#but i hope you like this nonnie!!!!

[dietbridgetjones]

dictionary definition of down bad

[bloodibambiidoll]

ok so hear me out. rafe and weird!girl get into an argument and rafe calls her weird or says something about her being normal for once and my girl gets all upset as she should.

Nonnie, are you in my walls? I’m very much having a day like this. This is heavily based on the day I had today and writing it made me feel sm better. Slight angst. Fluff. 1.8K words. NO MINORS!! (Note: weird!girl is autistic coded bc I am autistic)

You were extremely overwhelmed. It feels like every single thing is out to get you today. Before you and Rafe left to go on your first grocery shopping trip since you moved in together you got into a bit of a disagreement over the list. You are extremely picky. You have set safe foods that you like to stick to and you don’t like to stray from them. But Rafe on the other hand would eat almost anything. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that you wanted to live off of freezer waffles and chicken nuggets when he hired a professional chef for the two of you.

“Baby, why would I buy you the cheap freezer shit when I can have it made from scratch all fancy n shit?” It wasn’t about the price, you know that. It was just that Rafe wanted you to have the best of everything he could possibly give you and sometimes you just wanted the simpler things. Something that he’s still trying to understand.

“It’s just… I don’t want that. I want the ones from the store. That I always get. The ones I like.” Your lips were formed into a pout as you looked down at your lap and played with the rings on your fingers.

“Aight, Bats, if that’s what you want.” He shrugged and kissed your forehead before leaving you to finish getting ready. It was what you wanted. But you could tell it wasn’t what he wanted so you felt bad. You didn't want to be an inconvenience.

So after that you got in your head that you were too much for him. You spent the entire card ride to the grocery store thinking about how a normal girl wouldn’t want specific foods. A normal girl would be more than happy to have a personal chef make them anything and everything they wanted. A normal girl would be able to go to those fancy restaurants Rafe likes because she’d actually like anything on the menu. He tried to take you once and you spent the entire meal picking at your plate of chicken and veggies, so he never tried again settling to go places that had things you actually liked.

Then at the store you were so in your head that if you hadn’t made a list you probably wouldn’t have gotten a single thing you wanted. You couldn’t stop feeling like you were a burden to him because you needed him to buy you an entirely different grocery list from his own. You kept trying to put things back. Or tell him you didn’t need things that you did, in fact, need. You could tell Rafe was getting frustrated with you and it only made you want to shut down even more.

It didn’t help that the grocery store was easily one of your least favorite places. The lighting was awful. There were always so many people everywhere not looking where they’re going. The freezer section was always so cold that you spent that entire section of the shopping trip practically shaking. It was so goddamn loud. People talking. Kids crying. The squeaking of the old grocery cart wheels. So going there when you were already feeling overwhelmed was a recipe for disaster.

You fully lost it when you were checking out. The cart was extremely disorganized because you were too checked out to keep it in order the entire trip. The store you were at had it so you bagged your own groceries so the fact that the cart was a complete disaster made bagging them incredibly difficult. You were struggling to keep up with the cashier and also bag the groceries efficiently. He kept pushing the conveyor belt button, rolling the groceries that you haven’t bagged yet to pile up on top of each other at the end of it. The cart was full of bags and you weren’t even half done so you had to run and grab another one, only letting the pile grow further.

Rafe bought a case of beer and it the midst of you trying to frantically bag everything in a timely manner the cashier also asked you for your I.D. Which only frustrates you more. You don’t even drink beer. And it made you have to pause bagging again to dig in your purse. The cashier kept looking from the card to you and back again, like he thought it was fake.

“I know I look nothing like that, that was 7 years ago.” You didn’t mean to sound snippy, but you were pretty much at your limit.

“Baby, it’s fine, he’s just lookin’ for the date.” Rafe shot you a look and it only pissed you off more.

“Well he’s looking at it like it’s fake or some shit!” You scoffed as you slammed a full bag into the cart. Which only earned you another look from Rafe.

On the way home he hardly talked to you, instead he decided to blast trap music when you were clearly already overstimulated so you decided to put your headphones on and drown him out.

“Bats, the fuck is going on with you today, huh?” Rafe is towering over you the minute you enter the kitchen, backing you up against the counter.

“I just don’t like the grocery store. And you made me feel bad about the food. And everything was just so loud in there. And I felt like you hardly talked to me the entire time. I’ve felt like an inconvenience to you all day!” You snap at him as you stomp your foot in frustration, glaring up at him.

“All we did was go to the fuckin’ store. You’re seriously that worked up over it?” Rafe scoffs, running a hand through his hair.

“Yes! I am! The grocery store is extremely stressful for me and you’re not being considerate of that!!”

“That’s ridiculous, people go to the grocery store every day. It’s not a big deal. I don’t know why you can’t just be fuckin’ normal sometimes.” Rafe throws his hands up, letting them fall against his thighs with a smack. The minute the words leave his mouth your bottom lip starts to quiver as tears brim your eyes. And he knows he fucked up. Immediately he knows he fucked up.

“You know what? Why don’t you go find a normal girlfriend then!?” You push against his chest, running past him to your shared bedroom. You slam the door behind you, sliding down it as the tears in your eyes begin to spill down your cheeks. You knew it.

“Baby…” Rafe’s voice travels through the thick wood as he lightly taps on it. “ I’m sorry… that was- I shouldn’t have- Bats, can you open the door, please?”

“No. Go away.” You whimper as you curl further into yourself against the door.

“Baby girl, please? Just wanna talk. Lemme see you.” He turns the knob, pushing on the door lightly causing you to shift forward slightly. “C’mon, get away from the door, let me in.”

“Why don’t you go find a normal girl to talk to.” You snap at him before trying to push back against the wood but he’s so much stronger than you that it doesn’t even budge. Rafe shoves his foot into the crack of the door, pushing it until he can slip through. It slams shut behind him from your weight, causing you to yelp. He drops to his knees in front of you, taking your face in his hands. “Baby, look at me.”

“No.” You shake your head, subconsciously nuzzling into his touch. Your lips are quivering so bad your teeth are chattering as tears flow down your cheeks and Rafe kind of wants to kick his own ass.

“Listen I- I shouldn’t have said that, okay? I didn’t - fuck baby, I didn’t mean that shit. I was just frustrated. Doesn’t make it okay though, never wanna make my girl cry.” Rafe runs his thumbs down the apples of your cheeks, wiping away the salty tears that continue to fall. “I think I’ve gotten pretty damn good about knowing how you work. But with us living together now there's gonna be new shit that I’m gonna have to pick up on. I’m so sorry princess.”

“I just - I - just wanna be enough for you. Don’t wanna be a burden.” Your body tries to curl in on itself even more but Rafe doesn’t let it, he grips onto your hips and pulls you into his lap. He wraps his strong arms around you as he starts to rock you back and forth.

“Want you to listen to me baby, aight?” He takes your jaw in his hand, tilting your head towards his to get you to look at him. When you do it nearly cracks his heart. He hates that he made you feel like everyone else always has. “I never should’ve fucking said that shit. I didn’t mean it. Not even a little bit. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, okay? I fuckin’ love you and all your weird little shit. Your weird little shit just makes me love you more. I’ve never known anyone like you. You’ve taught me so much. I guess I’ve just still got some shit to learn. But I’m trying, Bats. I’ll never stop trying.”

“You really mean it?” You sniffle as you look up at him through your teary eyes and Rafe has never felt more bad than he does at this moment. If he saw anybody else making you cry like this they would be so fucked and here he is, doing it.

“Of course I fuckin’ mean that shit, baby girl. I’m sorry for losing my patience with you today. I never, ever, wanna hurt you. Never wanna make you feel like all these other douchebags on the island do. Kind of want to run them all over, including myself right now.” Rafe lets out a dry chuckle when he sees the corner of your lips tilt up slightly. His large hand runs down the back of your head, smoothing down your hair as he continues to rock the both of you. “You know I love you more than anything, right?”

“It’s okay, Rafey. I know I can be too much sometimes. But I do know that you love me.” And you do. Especially right now. Rafe never opens up to you like this. And you kind of want to blow him right now.

“Hey, you aren’t too much, aight? Don’t ever let anyone make you feel that way. Including me, put my ass in check baby. God knows I need it.” He smiles down at you before leaning to place a gentle kiss on your lips. “Want me to put some nuggets in the air fryer for you and we can watch that movie you’ve been trying to get me to watch?”

“Mhm, that sounds perfect daddy.”

All things Rafe & his weird!girl here

[hungharrington]

i’m almost 22 and have never even kissed a boy (which i’m chronically insecure about). it’s made me feel very nervous regarding intimacy or “doing it wrong”. i feel like steve would be great coach and reassure the reader it’s okay and that they’re doing great. nothing to embarrassed about. (my soul needs this so bad)

hi honey !! i think you r so right & steve would be the perfect guy to give all the assurances <3 i hope u know that kisses don’t matter too much til they’re with someone you’re rlly sweet on so i wouldn’t sweat it angel x this one is sfw! wowzer!

You’re on your couch and in Steve’s lap and worried about just about everything. 

Steve’s being sweet about it, his hands resting gently on either side of your waist, his thumbs swiping up and down to comfort you. He’s watching you closely, unaware he’s just taken your first, second, and third ever kisses. How could he know? you think, on the side of insecurity— it seems everybody else your age has already kissed someone. 

“You okay?” He asks, hazel eyes tracing over the soft features of your face. He loves your nose and the shape of your bottom lip— strange things to like perhaps, but Steve doesn’t care. 

You nod but don’t say anything. The motion is a bit jerky. Your hands are planted on his shoulders, holding them probably a bit too tight. Exhaling a breath, you nod again and pretend the fondness in his gaze isn’t making you shy.

“Yeah,” you finally speak, voice smaller than you intend. “Just- just wanna like—“ you swallow, eyes darting to the ceiling for a moment, if only to avoid his intense eyes. “I wanna get this right.” 

A car engine drones by outside in the dusky evening. Steve gives a little chuckle and his hands on your waist tug forward, pulling your attention down and your body an inch closer to his. It’s warm— every part of him is glowing warm. 

“I don’t think there’s any way you can get this wrong,” He admits, awfully sincere about it. 

It’s the truth. Steve likes you a lot. You could probably bite his lip too hard and make it bleed and he’d still find it pleasant. You have that effect on him. 

You don’t know that though. So, every stress seems very, very real. Are you kissing firm enough? Too firm? God, are your lips too dry? 

Your tongue flicks out to wet them, your hands giving his shoulders a nervous, minuscule squeeze. In your chest, your heart is torn between rabbiting in its anxiety or shrivelling in insecurity. 

“I mean,” you laugh a little, if only to cover your embarrassment. You duck your head to avoid his face, murmuring, “If there is, I’m sure I’ll find it. I haven’t, uh, exactly done this… too much.”

“That’s fine,” Steve says instantly. His warm, large hands give a tender squish on your waist, before sliding up and around to curl snugly around your body. He sits up a little straighter, his nose nudging against yours. 

“No, Steve,” you say, cheeks a touch heated. You count his eyelashes so you can avoid his eyes, you voice dropping volume towards the end of your sentence. “I mean, like… like ever.” 

Surprise flashes in his eyes for only a moment. His gaze darts down to your lips quickly but then he’s smiling, nudging closer, and stealing a quick kiss off your lips. Now he’s taken your fourth kiss too. 

You flush, something warm pinging its way up your spine. 

“That’s okay,” He murmurs, sounding like he really means it. 

“It is?” 

“It’s great. You’re great.” He kisses you again—your fifth— so sweet it tastes like sugar on your lips, his arms around you pulling you in closer. You drown in it, enamoured by how it feels to have his lips against yours. God, he makes you dizzy. 

Steve breaks the kiss but stays close, his arms pulling you closer still so you’re straddling him properly. He’s warm, so warm— and so freakin’ nice to you. 

“You don’t find it weird?” You can’t help but whisper. Your eyes crush closed, unable to face him. 

“Weird?” Steve echoes. “Are you kidding me? It’ll take more than that to freak me out.” 

One of his hands shifts up, moving up off your waist to cradle your jaw gently in his large palm. He peppers a string of kisses along your cheek and jaw, beginning to suck a sweet spot beneath your ear. Your hips shift before you realising, subtly grinding down into his. Flames begin to burn in your stomach. 

“It’s—I mean it’s kind of, like, a little embarrassing, don’t you think?” You continue, voice a little breathier than before. You’re not sure what you’re trying to convince of him of— you certainly don’t want him to stop. 

Steve’s lips brush over the barely forming bruise on your skin and your breath hitches. 

“Are you feeling embarrassed?” 

One slow kiss against your neck, his plush lips accompanied by the heat of his tongue. You squirm in his lap but don’t answer, fearful of being too truthful. You are and you aren’t. He isn’t making you embarrassed but you are, just a little. 

Your silence makes Steve pause, digging his face out of your neck to meet your eyes. “Hey. You shouldn’t be embarrassed- if you are for some other reason, we can— we can like stop—“ 

“No.” You cut in, God, now you’re seriously giving him the wrong idea. “No, oh my god, I sound so stupid- it’s not you— Steve—“ 

He cuts you off with another kiss, your sixth, and steals your runaway thoughts. It blissfully chases away your nerves for just a moment. 

“Great.” He smiles against your mouth, giving another squeeze of your waist. “Cos you don’t need to be.” He kisses your mouth again, seven. “All you need to be is enjoying yourself, okay? 

You like the sound of that— adore the way he’s so seamlessly finds the thing that sets your nerves alight and soothes it so easily. You whisper back, “Okay,” and gift him your eighth kiss, sweet and fierce. 

[uc1wa]

As a virgin, I need a virgin!reader with Jason todd... PLEASE, just a tip or a hint

your sweet sweet boyfriend was overly gentle with you. his touches, featherweight. his hands light when they wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his big and warm embrace. he was a man who, when he was centimeters from your face in what was to be your first kiss, asked, "please let me kiss you, baby." his version of asking if it was okay, to which you righteously nodded, a soft kiss landed right on your lips, despite the lack of chapstick your boyfriend wore.

kissing became more and more normal. pecks, leading into open mouthed kisses, leading into heated makeout sessions on either one of your sofas. but, nothing past that. because, you were worth much more than for jason to drive himself into you on a damned couch.

and he’d be lying to himself if the thought of his little girlfriend, untouched, didn’t drive him up the wall. the fact that he was the one showing you how to do everything, being your first in every one of your intimate moments. knowing that, he would be the one to open your legs the way a flower in bloom would. sweet and ripe and just for him.

he plans it specially. on one of your monthly anniversaries, he takes you to dinner at a fancy restaurant. one where lights are dimmed, and a number of courses come floating your way.

and when you come into his room, there’s a candle lit on each of his bedside tables. jason proceeds to turn a small lamp on as he leads you in there, watching from behind you as you walk in and turn around with a grin.

"i’m all for you, honey. tell me if it gets to be too much, yeah?" he says lowly, softly as he pulls the straps of your dress down your shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the ground.

once all material is removed from both of your bodies, jason’s leading you to lay on your back in his bed. and once you do, his eyes are taking you in, in your entirety. of course the man knew you were beautiful, but to be this beautiful and all for him?

his lips pull upwards as you shy away, hands and arms moving in attempt to cover yourself. so, jason leans down, legs coming underneath yours as one hand grabs yours, placing it against the bed and the other holds himself against the mattress.

"too pretty to be doing that," he smiles, leaning to press a kiss to your lips, your cheek, neck, chest and downwards.

he’s gentle when he begins with your heat, pressing a kiss before he begins lapping at your entrance. one and then two fingers find their way to your hole, hardening his length as he feels just how tight you are.

jason wasn’t impure, but he was more than prideful knowing he was going to be the one to break you open. he was prideful knowing it was his cock that your hole was going to be adjusted to.

your sweetness is almost too much, the taste of sex on his tongue as he travels upwards to take your lips and tongue in open mouthed kisses, stroking himself with help of his pre.

"gonna fill y’up, that okay, princess?" it takes half a nod of confirmation until jason is pressing his head into you, tightness surely an adjustment as he groans above you. the sight of you squirming underneath him makes him want to rut into you, but he’s patient.

"’s okay baby, c’mon, let me see that pretty face," a hand cups your jaw when you fail to meet his eyes, red spreading across your face as your wide eyes meet his. he can only chuckle. "my pretty baby, taking me so good, hun." his strokes are slow, deep, and long.

they stay a consistent pace even when your thighs feel like they’re crushing his hips, your nails scratching their way down his back, and the sound of your mewling voice fills the expanse of the room.

his voice talks you through your first orgasm with him, "for me baby, been so good, cum around me baby," he says, lips sucking softly up your neck. "can feel how much ya want it," jason says when you clench around him, nibbling at your ear.

and when he feels you finish around him, he’s pulling out, spilling himself all over your tummy, because he didn’t think to wear a condom. his lips kiss your neck and then cheek as he sits up. "how do you feel, princess? feelin’ okay?" he asks, grinning at the way you look so tired and fucked out.

he’s getting a warm rag, cleaning you off before tucking you into bed beside him, palm rubbing your back in circles as you lay on his frame, arms wrapped around his torso. "that’s my girl, knew you’d take me good. so proud of you baby."

me when i’m a fucking liar and post when i told myself not to rolling eyes emoji luv u guys have a good weekend i’m going out tn n getting drizzunk woohooo ok byeeeee

[poomphuripan]

MING + giving nasty looks to Sol at his MV premiere 🙄

MY STAND-IN (2024) | 1.09

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 45

a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

45. halcyon daze

With Christmas on the horizon you take a break from your Persephone-inspired series to work on a present for John. There’s not a thing in the world you could buy him that he couldn’t buy for himself; but you have two hands, some talent and creativity: things that can’t yet be bought on Amazon. You’d noticed that he’s been working on an old set of Russian Fairytales. 

It still never fails to destroy your heart, that John favors mending the binding of children’s stories, as though he can recapture and sew back together some aspect of his own broken youth. 

Some of the illustrations in this edition are faded, one is even half destroyed, the paper torn. The writing is in cyrillic, you haven’t learned to read it yet, but with some [you hope] casually peppered questions, you manage to glean enough information to look up what they’re supposed to be. You make some replacements for him, and in the case of the Knight of Night in the story of Vasilisa the Beautiful, the warrior in black might bear more than a passing resemblance to your own dark assassin.  

When he opens this gift the wonder in his eyes is priceless to you. “I didn’t make you anything,” he apologizes guiltily, and while you are sitting amidst the piles of your freshly bestowed loot, which you still can’t help but feel guilty about. He bought you a stylish new motorcycle jacket, a fresh set of artist series gouache tubes and paper, an antique gold art nouveau lavalier necklace in the form of a flowing narcissus flower with glowing enameled accents and a dangling pearl –you are filled with so much love you fear your heart might burst.

You crawl across the floor, into his lap. He barely has time to set the drawings aside before your mouth is on his, and you are toppling him back almost into the Christmas tree with your ardor. By the time you are finished with him, you’re pretty sure he knows how happy he makes you, but just in case you tell him for good measure. “I love you more than I know how to say.” 

***

As winter drags on you look to John’s in-house gym to get exercise, even though you despise running on the treadmill. You feel like a hamster, jogging your ass off to nowhere. You try to keep up with your yoga practice, though you rarely get to finish a session. Somehow, John always manages to time walking in on you when you have your ass in the air. “Have mercy, I’m only a man,” he teases you, like this is an excuse for toppling you over and pinning you down with his body and his mouth on yours. 

It’s hard to get too mad about it, considering. 

You suppose you do still get a stretch and a workout, not to mention a belly laugh, in the end. 

Continuing your training stays interesting, although he wasn’t lying before when he said he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you. More often than not when you spar, you end up fucking on the floor. He’s never more beautiful than when his dark eyes glitter with anticipation of the hunt; you’ve learned a lot, but you know you stand zero chance against him. 

Maybe it’s not fair, when he loses patience and uses his experience and his size to put you down on the ground, sweeping your legs or twisting your arm behind you while he pulls down your leggings, baring your ass to the room. But he finds you soaking wet every time he claims his prize, guiding himself inside you, your growls quickly turning to moans for the way he fills you up and takes you down. “I fucking love it when you fight me,” he admits breathlessly, thrusting until you both cum loudly, your face pressed into the rubber floor.

It’s a game you love to lose.   

***

Winter starts to thaw, and you have cabin fever, ready to go outside. John is engrossed in a binding project: you finished your illustrations, and now he seems just as engaged in his side of the collaboration as you were yours. You find him smiling at a rendition of Dog as Cerberus with three heads when you pop into his workshop. “Want to go for a hike?”

He looks around at the mess he’s made on his worktable. “I’m not at a good stopping point,” he admits, and you understand that perfectly well. “You can go, just don’t be gone too long, alright?”

He could have pushed you over with a feather, you are so surprised to receive this clearance for a solo trek. 

You kiss him on the cheek in thanks. “I’ll be back soon,” you promise, still hardly able to believe your luck. 

“Y/n?” he calls as you’re at the door. “Take Dog?”

“I’m going too far for him.” Long walks hurt his paws.

“Then take your pistol.” You nod before disappearing up the stairs. Once upon a time, the thought of going around casually armed would have seemed like pure insanity to you. Now it’s simply a fact of life. You don’t have an official license for concealed carry, but after your intensive training at the Continental you feel perfectly confident that you won’t shoot anyone–unless you mean to. You live in John’s world now: survive first, worry about getting caught later…and pay off the appropriate officials if you have to.

That’s just the thug life, you suppose. 

The air outside is crisp and fresh, leaves and pine needles perfuming the woods in a way that intoxicates you more than any man-made scent. You take off down the trail at a brisk pace, feeling like you have wings on your feet. Knowing you could walk for miles and miles in this mood, you set a timer on your phone so you don’t forget yourself. Scaring John after he’s given you this confidence will not bode well for the future. Once upon a time such a leash would have chafed, but now you understand so much better what his fears are rooted in. You’ve peered into the darkness behind the curtain; there’s no going back. 

It’s the middle of the day in the middle of the week and you haven’t seen a soul, and on such a fine day as this, it is easy to forget that there’s a bustling, seething world of human strife out there. Or so you imagine, as you are sitting on the outcrop of your favorite overlook, your feet dangling out over oblivion. Yet, when you think you hear voices coming up the trail a sudden instinct kicks in to hide, to avoid being seen. Without really even thinking about it you tip yourself off the ledge, grabbing a branch of an ancient tree growing out of the rocks to break your fall, and dropping down to conceal yourself flat upon a narrow ledge.

“Dude, where’d she go?” you hear from above, your heart pounding in your chest, the blocky hardness of your little Beretta pressing into the small of your back as you lean against the stone face of the cliff a reassuring comfort. You realize then that John is not the only one with a residual paranoia from your misadventures. As you listen to the obviously harmless hikers above, you feel utterly ridiculous, and you wait for them to go so that you can make your way back in peace. 

Maybe it’s good to be alert, but at what point does one just have to get on with one’s life? If you live like a paranoid little rat scurrying around out of sight, then Dante has won in a different way. You think about this a lot, as you make your way home up the mountain. 

***

Perhaps it’s fitting, that with the renewal of spring all around you, John finishes the binding of your book. He calls you into the basement to inspect his workmanship, standing behind you as you behold the finished tome. The cover is embossed black leather with gold leaf. There is no title, just a design of an upturned skull grown through with blooming narcissus flowers. Slowly, you flip through the pages, enchanted with how he transformed your loose paintings into something so refined. 

“I love it,” you tell him, caressing a page bearing his likeness, the God of Death embracing his consort (that may bear a passing resemblance to you) in a Klimt-esque kiss. He nuzzles into your neck, kissing behind your ear. “But you didn’t sign it,” you complain, noting the lack of his usual This Book was Bound by John Wick plate. 

“I thought…we could do it together, as a wedding present?” he offers. You realize he means signing it with your joined name, and maybe it’s silly, but the thought makes your belly erupt into butterflies. You haven’t really talked about the wedding much. Though you wear the ring happily, he hasn’t really mentioned it at all, giving you space or otherwise occupied, you’re not entirely sure. 

“I would love that,” you agree, tilting your head for a kiss. His fingers dig into your hips as it deepens, a low moan called up from his throat. 

“Have you thought about what you might like?” he asks, kissing your neck again, his hands slipping under your shirt. 

“I don’t want anything fancy,” you admit breathlessly. “All I want is you.” You find the thought of bringing your dysfunctional family together in celebration only inspires anxiety. You have no lasting affiliations with any church–you do not feel the need to seek any god’s blessing of your union. You find you are just ready for it to be so. 

You feel him pause behind you, letting out a shuddering sigh. You wonder if he’s thinking about the journey you’ve taken, to get where you are today, together. You certainly are, looking at your book, and the allegory it tells of your tumultuous courtship. It wasn’t easy, and you can’t say anything so trite as you knew it would turn out–but you realize you did have the naivety to hope. For once…maybe your forgiving nature has finally paid off for you. You feel like you’ve been living in a halcyon daze, you are so happy. You hope it never changes, even if deep down you know it will. 

Change is the only certainty we’re ever afforded.

“Surely you want something nicer than a trip to the courthouse,” he pries, certain there’s something you’re not telling him. You do still feel embarrassed sometimes, about spending his money on things, even though he gives you free reign with unparallelled generosity. 

“I really don't want a big ceremony,” you assure him. “But…would you like it, if Winston married us?”

John huffs behind you, and you hear the smile in his voice. “I'm not sure that's something he does.”

You giggle at the thought, and you can tell John at least likes the idea of his father figure–one of his few remaining friends, being there. And, you like Winston too. “I bet he’d do it for you, John.”

“Hmm. We’ll think on that.”

It’s not a no.

“You know what I do want?” you pose, turning a page of your new book.This illustration is a rather explicit one, Death kneeling at her feet with his face buried in her pussy, her back bowed in sweet agony, the dark waters of the river Styx glittering behind them. He offered her the most exquisite pleasures, but withheld release unless she agreed to be his forever. Though deep in her heart she knew she loved him immeasurably, still she refused.

Neither John nor you are immune to the effect of perusing this pornographic work together; his long fingers dip into the waistband of your jeans, his fingertips just nearly caressing your mound.   

“Anything,” he tells you, nibbling at your ear. It takes you a moment to remember what you were talking about, your clit throbbing in answer to his seeking fingers and his other hand up your shirt. As a result your answer comes in breathy bursts. 

“I want…to go on an adventure with you. A long honeymoon,” you tell him, writhing against him as his hand finds your breast, toying with the taut peak of your nipple. You know he likes to travel as much as you do. Wouldn’t it be novel to go somewhere and not even need to assassinate someone in the interim?

You feel him chuckle behind you, more than hear it. “I might have guessed. Where do you want to go?” He asks you this while his fingers tease your curls, so close to touching you where you need him most. You are past shame, when your voice cracks. 

“Where can we go?” You assume most of Europe is off the table these days. 

“Hmm. You still have a yen for South America?” 

You nod, and he laughs again, though he catches your mouth in a tooth-counting kiss before you can answer–ie defend yourself from the usual allegations. At last his middle finger dips into your wet slit, and the sound of relief that escapes you is barely human.  

“Young lady…” he growls, nipping at your ear. “This is quite a dirty little book you’ve drawn. Do you know how many times I had to come find you while I was working on this?” You moan as he swipes up your juices, finally circling your clit as his other hand dips into your bra. You feel his erection straining against the curve of your bottom; you press yourself back against him, wanting what’s yours. Your answer is part laughter, part moan–for the umpteenth time, you feel like life is perfect with this man. 

“Probably as often as I had to come find you while drawing it,” you answer cheekily, arching back to hold his neck, opening yourself completely to him. Your knees threaten to buckle as he touches you, but soon you find yourself bent over his table, his corded forearms braced like columns on either side of you as he fucks you silly amidst the smell of old books, leather, and binding glue.  

It really doesn’t get any better than this.

***

When warmer weather comes you start to take out the bikes again. After a few outings you feel sufficiently refreshed, and more than ready to take your test. You make your appointment for next week, and you feel like a teenager again, full of nervous energy for the impending exam. John finds this amusing. “You can ride, sweetheart. And if you fail, you can just take it again.” 

But the perfectionist academic in you wants to ace it on the first go. When you express the desire to go for a practice ride while John is working on a new project he nods, not even looking up from his worktable. “Be careful.” 

“Take your pistol. I know,” you tease. This has become a broken record between you two–remembering a time when he wouldn’t have dreamed of letting you out of his sight, you do not mind. He narrows his eyes at you playfully, before letting you off with that slight smile that still squeezes your heart in your chest. 

You gear up in your kevlar jeans, boots and jacket, gloves and helmet. Concealed carry is ridiculously easy, with such bulk about you. You feel a bit like a commando, every time you put on the jacket with its armored panels. You fire up the Kawasaki and potter down the driveway. You like this bike, it’s been great to learn on, but John has been teasing you about an upgrade if you’re a good girl. 

Considering you feel where he’s been inside you every time you sit down, you’re pretty sure you’re meeting the requirements. You think about this with a smile as you hit a straightaway, and let the machine open up beneath you. 

It really is the closest you can get to flying on the ground. 

Exhilarated, maybe even feeling a little cocky, you make your loop of the mountain roads and then decide to make a quick stop down in town. You’ve worn out your three favorite paint brushes, the chisel tip, the angle shader, and the tiny 3/0 you favor for small details. Mr. Morton will get you squared away. 

You park in the lot behind the art store, and carry your helmet inside. You don’t dally long, even though the smell of oil paint and linseed oil inside the little store is a marvelous thing. You chat with Mr. Morton, pet the shop cat, and tuck your score into your inside pocket before walking back out to the parking lot. 

It’s totally cliché, but the rest goes by in a blur. 

A black SUV rolls up beside you, screeching on its brakes, a man jumping out of the backseat making a B line for you. Too late, you realize your rookie mistake. Your jacket is zipped up to your chin–you can’t draw your pistol under your arm in time. But you have your helmet in your hand, and without hesitation, you introduce it to his face as hard as you can. 

“At least offer a girl some candy first, asshole!”

The driver spills out next, cursing and trying to grab you, dodging your second swing with the helmet. You side-step him, but he manages to snag your jacket. Rather than pull against his hold you let him drag you to him, meeting his groin dead-on with your knee. As he crumples you hit him in the face with your armored elbow, and run for your bike while shoving your helmet onto your head. 

Maybe you should have run back to the shop, to the thoroughfare, to the safety of witnesses. But all you can think in that moment is that John might need you. You have a terrible feeling that something bad could be happening at home, and so you start your bike and tear off faster and more recklessly than you ever have before. The handlebars wobble in your haste but you manage to get a hold of the machine, concentrating on working the clutch and the gears to pick up speed as fast as you can. If you look back, you know you’ll crash. You run a stop sign, veering around a car by the skin of your teeth, leaving the sound of screeching wheels and honking horns behind you.  

Out of town, you drop a gear and take off like a rocket up the mountain, passing cars where you definitely shouldn’t. I’m coming, John. Maybe it’s ridiculous. How much help could you possibly be to John Wick? But you won’t rest until you set eyes on him again. 

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised, when the G Wagon roars up next to you again. In your peripheral you see the passenger in the window, his extended arm, the blocky black shape of a gun. They veer at you, trying to run you off the road. You brake the bike, letting them whip past you, nearly going off the pavement themselves in the confusion. You decide to turn off onto a sideroad, a winding death-trap of a paved goat trail that you know like the back of your hand, though you’ve never ridden it before, only drove. You hope you’ll lose them in the snarl of tight curves. It will take longer to get home, but if worse comes to worse maybe you can abandon the bike and lose them in the trees. 

Home turf advantage, you tell yourself, not entirely convinced. These guys mean business–and you’re fairly sure the driver’s accent was Italian. 

You don’t really hear it past the roar of your engine and your heartbeat in your ears, when they come up behind you. You do hear the shot, and you flinch, ducking low to make yourself a smaller target. But he wasn’t aiming for you. 

He was aiming for your tire, and when it blows the bike goes wild–and you really get to experience flying.

It’s almost exhilarating, sailing through the air, until you hit the pavement hard, skidding across the unforgiving asphalt, rolling to take some of the momentum. You lay there on the tarmac, alive, but completely stunned. You tell yourself to get up–but your body doesn’t listen. You see the shadow of a man over you. It’s Helmet Man–his face is a mask of blood; it looks like you broke his nose, and he’s pissed about it.

He kicks you in the side before shoving a needle through your jeans, into the meat of your butt. On the verge of puking in your helmet, the world swims, then goes black.

------------

*author's note: Full credit to @discoscoob for suggesting that Winston should officiate, I love it, you're brilliant! 😘 And the yoga scene is totally @treedaddymcpuffpuff 's fault. I love our unhinged conversations boo 🤣 The Brain Rot would not be so strong or so FUN without you!❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ :)))))))))))))))))

**maybe i should also add that certain eXplicit panels in the BRZRKR Bloodlines comic inspired a great deal of this dumpster fire 🥵🤣🤣, y'all should definitely check it out, the artwork is great!

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all chapters

[mammalsofaction]

since you've compiled moments where heinz is the possessive one... could we possibly get ones of perry being the jealous/possessive one? 👀

OH NONNIE I GIGGLED

Let's start with the basics 🙏🏼🙏🏼:

Their entire B-Plot in About Time:

Including their legendary first break up song where Perry started staring into puddles like a disney princess with a falshback montage:

(Here's an extended Alt):

Which led to Perry getting pissed off whenever Heinz is in Seattle without telling him (Meapless in Seattle):

And eventually Perry getting pissed off when Heinz got kidnapped by Peter's situationship and rushing to go save him in Seattle again. (Lost in Danville) (Yes, Perry is not the hugest fan of Seattle)

Heinz ended giving Mystery relationship advice and Peter got to meet Mystery's parents :)

Im running out of the picture limit. I can't find the one where Perry got upset when Heinz brought up the babe Inator, but here is Perry getting upset when Mono's speculating about Heinz's new date:

Perry being an overprotective asshole who won't let Heinz do missions during OWCA files:

Some fucking merch content of all things:

Perry being really sad and reaching for Heinz during their SECOND break up arc in Milo Murphy's Law:

Sending a card that was probably his equivalent to falling on knees grovelling:

Damn did I forget to tell you Perry takes pictures, edits, and keeps a whole stash of his photos with Doof in his wallet? Must've slipped my mind:

Anyway. The misunderstanding in MML was because Perry ends up being Time Industries' (Heinz future business endeavor as the Founder of Time Travelling) first and largest shareholder. He cashes in every penny made in overtime for Heinz to build his company back up.

Dan Povenmire stitched this chibi shorts episode as one SPECIFICALLY MADE FOR A "Specific subset of the Phineas and Ferb fandom" spoiler alert: apparently Perry's less upset about Heinz going around kissing people when it's Perry he's kissing.

Here's a short where Perry is apparently less cool about Heinz getting beat up when its someone else beating him up:

And here's a lil bonus Perry getting upset by a fake platypus Baljeet made when he went missing:

This is a very, VERY limited list, including moments of Perry being Fucking Whipped. I have carefully redacted moments of:

-Perry being sweet

-Perry being supportive

-Them being domestic

-Perry being so, so, so incredibly fond of Heinz

-Perry trusting Heinz with his life.

-Perry being sure Heinz doesn't have a life outside of him, anyway.

And in fact i am sure i have missed a lot more out of canon content. Perry being codependent, possessive, protective and jealous is common knowledge at this point. I've made a post before where Perry the Second Dimension proves that Perry has control Issues and an insecurity of being easily replaced by his loved ones, excaberted by Francis' frequent threats of relocating him at the drop of a hat.

Tldr: Perry suffers from down bad-ism and if you look at Heinz too long he is liable to commit violence ♥️♥️♥️

[lovemadethemdoit]

Hangster AU idea: sleep deprived dads of toddlers

Ily

When the doctor had told them that Jen, their surrogate, was pregnant with twins, Bradley hadn’t believed their luck, his heart thundering happily in his chest – and Jake had sat there at the doctor’s office, still as a deer in the headlights, shocked to the bone.

Bradley knew Jake had still been anxious about the arrival of their one child, much less two of them, believing himself not to be great with children and also scared he would somehow manage to become like his own father, which was a ridiculous notion to someone like Bradley who know Jake’s big heart inside and out.

Bradley had seen him charm every Dagger squad’s kid by then and had witnessed him handle bawling children that had scraped their knees or fallen off a swing with gentle care, having them giggling happily again soon after.

Bradley had always been convinced Jake would make an amazing dad and seeing him now, exhausted to the bone after both Nicky and Caroline had decided to start walking at the same time as they were all dealing with the toddlers' sleep regression, Bradley’s own overtired soul was grateful that he had chosen this exact man to share his life and build a family with.

There was no one steadier, no one more patient and no one more capable of running a tight but loving ship to get them through this phase than one Jake "Hangman" Bradshaw, formerly Seresin.

Jake and him had maybe gotten two hours of sleep before Nicky and Caroline had woken them up again this morning.

Jake had groaned awake next to him, Bradley already throwing off the covers only to be pulled back down, a sleep-warm kiss and a silent 'I got 'em" pressed to his temple.

Bradley felt a little bad for falling back asleep as soon as Jake had slid through the door and even worse when he had woken up to see it was ten a.m. and he had left his wingman to fend for himself for the last couple of hours.

He rushed down the stairs to see his three favorite people cuddled together on the sofa, one kid in each of Jake’s arms, drooling on their dad’s sleep shirt, cartoons silently playing on tv.

They were fast asleep and Bradley took a moment to just take them in.

Their kids had inherited their tendency for wild bed heads from his husband and Bradley’s heart kicked in his chest with utter love at the picture his little family made, soft in sleep.

Once again, the love he felt for them threatened to make him choke up, it was that incredible.

He smiled, taking a mental picture before he tip-toed his way to the kitchen, getting a head start on breakfast and make coffee for him and Jake, for what was surely about to become another crazy day in the Bradshaw household.

[thefrsers]

requested by Anon: Bobby + Athena having a sweet moment and working together as team

[walkingstackofbooks]

If you're taking prompts right now how would you feel about Julian accidentally damaging Kukalaka and somehow Garak finds it and repairs it for Julian.

Sending love <3

HELLO HI IT'S FINALLY HERE :D This fic has been one of the most difficult things I've written yet - believe me when I say I have laboured over this for hours - but it's been a whole lot of fun, too, so thank you for the prompt :D It's immensely satisfying to finally be able to present you with "A Bear Like Me" <3 <3 <3 (Also on AO3!)

His shift was over, but Julian still had one more patient to attend to, back in his quarters. Kukulaka had, at long last, been safely returned to him, but as he had been putting the bear back in his place of pride on the desk, Julian had spotted that some of the stitches in his side had started to fray. Now, he was looking forward to being able to treat his old friend with some long-overdue, tender, loving care. 

"I'm home!" he called as he entered his quarters – not just for Kukulaka's benefit. At some point during the last few weeks, his weekly lunch with Garak had turned into dinner (he was marginally less likely to be interrupted at this time), which had then turned into multiple dinners, until it was no longer surprising to return home and find the tailor sitting on his sofa, usually embroidering some creation or other. 

"That much is evident, Doctor," Garak replied acerbically, but Julian could recognise the fond twinkle behind the Cardassian's eyes. "Is it really necessary to state the obvious every time you come through that door?"

Julian slung his bag down on the sofa, shooting a grin at Garak. "Necessary? No. Although, now I know how much it irritates you..."

"You are insufferable, Doctor," Garak declared.

"And yet, you're still here, suffering me. At this point, I think you'll find it's your own fault, Mister Garak."

Garak's eyes followed him as he walked across the room to retrieve his small needlework kit. That, too, he placed on the sofa, before going to get Kukulaka. 

"Sewing, Doctor?"

"Yes, actually. I noticed someone," he said, giving the bear an affectionate pat on the head, "was looking a little worse for—"

He stopped abruptly. Having now picked up Kukulaka, he could not see the worn-out stitches that he'd noticed yesterday: in fact, he could no longer see any stitches at all. Every trace of Julian's surgeries over the years, from his first, clumsy efforts to his later, more refined sutures had seemingly disappeared overnight, leaving Julian with a strangely hollow pit in the bottom of his stomach.

"Garak," he said, keeping his back to the tailor as he struggled to keep his voice normal. "Did you do this?"

"Indeed I did, my dear Doctor." Julian hated that he could hear the smile in Garak's voice. “I, too, couldn’t help noticing what a state your bear was in, and since it is my area of expertise…”

“That’s— That’s very kind of you,” replied Julian quietly. The awareness that he ought to be sounding more grateful rubbed against his insides like sandpaper, but the heartbeat pounding in his ears was making it difficult to concentrate on keeping his emotions in check.

Garak hadn’t seemed to notice. “I think you’ll find he’s in perfect condition,” he continued. “Better, even. He’ll likely not need stitches again – unless he winds up on some peculiar adventure, I suppose. But your bear is not so foolhardy as you, my dear.”

Garak’s tone was light, but there was no mockery to it; he was speaking about Kukulaka the same way Julian did, and at any other time, Julian would have loved him for it. Right now, all Julian could do was shrug, replying only with a short, “I suppose.”

There was a pause. “I don’t mean to imply that your handiwork was bad,” redirected Garak. “In fact, I was rather impressed, Doctor, at the way you’d kept him together for all these years. He wasn’t the sturdiest fellow.”

“I used to call him my first patient.” The words left Julian unexpectedly, and he immediately wished they hadn’t, because now he could feel the dam beginning to burst and he couldn’t – he couldn’t – let Garak see how stupidly emotional he was getting over this small kindness.

He pivoted around, gripping Kukulaka close as he walked back to the door. “I left something in the infirmary,” he said, still not looking at Garak. “I’ll be right back.”

The door slid open, but suddenly, Garak was in front of him, placing a hand on his wrist.

“You’re upset,” he said simply. “Why?”

Julian was trapped. While he wanted to flinch away from Garak, whose touch was feeling more like a shackle than a comfort, he didn’t want to do anything – anything more – that might trouble his friend. For a few moments, he stood helplessly in place, unable to think of a way to get out of this situation without offending Garak.

“If you were me…” he started softly, then changed his mind – that would be a stupid thing to say. “No, don’t worry. It doesn’t matter,” he finished.

“I think, Doctor, this is perhaps a conversation better had sitting down, don’t you?” asked Garak, placing his other hand on Julian’s back and guiding him towards the sofa with a gentle pressure. “Now, then,” he continued once they were seated, “you should know that I am greatly interested to hear your thoughts. If I were you, then what?”

There had always been something about Garak that had made Julian feel overpowered: the feeling had often been one that Julian had reached out for, been attracted by, his inability to resist Garak leaving him with a certain thrill. Now, that feeling had been turned against him, intensified by how unusually close Garak was sitting to him – shoulder-to-shoulder, knee-to-knee; his cold hand still covering Julian’s wrist.

“If you were me,” he mumbled reluctantly, “what lie would you be coming up with?”

“That’s difficult to say,” replied Garak, “when I don’t know what truth it is that my story would have to conceal.”

Julian snorted wetly. “I am grateful, really—” he tried to say again, but Garak cut him off with a sharp tut.

“I’ve seen you tell better lies than that, Doctor,” he said reprovingly. “Clearly, there has been some error on my part here.”

Julian didn’t have the energy to correct him. He let himself lean against the other man, although he didn’t quite dare to rest his head on Garak’s shoulder, lest he scare his friend away.

“I’m not entirely sure I can explain it myself,” he said softly, looking down at Kukulaka and giving him a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, Garak, but I simply don’t know where to start. Can we just forget it? Please?”

He flicked his eyes back up to Garak cautiously, not really expecting the interrogation to cease –  and was quite taken aback to find that a vicious scowl had spread over the Cardassian’s face.

“Have it your way,” Garak said archly. “I suppose I was invited for dinner, not conversation.” Standing up abruptly, he stalked over to the kitchenette without a second glance back at Julian.

“Garak—”

Julian’s throat closed around the rest of his sentence, his insides shrivelling into ice as he watched Garak silently tap orders into the replicator. He should have left when he’d had the chance. It would have confused Garak, upset him – but now, it seemed, he was mad at Julian, and that was much worse.

You want to fix this? Then stop being so childish and say something, hissed a voice in his head, but Julian could not obey. Even as Garak finished setting food on the table – now pointedly taking a seat at the other end of the sofa – Julian continued to find himself frozen in place. It was absurd, he knew, having some sort of breakdown and ruining their evening over a child’s toy: it wasn’t even as though Kukulaka had been injured in some way, which would at least have been a little understandable. You always did overreact, that familiar voice sneered, and Julian couldn’t deny it – he was broken, defective, damaged…

Just like Kukulaka had been.

But mending a teddy bear was a far easier process than mending a human. No wonder Garak had lost patience with him.

“The food will be getting cold, Doctor,” said Garak, causing Julian to startle, and all at once a thought was dropping from his lips.

“You’ve got scars, haven’t you, Garak?”

Garak hesitated, seeming to withdraw into himself momentarily before responding. “A curious inquiry,” he replied, “since I am sure you know, Doctor, that in the past I have endured medical treatment less... solicitous… than your own. You offered to heal them, once.”

“And you didn’t let me,” Julian murmured softly, his eyes unfocused, far away. He was still mindlessly tracing patterns across Kukulaka’s fur, the bear soft in his hands.

Garak roughly set down his knife and fork, and Julian flinched at the sudden clatter of metal against china.

“I see,” Garak said bitingly, turning to face Julian. “My ‘transgression’ was failing to realise that you would consider that akin to removing the flaws in your toy. Tell me, do you have scars, Doctor? Are reminders of every mistake you made, every failure to fulfil your duty, etched across your skin?”

“I had Kukulaka,” Julian whispered. “Of course I don’t have scars. I was supposed to be perfect, I—My parents—”

He faltered, a harsh chuckle overtaking his speech. “Of course I don’t have scars,” he repeated, hoping that Garak might understand.

Because it was true, despite his barely-coherent explanation. The bear’s many, careful stitches had been, in a way, a monument to what they had been through together: where his skin had remained unblemished, Kukulaka had borne the scars of their childhood for both of them.

He hadn’t realised he had more to say until he’d already started speaking again.

“Did I—did I ever tell you how many dreams I used to have about the hospital?” he asked. “Not after I found out, I mean, but before, when I was seven, eight years old… My parents told me they were just nightmares— I-I thought they were just nightmares. And then…”

Julian’s voice was shaking. He didn’t dare look at Garak.

“And then when they told me it was true, I—well, I thought I remembered it but… But do I? How can I ever know for sure which memories are real and which were made up while I was sleeping? I don’t have scars, Garak, I don’t know what happened to me!”

His voice, which had been rising steadily, suddenly dropped back down to a hoarse whisper. “But Kukulaka did,” he said. “Kukulaka was there, he was real – and—and I know it sounds silly but that’s why he’s never been just a toy, not me. He’s my witness.”

That last statement sounded a touch dramatic, even to his ears, and he had no idea what Garak would make of it all. He sat there, fidgeting, as he waited for his friend to respond.

“Your dinner is getting cold,” Garak said eventually, but more softly this time, and he shuffled along the sofa to sit next to the doctor once more. Julian could recognise an olive branch when he saw one, and he nodded in acknowledgement.

“I’d better get started then,” he replied, although if truth be told, he no longer had much of an appetite. As he set Kukulaka down beside him, he wondered if Garak was going to say anything else, or if they’d be left eating their dinner in this odd silence that had now sprung up between them.

“I must admit, I am curious,” Garak started, several minutes later. Julian looked at him, automatically tensing in anticipation of what he might say. “Yesterday, you mentioned that you had left your bear with Miss Ren, following your separation. Why, when you are so protective of him?”

Julian sighed: of course Garak would ask the difficult questions. “Leeta was delighted by Kukulaka from the moment she met him,” he tried to explain. “And I suppose that meant a lot to me, that she loved my scarred, ugly bear the way she did. So when we broke up…” He trailed off, shrugging.

“It’s hard to describe,” he continued, brows drawing together. “Kukulaka had become important to us both, I guess, during our relationship. And so even if she didn’t love me anymore, the fact that she still loved him… I don’t know. I wanted her to have him. It made sense at the time.” He shrugged again, giving Garak a short, rueful smile. “And of course, that was before my parents came to the station,” he added.

Garak frowned at him studiously. “Ren Leeta accepted the bear as he was; therefore you felt that she accepted you too, for all your faults,” he said slowly. “Meanwhile I… I attempted to fix your friend and remove any defects – and you believe that to be a reflection of how I view you, Doctor. Am I correct in thinking that you see your bear as some sort of—of metaphor for yourself?”

Julian stared at him. It wasn’t how he would have put it – it wouldn’t have occurred to him to phrase his feelings in such a way – but now that Garak had voiced the thought, it was hard to ignore.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he replied quietly. “But yes. Perhaps.”

Shaking his head, he filed the thought away for further examination later, and looked back to Garak. “You’d make quite the psychologist, Mister Garak,” he said, lips twitching into a soft grin.

“Oh, hardly,” said Garak, scoffing just as Julian had known he would. “Other people’s problems are of no interest to me.”

There was a strange swooping sensation in Julian’s chest. “But mine… are?” he asked hesitantly.

Garak hesitated too, before issuing an awkward, stiff reply. “I did not… enjoy seeing you upset,” he admitted. His voice grew quieter. “And I had hoped that I… would not hurt you, again. Clearly, that was one expectation too far.”

Julian was quite unprepared for such raw honesty. His lips fell apart, and he found himself at a loss for how to reply.

Garak pulled himself up straighter, drawing in a breath. “You made a mistake in trusting me with your feelings,” he said curtly, nodding as though confirming something to himself. “Yes. I should leave, before I hurt you any more.”

He stood up, and Julian followed him indignantly, grabbing his hand. “Leave?” he exclaimed. “How could you possibly think that’s what I want, Garak?”

“As I recall, you tried to leave first—”

“And then you forced me to have this entire conversation with you!” responded Julian incredulously. “You’re impossible! First you give me the silent treatment, then you get angry with me, and now just as we’re on the verge of… of something…”

He trailed off, a dark expression creeping into his eyes. “God forbid that you actually share your feelings,” he muttered. “That would be too much like sentiment, wouldn’t it? What was it you said, “sentiment is the greatest weakness of all” – is that it?”

Garak laughed scornfully. “After this evening, Doctor, you’re hardly in a position to lecture me about being open with one’s feelings.”

Julian wondered how they’d ended back in an argument again; in fact, how any of this had turned into an argument at all. Was Garak really so emotionally hopeless that he couldn’t show vulnerability for more than a few minutes without having to cover it up defensively?

Although… Garak wasn’t exactly incorrect in saying that Julian was in no position to judge. ‘Defensive’, ‘uncomfortable with vulnerability’, ‘emotionally hopeless’ – if he were honest with himself, these were all adjectives that could describe one Doctor Julian Bashir…

God, they really were a pair, weren’t they? Despite himself, he started to chuckle, the situation suddenly appearing to him quite absurd.

“I fail to see the amusement in this situation,” snapped Garak, which only made Julian laugh harder.

“Us,” he replied. “We’re both useless at this, Garak. God.” He sat back down, roughly wiping his sleeve across his eyes, and took a deep, settling breath.

“Stay,” he said, looking up into Garak’s eyes and pulling on his hand. “Please. I don’t want you to go.”

Garak was looking back at him, although Julian wasn’t sure if his face was creased in confusion or concern.

“I cannot promise that I will not… upset you, again,” he replied tightly.

“I guess I can’t promise that either,” said Julian, “but we can try talking about it, can’t we? We didn’t do too badly tonight.”

Garak raised an eyebrow. “Okay, tonight has been a train wreck,” Julian corrected. “But you know what they say: practice makes perfect. Sit down, Garak. Please.”

He moved Kukulaka back onto his lap, indicating that the space next to him was now free, but Garak made no movement. Julian’s heart seemed to stop as he waited, his eyes caught in the Cardassian’s piercing blue gaze.

“Your bear will never be as he was before,” noted Garak, his voice low. “I cannot change that.”

Julian stopped running his fingers through the bear’s fur, dropping his eyes down to Kukulaka. “I know,” he said softly. “And I won’t lie – that’s going to hurt for quite some time.” For a few seconds, he closed his eyes, as a mixture of loss and regret pulled sharply upon his heartstrings. “But losing you won’t make that go away,” he continued, looking back at Garak once more. “Will you stay?”

There was another too-long pause, but finally, finally, Garak was sitting back down with a sigh. “If I must,” he complained, but Julian knew that was just for show. Before he could second-guess himself, he set Kukulaka down on Garak’s lap, smiling at the surprise that immediately leapt onto the Cardassian’s face.

“Doctor…”

“Kukulaka would like to say thank you for making him feel better,” Julian said firmly. “Apparently you make for quite the doctor, too.”

“Oh?”

For a few seconds, Garak was seemingly speechless, his eyes flicking between Julian and Kukulaka, before settling on the bear. “You’re quite welcome, young bear,” he said seriously. “Although I doubt I’ll be taking up that mantle again any time soon.”

“Actually,” said Julian tentatively, hoping that he wasn’t about to shatter their recently-brokered truce. “Um, Kukulaka thinks you should know that there’s another way to make him feel better, too.”

“And what’s that?”

Julian’s reply came out as little more than a whisper.

“A good hug?”

Garak’s eyes settled on Julian’s face once more. “I don’t suppose…” he said slowly, “that Kukulaka knows if this… technique… would also be appreciated by Doctor Bashir?”

Julian could feel his cheeks growing warm. “Kukulaka has it on good authority that Doctor Bashir would really like a hug,” he replied, trying to keep his voice light.

“Even a Cardassian one?”

“Especially a Cardassian one.”

Emboldened by Garak’s response, Julian shifted himself closer, pulling Garak’s arm around him so that he could curl up against his chest, Kukulaka safely ensconced within his own arms. It was surprising how natural it felt, like Julian had always belonged at Garak’s side, and always would.

“What do I do now?” asked Garak.

“Just hold me,” Julian murmured. “For as long as you want – until you want to leave. Just… Just hold me.”

“My dear Doctor,” Garak murmured back, his rough fingers beginning to trace patterns over Julian’s arm. “I thought we’d agreed that I would not be leaving.”

[raplinenthusiasts]

'Lovesick Girls' BLACKPINK

for anon ♥

[thetempleofhades]

hello my pookie wookie spookie dookie kitten bear i hope you are doing splendidly. i have a request of you my little pookie wokieie spookiie dookie 🥺🥺🥺 what would you think of making a part 2 of the wratg writing 🥺?? (on a serious note its so fuckinf fire and i want to devour it but theres not enough to eat)

my name is pookie wookie spookie dookie kitten bear now. i had to dig out my laptop for this so fast so yes, i can give you a part two my beloved muah muah <333

It had been a month since the day you disappeared from the three archons' view but the storms persisted. Relentless winds that knocked over stalls and people alike. Rain that turned into thunderstorms, that then turned into hail. It was clear your rage was still ever-present and Teyvat was responding to your rage as the creation most connected to you.

You'd spent most of your time holed inside a cave as you slwoly cooked things you had picked during the slow times, just to be sure you'd never run into anyone but you knew it was only a matter of time before someone found you.

Of course, having to see Venti again was on the bottom of you list of things you wanted to see. Seeing him kneel before you, tears in his eyes only made the rain turn into hail as you stared coldly.

"Your grace, please forgive me. I.... committed a grave injustice against you." He sounded as tearful as he looked but you could only concentrate on your rage.

"You consider hunting someone down like an animal for the slaughter an injustice? I consider that inhumane, unforgivable, a crime is the least I consider it. At most, I consider it a testament of the hate you hold for me." Your words are angry but you face remains neutral as you stare at him coldly.

Books, Ancient texts and tales all recounted about your kindness, about how you would create things in order to bring happiness to your creations. But you had been so hurt, so betrayed, so.... so exhausted that all you could feel was your own rage.

"NO!" Venti protested in a panicked tone, scrambling up from his kneeling position to somehow convince you. "I could never-! Your grace, I would never hate you... I was... I was misguided, I was wrong. I could never hate you."

"Whether you do or don't matters little to me. You hunted me for months in order to kill me. How many times did I plead with you in tears to listen to me, to not kill me? Dozens. I pleaded until I coughed up blood. I ran until my legs gave out. I bled gold once in front of you and suddenly, you're sorry?" Your rage was quiet even as the storm raged on outside.

"Barbatos...." Your voice was quiet, tinged with disappointment. "I don't recognize you anymore. You are no follower of mine. Nor are you my creation." Your words severed the connection that existed all throughout Teyvat, the one that connected you to all your creations and them to you.

You turned and walked away, ignoring his sobs of anguish.

[saetiate]

hi cora!! if you have any thoughts to add to karasu taking a liking to you wearing loafers, i would be most glad to hear them… 🫣 otherwise please feel free to ignore this ask!! wishing you a pleasant day, friend! 💖💖

context

hi lovely!! i just think karasu fits with a bit of a good girl reader sooo well (he can fit w other types of ppl too but that’s for another post)

i do think he has a little bit of a corruption situation too but not in the same way as oliver at all also he genuinely feels bad about it

like you’re ordering a drink from a cafe and the barista says something that makes you giggle and he’s like awh you’re so cute. and at the same time he’s also like god i wanna have her over the counter. and then he catches himself thinking it and he’s like what the fuck internally to himself LMAOO you’re just being you and his mind is spinning bc he wants to treat u right but also everything else

he’d treat you so right tho like i imagine your first time w him is like. he’s always checking your reactions the whole time. asking if you’re okay. making sure you’re not hurt and it’s not too much like he’s so considerate and careful because he wants this to be good for you i think bc of this it also takes a bit of getting to know each other before he starts to show how much of a freak he really is LMAO LIKE he’s a little afraid to show you. like he's tryna hide so bad that he wants to make you come over and over again in succession with just his mouth. not just because it might be intense for you but also because you'll see how insane it gets him when you look at him and how badly he needs it like he does not think he'll be able to hide how he feels once it's happening.

takes a little coaxing. like a session that’s more intense than usual and he’s apologizing and you have to tell him it’s okay and that he can keep going. or bringing it up to him upright that u wanna try something. then you start getting into like real kink sex with him with overstimulation and denial and bondage. he is KING of aftercare though like always making sure you’re okay, if you need anything, preparing water and food and creams to ease any pain or abrasions and helping you in the shower/bath

yeah veryyyy considerate man with his good girl just tryna do right by you

[teecupangel]

Hii teecup!! Hope you're doing well!!

May I ask some a/b/o AltDes stuff please (alpha! Altaïr and Omega!Desmond) because there's not much of it out there :'D

Now I'm sure Altaïr would more open minded and much less of an asshole to omegas then most of the people back in his days..... HOWEVER, please hear me out, what if he wasn't

He could be low-key about it, unlike most alphas who are very vocal and open about their 'opinions' on Omegas and such. He's very aloof when it comes to omegas in general, not having strong feelings on anything (very Altaïr behaviour honestly). That is until he meets Desmond.

Now instead of time travel, this time Desmond was born in Altaïr's time. This means Desmond would be raised as a traditional and submissive omega, but he still fought back. He could be born in Alamut (because Eagle of Alamut XD) as the son of the mentor (who is not Diya al-Dīn because he would never) who trained and became an assassin... sort of because idiot bigots.

Desmond is the best assassin in his entire brotherhood, BUT he's not officially an assassin. His father/mentor isn't as strict like most and let him get away with his antics, usually.

That is until Desmond was 'of age' and that's when it starts getting bad for our boy. His dad became more controlling and won't let him sneak off to do missions or fight anymore. He was to be married to whoever the assassins could use as allies. Basically just a bargaining chip. Desmond would fight back harder then ever, even with one of the best assassins guarding him and monitoring his move all the time, he would still be able to sneak off to continue doing missions to make them see just how capable he was.

He could runaway, he probably should runaway, but deep down all he wanted was for his father to love him again. To look at him with pride and treat him like a son again. (Altaïr would use this fact as an advantage later on)

But then it all comes crashing down when he finally gets betrothed. (Idk who he should be betrothed to LMAO it could be whoever. Someone very powerful that the assassins could use)

And all was going to shit for Desmond but it all went to super shit when Altaïr showed up. Because oh boy, Altaïr was a Strom of his own.

Now I honestly don't know how he and Altaïr meets, but it definitely left an impression on Altaïr because he was smitten from the first time they made eye contact. Man was obsessed from here on out kajsksjssoakakak.

And uhh yeah that's all I've got, plot wise

Some notes.

- Desmond pulling all the alpha assholes like catnip.

- Altaïr, manipulating Desmond as a sign of affection

- Malik suffers because we love him <33

Honestly teecup, I just wanted a toxic a/b/o au but it grew plotty legs and ran out of my grasps, my apologies.

And that's all for now!

Sorry in advance if my English is very trying, I'm typing on my phone and it's not the best experience.

PS please make it as toxic and horny as Tumblr allows you to, and I would give you my kidneys.

PPS if you think you know who I am by how I write..... No you don't/lh

As horny and as toxic as Tumblr would allow it? I don’t even know the limit of Tumblr’s tolerance hahahaha

So for this one, if you want Desmond to be born in Alamut as a son of the mentor but not Diya al-Dīn, we can make him the son of an older brother of Diya al-Dīn instead. Born more as a way for the older brother, who was passed over because Diya al-Dīn was more worthy of the title, to try and get power with his son being the next in line for the imam since Diya al-Dīn was still childless at that point.

Diya al-Dīn would be the kind uncle who tried to do right by his nephew but can’t truly intervene because his brother was controlling and had a firm grasp on Desmond’s every day life. It was going well, all things considered.

Desmond wasn’t a genius nor was he inherently talented but he was a hard worker and he always went beyond what was required of him.

His father rewards his hard work by giving him a bit of leeway, all the while making him drink medicinal tea that was meant to change him into an alpha.

It didn’t do anything but hide his scent… which had been easy to do in the first place because those not yet of age only had a hint of scent to show their ‘status’.

Diya al-Dīn tried to be accepting of Desmond’s wish to be an Assassin even if omegas aren’t exactly… well… only omegas that could control their ‘base instinct’ could become Assassins which was hard for an omega without the help of some kind of medicine that would leave them in pain or groggy.

Desmond, unfortunately, is one of the omegas that cannot be medicated. Even if he drank more than he should, that only leaves him in unbearable pain.

That’s why his father pivoted from Desmond becoming the next imam to having some talks with certain powerful rulers. Finding Desmond an alpha that would take him as their official wife or one of his concubine.

His father was less picky of Desmond’s standing and more interested in creating a political bond with a powerful ally (whether he plans to use this to usurp Diya al-Dīn or he simply wants more power outside of the Brotherhood is up for grabs)

And he finally finds one but Desmond would enter into that household as a concubine. His marriage proposition wasn’t a good one all things considered, the alpha was a powerful one but it was well known that his official wife and the older concubines were dangerous. Newer concubines either die from poisoning or accidents or childbirth and, more often than not, their children would not survive more than five summers.

So Desmond escapes. Maybe, just maybe, Diya al-Dīn had a hand in the patrol routes that night and it left certain large windows of opportunity for Desmond to use.

Alamut, of course, will look for him. That’s why Desmond would try to hide from them.

That’s how he meets Altaïr.

He was desperate and his heat was upon him. Altaïr’s scent was overpowering and he could feel it within him that this was an alpha that would fight tooth and nail to keep his omega safe.

He wasn’t a romantic.

He had already accepted the very idea that his alpha would not love him.

He doesn’t need it.

Love did not bring his omega parent any happiness, no matter how overflowing their love for Desmond’s alpha father had been.

What he needed was an alpha who would take care of him and any child he would bear.

So he used his scent to weaken the alpha’s defenses.

It was Desmond who made it impossible for Altaïr to resist.

And so Altaïr claimed him.

.

Unorganized Notes:

Desmond escaped a few weeks after Altaïr killed Rashid but before AC Bloodlines. (So late Sept, early Oct)

He was on his way to Alamut to talk to Diya al-Dīn about being the new mentor (he doesn’t want to be the next mentor) and they actually spent Desmond’s heat in a random abandoned home

Alamut Assassins found them afterwards and, by that point, Desmond was sooo thoroughly claimed that there was no way to say that Altaïr wasn’t his alpha.

This also changed Altaïr’s desire to not be the mentor because the easiest way to keep Desmond by his side is to be the mentor of Masyaf with his marriage to Desmond being a way to ‘mend’ the broken relationship between Alamut and Masyaf.

Desmond’s father was not pleased but fuck him, by law, Desmond was now the property of his mate and Altaïr has no qualms killing the asshole if he doesn’t stop yapping about how he raised Desmond and should have the final say on everything.

He returns to Masyaf and… sorta kicked all the Flowers of Paradise. To be more exact, they were transferred to another part of the fortress while the entirety of Paradise became Desmond’s new home. (Desmond and his most definitely growing child)

That is the second headache Malik got.

The first one was the fact that Altaïr returned with Alamut’s blessing as the mentor (which Altaïr had stressed he would never take) and an omega mate (which he had always said would never happen)

Desmond is free to go anywhere in Masyaf but he will always have guards on him because security reason.

Desmond believes Altaïr’s affection stemmed from the fact that he did more or less coerced Altaïr to biting him during the throes of heat-induced passion so he wants a child to further keep Altaïr ‘happy’ and satisfied (not knowing that the mentor title isn’t passed down from father to son in Masyaf, he honestly believe Altaïr is Rashid’s adopted son)

Altaïr was never fully enthralled during Desmond’s heat. He has been trained to have high tolerance as part of Rashid’s plan to make him the ultimate ‘attack dog’. He marked Desmond fully knowing Desmond was desperate and was trying to ‘seduce’ him.

Honestly, Altaïr just wanted Desmond because his scent had been the sweetest ambrosia he had ever smelled and he believed that meant they were meant to be.

And he will not let anyone get between them, no matter who they may be.

[pollyna]

Teenage Bradley angst-ing because he wants to ask Ice to adopt him too vs adult Bradley running for the hills because the first thing he has to do when he's back from the mission is getting the certificate he printed in 2011 and run to their home to ask Ice to be legally his dad too.

[chut-je-dors]

Hello! Do you happen to know any good resources for learning Finnish? As basic as possible, I literally started on Duolingo half an hour ago:) I know, I know, I'm a poser for learning Finnish *after* Käärijä, but the language sounds soooo interesting (although I've heard the grammar is quite difficult...). Thank you in advance and also love your blog:)))))

Hi!! So very very ecstatic that you've decided to learn Finnish! No reason to feel ashamed that you'd only start after Käärijä... believe me, in Finland people are just altogether very taken if a foreigner wants to learn Finnish, no matter the reason. (And all reasons for learning a language are good!) (And we're SO SO PROUD of Käärijä, he's done a monumental job of bringing our language to the public eye more than ANYONE ELSE BEFORE so, yup! He's a VERY good reason to start learning Finnish!!)

I'm not sure if I'm the right person to point you towards any resources... But I tried finding some for you! I've checked out the Duolingo course and it's a good place to begin! Here's also a drive folder that has some Finnish language books as PDFs.

Also here's a page for beginner's Finnish from our national news media Yle (it's like our version of BBC).

Here is a "picture book" kind of a page for learning names for objects, good to start with!

Here's an online course for beginners! This has grammar too, and links for further reading and studying.

Finnish is also notorious for having it's written language differ drastically from how people actually speak. We don't have accents per se, but dialects instead, which don't just affect the way we pronounce words (=accents, as in English) but the way we form them. So for example, the written Finnish "I am" is "minä olen", but in spoken Finnish it can become e.g. "mä oon", "mää oon", "mie oon", depending on where you live (and there might be some more variations as well but these are the most common ones.) Many foreigners find themselves in a spot where they can read and understand written Finnish pretty well, then the moment a Finnish person opens their mouth it's a bloodbath. But don't let it deter you! And Finnish people are more than happy to switch to written Finnish if you don't understand them. I found this website for learning the basics for spoken Finnish!

A good place is also good ole Youtube! Just type in "Finnish for beginners" and you're set to go!

Finnish is a difficult language to learn because of the grammar and lack of prepositions if your language has them... but look at it this way, I struggle with them in any language that uses them cos I haven't grown up using them. I still occasionally mess up with in/on or for/to (it's even worse with French and Swedish). Doesn't stop me from writing 100k fics in English apparently!

Welcome to learning Finnish! Remember that the most important thing is to learn the swear words, you'll go far with those. Just drop in a perkele and it's always the right thing to say haha.

Jokes aside, I'm very happy to hear this! Finnish is a very beautiful language and a very inventive one as well, which allows for more word play and creativity with the language than, say, English for example. And while Finnish is difficult, you'll find that once you've learnt the rules, there are no exceptions to them or the kind of hassle with the grammar as there is to English or French. I've known exchange students who've learnt near perfect Finnish in less than a year!

If anyone knows and wants to add more good resources here, go ahead!