arms.

Dany and slavery, again and again. Golden collars, iron collars, it’s about more than just the collar, kiddo. I’ll accept the Dany as being sold imagery for now, and more along. 

“Regal,” Magister Illyrio said, stepping through an archway. He moved with surprising delicacy for such a massive man. Beneath loose garments of flame-colored silk, rolls of fat jiggled as he walked. Gemstones glittered on every finger, and his man had oiled his forked yellow beard until it shone like real gold.

Ah, I guess we should make notes that he’s nimble, and dresses in flame, gold, and jewels? Illyrio symbolism escapes me sometimes. 

“May the Lord of Light shower you with blessings on this most fortunate day, Princess Daenerys,”

Can I count this as “Dany is Azhor Ahai” foreshadowing? 

“She’s too skinny,” Viserys said. His hair, the same silver-blond as hers, had been pulled back tightly behind his head and fastened with a dragonbone brooch. It was a severe look that emphasized the hard, gaunt lines of his face.

The boy is a mess. Who gave him a sword?

“Are you sure that Khal Drogo likes his women this young?” “She has had her blood. She is old enough for the khal,” Illyrio told him, not for the first time. “Look at her. That silver-gold hair, those purple eyes … she is the blood of old Valyria, no doubt, no doubt … and highborn, daughter of the old king, sister to the new, she cannot fail to entrance our Drogo.” When he released her hand, Daenerys found herself trembling.

I hate this chapter so much. HATE. 

Menarche was not the normal age for marriage in the Middle Ages, George. Stop doing this!

Viserys is a piece of shit again, but this time with racism! (I’m going to have to talk about the Dothraki. I don’t want to talk about the Dothraki yet. 

Anger flashed in her brother’s lilac eyes. “Do you take me for a fool?” The magister bowed slightly. “I take you for a king. Kings lack the caution of common men. My apologies if I have given offense.”

*Sniff sniff* Is that foreshadowing I smell? For Dany and literally every other ruler in these books. I think so!

(also, look at Illyrio having to be Viserys’ yes man so he doesn’t make scene.)

Dany could smell the stench of Illyrio’s pallid flesh through his heavy perfumes.

Another perfume note! Just putting it out there. 

“We won’t need his whole khalasar,” Viserys said. His fingers toyed with the hilt of his borrowed blade, though Dany knew he had never used a sword in earnest. “Ten thousand, that would be enough, I could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with ten thousand Dothraki screamers. 

You sure about that? Seems to me like Westeros as martial culture is probably decently suited to handle the Dothraki. Armor, and castles. Armor and castles. 

The realm will rise for its rightful king. Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy, they have no more love for the Usurper than I do. The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children. And the smallfolk will be with us. They cry out for their king.” He looked at Illyrio anxiously. “They do, don’t they?” “They are your people, and they love you well,” Magister Illyrio said amiably. “In holdfasts all across the realm, men lift secret toasts to your health while women sew dragon banners and hide them against the day of your return from across the water.” He gave a massive shrug. “Or so my agents tell me.”

House Darry again! I see you.

Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy. 

What an interesting list, along with Dorne. I’d be willing to bet that these houses will all join a Targaryen coming to Westeros. It just won’t be Viserys. Also, a big lmao at the small folk waiting for the Targaryens to come back. They literally just want to not die. And we know that most of Westeros doesn’t really care if the Targaryens come back. 

But also the slippery “or so my agents tell me.” 

Dany had no agents, no way of knowing what anyone was doing or thinking across the narrow sea, but she mistrusted Illyrio’s sweet words as she mistrusted everything about Illyrio.

Dany noticed it, lol. Also, mistrust and “sweet,” together again. Hmmmm. (but also, Dany has no idea whats going in Westeros, and that doesn’t change much.)

“I shall kill the Usurper myself,” he promised, who had never killed anyone, “as he killed my brother Rhaegar. And Lannister too, the Kingslayer, for what he did to my father.”

LOL. Viserys really being read to filth here. You love to see it. 

“That would be most fitting,” Magister Illyrio said. Dany saw the smallest hint of a smile playing

I mean, there’s nothing Dany can do, but that's extremely suspicious We know now what Illyrio and Varys’s real plan is but its pretty obvious from the get go they never meant to back Viserys. I’ve always wondered post Young Griff, what exactly was the point of Dany being married off to Drogo? Since it seems like they don’t care all that much what happens to her afterwards. 

Nodding, he pushed back a curtain and stared off into the night, and Dany knew he was fighting the Battle of the Trident once again.

This entire chapter is just providing foreshadowing for Dany’s entire story, isn’t it????? My god, the sheer amount of fodder for Dany and Viserys parallels later. And none of it is positive!

The nine-towered manse of Khal Drogo sat beside the waters of the bay, its high brick walls overgrown with pale ivy.

Nine!? What is with George and this number? It keeps coming again, mainly with the Starks.

Their palanquin was stopped at the gate, the curtains pulled roughly back by one of the house guards. He had the copper skin and dark almond eyes of a Dothraki, but his face was hairless and he wore the spiked bronze cap of the Unsullied. He looked them over coldly.

There’s even an Unsullied. Fam, the writing has been on the wall since literally the first chapter. Dany’s entire story is foreshadowed in this chapter. 

Dany noticed that her brother’s hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his borrowed sword. He looked almost as frightened as she felt. “Insolent eunuch,” Viserys muttered as the palanquin lurched up toward the manse.

Remember how this chapter is just covered in foreshadowing? Maybe take note.

The khal must protect his guests, yourself chief among them, Your Grace. No doubt the Usurper would pay well for your head.” “Oh, yes,” Viserys said darkly. “He has tried, Illyrio, I promise you that. His hired knives follow us everywhere. I am the last dragon, and he will not sleep easy while I live.”

More paranoia. I suspect calling the would be assassins the Usurper’s knives was deliberate. (I literally cannot stop seeing Arya everywhere. I think I might have a condition. We’ll have to do a round up of all the knife and Arya connections in Dany’s ACOK and ASOS chapters. I'm still on the fence for how Dany dies but @istumpysk​ may have converted me from the Icarus death, which is what I thought for ages. We’ll see)

The curtains were thrown back, and a slave offered a hand to help Daenerys out. His collar, she noted, was ordinary bronze.

Is this important or just a story beat for this specific chapter? I think the latter, but putting it here anyway.

Inside the manse, the air was heavy with the scent of spices, pinchfire and sweet lemon and cinnamon. They were escorted across the entry hall, where a mosaic of colored glass depicted the Doom of Valyria. Oil burned in black iron lanterns all along the walls.

I looked up what pinchfire is, and it’s something that exists only in the books. The wiki thinks its a plant. But also- a mosaic depicting the Doom of Valyria? What an interesting choice, especially with the black iron lanterns. 

Beneath an arch of twining stone leaves, a eunuch sang their coming. “Viserys of the House Targaryen, the Third of his Name,” he called in a high, sweet voice, “King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. His sister, Daenerys Stormborn, Princess of Dragonstone. His honorable host, Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of the Free City of Pentos.”

We’re starting in on the title stuff early. (also, I’m sure a eunuch singing their coming has been interpreted as Varys being apart of brining Dany to Westeros. Maybe?) First mention of “Stormborn” as a title. 

Award for best bit of descriptive wiring this chapter goes to:

They stepped past the eunuch into a pillared courtyard overgrown in pale ivy. Moonlight painted the leaves in shades of bone and silver as the guests drifted among them.

(Thank god, I was worried it was  going to go to the description of the Dothraki mustaches.) I am hyperfixated on plants described as bone. Is this significant or just nice writing? No clue!

Many were Dothraki horselords, big men with red-brown skin, their drooping mustachios bound in metal rings, their black hair oiled and braided and hung with bells.

I don’t want to talk about the Dothraki. Let’s just note the description and try to finish this chapter. 

the man behind him is Ser Jorah Mormont.” The last name caught Daenerys. “A knight?” “No less.” Illyrio smiled through his beard. “Anointed with the seven oils by the High Septon himself.” “What is he doing here?” she blurted. “The Usurper wanted his head,” Illyrio told them. “Some trifling affront. He sold some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver instead of giving them to the Night’s Watch. Absurd law. A man should be able to do as he likes with his own chattel.” “I shall wish to speak with Ser Jorah before the night is done,” her brother said. Dany found herself looking at the knight curiously. He was an older man, past forty and balding, but still strong and fit. Instead of silks and cottons, he wore wool and leather. His tunic was a dark green, embroidered with the likeness of a black bear standing on two legs.

BOOOO. Go way, Jorah. You're no Iain Glenn. 

Notes on this chapter? Jorah is an anointed knight, by the High Septon himself. A false knight? Yeah. 

He’s also a slaver. That’s his introduction. He’s on the run for selling people into slavery. And Viserys, and later Dany, don’t really care about that.  Also bear symbolism. He’s an old hairy dude. 

Khal Drogo was a head taller than the tallest man in the room, yet somehow light on his feet, as graceful as the panther in Illyrio’s menagerie. He was younger than she’d thought, no more than thirty. His skin was the color of polished copper, his thick mustachios bound with gold and bronze rings.

Yay. He’s only twice her age and then some, instead of four times. woo.

Copper, gold, and bronze. I’m sure it means something, but it might just be the general metal comparisons every seems to get. Also, light parallel to “copper” Renly, who also gets got before actually fighting in Westeros, rofl. 

“When Dothraki are defeated in combat, they cut off their braids in disgrace, so the world will know their shame. Khal Drogo has never lost a fight. He is Aegon the Dragonlord come again, and you will be his queen.”

Okay, Viserys. Drogo is Aegon the Dragonlord come again? That doesn't sound quite right. And hair and bell symbolism, something something. 

Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. “I don’t want to be his queen,” she heard herself say in a small, thin voice.

Don’t worry, the Stockholm syndrome will set in soon. 

“Please, please, Viserys, I don’t want to, I want to go home.” “Home?” He kept his voice low, but she could hear the fury in his tone. “How are we to go home, sweet sister? They took our home from us!” He drew her into the shadows, out of sight, his fingers digging into her skin. “How are we to go home?” he repeated, meaning King’s Landing, and Dragonstone, and all the realm they had lost. Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio’s estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him.

No true home for Viserys. And perhaps, no true home for Dany either. 

“We go home with an army, sweet sister. With Khal Drogo’s army, that is how we go home. And if you must wed him and bed him for that, you will.” He smiled at her. “I’d let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it is only Drogo.

BLEGH. 

“Smile,” Viserys whispered nervously, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. “And stand up straight. Let him see that you have breasts. Gods know, you have little enough as is.” Daenerys smiled, and stood up straight.

BLEGH

I’m never going to get this taste out of my mouth. 

Okay, I guess my final thoughts on this chapter, is that the seeds for Dany’s story have been planted from the literal beginning. We’ll keep coming back to stuff from here for a while yet.

why did I spend so long on this chapter? 

I’m so tired. 

#*crying and sobbing* there's just too much here for me ignore #I hate that I feel the need to go through every line #BNF energy #AGOT #Daenerys I #branwen reads asoiaf again

[onyourhyuck]

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐊ᵃ𝐫𝐦𝐚. | Season 2

synopsis; park areum is a journalist who happens to get her life involved with the mafia leader war and havoc, lee jeno. areum’s brother was kidnapped by the japanese mafia na yuta and areum was able to successfully get jisung back— however with a price that she betrays lee jeno by selling out important information of his base whereabouts. it’s been a year ever since that day and areum happens to get involved in the mafia world again.

warning: mafia au/theme, thriller, action, romance, smut!!, lots of fighting here and mentions of blood, park areum is a bad bitch ykyk, dreamies are here for plot, love triangle!!!!, angst.. massive angst, death mentions of characters, alcohol mention, guns mention, switch!areum, switch Jeno!, rough kissing, gripping, degrading, praising, love scenes, unprotected seggs [wrap your willys sons pls, use it 😃], slowburn romance, prepare for a long ass ride.JEALOUSY, Exhibitionist scenes (almost caught etc) semi public scenes with sexual tension. PLOT TWISTS AND CLIFFHANGERS <3 THIS IS SEASON 2, CHECK SEASON 1 OUT BEFORE READING THIS SEASON PLSSSS.

PART 23 / 25. PART 24 LINK.

╭──────────────────────╮

jisung walks in the newly furnished apartment with large boxes in his hands, the tall lean boy walking backwards in the place as he shifts the boxes to the counter, sighing.

the apartment itself were spacious enough to hold at least four people, it had a real cozy classical vibe making it less home sick and scary for them both. since it is their first time living alone and together away from family, it’s a new experience. the couple love the apartment and can’t wait in the future.

jisung felt hands wrap around his waist, a ghostly smile appearing on his face as he turns around looking at the five foot five girl below him, their height difference was the favourite thing about them honestly. she reaches right on his chest!

mina snuggles into jisung with a smile, looking up at the boy. “how are you feeling?” she’d ask, checking up on jisung in the situation. he exhales out a calming breath “i’m feeling so happy, mina.”

“good! let’s get unpacking, we have so much stuff oh my god—” the girl let’s go off the boy, speaking suddenly fast as she was filled with excitement, jisung watching his girlfriend hit hyperactivity turn around about to unpack.

his hand tugging on to her wrist as he pulls Mina around, turning the entire girl towards him back, his left hand gently redirecting her face towards his, lips touching hers.

the kiss was soft, calming Mina down as well as setting butterflies as the action. she returns the kiss after a few seconds regaining the process, mina closing eyes. he pulls away with a soft innocent smile, “how about, instead, we go eat something and then unpack?” jisung would trail.

his girlfriend glances him before she pulls her lips into a shy line, folding her tiny fists into a ball before gently tapping it on jisung’s shoulder. “I’m so hungry let’s go, babyyyy” mina said, as if they waited more than a second she will become an angry baby.

jisung wraps arms around the girl, trapping her in a warm hug. “okayyy, don’t be hangry, let’s go eat!”

the patience and doctors block has been lately very busy, after the war they suffered many injuries especially loses of soldiers and good friends; kun is the only medical person jeno has, so he needed assistance.

areum was the first one to help out, renjun, haechan and doyoung being second, third and fourth. the heavily pregnant woman shifts away as she cuts the last bit of the thread, the soldier looks down at the stitch as he bows his head respectfully to areum. “thank you so much.”

she humbly shakes her head, bowing back. “don’t worry about it! i’m trying to help as much as I can.” areum moved away going to the stand where kun was. he smiles at areum. “hey areum, thank you so much for helping out.”

honestly if nobody volunteered to help he wouldn’t of dealt with this many people. thanks to them four he was able to get through to half of them in a day. “it’s no problem kun, I’m happy to help.” she tells him.

doyoung was a normal civilian, but jeno welcomed him as his own father figure at this point. he saved him twice, he has ways with medicine and he’s his neighbour. areum looks over at doyoung as she bows. “hello mr kim!”

doyoung smiles at the girl as he lifts her back from the bowing situation. “oh god lose the honorific already, we’re friends and neighbours!” doyoung cheers and areum chuckles. “you’re right, you’re right.”

areum looks at the front door, pointing to the person coming in to get checked. doyoung smiles. “I’ll handle this one.” he walks away to deal with the patient, haechan and Renjun coming to kun and areum after their finish.

a sudden feeling in the stomach hit areum, she’s been having these sudden pain that disappear way too open today, for a few hours at the very least. kun noticed the discomfort in her face, worryingly moving to areum. “what’s wrong?”

areum shakes her head. “I’ve been having stomach pains all day.”

haechan blurts out. “so you’re constipated or something?” he would ask, kun was the first one to speak with his eyes widening. “I think those might be contractions.”

areum and haechan widen their gaze with the same mimicking expression to the doctor in front of them, within the same moment something leaks down and areum was most definitely feeling those contractions more and more with higher intensity. haechan panics moving around the area. “Uhm fuck! don’t you have like one more month to go?! tell it to wait another month.”

renjun scowls at the idiot, slapping haechan’s arm. “don’t be dumb and help me carry areum to the car so we can drive her to the hospital! ” the tan boy nods getting a grip of areum as they lead her out of the patience’s block, making their way outside. Doyoung looking over as he grabs the nearest phone, he should let jeno know of the situation.

jeno rushes into the car slamming the door shut, putting the phone on speaker as he starts the car engine on, hearing the roar midst doyoung explaining the situation.

“she’s giving birth now?” jeno slightly shouts in surprise, they weren’t expecting an early birth. he was filled with half worry- half excitement while the rest was anxiety because he wants to make it in time. jeno was far from Seoul a little bit, he could make it if there is no traffic.

he sighs out, “thanks hyung, i’ll end the call. keep me updated on the situation!” jeno hungs up, driving the car from the parking spot.

“hang in there areum…” jeno would say under his breathe, praying she is alright in the situation, speeding on the road.

the woman arrived at the hospital with multiple midwives surrounding her, at this point areum was listening to what the women were telling and directing her to.

on the outside of the door was haechan and kun waiting in a prance, haechan sometimes would hear loud painful screeched on the other side of the door, where he flinches as his ears captured it. kun pats haechan’s legs calming the boy, “don’t stress she’s going to be fine.”

“I think that’s an..overstatement considering she’s yelling out.” haechan mutters in disbelief, if this is what his future girlfriend has to go through, bless her be; he has new respect for women. Kun looks at his phone, jeno texting that he’s in a sudden traffic.

“shit, jeno is in traffic.” kun said, haechan biting the bottom lip as he texted jisung to come to the hospital asap, the boy replying with the most he can make it is around twenty minutes. “jisung’s going to be here in twenty minutes, jeno should be fine coming later ish.”

kun hums. “birth can take a long time, it all depends on areum how she handles it.”

jisung and mina are caught in a minor traffic going to Seoul’s hospital. his girlfriend checking the time, her boyfriend placing a hand on her thigh to calm the girl.

“don’t worry, we’ll make it to the hospital in time.” jisung tells mina who looks at him with a gentle nod. “you’re right, but aren’t you filled with excitement? you’ll be an uncle!”

he didn’t think about it as much but NOW it is hitting him with reality. the feeling of growing up, seeing his big sister becoming a mother to her own children, it really does say that he is growing up and his sister is finally— an actual mother. even though she does mother him all her life.

jisung sighs out happily in the realisation. “yeah! and you’ll be the aunt.” mina goes shy hearing this, an aunt? auntie mina, she can’t imagine how cute it’ll be to hear the child call her that.

another painful scream left the woman’s lifts, another sweat dripping off the forehead, and another tremble on the body as the midwives and doctor crowd over the laid out body on the operating bed. with each contraction came a pain she never experienced before, it was a different type pain that you could only experience when giving birth, the pain wasn’t necessarily a bad thing either; it’s a reminder of the experience that areum is having.

It dominated areum physically, her body shaking and shivering time to time with each contraction and directed push the midwives and doctors told her to do. It had a toll on areum mentally as well; having to self boost herself to keep going, that she can do it.

there were screams from other rooms next door, who were in as much pain as she was, areum wasn’t sure what was her screams and what weren’t, it all sounded the same to her in the disoriented hearing. When the pain passes for a minute, areum felt like all those senses were taken away from her, she wasn’t focusing on anything but doing what the doctor told her to. That minute of calmness vanished when the pain gets back in her body.

the hospital was a maze to jeno, him running around like a madman needing to find the correct number of the room on the third floor. his eyes were met with jisung and Mina who were in the same situation, lost and trying to find the same room.

jisung gasps and Mina waved to jeno, the man noticing the wave he runs up to them with a short hug. “oh my god guys, i found you. let’s go find the room together.”

“hyung I think it’s this way.” jisung replies, the three running to the left side. At this point it’s been a few hours, all thanks to the traffic it took more than it should’ve.

the three were met with two familiar people waving forward as they stood outside the door awaiting for the family to arrive.

haechan tapping the foot as he saw jeno, speaking out to the man. “father to be is finally here!” haechan told and earned an eye smile from jeno.

“is she..still going through the birth?” jisung mumbles pointing at the door, a large screech interrupts him where jisung jumps up, absolutely terrified by what he heard, hiding behind Mina. jeno looks at haechan and kun once hearing the scream.

“yeah..she’s having the greatest time of her life.” haechan sarcastically quotes motioning to the door. they’ve been hearing it for hours now, he’s not going to sleep tonight that’s for sure.

jeno sighs nervously rubbing the hands together, an anxiety habit of his. kun taps the man’s shoulder proudly speaking. “You’re going to be a great dad, i know it.”

haechan hums in response. “you’re already a great boyfriend, a father isn’t going to be any different.” jisung and Mina nod in agreement. jeno felt the encouragement as he looks at them all with a short smile. “thank you, i appreciate you all.”

jeno wraps an arm around jisung quoting. “and you will be a great uncle.” the younger boy shyly looks away, “you think?”

“yeah, I mean you’re practically a child as well so you’ll get along with them.” jeno replies letting go off jisung. The younger boy pouting. somehow the compliment went from being nice to calling him childish or a child—

seriously he’s twenty!

the doors swung open revealing the midwives and doctors, a peaceful silence erupting. the doctors motion to the boys. “who’s the father?”

jeno steps forward and the doctor brings the man inside the room, jisung raising a hand. “I’m her brother, just so you know—”

“Come in as well.” he said, jisung was dragged inside with jeno as the door closed temporarily.

the two were met with areum’s tired and dazed body holding babies.

yes, babies. areum had twins, jisung and jeno spare a glance at areum before hovering over to look at the newborns that were cleaned and tucked in a tightly warm robe.

jeno whispering. “oh my god— twins, areum— we had.—” areum nods, “we had twins.”

jisung rubs the back of his head with his hands, this probably being the biggest plot wise he’s ever heard or saw of. the doctor clearing his throat, “it’s a boy and a girl.”

The man lovingly wipes areum’s sweat as he kisses her forehead with full of love and appreciation for the woman in front of him, to go through hard lengths to deliver not just one but two human lives in the world was enough for jeno to go wow. he held areum first, giving the love he needed to.

he wasn’t paying much attention to the babies yet, areum was on his mind right now. she deadpans at the affection with a soft smile. “yah, why am i being babied when we have twins to baby.”

jeno jokingly adds. “you’re the third baby.” Jisung reaches over, he pat areum’s head, nodding. “you deserve to be babied, noona.”

she opens her mouth, not believing that these two agreed to shower her with immediate affection.

“I have an idea on what to name them.” she brought the boy’s attention, especially jeno’s. he hums shifting, fully listening to what areum had to say. she exhales looking at the baby boy and girl on the left and right.’

“I want to name them after the people you loved the most.” areum said as she then glances to the girl, who was born first. “nayoung for the girl.”

jeno’s ears perk up in surprise, he wasn’t expecting areum to think something so emotionally fulfilling for jeno. she understood what it means to loose family, and nayoung was his family.

“for the boy, Minjae. a mix of jaemin’s name..”

his eyes soften, a smile appearing on his face. he was happy, more than happy to hear those names suggestions and the idea. jeno couldn’t refuse areum, he was actually on board with this. “lee nayoung and lee minjae, I like it.” he whispers in awe, kissing areum’s cheek.

the two shared a loving eye contact, until a sniffle was heard in the background, jisung crying. areum and jeno look at the younger boy, jeno raising eyebrows.

“those names are so fitting I can’t—” jisung blows his nose in the tissue, gosh his emotional side is showing way too much at this happy scene. it was tears of joy running down his face, areum coos at jisung, giving jeno the babies as he held them with overbearing love.

she brings jisung forward where she lovingly pets the boy’s head,. “oh my god my third child is crying already” areum teased.

jisung pouts at areum before looking at the twins and jeno. “hyung can i hold one!” he claps his hands happily, jeno smiling he moves nayoung towards jisung.

the boy lifts the baby, cradling it in his hands slowly and gently, the boy looking at the baby girl who slept with its puffy face due to only just being born. “she’s beautiful.” jisung murmurs in awe.

jeno looking down at Minjae as he shows a ghostly smile, in honour of being named after his brother figure and his best friend, he was thrilled. it was an epiphany of jeno being able to move on from jaemin’s death. “hi Minjae, can’t wait to see what life holds for you. ” jeno coos softly.

and start a new chapter in his life with areum.

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Masterlink for his karma!

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Someone already guessed the plot!! I was going to name the twins after nayoung and jaemin~~~ 🥺 y’all are so good at guessing it scares me LMAOAOA😩

Welcome to the story minjae and nayoung<33

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[whatdoesshedotothem]

x Monday 17 December 1832

7 ½

11 35

incurred a cross last night thinking of Miss W- fine soft morning F50° at 8 ¼ - breakfast at 8 ½ with my father in 50 minutes - out at 9 ½ and at Lidgate at 10 - Mr Parker came in ½ hour and staid 1 ½ hour on the subject of the administration accounts - told me the commoners want to shut up and offer for sale to me the road in front of Shibden as soon as they opened the Lower brea breach road - Miss W- not quite so well today - had been miserable again about Mr Ainsworth  she read me what she had written as a copy of what she meant to write to her sister   asking her opinion and advice on the subject of my proposal to our living together   she seemed wavering and I said the thing seemed now as uncertain between us as ever    I talked a little sentiment and argued against Mr A- and pressed her hard to decide   and one while proposed not seeing her again till Christmas day   when she expected her sister’s answer   then I brought her round to say she should try to cheer up and that I left her now in the same mind as I did the last time   that is that if her sister approved there would no longer be any obstacle between [us] and she would say a positive and decisive yes she had had another letter from her evidently regretting that she had given up the thought of going abroad with me and as far as Mrs Sutherland well could    advising Miss W- to reconsider the thing    letter today again from Mrs Plowes   saying that they were in better spirits and had determined to sell thirty old revisionary shares   (they have as many more new ones) at the market price   the last sold at one hundred and twenty five pounds a share   we talked of Miss W-‘s taking ten shares   which she having now eight hundred in the bank would leave her about seven hundred for the next half year said I had five hundred at Hammersley’s  and that would do   but then ended by advising her to take only five shares   these to be kept with the view of being one day settled on Mrs Plowes and at her death on her two daughters Henrietta Miss W-‘s goddaughter and Ann her favourite home in ½ hour at 6 20 - James walked with me to the bottom of the water gate - brought a lantern but so windy it blew out twice and we groped on without it - could see prettily well when I had got the lamp light out of my eyes and luckily it was fair  - dressed – dinner at 6 ¾ in ¾ hour – then went into the other room till 8 ½ - then wrote the above of today - I seem as if I would have this girl   when perhaps I should be better without her   at all rates I shall be easily reconciled if she says no – left Pickles this morning getting up largeish young sycamore in the hall wood – it turned out so rainy about 11 ½ am that he went home John tells me saying he would return if it was fine, but I suppose he did not as it was a stormy afternoon tho’ with some gleams – fine as I returned this evening - then wrote the following to go tomorrow morning to Mr Jeremiah Rawson -‘Shibden Hall - Tuesday 18 December 1832 - Dear Sir – if I don’t hear from you respecting the coal before the end of this week, I shall feel myself at liberty to dispose of it - the other party have themselves valued at, and offered me for the upper, or hard bed, the same price at which I said you should have it – I am, sir, etc A. Lister’ – read from p. 80 to 116 Emersons’ history of modern Greece till 10 5 and went to my aunt and then came to my room at 10 35 – very windy rainy night and F49° at 10 50 p.m.