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inkwolvesandcoffee · 8 months

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Breakfast in Margate (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Modern AU

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: A grumpy Papa Solomons (yes, that is a warning) and a whole lot of tooth-rotting domestic fluff

Summary:

Mornings aren’t always easy. For example, it’s terribly difficult to not be caught making breakfast for your fiancé, a workaholic who always takes the task upon himself.

However, what makes it harder today is the fact he loathes food made with recipes found online. Fortunately for you, though, Alfie isn’t the only one who’s good at playing games when he wants to push his own agenda.

Especially those that concern a sweet reward.

Author’s note: I've kept Alfie's adherence to his Jewish heritage quite loose. Nevertheless, I hope that the aspects I did incorporate in this work have been done so properly. If not, let me know and please don't hesitate to educate me (in a polite and respectful manner) because I love learning about different cultures and religions.

Tag List: @potter-solomons @zablife @wandawiccan60 @dreamlandcreations @liliac-dreamer @buttercupsandboys @vir-tual @rose-like-the-phoenix @hoodeddreams13 @mollybegger-blog @solomons-finest-rum @hecatemoon87 @babaohhhriley

TH Masterlist

Mornings like this are rare, these quiet moments unbroken by the usual ruckus in the kitchen. Now, it’s solely my bare feet on the wooden floor and the waves crashing onto the shore. No clanging of metal, no muttered curses in Yiddish or Russian, nor the scent of freshly brewed coffee.

In the living room, Cyril lays in front of the hearth. The first rays of sunshine fall over him like a warm natural blanket, highlighting the ginger undertone in his fur. One of the many features he shares with his owner.

As soon as I pass by, he lifts his head, tilts it in wonder, and lets out a low bark. After all, it’s Alfie who’s more often than not the first one to wander around the house at the crack of dawn. That is, if he’s slept at all. However, recently he’s started properly adhering to the Shabbat. Although, as much as he allows himself to because if Alfie Solomons is one thing, it’s mighty stubborn. Moreover, he’s an incurable workaholic. As hard as he works at The Old Rum House Bakery to let the business flourish and maintain his position as the fearsome Mad Baker of Camden, just as much effort does he put into our relationship. In fact, it’s not only towards Cyril and I his attention goes, but also to the house.

Our home.

Alfie has become a lot more domestic since we started dating, shortly after meeting one another on a train to London. Disregarding his tendency to walk around naked, he cooks and cleans, assuring me time and again I don’t have to help. When we go out for our weekly grocery trip, no matter how tired he is, he carries the bags to the car so that I don’t have to. Neither do I have to put away what we got, more often than not shipped off to the luxurious red sofa in the living room with a cup of coffee or tea to pair with whatever he’s baked at night.

Nevertheless, regardless of the otherwise very loose relationship with his heritage, Ollie and I are glad he’s at least taking a day off in the week to rest up. The bakery has recently started taking its toll thanks to an influx in customers, which means extra stock as well as staff is needed. In turn, this means more part-timers to train and more admin work. In other words, everyone has to pick up the pace to meet the current demand. Such is the power of marketing, especially on social media. Alfie is loath to admit it, but Ollie and I can tell he’s secretly grateful we managed to convince him to let us handle the bakery’s socials.

We don’t get cinnamon buns on Monday anymore, though.

I stop in my tracks, turn to Cyril, and put a finger to my lips. “I know, love, but Papa is still sleeping. It’s finally Mama’s turn to make breakfast again.”

Seldom do I get the chance to experiment in the kitchen, let alone try a recipe I’ve found online. Or worse, via Youtube or Instagram. Now, that’s usually enough to make Alfie bristle. Nevertheless, mention the word ‘viral’ and a scowl will twist his lips.

Sometimes I wonder whether or not Alfie and Cyril are the same person because he lowers his head onto his paws and lets out a deep sigh that sounds like sarcastic resignation.

Thanks for the faith, buddy.

“It’s gonna be okay. No fire in the pan this time, I promise. How about we go stretch our legs after brekkie, hm? That sound good?”

Cyril huffs in agreement and closes his eyes, back to enjoying his luxurious pillow.

We bought it for him when we went antique shop hopping in London last week. Although, perhaps it’s better to say I bought it after convincing my grumpy companion we should occasionally pamper our adopted four-legged child and I couldn’t fix his old pillow anymore. Of course I could, but I was more than done with constantly needing to fix the seams and re-stuff the thing.

Borough Market has become a regular stop on our weekly grocery trip, mostly because I used the splendidly efficient strategy of batting my lashes and pouting. Artisan goods and fresh produce can be luxuries, something to only occasionally splurge on. After all, why spend a fortune when there is a cheaper alternative that’s just as good?

Nonetheless, Alfie developed a taste for supporting local businesses soon after our first visit. To some he has proposed contracts, offering them a position as a supplier to his bakery. Granted their goods are kosher, of course.

Yesterday, we got some wonderful fresh bright yellow bananas, eggs from a local farm, and oat flour from a mill a little ways away from London. Alfie thought little of it when I plonked them triumphantly in our grocery bag, having occupied himself with the fresh stock one of the florists was setting out. I glance at the colourful bouquet of wildflowers on the table and for a moment I’m back to him holding out to me, face full of the warm tenderness that stands in stark contrast to the stern and unpredictable persona he portrays when I’m not there.

Right then and there, he wasn’t The Mad Baker of Camden, the fearsome King who rules the borough.

He was a sweet and caring gentleman.

Simply Alfie Solomons.

Nevertheless, in spite of these small moments of tenderness, he can still be awfully grumpy.

Especially if he hasn’t had his coffee.

“Mornin’, dove.” Two big warm hands glide over my hips towards my lower stomach. Those very same palms pull me flush against a naked chest grown soft with neglected muscle, slightly clammy with the remainder of last night’s late summer heat. Alfie presses his lips to the side of my neck and hums, tightening the embrace as he does so. The sonorous trill in his voice sends a shiver down my spine and rekindles a familiar heat. Nonetheless, the way he leans on me betrays he isn’t entirely awake yet. The slight slur in his words serve to confirm the lingering drowsiness, sounding like they’ve been pulled out of bed only moments before too. “That shirt looks good on you.”

“I’m glad you think so because you’re not getting it back any time soon.” I briefly stop mixing the batter to scratch his beard. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch as a content sigh escapes him. “You slept in.”

“Still woke up to an empty spot, though. If you want me to sleep more, yeah, which you know I find a terrible waste of time, I’ll need my wife to ‘old.”

I pat his hands to placate him. The thin gold band inlaid with a modest diamond around my ring finger matches his. I had thought Alfie would pick something elaborate for himself, but instead he chose a simple thick gold ring and got it engraved. It says: Ani l’dodi, v’dodi li; I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine. “Don’t get hasty. We aren’t married yet.”

“Let’s just go to the courthouse today.’’ He slips his hands beneath the fabric of the shirt I stole from him, letting them rest on my stomach after a brief caress. It’s a gesture he often makes nowadays. ‘‘Sign the paper, right, and be done with it so the desk eaters are ‘appy. We can always celebrate it later. Throw a party as big as the whole of bloody Camden, like a proper coronation ceremony to celebrate our union.”

“Tempting as it is, I’ll have to refuse. Besides, it's Shabbat today and you need to take a break. I promise I can wait a little while longer to officially become Mrs Solomons.”

“You ‘ave been from the start, Y/N. I don’t need a ring to call you my wife. ‘Sides, you well know ‘ow I am. Which reminds me, breakfast is my job, innit?” A wary tone creeps into his voice as he leans away to check what’s in the mixing bowl. “Is that edible?”

“It will be,” I say, continuing to mix the ingredients until they’re well combined.

“I’m not eatin’ that goo. Looks fucking awful, that stuff.”

“It’s healthy goo! Uses the bananas, eggs, and flour we got yesterday.”

Nose scrunched, Alfie peers at me. “Oh, so yesterday was all a little scam to get me to eat whatever this is?”

“You aren’t the only one who can lie. Although, it’s not really a lie, is it? More like a half-truth.’’ I shrug. ‘‘I simply never told you my plan. Would ruin the surprise.”

“Which is?”

“Baked oats that taste like cake. They just haven’t been baked yet.”

“Where’d you get the recipe?”

“YouTube…”

He groans, wide awake now that the conversation has taken a turn towards a point of absolute irritation. “Fucking ‘ell, dove, ‘ow many times ‘aven’t I told you not every recipe on social media-’’

“Don’t judge before you’ve tried it.” I put the spatula down, turn around in his embrace and steal a kiss off of his lips. “Said so yourself, didn’t you?”

“Don’t use my words against me.”

“Oh, I will. If only to keep things fair. Have a little faith in me. It’ll be fine.”

I hope.

A warning finger raised and pointed at me, he leans in until our faces are mere inches apart. “Fine. But I’m gonna make us coffee, right, so we’ll at least ‘ave something to get us fucking started.”

I can’t suppress a chuckle at the grumpy gesture. “Sure.”

The threat turns into tenderness when he cups my cheek. His palm has grown rough with the hours spent at the bakery, proof of his hard work. Tenderly, he presses his lips to mine. “Ikh hab dir lib.”

“I know.” To show I accept his usual indirect apology for his bad mood and avoid coming across as being cross with me, I run my fingers along his jaw. “I love you too.”

Resting his forehead against mine, he nudges my nose with his. “Mhm.”

“Why don’t you take Cyril for a brief walk, eh? The oats have to bake for twenty-five minutes anyway.”

“We can take ‘im on a walk later together. I’ll go set the table.”

“First put on a pair of knickers.”

“No.”

“You know the rules, Alfie. No buns on the chairs during summer.”

“I ain’t sweating.”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you’re the one who isn’t.”

I cock an eyebrow, fighting the smug smirk threatening to break out. “That so?”

“Yeah,” he drawls, “first we’ll ‘ave coffee, right, ‘cause otherwise neither of us functions. Now, ‘ow about after we’ve started the day proper I’ll fuck you like last night, hm?”

Until I black out.

The prospect of it mixes with memories of last night. Sea blue eyes, usually so steady and full of hidden temperaments, barely able to refrain from going cross-eyed. The fight with the stutter in his hips, gradually growing closer to the edge of pleasure but also exhaustion. Big hands reminiscent of wolf paws gripping the headboard for support while I was already lost in a satisfied delirium. The absent-minded glance to the bruises on my thighs adds to the steadily growing heat between my legs, perversely longing for more.

For him.

Nevertheless, the haze clears in an instant with a single sharp thought. I take a step back, crossing my arms as I search his expression for confirmation. However, as usually is the case, Alfie keeps his true motifs to himself. And this time, behind a mask he tends to put on when he wants something from me in particular. “So you can make breakfast. That’s what you’re getting at, aren’t you?”

“No,” he purrs, stealing a kiss as soon as he has bridged the distance between us, “not at all, dove. I just want my wife. I wanna make love to you.” We softly start to sway, slowly making our way out of the kitchen. “Let me make love to you.”

We come to a halt on the threshold. “Later. After you put on a pair of knickers and we’ve eaten.”

He blinks, the cheeky smile grown stiff. I can feel his muscles tense, unconsciously causing him to grip me a bit tighter than before. “But-’’

“Knickers, Alfie.”

“One round.”

“Alfred Solomons Jr, knickers. Right now.”

The use of his full name provokes a menacing snarl, the kind which is usually preserved for those who cross him. “Those oats better be fucking worth it, yeah, ‘cause otherwise you’re payin’ for lunch.”

I trace his cock, the skin hot and hardening beneath my fingertips with every sharp intake of breath. Perhaps this game won’t go on for as long as it usually does before he loses control. “Somehow I don’t think I will.”

He roughly grips my face, the thrill of every low-voiced word against my lips travelling throughout my body. “I ought to do somethin’ ‘bout that attitude of yours. Big fucks small, Y/N, always.”

Game over.

Except for the one card I have left to play.

“I know,” I wrap my hand around him, barely able to grip him properly, “but first some knickers. Please, Papa?”

“Clever bird, ain’t ya?” He growls into the kiss when I lightly squeeze him and let go. “Maybe I should carry out my own personal form of stigmata later. Add to those pretty bruises.”

Like snow in the spring sun, his attitude melts and changes. Alfie gently nudges my cheek and makes for the bedroom. A few moments later, he returns and starts setting the table while I pour the batter in the ramekins and plop them in the oven.

Despite the promise to make coffee, I reach for the cupboard to grab a mug. After all, old habits die hard.

Nevertheless, I find myself cut off by a hand that gently lowers mine, away from the handle.

“I said I’ll make us coffee,” Alfie grumbles. “Let Papa Solomons do ‘is job, yeah. Go sit in the livin’ room. I’ll be there shortly.”

I nod at the baking aftermath in the sink. “I got some washing up to do.”

“Nah, that can wait. Coffee and, ‘opefully, food first.” He places his hands on my shoulders and kindly coerces me out of the kitchen. “Go on.”

I let him guide me, feigning defiance by pouting. Yet, the act quickly falls apart with a lighthearted giggle. I suppose I still have a lot to learn from him concerning the art of masks. “Alright.”

Soon after he joins me on the porch, where I’ve settled down with Cyril to enjoy the salt air. The beach across the street is still empty, devoid of the plethora of towels. The breeze is silent, not yet filled with the chatter of tourists and locals alike.

These hours are ours.

This is our Margate.

“'Ere you go, love.” Alfie hands me a steaming mug of cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso, the milk soft and foamy, before he sits down next to me. I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes as I take a sip. “Nice, innit?”

“Mhm.”

Thus we sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the view and each other’s company. Cyril has started to doze off, although he tries in vain to keep his eyes open. One glance to the side tells of Alfie fighting the same battle. Occasionally he pulls a face or lifts his hand to stifle a yawn. It’s strangely funny to watch him continue to take a sip afterwards, a small gesture of hope. Surely he should be readily awake before his cup is empty.

Because sleeping isn’t an option.

He’s tired of the nightmares.

The faint sound of the oven going off disturbs the domestic bliss.

Alfie groans as struggles to get up, glad to have my arm to use as support while he pulls himself to his feet. I say nothing, knowing full well how his sciatica influences his mood.

And it’s already rotten enough in the morning.

As Alfie washes his hands, I get the baked oats out of the oven and place them on the plates. Meanwhile, Alfie warms up a few slices of babka and the challah bread we made together yesterday. “Just so we ‘ave somethin’.”

He sits down while I wash my hands. From the corner of my eye, I see him poke the oats with his fork. “It’s kosher?”

“It is,” I say, drying my hands before I sit down across from him. “Shall I go first?”

“Very funny.” He scoops a bit of the oats onto his fork and puts it in his mouth. His brows knit together, contemplating the taste.

“And? Do you like it?”

Remaining silent and gaze fixed on the ramekin, he pokes his oats again.

I swallow hard, my excitement crushed under the stones of dread. A nagging voice in the back of my head feeds into the fear of his judgement. Funny how one connects their self worth to food. Then again, it was that which started our relationship. A cup of coffee, a slice of babka, and a slice of plant-based carrot cake. Back then, though, my stomach didn’t quiver this badly nor did my ribs feel like they were caged in a very tight-strung corset. “You don’t.”

“Dove,” he begins, but doesn’t continue.

Not until after he’s had another bite. “It’s good.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or simply trying to appease me.”

“I’m serious.”

“You are?”

“I am,’’ he says, raising his voice ever so slightly in spite of the effort to keep it even. Alfie finally meets my gaze and I can tell he’s being sincere regardless of the way he accusingly waves his fork at me. ‘‘But I still don’t like 'ow you got this off of the internet. ‘Ow many times ‘aven’t I told you, hm? You should know better by now.”

I chuckle as I at last taste the baked oats myself. They’re chocolatey with a subtle banana undertone, which is warmed by the cinnamon. “I gotta find new recipes somehow.”

“There are cookbooks.”

“Too limited and they take up too much space.” While nibbling on a piece of challah bread, I take a sip of coffee. “Can I make this more often?”

“It does taste like cake,” he reluctantly admits, spooning up another bite. “Yes, you can.”

“Why do you make it sound like there’s a condition?”

“You can make these oats, yeah, if I get to serve you something sweet in return.”

Something not to be had in the kitchen.

‘‘Deal,’’ I lean in, biting my lip as I play my final card, ‘‘Papa.’’

Alfie clenches his fork upon hearing his favourite nickname, the title he is secretly proud of. A dark haze clouds his eyes, the gloss in them highlighted by the morning sun. The smirk on his lips has evened out, his jaw tightened with the effort to practise self-restraint.

Game over.

I won.

And the prize is something sweet with lots of cream.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons x reader

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guilty-ff · 2 months

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Fading Shadows: Love and Betrayal Pt.3

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ˚⁎⁺˳ .

As you step into Colonel König's office, the weight of As you step into Colonel König's office, the weight of expectations hangs heavy in the air. His stern manner and the aura of authority surrounding him make you feel uneasy. You steel yourself, mentally preparing for whatever challenges lie ahead in this new chapter of your military career.

Pairings: fem!reader, Simon Riley, König

Genre: mild angst

Tags: independent, fights, knifes

"Take a seat, Sergeant," Colonel König commands, his voice cutting through the silence. You comply, settling into the chair opposite his desk, your senses heightened.

"I've reviewed your file, Sergeant," Colonel König begins, his gaze piercing. "Impressive record in Task Force 141. But records only tell part of the story."

You nod, keeping your composure despite the unease gnawing at you. You can't help but wonder what he knows beyond the official documents.

"I value initiative and resourcefulness in my soldiers," Colonel König continues, his tone measured. "But I also value discipline and adherence to protocol."

His words send a chill down your spine, and you tense, unsure of where this conversation is leading. The mention of protocol brings back memories of past missions and the rigid rules of engagement.

"I expect nothing less than excellence from those under my command," Colonel König says, his eyes boring into yours. "You will need to prove yourself here, Sergeant. Your past accomplishments will mean nothing if you cannot adapt to the standards of KorTac."

You swallow hard, understanding the gravity of his words. The pressure to perform weighs heavily on you, knowing that failure is not an option.

"I understand, sir," you reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. "I'm ready to meet the challenge and uphold the standards of KorTac"

Colonel König nods, a hint of approval flickering in his eyes. "Good. We have high expectations for you, Sergeant. Dismissed."

With a crisp salute, you rise from your seat and exit Colonel König's office, the weight of his expectations heavy on your shoulders.

As you navigate the bustling corridors of the base, you steel yourself for the challenges ahead, determined to prove yourself in your new unit.

In the days that follow, you throw yourself into your work with renewed determination, eager to prove that you belong in KorTac. Despite the initial apprehension and the scrutiny you face as the only woman in the unit, you earn the respect of your teammates through hard work, dedication, and a willingness to adapt to the rigorous standards set by Colonel König.

As you immerse yourself in the missions and training exercises, the memories of Task Force 141 begin to fade, replaced by the camaraderie and sense of purpose found within KorTac.

Though the road ahead is fraught with challenges, you face them head-on, knowing that every obstacle overcome brings you one step closer to earning your place in the elite unit.

And as time passes, you find yourself growing stronger, both as a soldier and as a person. The lessons learned from your past experiences with Task Force 141 serve as a foundation upon which you build your future in KorTac, shaping you into the resilient and capable leader that Colonel König expects you to be.

Though the journey ahead is uncertain, you face it with courage and determination, knowing that with each new challenge overcome, you grow closer to becoming the soldier you were always meant to be.

Colonel König gathers the KorTac team in the training area, his presence commanding attention as he addresses the soldiers.

"Listen up, team. Today, we'll be running drills to assess our combat readiness and teamwork. I expect nothing less than excellence from each of you."

As the team moves through the various areas of the base, Horangi, one of the trustworthiest members, takes the opportunity to introduce you to the new environment. He points out the shooting area, the cafeteria, the training area, and the meeting area, giving you a brief overview of each.

In the training area, you stumble upon Colonel König sparring with a recruit, his punches swift and powerful, each blow landing with precision. You watch in awe as he effortlessly dominates his opponent, his mastery of combat on full display.

Colonel König's gaze falls on you, and he gestures for you to step forward.

"Sergeant, come here."

Your heart sinks as you realize what this means. Despite your higher rank, you can't shake the feeling of being underestimated and unworthy, constantly having to prove yourself just to be taken seriously. Sparring against a corporal who's rank is under yours feels offensive and as if you are being underestimated, purely for being a woman in military uniform. Nothing new, you think.

But you push aside your doubts and step forward, determined to prove yourself once again. As you face off against the corporal, you give it your all, every move calculated and precise.

As the corporal squared off against you in the training area, tension hung thick in the air. Your muscles tensed, ready for action, as you sized up your opponent. Despite the difference in rank, you knew this battle would be a test of your skills and determination.

The corporal wasted no time, launching into a flurry of strikes and kicks with impressive speed and agility. You deftly parried each blow, countering with your own calculated moves. Despite their relentless assault, you remained calm and focused, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

With a sudden opening, you seized your chance, launching a swift kick that sent the recruit stumbling backward. Sensing weakness, you pressed your advantage, unleashing a barrage of strikes that left them struggling to defend themselves.

But just as victory seemed within your grasp, the recruit launched a surprise counterattack, catching you off guard. Their blows landed with surprising force, driving you back as you fought to regain your footing.

As the battle raged on, both you and the recruit pushed yourselves to the limit, each refusing to back down. Sweat dripped from your brow as you exchanged blow after blow, the intensity of the fight reaching its peak.

But in the end, it was your determination and skill that won out. With one final, decisive strike, you sent the corporal crashing to the ground, victorious.

Breathless and exhilarated, you stood over your fallen opponent, a sense of pride swelling in your chest.

You can feel the eyes of the team on you, a mix of surprise and respect in their gazes.

Colonel König nods in approval, his expression unreadable. "Well done, Sergeant. You've proven yourself capable."

But then, his demeanor shifts, and he turns to face you directly. "Now, it's my turn."

The training area was tense as Colonel König and you faced each other, both armed with training knives. Colonel König's masked face gave nothing away, his eyes hidden behind the makeshift covering. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation as he spoke, his voice low and commanding.

"A real battle without a knife would be like a dance without music," Colonel König remarked, his tone serious as he eyed you. "But we'll make do with what we have."

You were surprised by his choice of weapon but wasted no time in retrieving your own training knife. As you gripped the handle, Colonel König added with a hint of humor,

"If you can bring me down to my knees, you'll win."

His words caught you off guard, and a laugh escaped your lips despite the tension in the air. It was rare to see Colonel König inject humor into such a serious situation, and it momentarily eased the tension between you.

But as the fight began, the atmosphere quickly shifted back to one of intense focus. Each movement was calculated, each strike aimed with deadly precision as you clashed with Colonel König.

The sound of wood against wood echoed through the training area as you both fought with all your strength. Colonel König's attacks were relentless, his movements fluid and precise as he pressed his advantage.

But you refused to back down, matching him blow for blow as you fought to gain the upper hand. Sweat dripped from your brow as you pushed yourself to your limits, the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

As the battle raged on, you could feel the exhaustion setting in, your muscles burning with exertion. But you pushed through the pain, determined to prove yourself worthy of Colonel König's respect.

With a sudden burst of speed, you launched yourself forward, your training knife flashing in the dim light of the training area. You aimed for Colonel König's exposed side, hoping to catch him off guard.

But Colonel König was ready, his reflexes honed by years of training. With a swift movement, he dodged your attack, leaving you off balance and vulnerable.

In that moment, you knew that victory was within reach. With one final, desperate lunge, you aimed for Colonel König's legs, hoping to bring him down to his knees as he had challenged.

But Colonel König was faster, his movements fluid as he sidestepped your attack. With a quick counterattack, he disarmed you, leaving you defenseless before him.

As you stood before him, breathless and defeated, Colonel König removed his makeshift mask, revealing a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Well fought, Sergeant," he said, a rare smile gracing his lips. "You may not have won this battle, but you've earned my respect."

And with those words, Colonel König turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the training area with a newfound sense of determination.

Though you may have lost the fight, you knew that you had proven yourself worthy of Colonel König's respect, a victory in its own right.

#self written #gaming #call of duty #könig x you #könig x reader #könig cod #cod mw3 #cod mw2 #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #fanfic

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the-magnusinstitute · 14 days

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The Magnus Institute is an academic institution dedicated to researching the esoteric and paranormal, founded in 1818 by Jonah Magnus.

This account is dedicated to keeping staff and visitors up to date and aware of the ongoings within these historic walls, and is run by the Magnus Institute’s Public Relations Department.

For official information, advice, and to give statements, please visit our website themagnusinstitute.co.uk

—

ooc stuff below!!

this blog won’t follow any sort of accurate timeline, but will feature all of the familiar faces from tma (and maybe tmp?????). HOWEVER jane prentiss is only just occuring, we’re in season 1, jon is still a slightly bitchy and unsettling, if totally normal and human, boy. big timeline changes will be tagged accordingly.

i’ve got a bunch of stuff queued up so if you’re wondering where your ask is, the answer is ‘probably there’s. also, my inbox is glitchy and fucked up and a few of my asks are just. getting eaten. so im sorry if i miss yours

no more asks about employment will be answered lads. just check the website.

tags:

#magposting -> in-universe stuff

#ooc -> your beloved anonymous author speaks

#be advised -> this post contains a Warning!!

#answering asks -> when asks get answered

#corpo content -> the regular everyday workings of the institute

#staff only -> all visitors, please disregard

#the…correspondence -> emails, bulletin boards, letters, etc etc

#public relations -> concerning murphy, alan, sara, and bill

#timeline -> adhering to canon? in my tumblr askblog? it’s more likely than you think!!

#magposting #first post #the magnus institute #tma #magpod #rusty quill #tmagpod #tmagp #tmp #the magnus protocol #the magnus archives

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choicesficwriterscreations · 6 months

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CFWC Holidays 2023

If you're like us, you can't believe that it's this time of year already!

Our 2023 Holiday Event will run from November 21, 2023 - January 6, 2024

We want to make this event less structured to allow writers and artists more freedom to create, so while we encourage you to use the prompts provided and hope they'll spur creativity, any seasonal holiday-themed creations can be submitted for this event and contest.

Entrants will be eligible to win one of five prizes this year! 1 - Art commission by @mydemonsdrivealimo 2- Art commission by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd 3- Art commission by @rosefuckinggenius

Details about commission parameters will be provided at a later date.

4 - One participant will be selected as February 2024's Creator of the Month ** 5- One participant will have their MC / OC selected for February 2024's MC / OC of the Month **

Please take a look at the rules for the event, including prize eligibility, below the break.

PROMPTS

Rules for participation:

Any new fic or artwork with a seasonal holiday theme can be submitted. You can use one of the prompts for inspiration, but they aren't required.

If you use one of our prompts, please tell us which one(s) in your author's notes.

Fics of any length can be submitted for the event, but to be eligible for a prize, they must be at least 500 words.

Creation must be based on a Pixelberry Choices story or characters.

Your creation can be cross-tagged with other fandom events. In fact, we encourage you to do this!

To submit your creation to the event, please mention @choicesficwriterscreations on your post and use the tag #cfwc holidays 2023

If your work contains mature or NSFW content, it must be labeled appropriately. Tumblr community labels will be used in our reblog.

Fics must be submitted during the event dates of Tuesday, November 21st through Saturday, January 6th.

All other CFWC rules must be adhered to.

Any work using AI creations will not be accepted.

Each eligible participant can get up to 6 chances to win one of the 5 prizes: 1) You will receive one chance per fic/artwork submitted per week. 2) You can only earn one entry per week (Sunday through Saturday). If you submit two creations in the same week, you will only be given one chance. So spread those creations out!

Prize Eligibility:

A raffle for all five prizes will take place no later than Monday, January 8, 2024. To have your name included in the raffle for prizes, you must:

Submit a fic or artwork that meets the rules of the contest as described above.

You must be following @choicesficwriterscreations

You must follow all other CFWC rules

While everyone is encouraged to participate in this event, the following creators will not be eligible to win art commissions. However, they will be eligible for the February 2024 Creator of the Month and MC / OC of the Month:

CFWC Moderators or Administrators

Anyone who has won a commission from CFWC during the 6 months preceding the raffle date, January 8, 2024.

Please note: Anyone who wins an art commission must share the artwork so it can be shared on our Winner's Gallery.

If you have any questions about this event, please send us an ask or contact @jerzwriter or @cfwcmod-lucy.

#playchoices #choices stories you play #choices fic writers creations #cfwc holidays 2023 #blades of light and shadow #crimes of passion #it lives anthology #open heart #the royal romance #choices fanfic #choices fanart #writing prompts #art propmpts

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sambuckylibrary · 3 months

Text

SamBucky Valentine's Day Bingo 2024!

The @sambuckylibrary will be holding a two-prong Valentine's Day bingo event!

This event is not just for the creators, but for the commenters. You may either fill your bingo card by creating for the event, or fill your bingo card by commenting on your favorite SamBucky pieces.

The event will start on February 1st and run until February 29th. During that time, we will be reblogging and sharing the work you guys create here on our blog as well as any comments you post about.

If you're a creator, can post fanfiction, art, moodboards, podfics, edits, fanfic lists, etc. If you're a commenter, post about the piece you commented on.

It’ll be a low-stakes event. No need to sign up. Just remember to tag @sambuckylibrary in your post for each fill, and we will be tracking #sbvday2024 for reblogs.

If you are posting on AO3, please add it to the SamBucky Valentine's Day Bingo 2024 Collection.

The Bingo Cards are:

FAQ

What is this?

It’s a SamBucky bingo event.

Is there any pressure?

No pressure at all. Fill one prompt. Fill all the prompts on every bingo card. Do however many you please. The only thing we ask is mark your comment fills on a commenter bingo card and mark your creator fills on a creator bingo card.

Can I fill more than one prompt with one piece of art/one fic?

Yes! You can fill one prompt with one piece of art or fic. You can try to fill all nine prompts on the card at once with one piece of art or fic. If you can fill every single prompt from every single bingo card in one fill, that’d be wild but it’s okay by the rules. You can do any number in between.

Are there any prizes for making anything for this event?

Just the satisfaction that you made something cool.

Is it just SamBucky?

Yes please, just SamBucky. There can be side ships, but the main ship should be SamBucky.

How long will this event run?

It will run from February 1st and run until February 29th.

I heard there are badges I can use for each fill?

There are! Here they are:

Bingo Card #1:

Bingo Card #2:

RULES AND GUIDELINES

What are the guidelines for the bingo?

I will be borrowing some of this from the MYSU Valentine’s Day Bingo 2022 Guidelines, since they were fantastic.

For Everyone:

1. Remember to @sambuckylibrary in the post as well as #sbvday2024.

2. Please also tag the square you’re filling (for instance, if the square is “Mutual Pining”, use “#mutual pining” as one of your tags when posting about it on Tumblr).

3. If you’re uploading to AO3, please:

a ) Say somewhere which prompt you’re filling.

b ) Add it to SamBucky Valentine's Day Bingo 2024 Collection (SamBucky_Valentines_Day_Bingo_2024).

For Artists:

1. Create at least one piece of new art that can’t have been posted anywhere else before this.

2. All visual art forms are welcome:

a ) Gifsets, at least 3 gifs.

b ) Aesthetic boards or moodboards, at least 4 images each.

c ) Drawing/painting, that is not a sketch.

d) Fan video.

e) Graphics edit.

For Authors:

1. At least 500 words.

2. Posted on Tumblr or AO3.

3. Can be part of a series, but should work as a standalone.

For Podficcers:

1. The podfic should at least be 5 minutes long.

2. It should be posted on either Tumblr or AO3.

3. The podfic can be of a fic made for the event, a fic not made for the event while still adhering to the prompt, or a notfic.

For Fic Rec Lists:

1. You must have at least five fics or podfics on the rec list.

2. Make sure to give brief descriptions of the fics or podfics as well as their rating and wordcount.

For Commenters:

1. Any amount of comment counts, from a heart emoji ("❤️") to an essay.

2. We would rather this be about what makes you happy and joyful about reading than any scathing critiques.

Things to be mindful of when creating:

For Sam

Avoid framing Sam only as a caretaker or emotional support for Bucky. Be mindful of Sam acting angry or aggressive in an out-of-character way and falling into the angry/sassy Black man trope (check out the MCU source material to help with character traits).

Avoid decentering Sam as a main character and refrain from focusing entirely on Bucky.

In art: avoid whitewashing Sam’s skin and research drawing Black characters.

General disclaimer: Race affects every aspect of his life, including interacting with police/government and the white structures of the world when it comes to performing his duties as Cap and simply being a Black man that lives in the U.S.

For Bucky

Avoid phrasing “flesh/normal/human hand” to refer to the contrast between his prosthetic arm and his right arm. The phrasing is ableist. You can simply refer to his prosthesis when relevant, otherwise use “right/left arm/hand”.

For more information, please check out this document suggested by @ninesdb on how to write Bucky as an amputee. @ninesdb is also open to questions if you have any queries not answered by the google doc.

Specific Tags:

Avoid tags in AO3 like “Sam Wilson is a Gift”, “Sam Wilson is a Saint”, and “Bucky Needs a Hug”.

Have fun and we look forward to your SamBucky Valentine's Bingo fics!

- The Mods

#sbvday2024 #sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky fanfiction #sambucky art #sambucky edit #sambucky moodboard #sambucky valentine's day event #mod: thatmexisaurusrex

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plzfeedmebread · 1 year

Text

Revenant - Chapter 1

word count: 4392

Pairing: Colonel Miles Quaritch x Female! Wife! Reader Warnings/Tags: None

Chapter Summary: You discuss the mission a bit more in depth, and visit someone very important to you.

[Masterlist] - [Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

In Tenebra Fidemus - In darkness we trust. In Luce Vigemus - In light we thrive.

---

“Do you have any questions, [Y/N]?” James throws the last file into the fire. He assures you information will be clearer and more readily available once you touch down moon side.

“What of communication? How long is the delay to reach Earth?”

“Ah. You’ll be pleased to know that the Superluminal Communications used by the RDA allow for instantaneous interstellar communication between worlds. And naturally, we have set up our own private networks.”

Your eyes widen slightly at this. You had thought communication took as long as the commute; 6 years. You are happy to be wrong.

“There is a drawback, however, in that you can only send three bits of information per hour, and at the cost of $7,500 per bit. So do keep it as concise as possible, won’t you? And only when necessary.”

“Of course, James. Who shall be my contact on world? What of supplies? Gear?”

“Your on-world Handler shall be a woman by the name of Paz Socorro; a pilot with SecOps. She will be responsible for meeting any and all of your needs. Now in regards to your cover…”

James retrieves a thin black folder from his desk, handing it to you.

“You have two options. One – you will arrive as a Magistrate of the Interplanetary Commerce Administration. It is by their hand that the RDA has a monopoly on Pandora and the export of her resources. You will be there to oversee that the RDA adheres to the strict rules set by the ICA, less their monopoly be revoked. You will be given complete authority over the entire base in this instance; thus you shall be able to move about unhindered. We will also assign Miss Socorro as your personal pilot for the duration of your stay. The downside here is that, by being in such a position of authority, you will have eyes on you constantly. You may also encounter resistance from some personnel in both SciOps and SecOps.”

You nod quietly as he explains further.

“Two – you will be a bioengineer, sent at the behest of the RDA to work alongside Grace’s team. You will be researching ways to utilise the planets flora and fauna to combat disease, prolong human life, perhaps chemical warfare if you feel so inclined. We will forge the necessary scholarly documents as required. In this position, you will be far more inconspicuous; just another member of the SciOps team. However your interactions with Miss Socorro will be lessened, as we cannot guarantee she will always be your designated pilot in the field.”

You nod, crossing your arms as you consider the two options.

“What would you suggest, James?”

“Honestly? Option one. I believe it will make your life easier. No one will question your decisions, and even if they perhaps did, you may simply ask them under who’s authority do they operate. Anything you do, can be under the guise of the ICA’s interests, and never will you have to explain your reasonings. Conversely, you may use your position as a bioengineer to gain access to invaluable research on deadly fauna and how it could be used to eliminate your target. Either way worry not; you needn’t give your answer just yet. You have until tomorrow night to come up with the decision.”

“Tomorrow evening. A shuttle will collect you from your apartment at 2300 hours.”

‘That soon?!’ That left you barely any time at all to tie up any loose ends here on Earth. Without any true way to estimate the length of time you’d spend away, you wanted to make sure you left nothing behind undone.

“Time is of the essence my dear. Here, some light reading for you before your long slumber.” He hands you a book detailing the Na’vi language; aptly named the same.

“It’ll be lonely without you here…Try and come back in one piece won’t you? In Tenebra Fidemus.” He half bows with a hand flat on his heart.

“In Luce Vigemus.” You mimic his gesture. “Thank you James, for all you have done for me and mine. I will not disappoint.”

“I know...Good luck, [Y/N], and stay safe.” He places a firm hand on your shoulders, and you look up. Your eyes meet piercing silver. You commit his face to memory; the thick grey mop of hair he keeps styled back, the wrinkles strewn on his face, the crookedness of his mouth and the crease in his eyes when he smiles. Time has been unrelenting, aging him like fine wine.

He is old, you realise, and you suddenly ponder if he’ll be there to greet you upon your return. A round trip would be over a decade, and that’s without factoring in time spent planet side. The realisation sits heavy on your heart, for you now are certain this is perhaps the last time you shall see your father figure. Although he was the one to pull you into his dark world of blood and shadow, he still did more for you than your birth parents ever did.

You jump at him, wrapping your arms around his mid, burying your face into his chest. By sheer force of will you do not cry, but your shoulders shake still.

Words remain unspoken, unneeded, as he wraps his arms around you in turn. He knows precisely what you’re thinking. He holds you for a moment not yet long enough.

“Go. Before I try and change your mind.” He gently pushes you from him. You take his hand, squeezing the back of it to your cheek. Your eyes meet once more, and with a final determined nod, you turn and briskly walk out of the suite.

You don’t look back.

---

Descension was no less easier.

Your new mission weighs heavily upon your mind. You have faced dangers untold and hardships unnumbered in your pursuit of betterment. But to be pulled nearly 4 and a half light years away? Unthinkable. Inconsiderable.

But of course you had agreed; in actuality, there was little choice to be made. Denying would look poorly upon both you and your handler for a start, and you were not about to tarnish the reputation of the man that essentially raised you. More importantly, you thought of your dear brother, Tom.

As smart as he was, he was not built for combat. He was decidedly the smarter twin. Academically gifted , the man was inundated with PhD honours. He deserved the safety of his books, the certainty of walls and structure. What kind of sister would you be then, if you let his gentle soul venture into these uncharted wilds, leaving him at the mercy of this xenosanctuary?

Thus your choice was clear; you must accept the contract. You gave yourself a secondary mission then; eliminate all who would threaten the safety of your brother. From the lowest grunt, to The Director themself; no one would be spared your golden stiletto blades.

Family above all else.

---

A shuttle awaits you as you exit the premises after a quick shower and wardrobe change. You inform the AI of your destination, and with monotone acceptance, you’re off into the skies.

A song you don’t recognise plays, but you enjoy the feeling of the dark bass as it pulses through your bones.

Far off in the distance, thick grey clouds reach up towards an unseen sky. Deep orange cuts through the effervescent neon sea; the remnants of your last mission set ablaze.

You peel your eyes from the scene, dragging your gaze over the city below. Flashing lights, dancing holograms. The people move as one; a single living organism splintering itself into every nook and cranny, invading the dark crevices below.

And somewhere in this hell of concrete spires and minds of metal, your two brothers reside.

---

Tom’s apartment complex resides somewhere in the nicer part of town; if you can even call it that. The shuttle drops you off at a designated landing zone, several floors above where you need to be.

The moment your heel touches down, you’re off in a hurried gait. You become one with the crowd, pirouetting through the sea of warm bodies, avoiding their touch as you weave through. The air is thick, laden with the stench of garbage, street food, and something sickly sweet.

You pay no mind to the AI holos that vie for your attention, their faux voices disappear into the background as you press forward. Advertisements in a language you don’t understand lick at your ears from all directions, drowned only by the sound of the locals around you; drunks arguing with any who look at them wrong, the not so sound of mind and their unintelligible ramblings, users openly abusing on the streets, even the faint moans wafting on the air from dark corners unseen.

You hate this cesspool of debauchery and sin. But time and time again, your brother refuses your offers to live with you. Your apartment is high in the clouds, far away from the lower dregs of society. It would be much safer you insisted, pleaded, but your brother is as stubborn as you are deadly. He doesn’t want to rely on you, wants to be able to stand on his own two feet. An intellectual prodigy, you often wonder if common sense was perhaps lost on him. Never the matter, you had him under constant surveillance. Thanks to your connections, the criminals operating in this sector know the resident of this apartment is off limits – no exceptions.

You arrive to his front door. With your knuckles, you perform a rhythmic set of taps; a secret signal to let him know it was safe to open, and whom to expect. You hear hurried footsteps from inside, a loud thump followed by muffled cursing. There is the distinct sound of things being knocked over, followed by more footsteps, and the fumbling of several locks. The door is wrenched open, and you are greeted with the flushed face of your beloved brother.

“[Y/N]!!!” He exclaims, grabbing you by the hand and pulling you into a hug. You return it with equal enthusiasm.

“Tommy! Sorry, did I come at a bad time? I hope I didn’t wake you.” You step into the apartment, closing the door and reengaging the multitude of locks.

“No not at all! I’ve just been going through some of my notes from my dissertation.” He busies himself with picking up scattered papers and books strewn along the floor; no doubt the result of the scuffling you heard before. You make yourself comfortable on the couch.

“Don’t you already have a PhD?”

“Yeeeeees, but one can never be over prepared! Grace Augustine is a world renowned Xenobotanist and Xenolinguist. I have to cover all my bases if I want to impress her!” Your heart melts and your expression softens when you see the twinkle in his eye, and hear the fire in his voice.

“Tommy – you’ve already impressed her. You start training next year! I’m sure she’s just as excited for you to get there, as you are.”

“Maybe you’re right…” He gives you a shy smile, a small huff of a laugh leaves him as he rubs the back of his head. His expression morphs to confusion though as he gives you a thoughtful look.

“Hey, it is pretty late...What did you come by for? Not that you’re unwelcome or anything! It’s just, you know, later than usual…”

You cover your mouth as you giggle at his fumbling.

“Nothing bad, don’t worry! It’s good news actually!”

Tommy ceases his cleaning, and comes to sit beside you. He faces you, giving you his undivided attention.

“Soooo you know how I have that government job that I’m under strict contractual obligation to not divulge, under any circumstance, to anyone, ever?”

“You mean the very suspicious career that Jake and I are both convinced is actually you working as a high-class escort for the billionaires that run the world? Yes, please do go on.”

You make an offended gasp, but laugh as you playfully punch him in the arm.

“AAH! No! Stop! I’m sorry! I bruise easily!”

The two of you are in a fit of giggles as you continue to shove each other, which then devolves into the two of you grabbing couch cushions and start wailing on one another.

Tom holds up his hands in surrender, yielding to your superior strength. The conversation resumes once the two of you become calm once more and the laughter dies down.

“As I was saying—I’m being shipped off-world for my next big project.”

“Oh? Which colony are off to? Somewhere in the Zeta quadrant?”

You shake your head. You let him fire off a few more guesses, enjoying the frustrated look slowly developing on his face as he wracks his brain for an answer.

“Try something a little closer to home. Something you might one day be, intimately familiar with, as it were.”

He stares at you, brow furrowed with confusion.

Realisation then hits him, eyes widening.

“Noooooo…”

“Yeeeeees,” there is a tease in the tone of your voice as you nod with a widening smile.

“[Y/N]! Are you serious?! This is amazing!” Without warning he has you trapped in another hug, vigorously swaying side to side.

“I have so many questions! When are you going? What will you be doing? Will we be at the same RDA base? Is the government giving you your own Avatar? Have you been practising the Na’vi language? Have you even started? Would learning it even be beneficial to whatever it is you’re doing there?! What—”

“Tom!” Both of your hands are immediately cradling his head. It shuts him up instantly.

“Breathe bro. You know damn well I can’t answer, ANY of those questions! Ah well, except I’m actually getting flown out tomorrow night…”

“Tomorrow?! That’s so soon…” Tom grabs your hands in his, slowly lowering them to his lap. His eyes are cast downward. You can see his pupils shifting rapidly as his mind races with unknown thoughts.

Quickly his on his feet, releasing your hands. He sprints off into his room without a word. You call after him.

“Tom…?”

“One sec!”

After a few minutes, he’s right back in front of you, cradling a small black box.

“I was gonna wait till your birthday to give this to you—but seeing as I won’t see you for a few years…” He holds the box out to you.

The material is soft velvet, smooth under your skin. You let out a faint gasp when your eyes see the contents within.

A small pendant of silver, fashioned into the shape of a rose, with a ruby fastened into the centre; tied to a thin silver chain.

“Tom, it’s beautiful.”

“You’re welcome.” He gives you a self-assured smile, clearly quite pleased with himself. You turn around and he helps fasten it around your neck. It sits comfortably just below your clavicle.

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to do this.”

“I know…But I wanted to give you something special, now that I can afford to. It’s made of platinum by the way, so it’s nice and durable.” You wordlessly nod, putting the small black box into your jacket pocket. Tom grabs both your hands in his, holding them up in the space between you two.

“…Listen. You always took good care of Jake and I, ever since…Well you’ve acted not only as our big sister, but also filled the shoes of mom and dad. And you know what? I’m happy it was you there, and not them. Seeing you work hard, coming home at ridiculous hours, but still finding time to spend with us? It must’ve been hard, having to grow up so fast…But you were always smiling—Hell I don’t remember you ever complaining, even when we were being brats for no reason…You’re one of, if not, the strongest person I know.”

There comes a painful throb in your chest, the soft silk of his words wraps itself around you, squeezing. Your eyes glisten with the promise of tears, but you hold steadfast to your emotions.

“Look, all I’m trying to say is, thank you. Thank you, for taking care of me. Without you, I wouldn't have gotten all those scholarships, wouldn’t have had the drive to get my PhDs, and probably wouldn’t be sitting in front of you right now. So, my beloved big sister [Y/N], thank you for being my family. I love you.”

And the dam breaks.

You crash into him, hugging him with all your might. Tears flow freely down your face as you wail uncontrollably. Hearing him say those things, suddenly makes everything you have done, everything you have sacrificed, worth it all. There is an almost indescribable feeling that washes over and through you. It brings about a peace you hadn’t known you needed. It was a reassurance that your brother was going to be okay—his future was secure, thanks you both yours and his efforts; all in spite of the rough start you had in life.

“TOOOOOM!!! IT’S OKAY!!! I’D DO IT ALL AGAIN FOR YOU GUYS!!! I LOVE YOU TOOOOO!!!” You bawl out, still crying.

Tom laughs as he pats your back.

---

“Here, just TAKE it. It’ll give me peace of mind!” You hold out your spare apartment keycard. He sighs at your antics.

Some time after you had finally calmed down, you brought up the idea that he should live in your apartment while you are away; look after the place as it were. He wouldn’t have to pay rent, as that was covered by your job, and it would be in a safer neighbourhood. Still he fights you on this. You pout at him, puffing your cheeks.

“You owe me for making me cry!”

“Oh my GOD fine! Give it here!” He grabs the card, and immediately you face turns to a victorious smile.

“Good. I’ll be gone by tomorrow, so you can start moving your stuff in the day after.”

Tom nods but stifles a yawn at the same time. You cast a glance at the clock on the wall, realising the time.

“I should probably head off then, it’s getting rather late, and you clearly need your beauty sleep.”

He swats your arm playfully, and calls you something in a language you don’t recognise as the two of you make your way to the door.

“What did you just call me?”

“Ha! It’s Na’vi for ‘moron’. Even if you don’t need to learn the language for your job, I suggest you do. Because even if we’re not at the same base, you better believe I’m going to annoy you every chance I get! Even if it has to be over comms.”

You roll your eyes at him as you undo the various locks. With the door open, you turn to your brother once more. You pull him into one final hug. This time the two of you remain quiet as you embrace.

Your stomach flips, an uncomfortableness settles deep within. This goodbye feels far too final, and you do not like that.

Hesitantly do you remove yourself from his embrace, taking a small step back and out into the cold.

“I’d say goodbye, but that doesn’t feel right. So, I’ll see you later?”

He gives you a confident smile.

“Yeah…See ya later [Y/N]. Have a safe trip home. And a safe journey too. Keep Pandora warm for me.”

With a tiny wave, you turn and slowly start the ascent to the shuttle bay. Before you disappear behind the next flight of stairs, you turn to meet his gaze once more. The two of you share one final wave and an exchange of smiles.

He knows you won’t move first, and so you watch him disappear safely behind his apartment door.

---

The penthouse is dark when you arrive. You remove your shoes, leaving them in the entryway. Your hands glide over the walls as you meander into the living room, collapsing on the couch.

You lay there for a few moments, idly playing with the pedant on your chest. You can feel sleep tugging at the recesses of your mind, threatening to take you in a moments notice. With a grunt you sit yourself up. You know you have to call Jake now; you’ll be far too busy tomorrow.

You heart feels heavy in your chest as you think of him. He was deployed into active service in Venezuela a few months back, and contact with him is few and far between. The odds of him picking up are unlikely, but you attempt to establish a connection anyway.

It rings and rings, but there is no answer. The AI offers for you to record a video message.

You sigh in defeat, saddened that you would not be able to speak with him before you leave. For you it would feel like days, maybe weeks till you spoke with him next. But for him, he’d have to wait 6 years before he hears from you again. Guilt gnaws away at you, but the situation is out of your hands. Despite your pleas, he was insistent on joining the marines. He was more adamant than ever once he was accepted and started their rigorous training.

Often he would call you all hours of the night, once he retired with his fellow recruits to their bunkers. And even though he looked battered and bruised, his smile was toothy and genuine. The comradery of his fellows made known as they always invaded his personal space when he was chatting with you.

“Yooo Sully!!! Aye, bro! Is that your missus?!” The face of a stranger pushes against Jake’s as they try and get a better look at you on the comm pad in his hands.

“No you dick—that’s my sister! Urgh, [Y/N] this is Waitara. Waitara, this [Y/N] my SISTER.” You hide your mouth behind your hand as you let out a soft giggle.

“Hiiii Waitara. I hope you guys are taking good care of my baby brother?”

“Ayyyye, I promise, we’re taking good care of this one!” He puts one arm around Jake, giving him a noogie in the process. You once again laugh at your brother’s annoyed reaction as he tries to swat the other man away.

“Well then you have my deepest thanks Waitara.”

“Aww Miss! You can just call me Matiu, means ‘Gift of God’—”

“OKAY Romeo that’s enough! Stop trying to flirt with my sister!” Jake interrupts Matiu with a hard shove to the side. You can hear him laughing at Jake’s expense off camera. You faintly hear him call out to the others, Jake rolling his eyes, and before you know it, you’re being introduced to the others; much to Jake’s annoyance.

You on the other hand are all smiles and laughter as they inundate you with embarrassing stories of Jake, plus variations of “Miss Sully! Look what I can do!”

You smile at the memory, but remind yourself you need to record this now lest you fall asleep.

You hit the button to begin the recording, and your image appears on the screen.

You give an enthusiastic wave to the camera and a wide smile.

“Hi Jake! How are you doing? I hope everything is uhh, as good as it can be…” Your smile falters when you realise the man is in active duty, not training. He could very well be on the battlefield right now, under enemy fire. You bite your lip to stop yourself from over-thinking. Unlike Tom, Jake was always a fighter. Where Tom excelled academically, Jake excelled physically. His confidence was easily backed by the strength of his heart, and the strength of his fist. You shake your head and continue.

“Urgh sorry. I know you’re on active duty right now and it probably sucks…But I have some good news! Uhh, though whether you think it’s good remains to be seen…Anyway! You know my job, government, classified, NDA yadda yadda. Well! I have been given a big new assignment to take on…And for it, they’re going to be shipping me off-world! It’s gonna take me 6 years to get there cuz it's about four and a half light years away…I was hoping to speak with you before I leave, but I guess the universe has other plans huh? I’d tell you where, but, ya know. NDA and all that…”

Unfortunately you couldn’t really speak of where you going, nor elude to what you were doing. Tom was also under restrictions in regards to his future work with the Avatar Program. The only reason he spoke of it to you was, one, you are his big sister and he was always going to spill the beans to you, risks be damned. But two, your ‘government job’ meant you were well entitled to be privy to such information. At least that’s how you spun it to him.

“Oh! I just came back from seeing Tom, look what he gave me, isn’t it pretty?” You lean in closer to the camera, showing off the pendant.

“Said it was for my upcoming birthday…” You go quiet again, but only for moment.

“Listen Jake. I don’t know how often, if at all, I’ll be able to get in contact with you once I touch down. It’s a pretty remote place, and the work I’m doing…Look I don’t want you to feel like I’m abandoning you here on Earth while I go, chasing the stars or whatever. Everything I do, I do for you and Tommy. I love you guys, so, SO much. You’re my precious baby brother, and there isn’t anything in the entire God damn galaxy I wouldn’t do for you. I hope you know that… I love you Jake. Please stay safe out there. Come back to me in one piece? Love you, and I’ll see you later…”

You hit stop on the recording, sending it in one go.

There is so much more you want to say, so much more you feel you should say. But your emotions are running high, and you feel so utterly drained from everything that has happened, compounded with your worries for the future.

With conscious effort you drag yourself to the bedroom, changing into you usual sleep attire.

You move to throw yourself onto the bed.

You’re asleep before your head even hits the pillow.

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[Masterlist] - [Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

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Author's Notes: And so the adventure begins. Thank you to @mechformers for her constant support and feedback! <3 Apologies for grammatical errors, hope you all enjoy this first step.

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Fic Tag List: @sofiebstar @winxschester @yhern05 @an0th3rsss @gamerxpfighter @to-earth-from-the-sun @exulqnsisxthoughts @sweetirilly @wolfgirl497 @thebeckyjolene @goddesslilithmoriarty @the-anjos @bitchykittenconnoisseur

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Perma Tag List: [Interactive Post] alternatively reply below if you want to be tagged just for the story

@mechformers @wwebaby657 @zomerlovesme @girlnred @raving-raven-writing @meeeeep5 @imavaduh @mxn14 @ashy-kit @manymaria111 @johoevi @iamwh0iam @jadesmyname @lvangel98 @watertastesnice1 @belos-simp69 @wren-solos @pandoragalora @strbyallycow @so-this-is-a-thing-noww @grimistangel @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @ducks118 @graysonmalik2550 @p9scal @ohshititsfenharel @ourmurdermessiah @cocoaflare @sarcasticrandy @liyahsocorro

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hannibal-abo · 2 years

Text

Script

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/QlxVs2K

by SaraStarchild

Will Graham speaks from a script, adopting words and phrases to create his lines. One day, though, after a particularly disturbing crime scene, Will loses time, winding up in Hannibal's office completely overwhelmed, unable to speak for the first time in a long while.

He isn't used to this.

Words: 1954, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Hannibal (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Jack Crawford, Alana Bloom, Beverly Katz

Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Jack Crawford & Will Graham, Alana Bloom & Will Graham, Will Graham & Beverly Katz

Additional Tags: Autistic Will Graham, Episode: s01e09 Trou Normand, Stimming, internalized ableism, Self-Hatred, Someone Help Will Graham, Canon Compliant, i think, also, Jack Alana and Beverly are all mentioned, They don't have real speaking lines, Masking, unmasking, AO3 really needs to suggest more disabled/autism vocab for their tags, Will's autistic but I don't say it outright in the fic, One Shot

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/QlxVs2K

#ao3feed #fanfic #Hannibal #Hannibal TV #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #adhere to author tags

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olderthannetfic · 7 months

Note

The ace asks about how asexuality and being aromantic is increasingly seen to mean "has sex and romance like a normal person" reminds me of the time I accidentally deeply angered an author. She had the tag 'asexual character' in her fic's tags, but since it's a 300k word long fic involving a lot of characters, it wasn't clear who that referred to right away. I left long comments on each chapter, talking about what I liked, sections that hit really hard, lines that I loved, etc., as I always do. (I like to ramble IRL and I can't turn it off even online.) At the halfway point of the fanfic, during a long comment about the OCs that helped flesh out the oft-mentioned but barely explored organizations and companies in the world of canon, I said that I hoped This One Specific OC or That Other Specific OC would turn out to be the asexual character, as I saw in them echoes of myself and a friend of mine (we're both ace).

She had never responded to a comment of mine before, but she did for that one... to yell at me about how the main character OC was aroace, actually. This was apparently supposed to be obvious since the word ace was used in the tie-in prequel fic, which I had held off on reading because the author's note mentioned it would have spoilers if you hadn't read the whole main fic. The character in question has a relationship not remotely different from any of the cishetallo or cisqueerallo relationships presented in the text. She develops a snarky sarcastic friendship with someone she finds visually beautiful and impossible to look away from, gets to know him a little, watches movies with him, they get into urban fantasy danger which they help each other through, they fuck and do so extremely regularly, and she has past exes who she also did all of this with.

And I was, apparently, a bigot with internalized aphobia and negative attitudes towards women who have sex because I didn't look at her and go, "Ah, yes, an aroace!" She informed me I was forcing unrealistic stereotypes no one adhered to onto ace people by thinking aces had to be a certain way and by refusing to see that

Her angry reply was so long it took three AO3 comments to send to me, and it didn't really make me convinced I'd misread the situation. It just made me convinced this wasn't an author I wanted to read more fic from, because 1. this is a lot of anger, holy crap and 2., I really think this is an excusable mistake on my part. I saw no signs this character was in any way different from any other couple in the fic beyond that she and her love interest didn't get to know each other's backstories as much and instead bonded more through experiences they shared, which in my opinion is not something that can be linked to any sexuality or lack thereof.

I feel like there's a moral in here. Like, authors, as a fellow author, I get that it sucks when someone else doesn't see the characters like you do, or misses something you thought was clear, etc. I get that it's frustrating. But don't rip into someone who's been gushing about every chapter of your fic individually just because they didn't catch one thing. I failed to realize one character's sexuality. That's not the same as hating you, the character or the writing.

Mostly I remember that incident as the day I stopped asking questions in my long comments. A sea of gushing does not make up for a mistake and the best way not to make those is to not ask if a tag relates to a character or line.

Oof. I mean, sure, there's a diversity of experience. Everything is a spectrum. Yada yadda. But if two labels become entirely indistinguishable, what's the point of even having them, much less getting mad when people can't spot the difference?

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youthroad · 19 days

Text

Commissión

How naive I was to believe that people change. After all, last time it was very clear that the man was going to devalue me. So I thought: Well, okay, I'll give it another chance, especially since I need money and other things. You also share that you've been taking antidepressants, and then this person pokes me with this: Maybe you should take more antidepressants, and you're so aggressive. Mmm, great. This is the last commission with this person. And I will never again step on my own feelings, if I don't like working with a person, I won't do it. I don't understand, he paid pennies for art, he could at least show respect to the author. But no, you have to vent your passive aggression. Three versions of art for 1150 Russian rubles. I did even above the norm, there should have been a line and fill. The terms of reference was given and I adhered to it, but in the end the customer forgot what he needs to! HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE? More constant revisions! EDITS, EDITS, EDITS, EDITS, EDITS. I'M SO PISSED OFF! But at least the work came out good, a great addition to the portfolio! Also thanks for the tag @lucien-lachance …. I'm sorry I haven't been able to.

#art #digital art #my art #mlp commission #mlp oc #mlp g4 #mlp art

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arminsumi · 9 months

Text

📄 : RULES

↺ HOME / REQUEST RULES

Please read this post thoroughly before interacting with this blog.

I expect everyone who interacts with my page to have read these rules and guidelines. Make sure you understand everything. If you have questions or concerns, message my inbox.

I write erotica/nsfw sometimes, so please do not interact/read it if you are under the age of 18.

17+ blogs are blocked from interacting with my nsfw content too. You must be 18÷

IMPORTANT

— If you suspect that my work has been plagiarized or copied or reposted, please contact me about it as soon as possible

— I write fiction / fanfiction : the ideas/stories I express are fictional and do not reflect my personal interests/opinions, real-life events, etc... nor do I condone immoral ideas/acts e.g. infidelity.

— © arminsumi : I don't allow the copying/plagiarizing/reposting/translation (etc) of my works. Additionally, do not promote me on other platforms/socials or repost my work on anything outside of Tumblr.

— This blog will not be involved with, nor comment on, any political/social or any related topics and issues. For my own reasons, I do not debate or express my political/social opinions online, so kindly respect this.

— I WILL NOT TOLERATE bullying, racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, albeism, etc

— Please be forewarned that I read and write erotica (smut); avoid/do not engage with this content (whether it be posts and/or reblogs from other authors) if you are under 18

— Always read the warnings/contents before reading my works. kindly let me know if additional warnings/tags are required thank you

— The rights to the characters and original stories I've written about go to their respective authors {H. Isayama (Attack On Titan), miHoYo/hoYoverse (Genshin Impact), T. Fujimoto (Chainsaw Man), G. Akutami (Jujutsu Kaisen)}. My work is original fanfiction based on what these authors have created/the characters they have created in their stories.

— Minors are prohibited from reading/interacting with/requesting NSFW/erotica/18+ content. I expect you to read and adhere to the forewarnings on my 18+ posts. You are responsible for your own safety online; do not ignore these warnings as they are in place for a reason. Consume content online responsibly.

— Please respect my privacy. I prefer not to answer personal questions.

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INBOX : MESSAGING & REQUESTING

Requests are closed.

— Please do not spam my inbox, not with requests nor with messages

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— Please do not make requests when requests are not open. If you're unsure, message to ask if they are open or closed and I will confirm for you.

(the following is only relevant if requests are open)

— Please don't write long requests (approx. one small paragraph)

— If you have multiple ideas, do not put them all into one submission, put them into separate submissions so I can work on one at a time.

— Do not request anything involving SA, eating disorders, graphic violence, abuse, etc

EROTICA (SMUT/18+) RULES

— BANNED; underaged chars, anything depraved/weird, monster s*x (excluding supernaturals), noncon, cnc, DD/LG, SA, drugs, violence, watersports/scat

— I discourage persons under the age of 18 from making anonymous smut requests, for both your own safety online and mine. Again, please be responsible online.

— I strictly do not write nsfw for characters who are canonically underage

ADDITIONAL NOTES & DISCLAIMERS

— I'm not obliged to write requests, they are not commissions. I may cancel requests for varying reasons.

— Do not self-promote/advertise your works or other people's works to me

#rules

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ashen-crest · 1 year

Text

self-publishing pros and cons

@earlronove and @antique-symbolism had some interest in this topic, so here I go!

I would love for other indie authors to weigh in as well. (zero pressure, but tagging in case you’re interested in adding insight: @authorlaurawinter @author-a-holmes @natalieironside @maxkirin @spacetimewraithwrites @dnbryn @thebibliosphere @b-a-pigeon and anyone else I’m forgetting right now!)

The pros and cons I’ve noticed so far in my itty bitty time as a self-published author thus far:

Pros:

you have more creative control over not just your writing, but your cover, your illustrations, your formatting, etc.

related to that: if you have a book that isn’t perfectly ‘to market,’ or isn’t following all of today’s Super Hot Tropes, you can still get your book out into the world. You're not dependent on the whims of agents and editors.

you also have more control over your profits/how you get paid, rather than being under a publishing house. in self-pub, you’re choosing the distribution system, the price, when to do sales, etc. (this can also be a con- see below.)

you’re not beholden to the timeline of trad publishing (eg- several years to get the book out)

it’s a cool thing to do! I am proud of the fact that I wrote and self-published a book that otherwise would have just gotten buried under a pile of query letters.

Cons:

re: book content (editing, formatting, cover) - it’s a lot of work to do it yourself. and if you don’t want to do it yourself, it will cost a certain amount of money. (range of cost varies wildly depending on what you want and what your bandwidth is.)

you won’t have a publishing house assisting with marketing, distro, all the business aspects, etc. that will be on you as well. this is something that’s harder to outsource and has a learning curve.

I find marketing & visibility to be the hardest part. that includes writing blurbs, setting up a website, social media, ads, newsletter swaps, etc. It’s really tough to do it all yourself, it doesn’t really end, and can also cost a lot of money.

(the one positive to marketing: you have time to experiment! it’s not like the book has an expiration date. you can continue tweaking your blurbs, covers, ad strategies, website, social media strategies, until you find what works.)

another downside is that I find that the self-pub authors making six figures (so I guess the most ‘traditionally successful’ self-pub authors) often adhere more to current formulas and tropes than even trad authors do. they basically find what works in a specific sub-genre, often romance, and just churn out books that follow precisely what people are looking for there. one person I know literally uses the same outline for every book. now, as a business strategy, it’s clearly working for them. but from a creative perspective? that’s not why I got into self-publishing.

Anyhoo, this is just me blabbering! I hope some of it was helpful!

#self publishing #indie authors #writeblr #writblr

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winterwump · 9 months

Note

Hi may i request gun smut? Maybe the scenario can be like, both of us are Yakuzas and we are in Japan, we hate each other sm however we end up on the same bed 🫦 love your writing <3

Tension - Gun x F!Reader

Author’s Notes: Thanks so much for requesting this Anon. I played it kind of fast and loose with smut. It’s definitely still smutty tho so don’t worry lol. This is a long one too so have fun with that. Sorry it took forever and a goddamned day to get this out, I swear that life hates me lol😝

Content Tags: Teasing, Fingering, and Enemies into Lovers (if you squint)

Word Count: 1.7k

It was the night before the month-long Yakuza summit, and you were beyond miserable. But you didn't start off like that by any means. You were excited about the summit, you got more money, the food was free and endless, and you weren’t expected to talk to anyone aside from the foot soldiers. It's not that you were underpaid, malnourished, or a complete introvert. You just like that the summit made everything easier for everyone regardless of rank, and you happened to be ranked rather high. And even with your ranking, your job had been simplified to ‘Stand still and look menacing. Wait for a fight’. And that was fine by you.

It was until you were informed by the Big Boss himself that there was a change in plans and that you were to closely accompany his son to the provided room and board…and stay with him for the duration of the summit. Now that wouldn’t be a huge problem in itself if the Boss’ son wasn’t well…himself. It’s not that you disliked Gun. Okay, that was a lie, you really couldn’t stand him in all honesty. He was a standoff-ish, money-hungry, sadistic pervert as far as you were concerned, and you spared no expense in telling about himself. But orders are orders, and you were pretty sure that Gun was also miserable with his placement as well.

It felt like you were on autopilot all day on the way to the summit location. The travel for the two of you went smoothly enough, but that was only because you two had an unspoken mutual agreement to not talk the entire way there. Which was mostly adhered to, except for when Gun got a call from Goo - his “friend who isn’t his friend but they do friend things” :

“Heyyy how’s the summit?!” - Rang Goo’s voice as soon as Gun picked up.

“I told you it’s not happening until tomorrow. Do you have a listening problem?” - Gun pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Oh yeaaa…whatever!! So is Y/N really your chaperone for the summit?!” - You tried not to roll your eyes at Goo’s attempt at whispering your name despite being on speaker.

“I’m hanging up now.” - Gun’s voice was heavy with exasperation.

“No wait!! Is she? cuz that’s fucking hilar-” and Gun ended the call with a huff.

And that was that. It was nightfall by the time you two actually made it to the room, and you were beyond ready to sleep. As per your job, you went in first to inspect the room and you weren’t surprised by the luxurious state of it, but you were surprised (if not struck with a wave of annoyance) by the single king-sized bed smack dab in the middle of the room. Your mouth hung open in a comical display of disbelief, but that was cut short by Gun all but pushing you out of the doorway to get in. Ugh…

“Close the door. And don’t give me any shit about the room tonight.” - Came Gun’s voice as he made his way to the dresser, setting his bag down. Of course, it was a designer brand…

“You think I like this setup either?!” - You ask with some bite to your voice as you slammed the door closed. Your annoyance was starting to rear its head.

With his belongings settled, Gun made himself busy with a new cigarette. You could’ve sworn it was his 10th one today…

“Ughh will you put that out? You can smoke in the morning. You need to be well-rested for the summit!” - You say, sauntering towards him with your hand held out. Your motion was something akin to what a teacher does when a student is chewing gum in class. The look he gave you in response said it all…

Yeaaaa that didn’t work out, and one verbal altercation later, the room reeks of ‘high-quality’ cigarettes. You decided to yield and let him smoke himself to sleep because you knew that you’d go to jail if he caught an attitude with you again. You knew that feeling went both ways at least.

Both of you were stalling. You both busied yourself with baths (separately) and once that was over, Gun busied himself with a nighttime skin routine that you didn’t know he had. And you busied yourself with checking all of your weaponry. Both doing everything but getting in that bed. But fuck, both of you were tired.

To your surprise, Gun caved first and got in the bed. Well, it wouldn’t be caving if he did it without acknowledging the awkwardness in the air? Either way, you’re no bitch, you’re not gonna let him just have the bed to himself. So in your spite-fueled pep talk, you plop yourself down on the opposite side of the bed.

“You stay on your side, and I stay on mine. Got it?!” - You said with a venom-laced huff. God, the bed felt like heaven.

Gun let out a pained groan - “Jesus, you got it. Would you ease up though? I’m not going to touch you.”

“You wouldn’t dare, you know better than that.” - Your tone was playful, but still had a spiteful edge.

“I should be saying that to you don’t you think? You can touch me. Wouldn’t want to lose your job, now wouldn’t yo-“

His words were cut off by the swift motion of you pinning him down onto the bed's plush surface. It was not the first time you had him pinned, but doing it sparsely dressed was a first. You wouldn’t let that detail sink, because even though the room was dark, you could tell he had a shit-eating grin.

“I hit a nerve. Cute. Now get off me before we do something we’ll regret” - The grin was still there.

“Something we’ll regret? You wanted something to happen didn’t you?!” - You half-whispered.

“Something like that…”

You had Gun’s lower half trapped between your legs, and your ass rested against his pelvis. Of course, something was bound to happen. So you decided to let it happen. What could go wrong? You leaned down face to face with Gun, grinding yourself down on him:

“Let’s rack up some regrets then”

That was all Gun needed to hear because before you could really register what was happening, it was you who was pinned to the mattress. You couldn’t help but let out a gasp when you felt his tongue travel up the side of your neck. Just his breathing alone was getting you wet and tingly. The heat was already beginning to be too much.

“Already wet for me?” - Such an obvious question, but it was one meant to get you even more flustered.

Deciding that you wouldn’t let him get the best of you, for now at least, you responded with a kiss. A fervent and passionate kiss. One that you hoped would shut Gun up, but you were wrong:

“I’ll take that as a yes” - He said in between kisses.

Despite Gun’s few words, they were getting you wetter and wetter. You didn’t respond verbally - but Gun knew how much he was affecting you, and he felt it too. The grinding of bodies would soon not be enough for either of you so you weren't too surprised when Gun hoisted both your legs up in a hurried manner, taking your panties off along with that motion.

The room was so dark that parts of Gun’s face were obscured, but you wanted him to look at you, so badly. It was killing you not knowing what his expression was, so when he leaned down to whisper in your ear:

“I’m about to get you off.” - You knew what that meant. How could you not?

A grin was plastered on your face as he brought his hand between your legs, you hoped that the teasing wouldn't go for too long, you were too wound up. But you couldn’t help but feel that his teasing was not without reason, but all you could do is trust that he knew how much you wanted to let go of the tension that was coiled so tightly inside of you

After properly getting his fingers lubricated from your generous flow of liquids, Gun slides two fingers inside of you. The intrusion was a welcome one and thus didn’t cause any pain, it instead left you with waves of pleasure as he began massaging your inner walls at a languid pace. You could feel your breath quickening and your heart beginning to race. You wanted Gun. For the first time, you felt like you could actually tolerate - no, like him. But that could just be your pussy talking. You wouldn’t know…

His fingers began moving at a faster pace inside of you the feeling left you spasming inside and out. With every one of his movements, the pressure kept building, and Gun was taking far too much pleasure in your unravelling. You bit your lower lip and let your head hang down as you focused on the feeling. You started moaning a little and, unable to control yourself, you let out a soft whimper. He was definitely playing with you right now - he was always playing with you and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

You began moaning louder and louder. Your body began to shake as your hips rocked and a rush of wetness began to soak the sheets below you, as well as Gun’s hand and forearm. You never knew you could squirt, but here you are. He was manipulating your pleasure and, for once, you didn’t mind at all.

“Ah!” - You felt your body explode and, within a few seconds, you were coming hard. As your orgasm took over, you let out a rather loud sobbing breath. Your body was still shaking and you found yourself not caring if Gun, or anyone for that matter, heard cry out in ecstasy. But when your orgasm finally lulled and your head stopped swimming, you heard yourself whine at the newfound emptiness you were feeling.

Gun had taken his fingers out, and you were crushed. But seemed as if he was elated if not extremely amused by the show you put on for him. In an attempt to soothe your growing concern, Gun simply encapsulated you in his arms. You never thought you would be in this position, but damn did it feel nice.

“We got the rest of the month to keep racking up regrets, Y/N” - He whispered - “Next time it won’t be my fingers”.

Hope y’all enjoyed this one. BYE!!!

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