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loudblonde · 10 months

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Perfectly Content, Simon "Ghost" Riley/Male Reader

Summary:

Simon comes home to find his husband missing, distraught he gets his team to help find him, only to end up getting shot by a poison-laced bullet.

Or Simon's husband is more badass and connected than even Price realises.

word count: 3,4K

warnings: the aftermath of torture, getting shot, almost dying, violence

author note: The ending was a wee bit rushed as my arm was starting to hurt too much,

Ghost knew from the moment he saw (Y/N), that no matter what, that man meant more to him than he could ever comprehend and that scared him more than he could explain.

(Y/N) wasn’t even military, he was a civilian that Ghost had met out and about, an accidental bump into each other… It was like something out of a romance book. (Y/N) had grabbed Simon and forced his heart to beat to his rhythm. Ghost was trapped in the emotions and it scared him.

He knew he had more enemies than he could count and for one of them to get a hold of someone innocent… he was terrified, more terrified than he had ever been living under Mister Riley’s roof.

So, he hid him away from everyone, (Y/N) had no family, no friends, he had been completely new to town and the idea of falling in love quickly hadn’t been something (Y/N) had seemed against. Ghost had bought a plot of land in a forest where an old house stood on it, he had gotten water, electricity and Wi-Fi out there, so his perfect little civilian husband never lacked anything. Sure, he would buy in bulk at the grocery store nearby, but (Y/N) never seemed to dislike it or complain. Everything was perfect. Too perfect.

Simon wrapped his arms around (Y/N)’s waist, he kissed the back of his neck, letting the morning rough beard he had yet to shave scratch over his neck. (Y/N) chuckled and leaned back against him. “Si, I am cooking waffles, a little patience, please.” There was no bite to the sentence.

“I know… my love. I know.” Simon said. “But you just looked so delicious from behind.” That comment earned him a light jab in the ribs. He glanced at the fruit cut up for the day, perfect cubes as always, Simon didn’t know who else had such complete mastery of knives. (Y/N) always said his mother had been very strict about knife safety though there was more to it than that… Simon simply didn’t care more than just observing it. He didn’t massively care, he just found it… strange?

“If you keep sweet talking me, then we won’t get to eat the waffles before they are stale.” (Y/N) said with a slight smirk.

Simon hummed. “That would be a disgrace to your cooking, I can’t do that against you.” He spoke.

(Y/N) smiled and leaned his head to the side, he kissed Simon gently. “Why don’t you make the table, then I will handle the waffles?”

Simon kissed him again before detaching. He went through the simple demand- request and happily made the table. He looked at their white tablecloth, it held no stains. Simon wasn’t sure how but he knew it to be magic. There was no other plausible way to explain it other than that.

Soon, scrambled eggs, toast, sausages, beans and waffles were brought to the table, alongside a cup of black tea and black coffee. Simon took a sip of the coffee and smiled. “I miss your coffee whenever I am away.”

(Y/N) sat down and looked at the man he loved more than anything else. He smiled widely. “Well, then you just have a reason to get home to me as soon as possible.” He said and chuckled.

“That I do,” Simon said.

Marriage life, away from missions and the blood, death and tears of his job, was paradise comparable. He loved every moment and hated the goodbyes, for he knew that one day may very well be the last.

-------

Simon returned home, still halfway stuck as Ghost, his mind was reeling from the latest mission. He needed (Y/N). More so than normally. He hated and dreaded when missions got bad, but (Y/N) always had a way to bring him back from even the hardest and most repressed places. Simon knew he could trust (Y/N), he knew him to be safe.

"(Nickname), I am home,” Simon said as he entered, not finding it unusual that the door was unlocked this time of the day. He got no reply which worried him. Simon entered their living room from the foyer and was met with the sight of blood, broken furniture and bullet casings, his blood went cold as all possible enemies who could have targeted the ones he loved went through his head.

Panic set in as everything started stirring around him. He pulled out his phone and dialled one of the few numbers he had bothered to save. Price. It rang once before he heard Price pick up, before he could even say hello, Ghost spoke, “He is gone. There was a struggle.”

The line went silent for a few seconds. “Look for a body, I will contact Laswell. Make sure to not touch anything, if there is a note it will be visible.” Price said before sighing. “How are you holding up?”

“Just get Laswell.” Ghost said and hung up. He searched his house for hours, going over everything but there was no ransom note or even a claim to who had done it, which was mysterious. Though he had found more guns and knives strapped around the house than he had even brought in. Something was going on.

Price entered the house with Laswell and a few others from a research team. “You live very far out.” Price said as the team began. “If you hadn’t told me I would never have been able to find this place.”

“It’s home.” Ghost said, his mask still placed on. “I wouldn’t give it up for anything or anyone.” He sighed at that. “Yet… someone came looking for me and found someone innocent.”

“We will find him, Simon.” Price said. “Don’t even worry about it.” Price added as he touched his shoulder, he could see as Simon became Ghost, the tenseness of his shoulders ease eerily, his breathing slowed down and true to Ghost fashion, only his eyes revealed the true broken man inside.

“Of course, we will.” Soap said as he entered. He looked to Ghost with a sigh. “I didnae ken what this man means to you, but he must be special. That is all any of us needs.” Soap said and placed his fist against Ghost's shoulder. Ghost ignored the obvious signs of Soap having been home and comfortable enough with his family to let not only the accent slip but also talk more casual Scots around them. He tried to stop himself from a spiral of guilt but ultimately failed as his vision started honing in around him, black spots danced around his eyes- Simon felt Price's hand on his other shoulder.

“Good to have you back with us, son.” Price said as Ghost made eye contact. Both men shared a nod as they all let the forensics work the house. They found some blood that had to be tested and ran through their database, but other than that, there was nothing to indicate who came to go through the house.

As the team headed back to base, Simon had to wonder, would (Y/N) even be alright? Was his husband being tortured or was he dead already? Those thoughts hunted him.

-----

(Y/N) had been having a perfectly normal day off definitely only waiting for his husband to return from whatever war crime he and his team was up to this time around. He liked the peace of having a husband away, Simon was a good cover that he had come to love. It was not even a surprise the moment people came through the door, especially not when (Y/N) had many enemies of his own. He had so many in fact, he had died and taken on a new identity, perhaps he should have changed his first name… nah, he liked it so much.

He sighed heavily as yet another person entered the room with whatever torture gear, they thought would make him talk. (Y/N) knew better than to talk, he had been taught since childhood not to talk. He was exceptional in surviving torture, he had the scars to prove it, scars his husband never saw as all sex was done with the lights off, he knew his husband had issues with his own scars so he simply never pushed.

“You are going to give us what we want.” The not at all creative nor fun torturer said.

“For the last time, I do not know where this Ghost person is, I don't even know them!” He pleaded with false fear. He needed to get out, Simon was bound to be home anytime now and he just should not see the bruises and cuts all over his body… Simon would ask too many questions and… (Y/N) realised he would need to wait.

“Oh please, I know who you are, Iron Spider.” The torturer said making (Y/N) still completely. The tension in the room grew as (Y/N) stilled cold dead eyes on the man's back. “So, tell me, where is this little… pet project of yours.”

“If you knew who I was, then why even try to take me, I won't talk and you know that, don’t you?” He said, each voice careful and with a still tone.

“I have gotten Red Room Widows to talk, I can get you to talk as well.” The man said, bringing over what looked like a fucked-up knife. “Well, shall we?”

—

The team landed on the ground outside of a barn in southern Jutland, the air whipped around them as the helicopter took off again. Everyone was deadly still as they approached the barn, each second felt like hours as blood rushed through their ears, deafening them. Everything was alive around them. The mission was anything but simple.

One quick entry of the barn and already 4 enemy soldiers were dead. They had gotten reliable intel from one of Laswell’s more shady friends. (Y/N) was going to be there and not in good condition. Ghost used the anger of knowing (Y/N), his husband, was getting tortured.

They went down the hatch, killing everyone in the way, this seemed too easy but Ghost did not care, they had taken something of his and he was going to get it back.

Chatter filled his ears but it wasn’t important enough to be filtered through, they cleared room after room, getting everything dealt with before entering the final room. A man stood behind a torn up and bloodied (Y/N), two of his fingers were missing, and his shins looked broken and fucked up beyond repair, Ghost, at a single glance, could count well over 20 visible stab wounds, the worst part is, (Y/N)s right arms skin had been peeled back showing muscle tissue and veins freely. Ghost knew who this man was, his codename was infamous despite how silly it was, Chip, no last name or first name, allegedly some criminal family empire nepo-baby, a rumour had it he was ex-military. He didn’t doubt that at all.

“Ah, the infamous Ghost, thank you so much for making my job easier for me.” This Chip said and shot at Ghost with no warning. Ghost felt the bullet lodged into his shoulder, it felt like it had gone straight through but something felt wrong, he couldn’t hear how much (Y/N) screamed despite seeing his mouth move and himself trash around in the chair, Simon knelt down as pain soared through him, the bullet had been laced with something and he didn’t know what.

Someone pushed him onto his back and applied pressure on the wound. He barely remembered anything as his thoughts went dark.

—

Swimming

Cold wet

Swimming

Simon was swimming in water where he knew not the direction of up or down. All was pitch black, too dark for his own thoughts to even shine a light through it.

Simon knew time had passed but not how much

He was swimming again

In and out

Up and down

Careful and around

Voiceless

Thoughtless

Cold

Cold as ice

—

Watching Simon recover not only from a well-placed bullet wound but also from the poison of this Chip person was hard, (Y/N) knew he should have just risked blowing his cover and gotten out. His husband, who didn’t deserve anything like this, was dying. His contact was working on a cure, but Chip, being the son of the infamous Pitfall Viper, his poison would be bulletproof… (Y/N) had to stop his dark humour, it was only making him feel worse than he actually should.

“It has been a week,” Price's now familiar voice came from the door. “How are you holding up?”

Like Shit. (Y/N) thought but didn’t say it out loud. “I could be better but I have hope.”

“… Listen… I spoke with Kate and they interrogated this guy… Iron Spider is a myth and legend, why is he claiming that you are him…” Price said.

“If you ask, you already know the answer, John… I am not in the business anymore; I haven’t been in 20 years.” (Y/N) answered the question.

“Does Simon know?” Logically the next question.

“No.”

A sigh came from Price, reminding him just how shitty he felt. “Don’t you think he deserves to know?” Price is a man with a heart despite everything.

“… Tell me something Captain,” (Y/N) turned to him. “Wouldn’t you be hiding your ugly past from someone you love to protect them? I erased my whole existence, spent a decade making certain that I was named a myth and not a real breathing man.”

Price leaned back. “So, you love him?”

“With whatever is left of my soul and my whole heart… I was born into a world of murder and killing. Whatever we did and learned was always just to kill more as more people, there wasn’t an end… so, when I did see an end to it, I took it and I got out, no one before me or after me will ever get that privilege.”

Price frowned. “You say it is still happening today.”

“Are you even surprised? You have been working with anti-terrorism for as long as I have heard about you, why would people not be using children to start and end wars? It is no different than all child soldiers you have been shot at or shot yourself.” (Y/N) was calm, far too calm for Price's liking.

“That is different.”

“It really isn’t. You all get on this high and mighty horse. Yes, you have by all means saved the world from World War Three, but you are all just as bad as every single war criminal out there. This whole imperialist ideology you have been brainwashed with…. It is worse than any brainwashing done by the red room because you actually believe in it.” (Y/N) grabbed the wheels of his wheelchair and left the room, leaving the captain to think and stew. (Y/N) knew he wasn’t going to run away or even escape from Simon, he loved Simon and Simon was dying for him… guilt he didn’t know he could feel wrapped its nauseating coils around his stomach, trying to force bile up through his throat. He didn’t allow it, he suppressed it deep down where all his other weaknesses resided. Weakness Mother was supposed to have trained him. He grimaced as he poured himself some hot coffee, it burnt his tongue… life as a civilian truly had made him weaker, Chip had been right at that, but (Y/N) prided himself on not being weak enough to reveal anything about Simon. He brought back a cup for both him and Price. He gave the man the cup and sat down.

“He wanted information on Simon, where he was and I think it is safe to assume we know why now… from what I know, you should be well aware of his mother, The Pitfall Viper.” (Y/N) said, humming lightly under his breath. “She was…. She is, she didn’t die, her accounts are still active and while it isn’t uncommon for others to run it, her whole family are very, the best word would be independent, from the rest of the more refined criminal empire of the world.”

Price looked down at his cup. “So, will his poison kill him?” Price asked, a slight shake to his voice betraying the cool and collected ‘Captain John Price’ persona he had.

“No… I have someone working on the antidote. It will be rough but he already has been given something to slow it down.” He informed the other before taking a sip of his now moderately hot coffee. “And if he doesn’t make it till then, I will work with you to bring down anyone or anything responsible for his death.”

“And if he survives?”

(Y/N) paused at that, the words swelled in his mouth to choke him. He had avoided it for years, been lying straight to Simon’s face… he wasn’t sure Simon would trust him after this. “He knows the whole truth… and if he still wants me, I will repair everything and do anything to make it alright.”

“And when he doesn’t?” Price asked.

(Y/N) looked at Simon. “Then I leave and no one will ever see me again.”

“Little hard to do on a wheelchair.” Price said.

(Y/N) chuckled and looked at Price. “You think that I don’t already have a plan in place? I survived the Red Room and survived escaping it. Sure, my sisters are more deadly than I am, but you can’t be a slob and escape.”

“How old were you when you escaped?” Price asked.

(Y/N) smiled a bit as he leaned back. “15. Which makes me 36 this year and Simon is only a few years older than I am. Price, I… love Simon, he is my weakness and the only one I would trust with my whole life. I have been taking care of him and him. We are good for each other and you can’t deny that.”

“I am not denying it, I have seen more of Simon than of Ghost for the last 3 years. Thank you for that, it is the only reason why I haven’t had you arrested yet.” Price said.

(Y/N) shook his head. “No, you haven’t had me arrested because you fully know that you can’t, you have nothing on me, no one does. Iron Spider doesn’t exist and no one can testify that he does. He is a myth created to scare rookies. Don’t fuck up or get corrupt or the Iron Spider will get you.”

“The Soldier Bogeyman then.” Price said. “And you are content with that?”

“I am more than content with it. I love it. It means I can be with Simon and bring him back from the brink.”

Price stood up as a nurse entered the room. “I hope you are right about this.” Price left.

The nurse waited until Price left before looking at (Y/N). “You know, I never thought he would shut up.” The ‘nurse’ said.

(Y/N) chuckled a bit. “It is good to see you too, V.”

“You are lucky my idiotic son writes everything down, but I can’t promise this will cure him, he may stay in his coma for weeks or forever,” V said.

“That is fine, just give him a chance.” He said before watching her inject it into the IV drip. They said their quick goodbyes and (Y/N) stayed truly loyal to Simon and stayed while he slept.

—

It took 5 weeks before Simon woke up. (Y/N) was present and coached Simon through waking up. He had lost a lot of muscle mass, and he was much thinner than usual, but compared to a regular human, Simon still held some shape.

The conversation they had a week later once they were both in the sanctity of home was full of tears and apologies, Simon understood and knew but it still hurt. But they eventually figured it out. Simon’s rehabilitation and (Y/N)’s eventual rehabilitation were done together. (Y/N) taught Simon how to handle a civilian life away from the military and the action. It was hard but, in the end, they carved out a beautiful life with a retired service dog called Riley.

______

Aaaand that's it! Happy ending for you all!

If you liked this leave a like and reblog it! Reblogs helps more people discover my writing and liking doesn't do anything other then archive it in your own like folder, so please reblog it.

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#cod x male reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #cod men x male reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x male reader #simon riley x male reader #simon riley x you #male reader #lgbt #simon ghost riley #fanfiction

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calisources · 10 months

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CW'S SUPERNATURAL SENTENCE QUOTES. all sentences have been taken from mostly the kripke era (season 1 to season 5) of erik kripke's supernatural, mainly season four and five. change names/pronouns/locations as you see fit.

SEASON FOUR .

If you're going to shoot, shoot! Don't talk!

Please. Dean, maybe angels can pull you out of Hell but no one can do that.

So, you guys are like Mulder and Scully or something, and the X-Files are real?

It was beauty that killed the beast.

Anna may have sent the angels to the outfield, but sooner or later, they're gonna be back.

I suppose some dumb bastard stood here, felt a jolt of his holy juice and thought 'I'm going to build me a nun factory.' Well, it was the right idea... wrong angel.

Tell me something. Where's God in all this?

I'm not sure if he's my brother any more. If he ever was.

Are you under the impression that family's supposed to make you feel good? Make you an apple pie, maybe? They're supposed to make you miserable! That's why they're family.

If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back.

You don't know me. You never did, and you never will.

Congrats, Sammy. You just bought yourself a benchwarmer seat to the Apocalypse.

I serve Heaven, I don't serve man. And I certainly don't serve you.

Forever. The demons will never stop. You can never be with your family. So, you either get as far away from them as possible. Or you put a bullet in your head, And that's how you keep your family safe.

You know I finally get why you and dad butted heads so much. You two are practically the same person.

I mean I worshipped the guy, y'know: I dressed like him, I acted like him, I listened to the same music. But you are more like him than I will ever be. I see that now.

Okay, so basically you're saying that every movie monster, every nightmare that I've ever had, that's all real.

He's a Winchester. He's already cursed.

It was too preposterous. Not to mention arrogant! I mean, writing yourself into the story is one thing, but as a prophet? That's like M. Night level douchiness.

Uriel's the funniest angel in the garrison. Ask anyone.

I'm not a hero, I'm not strong enough.

I know our fate rests with you.

I couldn't break him, pulled out all the stops, but John, he was made of something unique. The stuff of heroes.

You need to learn how to manage a damn devil's trap.

Tell me something, geniuses. Even if you do break into the Veil and you find the Reaper. how are you going to save it?

SEASON FIVE.

The only thing you're going to see out there is Michael killing your brother.

I'm gonna rip you apart from the inside out. Do you understand me?

No doubt - endings are hard. But then again... nothing ever really ends, does it?

You try to tie up every loose end, but you never can.

Dean, even for you, this is a whole new mountain of stupid.

Sorry if it's a bit chilly. Most people think I burn hot. It's actually quite the opposite.

Well, I got to ask. How old are you?

As old as God. Maybe older. Neither of us can remember anymore. Life, death, chicken, egg. Regardless - at the end, I'll reap him, too.

That's the beauty about improv, Sammy. You never know what's gonna come out of your mouth.

You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man that I believed you to be.

World's gonna end, seems silly to get all precious over one little soul.

Why? Because Crowley said so? Because we trust him now?

You think you own the planet? What gives you the right?!?

No one gives us the right. We take it.

You're not my father. And you ain't in my shoes.

I mean, whatever happened to personal loyalty? How long have I worked for these guys. Five millennia? Six?

It's funnier in Enochian.

This creature has the power to take a human's form, read minds.

And you think you know better than my father? The one unimportant little man. What makes you think you get to choose?

It's a plan that is playing itself out perfectly. Free will's an illusion, Dean. That's why you're going to say yes.

Think of the million random choices that you make--and yet how each and everyone of them brings you closer to your destiny.

As it is in Heaven, so it must be on Earth. One brother has to kill the other.

Well, call it personal experience. Nobody gets that angry unless they're talking about their own family.

You know why God cast me down? Because I loved him. More than anything.

Now, tell me... does the punishment fit the crime? Especially when I was right?

Look at what six billion of you have done to this thing, and how many of you blame me for it?

Honestly, people don't need a reason to kill each other. I mean, you seen the Irish? They're all Irish.

#rp meme #sentences memes #meme call #roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #roleplay meme

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dreamersbcll · 8 months

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I know it's early for Christmas, BUT i was thinking that it could be nice to have a story where the core 4 celebrates Christmas a lot earlier because since sam left, tara refused to have anything to do with that holiday and so this is sort of a reapay for all the the christmases she missed

“Sixteenth”

(a little break from whump. happy sunday!)

—————————————————————————-

“Okay, now smile!”

Sam grinned widely at the camera, squinting a bit as the flash obscured her version. Her baby sister, well, her twenty-one-year-old sister, sat on her lap, beaming at the lens, her eyes twitching a bit.

They had been taking pictures for at least twenty minutes now, Chad dancing around in his stupid fuzzy sweater in the background, Mindy taking the photos. It was their “new tradition,” as Mindy claimed.

She wasn’t stupid. Sam knows that this was an attempt by the twins to give the sisters what they yearned for most: time. So the minute after they got home from their Halloween movie marathon at the Carpenter’s, the twins got to work. Mindy was the mastermind, Chad the muscle. Together, they proposed a plan, Operation Carpenter Christmas!

First was the matching Christmas sweaters, then the stocking-making session, and now the cheesy, 90s-inspired Christmas photo shoot. Tara refused to take solo photos, only allowing herself to be in pictures where she could cling to Sam. Various images of Sam holding Tara like a baby, a Step Brothers homage, and now, Sam holding Tara on her lap on the stool.

It was silly. It was only November sixteenth, for crying out loud. Sam was hardly in the mood for Thanksgiving turkey, much less evergreen trees. But here she was, holding Tara to her lap, smiling at the shaky camerawork of Mindy Meeks-Martin.

Squeezing Tara's shoulder again, Sam leaned in, resting her chin against Tara’s back. “You okay, my sweet girl?” she whispered, her breath tickling the back of her little sister’s neck.

Tara squeaked in response but leaned into Sam’s touch. “I’m okay. Focus, Sam. We haven’t even finished the stool photos.”

Rolling her eyes, Sam pulled back and straightened up.

“Okay, no more chattering ladies. It’s time for gift-giving pictures!” Mindy crowed, Chad clapping enthusiastically in agreement.

Sighing, Sam plastered on a smile. It was only the sixteenth of November. This was ridiculous.

Yet she still smiled with suppressed joy at Tara’s reaction to the photos.

And so what if she bought a tiny picture for her wallet?

It wasn’t Christmas yet.

——

Staring at the scene before her, Sam shook her head. “Nope. I can’t ice skate. This is ridiculous.”

They were at an ice rink, the only one open to the public for free in the city. It was a dinky rink, the lights half on, the music perpetually being eighties pop hits. But Sam couldn’t deny the excitement that fizzled from her sister or how she felt a little bit excited at the prospect of making new memories with Tara.

But ice skating? Come on. She thought she dodged a bullet when she vetoed an ugly sweater-wearing contest, but she underestimated Mindy’s sly smile.

So here she was, staring at a couple of amateur skaters stumbling out on the ice. It was her turn next to make a fool of herself.

Tara rolled her eyes back, tugging at Sam’s hand. “Nuh-uh. We’re gonna go ice skating. Besides, we can’t be worse than Chad, right?” she chirped, giving Sam lethal puppy eyes.

Blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes, Sam groaned. “Fine. Let's go,”

Now if she were to say they were incredible, natural-born skaters, she would be a damn liar. But surprisingly, if they held onto each other just tight enough, they could stay upright. When Tara stumbled to the left, Sam veered right, and so forth. They barely went faster than a snail, yet they did better than the twins.

Chad kept slipping, falling backward onto his ass like a cartoon character. Mindy laughed every time until she fell right on top of him. Sam doesn’t think they even made two laps around the rink before they left.

Sam had to grudgingly admit that this activity was rewarding. Seeing Tara concentrate hard, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, Sam knew what love was. She may not have been good at it or good at staying around to find out what love was, but here, she knew that she craved it like no other drug she had ever ingested.

Discreetly, on one of the rare occasions where Mindy stayed upright for more than two seconds, she took many photos of the sisters skating together.

Her favorite one was Sam falling, taking Tara down with her, the two toppling on one another. She especially adored how Sam checked Tara over for any bruises and kissed her face all over.

Mindy knew her plan was working. She was slowly wiping away all the tears. Tara didn’t have a big sister at Christmas, no matter how much she wrote to Santa or prayed to God. It wouldn’t fix everything, but it damn well would make up for lost time.

November was just as magical as the Christmas season itself.

——

After three cups of hot chocolate and about seventeen cookies, Tara was out cold on Sam’s lap, snoring softly. They had just finished the Polar Express, and the ending knocked Chad and Tara out cold.

Mindy was searching through the Christmas movies on the floor, looking for her favorite, It’s a Wonderful Life. Coincidentally, it was Tara’s favorite as well—pretentious little shits.

Looking down, Sam gazed fondly upon her sleeping sister. Tara was snoring quietly, her eyelids fluttering slightly. Her head was firmly in Sam’s lap, her hands wrapped around her big sister’s thighs, anchoring herself to Sam. Though they were both in matching, sweltering flannel pajamas, Tara still held on. It was wondrous how such a precious thing could love Sam despite her flaws.

“I love you, baby. Merry Christmas,” Sam whispered, tucking one of Tara’s wild locks of hair behind her ear.

Sam was startled at the sudden squeal that came from Mindy. The girl was smiling wide with a shit-eating grin. There, Sam realized her mistake.

“Hey. Quiet. She’s sleeping,” Sam shushed, frowning at the noise.

Mindy just shook her head, laughing to herself. “You said Christmas! I knew this would work!” she crowed, pumping a fist of victory in the air.

Shaking her head, Sam flipped off the gleeful girl with her free hand. “Fuck you. It’s still November sixteenth, weirdo,” she hissed.

The girl shrugged. “All the more reason to celebrate. Man, we’re gonna be so ready for the actual holiday!”

Sam snorted, waving the girl off.

Wait.

“There’s more?”

Mindy’s laughter could be heard from thousands of miles away, probably even the North Pole.

Whatever.

#scream #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #AU: protect my heart #the core four!#christmas on a budget.. ish #mindy meeks martin #chad meeks martin

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roamingtigress · 8 months

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The Merry Misadventures of Hosea and The Mustached Idiot

Chapter Three - Getting The Bounty, and Dirty Cowboys Too

Based on the events I blogged about here: https://tinyurl.com/7hu3u44w :)

New Austin isn't one of my favourite places to travel to. The scenery is stunning, and the people are interesting. Among the last of the true wild west out there and it shows; that part, I enjoy. You could with these people for hours, and feel like you've been brought back in time with the stories they tell; some surely sprinkled with creative adjustments. For me, my issue is with the climate, the heat, the dryness, the prickly things where the needles find places you didn't even know you had, but . . . I'll go wherever my heart takes me, and my heart is with that idiot with the mustache.

Dutch has been enthusiastic about the Bounty role from the get-go, particularly when we bought the wagon and he got an ungodly amount of Bolas which he has frightening accuracy with; he accidentally killed one bounty with them and damn near took me out; he has a technique where he whirls them into a blur no less than five times, and lets them fly. The rest of the family needed a little bit of convincing, however.

Yes, the family.

Particularly John, who had to also convince Abigail to let him have some action with us from time to time, provided were to be heavily armed, which we always are (and we always seem to have infinite bullets; something I wish we had when we were younger. He also has a tendency to get head-to-head with Dutch on outings, mostly over the direction. Arthur spent a moment or two or three, and then thought, why not?

Our mission for the day was a bounty who had been spotted on the northern part of New Austin, a charming gentleman named Vicente Mora who was known to bury his victims alive. Of all bounties Dutch has picked to go, he decided that was the one to go after. I suggested Henry Shaw, John suggested Harry Shaw, and Arthur suggested Harry Shaw, who was wanted for forgery for using fake gold nuggets, but here we are, all heading off in the direction of where this manic is or should be.

Good old Legend (and her apparent clones) was the mount for the day. A lovely dun Mustang mare, she's as close to bombproof as you could get in a horse. Dutch picked her up at an auction where she would have likely to have been sold for dog meat, like much of her breed these days. He trained her himself and formed a special bond with her. I think he fits the leggier breeds myself, such as Oasis, that firey Turkoman mare who looks so nice with my own Silver Dollar; we're breeding her on her next cycle. Personality-wise, Legend fits him; she gives him a nice settled ride and doesn't buck off in incidents when sometimes I feel it's warranted; the other day Dutch decided that yes, he will follow a waypoint, but he'll take the narrowest path past a wagon; he lightly bumped her into the wagon and he went flying, somehow; exchanges were made and he nearly got a bullet.

Ever the apparent expert on directional abilities, John was the first to pipe up about where we were heading, or where we weren't.

"I think we're heading in the wrong direction. The waypoint - "

Dutch piped up, a grin upon his face, his eye sparkling. His excitement was palpable. A little too palpable. "We don't NEED a waypoint, Jawhn! We'll follow the sun!"

John again, not convinced, couldn't pass on an opportunity to throw some snark at his dear dad. "Could we just set a waypoint in case a cloud covers it?"

Dutch was unphased.

"Not needed, John! We'll follow the sun!"

I saw the shadow of Arthur leaning into me, gripping onto the mane of one of Legend's clones. "Why are all our horses look the same and why don't they have tack?"

I sighed. It was a bit of a strange predicament to be in. I honestly didn't know but the explanation that came to me was the most sensible one that I could think of. "Because it's a strange world we live in, Arthur. Got to admit, I rather like the uniform look. Looks like a cavalry charge as we storm across the desert if you manage to keep ahold of them."

I hold on tight to the mane of my Legend clone, who for whatever reason has a pair of testicles, as we break into a gallop. I thought being a clone you'd have the same odds and ends that your original would have, but nothing is right in the world. Well, maybe Dutch and I, despite me picking on him. He's just a bit ahead of the boys and me, giving a gesture to follow, his voice cracking in excitement as he thinks he's found a lead.

"Going right to the train tracks!"

I nearly fall off as he tears off; these clones almost seem to have a hive mind; the real Legend is their magnet, wherever they go, we go. John comes up ahead of us and not seeing him, Dutch nearly pushes him off balance. He's normally a fine rider, but in his enthusiasm, it's not unheard of for him to get, well, a bit clumsy.

"Do you think this is funny?" John barked, holding onto dear life.

"if I answered 'yes', you'd kill me!" Dutch grinned.

Whilst it was accidental - I saw it all myself, there was a certain impish look on Dutch's face. I think he gets a bit of a rise out of getting a reaction out of John; you kids might call it 'trolling.' Yesterday had another bounty hunt here in New Austin, and John thought Dutch's 'arm lumbago' where his arm suddenly locks in place, was done on purpose during gunfire to get out of it when things too heated. My poor pet is always embarrassed by it, but he did do his part and pistol-whipped the rest of the enemies.

He is bound and determined that we are heading to the train tracks - only that we aren't.

Ahead there isn't a train track, but a steep rock incline, but Dutch disagrees, there is indeed a train track there. The time has come soon for a bit of reality, as Dutch, John and Arthur are now up on that incline, and look like a bunch of goats and looking utterly ridiculous, particularly my beloved. I didn't follow them up; I saw it coming. Dutch swears, John swears, and Arthur states the obvious.

"SHIT!"

"The fuck?"

"We went the wrong way, Dutch.'

Dutch rubs the back of his neck, a subtle gesture he did when he felt sheepish but not quite wanting to admit he was wrong, whilst carefully easing Legend down. "The sun lied!"

John was exasperated. I could almost hear every fibre of his being to not reach over and strangle him as Dutch eased his horse down past him. "So you're blaming the sun now?"

"Who else am I to blame?"

John snarks back.

"I'm surprised you haven't bought Evelyn Miller in here!"

That stupid grin of Dutch just grows. "Waiting for the opening!"

John just shook his head, opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out as he and then Arthur carefully eased their horses down. There is never a time when things go smoothly in our family bounty-hunting missions. In yesterday's outing, there was that time when in the midst of a gunfire between our bounty's gang and us when Dutch got a case of arm lumbago; Dutch of course was mortified but did his part and pistol whipped the rest of the gang. When John and the mustache brought the bounty in (dead, the way John apparently likes them even if he gets less pay), a firefight erupted between the lawmen of Tumbleweed, Arthur and me. I still don't know what started it but it ended with John and I pointing out sawed-off shotguns at each other. But, we keep doing them anyways.

"Next time, *I'll* put the waypoint up, and we *will* be following " I firmly insisted, with no argument from my pet who I see a flush on his cheeks when he returned by side; I'm certain he means well, likely trying something different, but . . . FUCK! He just manipulated me into not staying angry at him for long; he absently played with a strand of hair as he did in our last chapter; he knows how that little gesture of appeasement affects me, it's always worked and why change what works?

"Damnit, Dutch."

He gives me puppy eyes, and grins, moving Legend away just out of touching distance; he knew what was going to come. "You love me."

I tease back. "Someone has to."

Damnit, I do. Oh, I do. I will take the Collector Role over these wilder bounty hunting missions, but . . . Seeing him so happy, is music to my soul.

At last, we reach the train tracks, with a bit of navigational tweaking. The sound of the train ignites some sort of hunger in Dutch; he's literally drooling. He puts Legend in a fast gallop (he'll be feeling it later), and what you'll be soon witnessing is a perfect blend of luck, stupidity, and brilliance all wrapped up in a bundle of insanity. By a stroke of magic or something, we've had something done to us so that no matter what kind of stupid thing we do, we'll survive it, and in this case, very much comes in handy.

Mustangs are about as surefooted as any breed of horse you could get; our Thoroughbred stallion, Dynaformer, bless him, would have run for the hills if he was assigned to be the mount for this. Along the there was some loose shale and rock, there's a bit of an incline along the railway and I jinxed her. Down she goes but without a scratch (another one of those funny occurrences here, our horses also can't die; I won't complain), along with her passenger who goes right under the hooves of her clones who got more than a scratch. Cusses were issued by all in the family. No big though; Dutch dusts himself up, ego bruised perhaps but still bound and determined to get that unsavory character.

Second attempt?

This is a cargo delivery train and a rail goes along the perimeter of the flat carriage to protect the shipment boxes. Now I have seen Dutch jump from his horse and onto these cargo trains with success; he always lands like an octopus falling out of a tree but still usually manages to get the job done. This time though?

"SMACK!" Goes his body against the railing, plinking off like he weighs nothing.

Arthur gets to Dutch before I can, and helps him up onto unsteady legs. "I think we should just . . . Call it a day."

He meant well, he really did, and Dutch knows it too. Truthfully, despite what you see, Dutch is not particularly strong. His health and stamina stats are equivalent to the Scrawny Nag's; the stock for Miracle Tonics must be at an all-time high. But there's this look of determination in his's eyes, that without saying a word, says it all. No, he's gone too far into this to turn back no. He gets up back onto Legend and gallops out towards the train once again, and after timing this one better, manages to get on the cargo, albeit awkwardly, but he got there. We gallop alongside the train, trying to keep pace.

"I WILL TEAR YOU IN TWO!" I hear him yelling as he cuts through the Vicente Mora gang like butter with his dual Schofields, as of yet no arm lumbago, and I'd lie if I said that with all that passion and fury he is speaking with isn't doing things to me, voice cracks and all, but I won't disturb you. Well, maybe that's too late, I apologize. Maybe.

We hear a man yelling instructions in Spanish and my heart races fast. Dutch, whatever the hell you have planned, do not let this man bury you alive, that is my job. More gunshots go off as he races through the train in a blur of black, red and white. Arthur and John pick off some surviving gang members, as do I, what else is there for us to do?

"I WILL KNOCK YOU STRAIGHT BACK INTO THE GUTTER!"

Damnit, Dutch, you're distracting me. *I* want to pounce Dutch the way Dutch is pouncing Vicente Mora and swiftly take him down with a bola and hogtie him because he's been a very naughty boy who needs to be punished. He has a thing about being punished, and I have a thing about punishing him.

There I go, sharing too many thoughts again. My apologies. You didn't need to know that. Back to this story, that one will be for another story.

So we get our man and now the trick is ts to get him off the train without killing him; the bounty rewards will keep us well and John will get more money than what he'd ever get at sheep herding (heh). Dutch then gets the idea, stop the train! He trusts us that we wouldn't let the bounty go as he makes a dash to the locomotive, awkwardly skips over the coal carriage and disappears into the conductor's compartment. I hear some squabbling and then the conductor throws himself out of the caboose as the train slows but is not willing to stay until it stops. He grabs hold of his arm and swears incoherently as he tumbles down the track embankment and then gets up and takes off, grabbing some random passerby's horse and taking off with it, leaving them at a standstill until one of our clones passes by as the boys and I get onboard. Not sure what went on in there, but, then . . .

"Damn dirty son of a bitch bit me!"

John and Arthur are dumbfounded and disgusted, but somehow, I'm not.

Now I have been bitten by that big sonofabitch (and still do from time to time), but I'll refrain from getting into too much detail unless you want me to, and then I'll let loose. Let's just say, it HURTS and for certain, that was no bite being delivered in an intimate setting. I felt a bit sorry for him but I didn't have time for pity; we have a train to get to Tumbleweed where we'll drop off our bounty, collect our savings and spend the night in what seems to be the only hotel in the state. It's a bit shady, I've got into one of the most wicked bar fights there, but it'll do and it has a bath; something that we all are in desperate need of.

John takes control of the train as the rest of us stay with our angry bundle of Vicente Mora, swearing at us in Spanish. We take turns in giving him a kick here and there, just to get him to shut up for more than a few minutes. Poor Dutch, though; he's exhausted, battered and bruised and it shows as he winces while giving Vincente his third and final kick to knock him out cold. He stumbles over to a wooden box to sit down, still pride on his face.

"We did real good there, boys. Not our smoothest operation, but - " He stops to try to hold back a wince.

"You're gettin' too old for this, Dutch - " Arthur sighs.

"Nahhhhh, son, I've got it in me!" Dutch manages a crooked smile, patting him on the shoulder. "Those boys didn't have a chance!"

Well, they did, but . . . We got them under control.

The rest of the ride goes off without a hitch; the bodies left on the train were dumped off for the vultures and coyotes as Dutch got some rest on top of some cargo. Some ribs were cracked, and there was bruising over much of his body; he took quite a hit.

Never thought I'd be looking so forward to that grungy hotel as much as I did. Legend comes trotting up to us as we get off the train, while Arthur and I help Dutch on getting down the stairs. John carries our bounty over his shoulder, places it on our mare and leads the way to the sheriff's office. He's woken up from being knocked out and I can hear his swears coming, and a thud from John punching him.

Dutch still trying to be stoic, not wanting me to be worried about him. He's in considerable pain, but he's holding his head high, his chest even puffed out.

"I'll see about getting us a bath. If anyone gives us any issue I'll deal with them, you got it?"

Warm water and a bit of rest should help a long way; there won't be any travelling until he's well and good to travel. As much as I love the smell of a man's musk, particularly Dutch's, which is a delicious blend of cologne imported from Europe, tobacco, leather, hair pomade and a delicious scent that comes off of his own form; a rich, almost earthy flavour, we're both getting a bit rank. So many days on the road will do that. We normally get ourselves a bath at the hotel in Valentine from time to time but our lifestyle doesn't permit that to be an overly common occurrence. We mostly just wash in whatever water bodies we come upon on our travels; it's a lovely treat though to get a proper wash in a proper bathtub.

Oh, it sounds good. Oh so good.

The hotel is much in the same state as we last went in it, but it'll do for a bit. I hear Arthur settling some things upstairs. We don't have much ourselves, but we'll make do. I turn to the hotel owner.

"We'll rent a room, please. And the bath."

I scowl at the look we get, but the bearded idiot takes our money all the same and hands us the keys. After that, the first priority, the bath. I prepare it while Dutch undresses, and I cringe when I saw the bruises on his form. Black, blue, bruised and battered all over. He frowns as he looks at himself in the mirror.

I speak gently, placing my hands on each of his shoulders, and kiss him on his right cheek. His hair has been tousled after such a rough day and I love the look of it. "You'll heal up well, Duchess. And you'll heal up even more when I kiss every inch of your body."

There was a look of vulnerability though as he kept looking at himself, judging himself. "It's not that, 'sea, it' - " He spoke quietly, looked away and then gestured at his lower body.

"This."

"What about it?" I spoke gently, pulling him close as I take a moment to admire him in the mirror; I very much liked what I am seeing, but with a foot I push the mirror away after a moment, considering how he was feeling.

"We're both getting a little older, Dutch. But . . . I think you're as gorgeous as ever."

"You really think so . . . ?" A soft plea, absently twirling a strand of his hair, something he did not only for when he was appeasing, but when he was uncertain, or sometimes when he's deep into reading a book.

"I do think so."

He's referring to a softness to his belly (that he still shaves) these days that's formed into a little paunch, and I love it. It's lovely to rub, something that he often drifts to sleep with, and something I often drift off to sleep while doing. I feel deeply pained to see him think that, and I have to address it.

"Perfect for kissing!" I grin and a rather not Dutch-like sound comes out of him when I kiss him on his belly button - and a massive smile.

"'Sea!" He blushes when he just realized he made; another tender spot that he acts stoic about, except when I catch him unaware. "I did not make that sound!"

I get that sound out of him again when I repeat that kiss. "But you did!"

I just hold him tight and hug him for a moment, then soothingly stroking his hair with one hand, and his slight potbelly with his other. He melts like butter with my touch. "I won't have you talking like that about yourself. My beautiful boy." I'm gentle but firm.

Wordless, but saying so much, Dutch accidentally hits his nose against mine as he kisses me. I just gently grab it and give us a very light shake before I take him by his hands. "Best we get into that tub before the water gets cold."

I lead in but he pauses as he carefully steps in, his gait stifled a bit in pain. "I want to wash you, Old Girl. I've dragged you all the way out here . . . " His voice is soft . . . I can't say no. But I'll wash him as well because damnit, he needs a wash because he smells like a devil's armpit.

Dutch gets into the sudsy bath first and then I follow when he's settled, and I sit close but careful with his ribs. A strong arm reaches around me and starts washing my chest, and I close my eyes when he moves his hand down to my belly; it too has got a bit soft over the years. His touch is so tender, so careful as if I was the one that had been battered against the cargo train rail. A big smile forms on my lips as he rests his head on my shoulder and I feel his mustache brush alongside my neck he kisses me, a funny, tickling feeling and I let out a light life. His voice was tired, but . . . His heart was in those words.

"You're too good to me . . ." He spoke softly, and I close my eyes as he starts washing my hair and scalp. "I bring you all 'round the country, here and there, searching for some bounty, running 'shine, gettin' into trouble . . . "

"And I wouldn't want to do all of that with anyone else."

I could tell from his posture that he's in a lot of pain, and I help guide him to switch places where he'll be having his back facing, and start scrubbing on him, starting from his shoulders and minding his bruises as I move down to this spine. Dutch pouts, though I know he's loving it.

"I wasn't even done cleanin' you yet."

I kiss him on the back of his head. Dirty or not, his hair still smells amazing, but I still give it a good wash; it's a great excuse for me to run my hands through it. "You'll get to me when I'm done cleaning you, you filthy animal."

Dutch laughs, and what a wonderful deep laugh it is. "I thought you liked it when I was dirty."

I just smile, shaking my head as I start to work on his chest. He leans his weight into my touch, letting out a happy little sigh. "No, I like it when you talk dirty. There's a difference between talking dirty and smelling like dirt."

"What if I'm dirty while talkin' dirty?"

I could hear the grin, the spark in his eyes and I kiss him on that spot between his neck and shoulder, and just hug him. "You're distracting me from what I'm doing here, mister." I grin, poking that freckle by his cheekbone.

Dutch gives my hand a squeeze, and I feel his smile when he kisses it. "Maybe it's an intent."

I know it damn well is, he's being cheeky. The water's a little less than clear now, but we're a few layers short on the dirt now. He leans back against me and . . . Just lets his head and weight flop back against me, falling asleep against me in this gradually cooling water but . . . We're together.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #vandermatthews #hosea matthews #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #john marston #rdr2 fanfiction

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songofsaraneth · 1 year

Photo

I've been meaning to make a container garden update post for weeks now, but health/life kept getting in the way. So these photos are taken within the last week-ish but I've been getting it all set up over the last month! Including finally getting through the last of my rain barrel so I could scrub and rinse it out.

First major thing is I finally bit the bullet and bought the expensive porch loveseat of my dreams. I've been wanting a little couch or egg chair out there for 2.5 years but nothing ever appeared secondhand, and they're SO expensive. But finally there was a half off sale and so I went for this one from target. The best part about having that wicker back means I can use an umbrella or clip fabric to it as a shade cloth, and since it's already almost 90ºF here, that's a big motivator for spending time outside. Anyway here’s the breakdown of what I’ve got in now. Text and photos not in order bc it was too hard. Also, I tried to put a readmore here, but... I guess tumblrs not letting me have those today so sorry, long post it is! For edibles, I’ve got 4 containers of tomatoes (3 cherry/snacking and one slicing), 2 containers of strawberries (all that survived from last season!), 2 kinds of chives (normal and garlic), 2 kinds of basil (sweet and spicy globe), oregano with lemon thyme, and my hardy old rosemary. The basils got chewed up by a stray cat so I had to keep them inside for a week to recover. Then I sprayed the general area with orange oil to deter it and the orange oil ended up burning their fragile leaves, so thye’ve had a rough time of it. but! finally recovering 😬 And the big blue container I’m trying to repurpose for melons this spring, and will plant spaghetti squash later in the summer. Will I be able to get cantaloupes supported on the treils with netting? Not sure but I’m gonna try. Def most experimental inclusion this year. For perennial flowers from last year, almost all survived! I’ve got 4 kinds of sage (one of which seeded into an adjacent empty pot, so I left it and added some annual violas), guara, penstemon, 2 kinds of lavender, and a miniature rose. My red geranium kept blooming all through winter, so I got a pink and a purple one as well. The sages look a bit rough right now because I left for a week before I put in the other annuals and they’re the thirstiest of the bunch, so dropped a lot of blooms. Oh well. For new additions and annuals, I went crazy lol. My most dangerous to shop with friend and I went to the local nursery and stores together so of course we both went overboard. I finally got one of the jasmine I’ve been eying for a year and a half, which just started blooming and already smells amazing. My 2 gailardia were tiny rosettes but ones forming a bloom and I’m so excited. Also marigolds, zinnias, petunias, lantanas, those fluffy spike ones I’m blanking on the name of, and a fuchsia! And probably some I forgot. The fuchsia’s been swapped to a shader spot already, but it’s getting ready to bloom and I’m excited. I also, while visiting Colorado two weeks ago, accompanied my friend to a nursery and ended up driving back with a clematis, one of my favorite flowers ever. It’s still vining up right now but fingers crossed for flowers. SO. Lots of things in at the moment, so far been good for the last week and we’ll see what ends up surviving the summer heat or not once we get to the weeks of 100ºF+ days. I’ve got some other plans/tweaks, but this is the bulk of things. Otherwise, life has been a lot and I’m still goin through it...grad school, research, coping with the porch birds I love getting killed by the feral cats, and so on :( Getting up to water has been motivating at least for finally leaving bed in the morning despite all my eye pain troubles (easier to just keep them closed for an extra 3 hours than to start the sequence of drops and compresses it takes to get them open). But then I can do my morning doomscrolling at least surrounded by beautiful flowers and birdsong instead of huddled in my cave.

#ramblings #container garden #my stuff

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victusinveritas · 3 months

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From the Dull Men's Club on a different Hellsite:

"We've been living in Northern France for ten years now. Before we lived in Southern France, which was after we had been living in - while restorating - an old windmill in Flanders, the working part of Belgium (couldn't unsay that one).

Without searching for it for any reason in particular, the old farm we bought here is located right on the Western Front, German side to be precise.

We learned very fast that the past was very palpable in our new environment. First time we got a glimpse from it was when one of our dogs dug up a piece of what was without any doubt a nice pebble to him, but appeared to be a fragment of a German shell - yes l dug a hole of 4m wide and almost 2m deep to get most of the other parts of that explosive - that's how l got to know who fired it in the first place.

His name was Fritz, Frank or Gunter, probably, maybe Mark, and since he was a fresh new recruit in the herd he fired his howitzer way too short, right behind the lines of his outraged fellow brothers in arms. At least, that's how l imagine the story. l apologize for my lack of evidence tho, despite it looking highly plausible to me.

Whatever, lots of artifacts came out of our ground since - bullets, fragments of pipes, an almost completely rotten away army boot with the nails still in its sole, more shell fragments, shrapnel bullets etc, all sorts of elements from military activity in and around our - probably - completely shot into pieces old farm.

You know, l've got a soft spot for old stories and maps. The National Library of Scotland did an outstanding job by digitizing the so called 'trench maps,' used by the allied forces in their daily struggle on Western Front. They are online, and a pure treasure chest for me, seeing our region with a more than 100 year old eyesight every day a little bit more. Allied trenches, less detailed, in blue, and German trenches, highly detailed, in red.

I'm not a souvenir seeker, l'm not an historian, l'm just a no name witness of something l'll never understand.

About this photo. I took it this morning, and y'all agree there's nothing more dull than a muddy road on a rainy day in an almost featureless landscape.

This is today, but more than a hundred years back this was about a few ten meters behind the first German (attack) trench. If ever the Allied forces managed to cross that trench, a flat zone of about 1000m soaked clay, craters, barbed wire, bodies and gear layed in front of them before they got into what would have been the real hornet nest - a second, extremely well defended trench system located on top of that tiny 'ridge' at the horizon of the picture. Well designed, barbed wire, machine guns, everything, and a whole bunch of cannons in the back country that covered the apocalyptic landscape between both trenches (that yellow dot indicates where the photo was taken, looking south-east).

These tiny ridges - ancient dunes during the glaciations - were the key of the whole Western Front north of the Somme. Strategic advantages in a lowland landscape, they defeated Allied leaders and superiors to throw thousands of young men to it.

This region is literally sprayed with war graves. New houses, residential areas, shopping malls and industrial areas are been built, transforming these fields with their ditches into concrete and bitumen, gradually erasing these tiny details in the landscape that remind us of what once was happening here.

When l got back in my car, track 11 of Phil Collins Best Of cd started playing - l'm a child of the eighties. I love good ol' Phil and every time l put another cd in my player, it stays there for several weeks.

Track 11, can't remember the name of the song, started with bag pipes and drums.

Bagpipes and drums. That's how l'm imagining them, storming the enemy lines.

Lest we forget.

Bart. 48 year old Belgian expat in France."

#wwi #france #trench warfare #the somme #military history #dull men's club

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oscaronthegloryroad · 10 months

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Do you wanna read a story about weird musicians? Do you like stories with queer characters? Well I am working on something that has both!

Enjoy! And let me know what you think, please.

Bennie looked down at the Squier Mustang on their workbench and sighed. Broken headstock, pushed in pickups, and a litany of scrapes and dings told a story of a hard life. It had been painted black, and before that white, and hiding under all of that was the classic Fender two tone burst. It had gone to every Foulwater Birds show, survived a dozen stage dives, knocked over stands, and half empty beer bottles chucked at it’s player. But the Fall of Civilization Fest finally ended it’s career, Hank Hewlett dove off the stage at the end of the Foulwater Birds’ set and his strap broke, so he bit the bullet and bought another guitar.

But it’s hard to let go of beloved old things, particularly when they have been at your side through hard times. Thats why it was sitting on Bennie’s workbench with a replacement neck, pickguard, and pickups waiting in the wings. It had taken a little while for all the parts to get here and Hank had been antsy, which made Bennie antsy too. And as if on queue the doorbell buzzed.

“Hey Bennie.”, Timbo the Himbo’s chest vibrating bass voice was converted to a tinny baritone by the terrible mic and speaker, “I brought lunch. And a kitten.”.

“What the fuck, Tim.”, Bennie threw open the door to find a giant at the bottom of their stairs holding a small cooler and tiny cat, “Why and how.”.

“She was hiding under my van this morning.”, Tim held out the little ginger kitten in a cat carrier as Bennie sighed and shook their head, “And Miranda says that I can’t adopt another kitten.”.

“It’s probably a he, and you want me to adopt him for you.”, Bennie raised an eyebrow at the big goober in front of them, “I don’t have any supplies.”.

“Oh, I brought food!”, Tim beamed triumphantly at his best friend and held up the cooler, before blinking and looking down at it in his hand, “Oh, wait, I think I left it in the van. Let me grab it real quick.”.

“Why am I not surprised you thought to bring food,”, Bennie sighed and resigned them self to adopting the kitten. There are worse fates, after all. “what did you name him?”.

“Oh, I haven’t yet.”, Tim smiled as he handed the cat carrier off to Bennie and set the cooler down, “I figured that I should leave that to you.”.

“Alright.”, Bennie peaked into the cat carrier at the little guy within, he was curled up in the corner and wearily watching the opening, “what should you be called?”.

“So, Hannamal sent me to check in on you.”, Tim and Bennie were sat on the floor flanking the coffee table that Bennie found in the apartment complex dumpster corral and dragged into their little basement dwelling. “I figured you just forgot about texts, everybody does. Right?”.

“I just get into the zone doing whatever.”, Bennie shrugged and grabbed an onion ring off of Tim’s plate, “Good call of food though, I haven’t eaten in a while so I owe you one.”.

“Don’t even think about it,”, Tim grunted as he wolfed down a fist full of fries, “Miranda has been working out a new menu for the restaurant and so we’ve been sharing all sorts of food with folks to see what they think, and we finally got to the pub lunch section of the menu.”.

“Ah ha!”, Bennie laughed and looked at the sticky note off of the wrapper that held the sandwich they picked, “But corned beef, avocado reduction, Swiss cheese, and garlic butter is kind of a strange combination and a little bit upscale for a pub lunch. Don’t you think?”.

“I have no idea.”, Tim shrugged, “Miranda makes it, and I eat it. We have a pretty good arrangement in that I can eat anything and I can wash dishes.”.

“And play bass!”, Bennie interjected as they snagged another onion ring and peeked into the cooler, “But I suppose that has nothing to do with food.”.

“Oh, that reminds me.”, Tim wiped his hands on his jeans and rummaged in his pockets for a moment, “I found a bass that needs a little TLC, and since you gave that Thunderbird to Rob I figured you might need another.”.

“Eh,”, Bennie shrugged and looked over at the pile of cases against the wall, there were two basses in the mix already, but one of them was a complete basket case, “what sort of TLC does it require? I’ve got a few things to put back together.”.

“Oh, it’s pretty beat up and it needs a tuning machine,”, Tim finally produced is keys from his pocket, “HAH, but otherwise it should be good.”.

“Ah, is it a stingray?”, Bennie shook their head with a wry smile, “they always have bad tuning machines, and cheap bridges.”.

“It is.”, Tim laughed, “The drummer from irritants had it and I traded him that dented old Tama copper snare Hannamal traded to me for that nice Pork Pie I found.”.

“How do you do that Tim?”, Bennie shook their head and reached for some fries, “I’ll take a look at it if you leave it with me, but I’ve got to finish fixing Hank’s Mustang and at least one of the broken guitars I’ve had floating around for a while.”.

“Oh yeah, no problem with that. No hurry!”, Tim pushed the fries toward his friend and stood up, “Miranda thinks that the ones I have are enough for me, she also thinks that I don’t need more than one amp.”.

“I mean, you don’t want to end up with all the clutter I’ve got.”, Bennie sighed and patted the pile of busted amps that took up the space that probably should have been occupied by a chair or something, “On the other hand having stuff to work on is a good way to keep your mind and hands occupied. And out of trouble.”.

“Heh, I’ll be right back.”, Tim disappeared out of the door and Bennie surveyed their domain, piles of instrument cases and boxes of parts littered one half of the one room, basement apartment. Their lovely Bianca hung on the wall with a burnt Squier Strat they pieced together from the remnants of three guitars, an old 12 string Takamine they found at a rummage sale that still had the shadows of stickers they had peeled off of it’s face, and an almost ruined Epiphone ES-339 in sunburst that had a pretty nasty crack in the face and a headstock repair. Music had been their love for years, but having the ability to do fix just about any instrument had cemented their place in the local scene as the go to person for repairs. It also meant that lots of people just gave them busted gear that they found, even if it was beyond repair. Luckily Tim was back before they could think too much about it. “You okay?”.

“Yeah, I’m just ruminating on the nature of life and stagnation.”, Bennie leaned back against the pile of amps, noticed the look of concern and smiled, “Or about what to name the kitten.”.

“Ooh, what are you thinking?”, Tim set down the Sterling bass bag and thumped to the floor, leaning forward in the direction of their friend.

“Catly West? Eric Catton?”, Bennie frowned and scratched their chin, “I’ve been thinking about musician puns, with cat twists.”.

“Of course,”, Tim reached over and scratched the kitten between the ears as it poked it’s head out from under the coffee table, “how about Kitty Ray Vaughn? Or Ritchie Catmore?”.

“Ooh, Ritchie Catmore is good!”, Bennie laughed and looked over at the kitten as he sneaked his way around the coffee table leg and pounced on Tim’s wiggling fingers, “What do you think little guy? Are you Ritchie Catmore?”.

#Long Post #Writing #I don't know what the title will be #But the band they are in is called Snacc Attacc

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mcleemlis · 1 year

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creativity & organization

I'm finally getting around to giving myself space to write an update. I completed the 90 day probation period in my new job last week (so woohoo to it being more difficult to fire me, not that it was likely to happen anyways, lol)! I have been pretty overwhelmed these last couple of months. Between starting this new job (that has so much more work than my old job did, which is a mixed blessing), moving across town, partaking in a dear friends' wedding (it was the first wedding I ever went to and I was a bridesmaid :D ), and assisting my roommates with their recent transportation issues, I've been SO DAMN TIRED. The surprising thing is that I didn't realize how stressed I was until a couple weeks ago when I had a mini breakdown at work and pretty much realized the sheer amount of things on my plate. Since then I've had some conversations with my team lead and unit director about work stuff, and some of my personal responsibilities have wrapped up or my stress has been mentioned to contributing parties and is beginning to be addressed.

Something that has been a real challenge for me during the past few months, but is really helpful once I get a system set up, is organization. With the new move and the new job, I have been experiencing a lot of disorganization as I adjust to my new spaces, responsibilities, and roles. In the move, we ended up downsizing in a couple of ways. We lost a roommate who recently moved in with her new husband. In losing that roommate I also lost what felt like one of my main support pillars in the house. Lets just say she and I made up the responsible half of the household, so I've lost some of that... guaranteed/instinctual support (maybe that's the way to say it, basically I didn't have to tell her to clean, or do things around the house, or check that she paid bills, etc.). We also went from renting a 4 bedroom house to a 2 bedroom apartment. I personally went from having a bedroom (that I share with my bf) and an office/studio, to just having the shared bedroom and trying to fit my office and art supplies in the living room.

With work, you might say I've upsized. I went from being in a position that was poorly defined and where I had so little to do and so few expectations that I was consistently looking for work to do and things to improve the sad state of the library. Now I work in a position that already had a clearly defined role with a variety of tasks and responsibilities assigned to it, as well as projects in development and underway. So now I have a pretty full plate at work that I'm still analyzing and understanding as I try to figure out what my regular work flow might look like and how I should be prioritizing various responsibilities. I've been juggling more tasks and responsibilities lately, and organization has been key in knowing what all I need to work on. I'd been wanting to have a bullet journal for a while and even bought notebooks and outlined what all I thought I wanted to record in it and looked at different spreads and layouts, but it pretty much stopped there. Between my indecisiveness on layouts and fear of messing up, my physical bullet journal went nowhere. But the idea of a digital bullet journal had sprouted from all of my layout design searches.

So after looking at some templates others had made, I went to Canva and made one of my own. You can check it out at the link at the bottom of this post. I made it over the course of maybe 6 hours over 3 days? It was something I was able to put little bits of time into here and there as I kept it open in one of my browser tabs. The ability to make major and minor adjustments was key to my being able to "complete" the template in that amount of time. I say "complete" because I developed this template as a draft, knowing I would make new templates and adjustments as I figured out what I wanted, what works best for me, and what theme I wanted to go with. So the template I made is only setup for about 3 and half months (from late February to the end of June) and has a fairly basic layout. There are daily and weekly spreads, with monthly calendars and pages for monthly goals, a couple pages for notes, and that's pretty much it. I wanted to make something pretty basic and flexible on the daily pages, to see what I ended up using it for or not using it for, so I could consider adjustments going forward. The short time commitment for this template has also allowed me to learn more about how to use my template in OneNote and ways I might make my next template different to take into account some of OneNote's quirks and features.

All in all, the planner has been helpful in organizing tasks I want to accomplish at work and outside of work, as well as providing reminders and space for some of my hobbies. Now I'm trying to work towards finding better balance between work, supporting others, and doing things for myself. Case in point: my zines. I (laughably) thought I would be done with my manifesto zine awhile ago, but I haven't devoted as much time to it as I thought I would be able to, nor did I accurately predict how long it would take me to do some of the research and to mess with the layout of the zine itself. At this moment I still have 1-2 pages to research and fit into the layout, plus the bibliography. I also have the problem(?) of thinking up lots of ideas for zines but not having (or making??) the time to work on these ideas, despite very much wanting to. Hopefully over the coming months I'll be able to find some balance. With Fall semester being a busy season for my unit, I think I'll be keeping my expectations low for my hobbies then, but I'm hoping this summer I'll be able to indulge in them more!

You can check out my planner here: My first planner

#daily planner #planner #bullet journal #digital planner #digital bujo #canva #diy planner #organization #life #librarians #women artists

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ottspot · 1 year

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I Bought A 10 Year Old Nintendo 3DS Game And Loved It - My Thoughts on Fire Emblem Awakening

It all started one day in December, just one month before the year was over. I woke up with the sudden urge to buy one game I had been meaning to get all these years, a game that I've had interest in but just never got to for some reason... Fire Emblem Awakening for the Nintendo 3DS.

I had been exposed to it a number of times via Club Nintendo promotions, "Best Of The 3DS" lists, praise from my friends, and even playing the demo all those years ago. I may be almost ten years too late but I bought it second-hand from a retro game store (cheaper than GameStop!), and I couldn't have been happier with my decision.

In the age of the PlayStation 5, Xbox Series X/S, and the Nintendo Switch, many consumers would be baffled at the idea of buying games for older systems, like the Nintendo 3DS. Some people in this case would often ask, "why not emulate or pirate?" There are advantages to doing that of course, especially considering that Nintendo doesn't even make money off of second-hand physical copies, and they soon won't be able to make money off of even the digital versions, with the company closing down the Nintendo eShop of the 3DS and Wii U systems in less than three months as of writing this!

The thing is, even in a time where we can just get games and DLC for these older games without spending a cent, I still wanted to experience getting a game officially one last time. And that's what I did late November of 2022, where I bought... Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney and Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Spirit of Justice. Yeeeah, I thought the Zelda "Oracle" series games on the Virtual Console would be my last digital purchase, but I saw those two on sale and they were the only ones I was missing on 3DS, so... I bit the bullet. And those were my, as of now, final Nintendo eShop purchases on the 3DS system.

But just one month later, I woke up and thought about one game in particular. A game that I believed I should get not in a digital form, but a physical copy. Indeed, it was the one I stated before and the main subject of this post, Fire Emblem Awakening. I drove to my local retro game store that morning and I picked the game up.

The inside cover had some pretty nasty water damage, but I plan on getting a new case entirely at some point, so it's okay.

I booted the game up, and discovered that there was a save file already there! Thanks to my modded 3DS system, I backed it up before erasing it. That way I can go back to it and see how they played.

After making a new save of my own, I chipped away at the game bit-by-bit until I finished it on January 3rd. I would have finished it already by now but I had other plans in my life, as well as a few other games to play a little bit of as well. But regardless, I did beat the game! And let me tell you... I adored it.

Now, this wasn't exactly my first experience with Fire Emblem. I had played Warriors on the Switch a while back, and I played a hacked version of Fates (only the Birthright path) and they were alright experiences. But Awakening was on another level entirely to me. The story, without giving too much away, had lots of tension, pain, and moments where I genuinely gasped out of fear. The other games I had played never made me feel that way about the story before.

The gameplay is a favorite of mine, too. I really like tactical RPGs like this, even if I haven't played a lot of them. I appreciate games giving me some time to plan out my moves and selecting which units to have fight the enemy, or stay back so they don't die. In that way I really felt like a tactician, just like the main character.

Speaking of, all the characters in this game were very lovable. Their writing was phenomenal and I loved their little voice lines. Lissa is definitely a favorite, and was always one ever since I played the demo back when it first came out. And that's the thing! Even early on in the game I learned to love and care about these characters. That's how good I feel the writing is.

Overall, I feel that this game deserves the reputation that it has right now. After 16 and a half hours of playtime, that couldn't be more obvious to me, and it's easily one of my favorite Nintendo 3DS games now. While it's great to see new games in the series release due to the success of this one, I don't believe there will be another game that will match just how great this entry is. So yes, once again, I bought an almost ten-year-old Nintendo 3DS game and I loved it. And I think you should buy it too, because it's 100 percent worth the money.

Thanks again for reading! I hope this will push me to experience some older Fire Emblem games someday, and hey- it might get me to try Three Houses or Engage too.

Next up: My Journey With The Nintendo 3DS... Does It Still Hold Up?

#fire emblem #fire embem awakening #nintendo 3DS #game review #retro #why did it take me so long to get to this damn game #nintendo #lissa is the best character fr fr

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undiscoveredclassics · 1 year

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(7/12) Here’s Part 4 of my origin story with unique old cars. We got it home, unloaded it (probably dragged it off) and I surveyed with wonderment the car I had just so luckily purchased. And then I got a call. It was from a young man named Rick D’Louhy. He had contacted the seller of the car and asked if he could contact the new owner. He wasn’t interested in buying it. Instead, he had information and magazines about the car that the new owner (me) might be interested in. Wow was this helpful, and Rick (who owned a Morgan, Intermeccanica Italia, and other exotic cars at the time) helped me understand what I had bought and guided parts of my restoration too. So by age 18 I had the restoration of one car down, my 1955 Cadillac Fleetwood, and was going to begin another, the Shark. But where to start? And how do you fix this thing called “fiberglass.” And what in the world is a “Renault?” I was still working at the Caribbean Gulf hotel and located an old Renault dealer in Lake Wales, Florida. He could rebuild the Renault 4CV engine for about $700. I bit the bullet and made that happen. My uncle Phil helped pull the engine and load it up for transport. Next, we rebuilt the brakes, and put in new electrical wiring. To save money, I bought a big roll of wire, so the entire wiring harness was made of green wire. I had to label every wire. I worked with an air conditioning company that made ductwork and created a new floor for the Shark. Had a new plexiglass windshield made, and probably a thousand other little things too, and voila, within 1-2 years the car was restored. Restored, at least, to the satisfaction of a near 20 year old young man. I thought that was the hard part. Keeping the car the next 30 years was a challenge. I actually donated it once to a museum, which kept it for 5 years and then gave it back, just before I found the Covington Tiburon hardtop and begun the second half of this story, the quest for forgotten fiberglass with Rick D’Louhy. And that quest is a story for another day. (at Tampa Florida) https://www.instagram.com/p/CbBrhB5svAZ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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tenshinekoowosdiary · 2 years

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16th of July 2022 Saturday

Hello there, dear World. Honestly, I started writing this post pretty early today but then I went doing some other things. Now it's 5 pm. my time. There is still lots of things I want to do this being one of them. So let's get on with it and tell you about today.

As of late I have gotten crazy trying to get cool sounds out of my ukulele. People say that when I play it, it's relaxing to listen to but might be that it sounds better to me than to other people and it doesn't have clear melody which I would like it to have. I was thinking of adding the sound here of my best ukulele playing but then again maybe it's not that good.

Yesterday I bought some new colored markers and now keeping my bullet journal seems to make so much more sense to me. Some people draw a lot and decorate their bullet journals much but I don't have energy for that most of the time but just the colors make the bullet journal much more aesthetic to me.

Today's picture is pretty old. I was like 15 or something when I drew it. It annoys me a bit that it is cut off a bit from the upper and downer most parts. Back then when I made this picture I still lived with my family. Dad had a machine that could print post cards with photo quality and we made one with this picture and sent it to my best pen pal I ever had. He was in awe and I felt proud even that my friend's aunt said that my friend could have drawn one as well.

#diary #art #traditional art #wolf #watercolour

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marchtothefuckingsea · 2 years

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Ace Of Clubs: Chapter I - The Day After

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

Word Count: 3.2k Chapter Warnings: None. Lightly proofread.

Summary: Ace meets the crew.

Where are people like me supposed to go? Do we even end up anywhere at all?

"Thanks, Renard." I managed a small, appreciative smile, before moving to turn away. He still hovered over me, his arms slightly out to support me if need be. I was shaky on my feet and weak, it was only the next morning after the prelude, after all. He had insisted that I stayed longer- having only stayed the night, I was barely patched up - but I had been adamant on returning to my apartment. I would have felt awkward staying any longer than I needed to, even if that meant I was on my feet much quicker than I should have been.

"Sean." He corrected me, a slight smile on his face.

"Sean." I corrected myself, nodding at him. "Thank you. Really, I appreciate it."

"Any time." He nodded back, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away. As soon as I made it into my apartment, I collapsed into the tattered sofa with a groan of pain. I had felt woozy and uncoordinated the entire time, barely standing on my feet. I was exhausted and I passed out almost instantly.

I awoke with a groan pawing at my phone to shut the blaring alarm off. Then, I realized I didn't have an alarm. An unknown number flashed across the screen, my ringtone going off loudly and uncaring. I propped myself onto my elbow with a wince, reaching for my phone.

"Hello?" I asked cautiously, not sure who was calling. I never kept the same number, using burner phones most of the time so I couldn't be tracked so easily.

"Ace." Sean Renard's voice greeted me.

"Renard?" My voice was hoarse with sleep. I pulled the phone away from my ear, glancing at the clock with bleary eyes. I had been asleep for 12 hours.

"Are you up for meeting Nick?"

"Uh, yeah sure, I guess. What time?"

"In an hour. That sound good?"

"Yeah." I said hesitantly.

"If you need more time to heal-" He started.

"No. No, I'm fine. I'll be there."

"Good." He hung up.

I tossed my phone onto the other side of the bed, easing back onto the mattress with a groan. I still felt horrible, feverish almost, but I had been keeping the bullet wound clean. I just hadn't been resting enough, I told myself.

I had spent the past week, when I wasn't sleeping, going over book after book of wesen groups, trying to figure out the new group that had been tracking me. I had been looking for the symbol they left - a scythe usually drawn in blood- to no avail. The thought put me on edge. They had been following me wherever I went since I had started taking up cases in bigger cities. I hated not knowing, at the very least, who was following me.

I eased out of bed, my facr screwing up in pain. I sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling my shirt over my head. My breath hitched in my throat at the movement, the wound on my torso tingling and burning painfully. I tugged on another shirt, before pulling on my jeans and standing up, my hand held slightly to my side.

I pulled up to the police station in the old, beat-up car I had bought from a man in Beaverton. I changed cars as often as I could too. It threw them off my trail for a bit without fail, giving me precious extra days. They were well aware of my tricks by now, I was pretty sure, but so far they hadn't found a way around it.

I slammed the creaky door shut, rust and peeling paint flaking off as I did so. This had to be one of the worst cars I had found so far, but it was cheap, and all I could find in time with the group hot on my tail. I walked up the stairs, an arm pressed tenderly against my side as the movement jarred my still-healing injuries. I nodded politely at an important looking woman - a lawyer, perhaps - that held the door open for me, before walking off in a hurry.

Once I entered, I looked around, slightly overwhelmed and confused. I stood off to the side of the hall, watching people walk by at a brisk pace and wondering how to find Renard. I stopped a man in a uniform that didn't look like he was in a hurry, flipping through paperwork as he walked. I stepped out in front of him and he glanced at me, looking me up and down judgmentally.

"Do you know where I can find Captain Renard?"

"He's in his office, third door to the right, walk past all the desks and you should find it." He side-stepped around me, clearly in much more of a hurry than he was before. I watched him walk off wearily before following his directions, turning into the third door to my right.

I entered a busy room filled with desks, a man with dark hair and blue eyes glancing up at me as I passed. A room covered with windows was placed to the back, which I could only guess was his office. As I neared, I could see the police captain sitting at his desk, papers stacked next to him and a manila folder in his hands.

I knocked on the door hesitantly, greeted with a "Come in," I opened the door, creeping in with a sheepish smile.

"Ace, you made it."

"I said I would."

"Of course, of course." He closed the folder, placing it down on the desk opposite the stack of papers and folding his hands out in front of him.

"I'll get Nick in here in a minute, he's in the middle of a possible wesen case right now." He started, leaning forward in his chair slightly. "How are you feeling?"

"Been better, but I've had worse." I glossed over the rest, saving him from the gory details. He frowned at my vague answer.I sighed.

"Not too great," I admitted. "But I'm feeling better. I've just been busy."

He raised an eyebrow. "Not busy hunting down wesen or getting chased by bad guys, I hope? It's a bit soon for that." His voice had turned slightly teasing.

I smiled. "No, research kind of busy. I'm excited to meet another grimm, though. It'll be nice to have someone to talk to all this about, and I'm sure he knows things I don't. My father had quite a few books, but most of them got destroyed. I inherited what was left, which wasn't much, but it gave me enough to go off of so I knew I wasn't losing my mind when I started seeing wesen.I'm still pretty new to this, I guess."

"You'll have plenty to catch up on, I'm sure. You're-" He was cut off by a knock on the door. He smiled dryly. "Speak of the devil," He muttered. "Come in!"

He and I stood up simultaneously as the man at the desk from earlier walked in. I nodded politely when he glanced at me, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Nick, Ace. Ace, Nick." Sean introduced us.

He shook my hand, glancing at the captain in slight confusion.

"What's this all about?" He asked good-naturedly.

"Nick, Ace is a grimm." Nick's eyes darted over to me, widening in surprise. "They've been on the move for quite some time, but have decided to give Portland a try." I nodded in agreement.

"Well I- welcome." He stumbled. "Sorry just, never met another grimm before." He laughed nervously.

"No, no me neither." I grinned, not finding him nearly as intimidating or brooding as I thought he would be. He was open and friendly, and I could certainly see working with him on cases as Renard had suggested before.

"How long have you been a grimm? Or that you've known of, anyways."

"A little over a year now. I thought I was going crazy."

"I think we probably all thought that at the beginning, right? I mean it's nearly impossible not to, unless you were exposed to it from a young age."

"Yeah." He agreed, cut off by the ringing of his phone.

"Gotta take this." He smiled apologetically, turning away.

"Burkhardt..Where at? Alright, I'm on my way." He turned back to me. "Hey, what do you say about joining us on this case?" He asked, his eyes flashing over to Renard. "If that's alright you?"

The captain waved his hand. "If they're up for it, go ahead."

"Sure."

"Bank robbery, witnesses said the perps had 'very realistic animal masks'. Nobody could quite tell what they were, but a woman said one looked like a wolf." A man about my height briefed us on the situation, glancing over at me. "Who's this?" I hesitated, looking to Nick for help. I was unsure what our excuse was, or if we even needed one.

"They're with us. They're uh, a criminology student." Nick stumbled.

Sergeant Wu, as his jacket read, looked at me skeptically. "A little old for that, aren't we?"He deadpanned. I half-glared at him, not sure where Nick or the others stood with him. They acted pretty friendly towards one another, and I didn't want to piss anyone off that I would be 'working' with.

He held his hands up in mock surrender. "Kidding, kidding." I suddenly noticed a man not-so-inconspiciously waving his hands around, trying to get, I presumed, Nick's attention.

"Anyone hurt?" Nick intercepted.

"Nope. Just a few people shaken up." I bumped Nick's elbow with mine, nodding my head over to the man when he looked at me. His eyes widened slightly, before he jogged over to him, motioning Hank over.

"Monroe?"

"Finally dude!" He huffed. "These guys broke the Gesetzbuch Ehrenkodex."

"The what?"

"You know, it's a wesen law of honor. It forbids any wesen from exposing their woged form to take advantage over people. Like robbing a bank?"

"So how do we deal with this?" Hank cut in. How many people were in on the whole grimm thing?

"It has to be reported to the council, or Nick could, y'know, deal with it as a grimm."

"What? No," Nick started. This time, it was Wu who cut him off. "We got some footage off of the security tapes, if you wanna take a look."

Nick glanced at Hank, then me, before nodding and following Wu over to the computers. l leaned down, favoring my injured side and watched over Wu's shoulder as he replayed the footage. As the 'animal masked' perpetrator moved about the screen, I shared a knowing glance with Nick, not daring to say anything aloud. We watched a bit more of the footage before heading out, Monroe in tow.

"That one was definitely blutbad, the one at the register camera?" I said as soon as we exited the building. I figured Hank and Monroe were fairly well educated in the wesen world, especially what Monroe had said earlier. He was definitely wesen. I was unsure about Hank.

"Agreed." Monroe chimed in. "They both were, I'm not sure about the third guy though.."

"You're wesen?" I asked suddenly, glancing at him as we neared the cars. He rolled his eyes jokingly, splitting off from our group to his own car. "Is it that easy to tell?" He waved, slamming the door behind him. I slid into the back of the police car, Nick getting into the driver's seat and Hank in the opposite.

I leaned forward, resting an elbow on the metal grate. "So who all is in on this?" I asked curiously.

Nick's eyes briefly looked into the rear view mirror. "Hank. And Renard. That's it."

"Sergeant Wu isn't on that list, I'm guessing?"

"No." Nick shook his head.

"Are you wesen?" I asked, directed at Hank. He couldn't be a grimm, I figured, as Nick had said I was the first grimm he'd met.

Hank turned, looking back at me. "No. I'm just a," He hesitated.

"Kehrseite-Schlich-Kennen?" I finished for him.

"Yeah, that." He laughed.

"Don't worry, it's a mouthful."

We pulled into a storage lot, and I glanced around curiously. Nick pulled up next to an old looking trailer, he and Hank simultaneously exiting the car. I slowly opened my door, cautiously eyeing the lot.

"What's this?"

"My trailer. Well, actually my aunt's." Nick explained, flipping through his keys before unlocking the door. He turned back to me with a grin on his face. "You said you have a few books?"

"Yeah. Like I said, what my father managed to salvage. A couple weapons, too."

"You'll love this then." He disappeared into the trailer with an excited wave. Hank followed, briefly turning back to me with a nod. I trailed behind them, walking up the creaky stairs carefully.

I gazed around in awe as soon as I poked my head in, the musty, but comforting faint smell of old books mixing with stronger scents of herbs and various concoctions that reminded me of my earlier days of being a grimm; before I had been forced into a life on the run. I had ended up turning a room in my apartment into something like this, before I realized I would have to be moving constantly; It had become a comforting, safe place for me, a place where I wasn't crazy. Where I was understood, if only by the ancient books my father had left me and the herbs I mixed and brewed. When I had been forced to leave the first time, it broke my heart to move and pack everything into boxes and leave. Even though I hadn't left a single item behind, I hadn't moved any of the items since my father's death. I inhaled deeply, a smile growing larger and larger on my face.

My eyes finally settled on Nick, noticing the grin on his face. I broke into a grin too, a breathless laugh leaving my throat.

"This is all yours?" I asked him, shutting the door behind me and beginning to take a closer look at everything. I gently ran my finger over the spine of an old, leather-bound book, much like the ones I had.

"It is now." He said, leaning over my shoulder to open the book, inviting me to look through it. "It was my aunt's. She said it's been in my family for generations. I thought it was a bunch of junk, at first, but I see why now."

"There's so much history in here-" I murmured in wonder, flipping through the pages, gazing curiously at the sketches of wesen I had seen, and even more curiously at the ones I had not, my eyes skimming over their names.

"I have a few books like this, from my father." I said without looking up, my eyes still glued to the pages. "He was a grimm. I didn't find out until basically after he died, though."

"I'm sorry." He said sympathetically.

"Don't be. I guess we both sort of had to find out the hard way, huh? At least we got some warning." He huffed at that.

I glanced up from the book suddenly. "Hey have you seen-"

"Found it." Hank intercepted, holding out a book. I stepped to the side, watching as he flipped through the book. He sighed in frustration. "No translation. It's in German."

"I'll call Monroe," Nick pulled out his phone.

"Wait." I said. "I can translate it for you, if that's what you want."

They both looked at me in surprise. "You speak German?" Hank asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, I mean a bit. I can roughly translate it, I'm not the best at it but-"

"Go ahead." Nick said, stepping away.

I picked the book up, holding it carefully in my hands."The Council of Walenstadt, in 1521."

I read over it, my brow furrowed in concentration and slight confusion. I had been a grimm for almost two years now, and I had no idea the wesen community had their own council and their own laws. I figured something was keeping them in line, but I had thought it was only grimms.

"...it establishes guidelines to ensure the safety and well-being of the Wesen Community," I read under my breath, deep in concentration. Finishing the page, I looked up at the detectives standing on either side of me.

"So basically, very bad things happen when wesen reveal themselves and use that to take advantage of the 'normal folk.'" I sighed. "It might not hurt to talk to Monroe about this regardless, he might be able to tell you more."

Nick was already on it, dialing his number into his phone and placing it on speaker. "Monroe? Can you tell us anymore about the wesen council?"

He launched into an explanation, basically telling us what I had already read in the book. "When word gets out, a lot of wesen are gonna freak, and when the wesen community gets freaked, it is not good. Somebody is gonna know somebody who knows somebody, who knows somebody else, and he's going to start asking questions." He finished.

"Thanks Monroe." Nick said briefly, ending the call. "..Well, any ideas?"

They had brought me back to my car, telling me that I could go home if I wanted to, but they were going back to the precinct to review the footage again. I insisted on coming along, following the police cruiser down to the P.P.D.

"We lost them a couple of blocks from the scene." Wu explained, replaying the security tape footage for the twelfth time. "But, I found two additional cases that seem to fit the MO of the culprits, take a look." He slapped a folded down on the table in front of us. "I'll circulate a copy of the mask pic to stores that might sell that kind of thing around here. We'll find em." He said, turning away. "See you tomorrow!" He waved over his shoulder, shrugging his jacket on. That caught me off guard, as I glanced at the clock. 9:45.

"That late already?" I mumbled to myself, stretching my sore muscles. I winced, completely forgetting about my injury. I had also forgotten to take my pain pills.

"I think I'm going to head home. Sorry guys." I stood up, wobbling slightly on my feet.

"We should be going too." Hank agreed, tapping Nick on the shoulder, who looked up, startled. I smiled slightly. I had the feeling he was definitely one to get lost in work or books.

"It was good to meet you guys." I smiled.

"You too, I'm glad there's another grimm around." I shrugged on my jacket tenderly, glancing at the captain's office. It was dark.

"The captain left maybe, fifteen minutes ago." Nick said, following my gaze. I nodded, walking off. I heard the rustling of gathering items as I exited the room, before two pairs of footsteps joined me.

I called out, "Night!" to the detectives as they split off to their own cars. I paused for a brief second, looking around cautiously and pulling my switchblade out of my pocket. I walked briskly to my car. A tall figure suddenly appeared next to me as I reached for the handle, and I leapt back, my blade springing out...

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1kook · 4 years

Text

disney+ & bust

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. warnings; arguments, feelings of insecurity, bit of asshole jk, smut in the forms of degradation, dumbification, choking, fingering, spit kink, self punishment, unprotected but [ passionate ] sex, jk losing his cool, return of mean jk, he is actually an emotional mess in this one wtf miscellaneous; ANGST, anniversaries, the L word😳, app developer kook, rip ‘pretty girl’ </3, we all become phineas and ferb stans word count; 13k !!

notes; me: *writes couple who’s whole arc is being silly* y’all: MAKE THEM SUFFER GIVE US ANGST!! u ask I deliver so now we all suffer 😐 ngl it was hard writing this fic n u might notice there’s some parts that seem weird n that’s bc this was TWO fics w diff wording but I ended up mixing them bc I’m insane. still had a lot of fun! felt like I challenged myself!! not proofread bc when I say we suffer we SUFFER

please let me know what you think!!! a simple ask goes a long way <3

previous part: kissanime & foreplay

Approximately one week after The Bullet Bestie’s rise to prominence, Jungkook grows annoyed with it as his weirdly competitive nature rears its ugly head the more and more orgasms that little vibrator coaxes out of you. It turns on a weird switch in him, something slightly stuck up and snooty that he’ll never admit to out loud but is there nonetheless. By the following Friday, The Bullet Bestie is nestled deep in your garbage can and Jungkook’s back to pleasuring you with his tongue and fingers alone.

He had those moments in him, the ones where he liked to think he was better than any and everyone else, and occasionally they manifested against inanimate objects like a bullet vibrator.

Despite his polite and generally soft exterior, you catch glimpses of that cocky spirit more than anyone else. Over the past year, you’ve come to realize that Jungkook’s personality was like a coin that had been left out in the sun too long. He had this sweet and reserved nature you saw most times, a kindhearted boyfriend who adored you almost as much as you adored him. He was your angel whom you knew had a heart of gold, even if you were slowly bringing out his more childish tendencies. You knew him like the back of your hand, knew what his mom’s favorite color was and how he liked to stack the plates in his cabinet according to size and make. It was a side that was rusted from years of being out in the sun, basking in its adoring warmth, and you loved every inch about it.

And still, there was this other side to him you rarely saw. This cocky asshole who hid beneath the soft smiles and careful hands, making his appearance only through sly smirks and a tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. He was a braggart, a man who knew his greatness yielded for no one and wanted that fact shoved down everyone’s faces. This Jungkook, this other side that never saw the light of day, was like the Hyde to his Jekyll. An unexpected, almost mean side to him that only dared make his appearance when his exhilaration was at an all-time high. Like when he was fucking you into another dimension, or kicking your ass in Mario Kart, or like now, when he was receiving an award at an annual tech ceremony.

On the eve of your one year anniversary, Jungkook’s company invites him to an awards ceremony for other web and app developers like him. It’s a grand event, filled with all the biggest nerds in the developing industry here to present the baby nerds with awards. Jungkook lies somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, both a seasoned player and a rookie all at once. He spends the night tolling you around in a floor-length gown and fangirling over all the “legends” in the room.

You know next to none of these people and none of their accomplishments but still pretend you respect them to hell and back. By the end of the main dinner, you’re sympathizing with Barbie’s ever-smiling features because your cheeks feel sore.

Towards the end of the night, Jungkook wins that random award— okay, who were you fooling? He wins the Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award, recognizing him for all the hard work you’ve seen him put in this past year. It’s probably the highest recognition he can receive at this point in his career. It was an esteemed award that was bestowed upon only the most innovative developer of the year among tech companies, something Jungkook had briefly mentioned he always wanted. It’s basically the equivalent of placing first place in his field, but given Jungkook’s competitive industry and his young age, you think it’s like telling all these old Facebook lords to suck his big fat cock. (But that was your job when you got home.)

He gives a short little thank you speech, promising to work hard and own up to this title. The people around you are swooning, obviously endeared with his soft puppy dog features and melodic voice. They don’t know him like you do, don’t know that uppity twist to his grin like you do. It doesn’t slip off his face even when he steps down off the stage, arms wide open as he comes barreling towards you. Even with you in his arms, the congratulations that are thrown from every direction ring loudly in his ears and swell that ego of his.

The night goes like that for the most part, Jungkook’s acquaintances approaching him every few minutes to rain down their praises. He goes a little crazy at the open bar after a while, shoving the gold trophy into your arms as his beloved work seniors whisk him off for drinks. You don’t mind because you resigned yourself to a night of playing Jungkook’s perfectly perfect partner anyway, watching him politely mingling with his coworkers. Despite his earlier success, you know he won’t brag about it verbally. No, he’ll wait until the two of you get home—your place or his—and remind you how amazing he is with a quick snap of his hips.

As you said, he’ll never boast aloud.

However, that doesn’t mean you won’t.

“That’s my boyfriend,” you explain to the seventh person that greets you that night, excitedly pointing to where said boyfriend was slowly losing all sense of self by the bar. You don’t know anyone here beside Jungkook, and you’re pretty sure no one in their hammered minds is going to remember who you are anyway, so a little gloating never hurt anyone. “He won the ‘I’m Better Than Everyone Else’ award tonight,” you emphasize to the tipsy woman beside you who only laughs at your exaggeration. You assume she’s like you, accompanying one of the many developers here, because as soon as you finish boasting about Jungkook she moves to brag about someone too.

Truth be told, you spend the whole night re-analyzing the Zootopia movie you saw on Disney+ the other night in your head. So if the little fox fellow didn’t control himself would the city have fallen to ruins? Why was the useless sheep girl so evil and bitter? Why was there an unreal amount of romantic tension between the fox and the rabbit? Whatever, you’ll have to rewatch it some other night, and with your new Disney+ account, you could watch it anywhere you wanted to.

Now, you had never bothered to purchase a Disney+ subscription or even tried to swindle Jungkook for his password before. As far as you know, Disney+ was filled with old tv shows from your childhood, sitcoms that made you laugh when you were ten. There’s nothing wrong with that, but personally, you were a firm believer that that which was perfect should not be touched once finished; in other words, you were utterly terrified you’d rewatch an old episode of The Wizards of Waverly Place, only to find out the same joke you’ve been regurgitating for the past ten years doesn’t actually go that way.

However, the harsh reality was that Disney+ was good for a few things. Ugh, you hate when giant corporations provide decent services. Aside from Zootopia, you’ve watched about every animated media on there as well, all of which you replay in your mind as Jungkook has the time of his life with these nerds, knocking back champagne glass after champagne glass.

Anyway, the night ends a little past midnight, and Jungkook who is buzzed on alcohol and high on exhilaration ends up calling an Uber for the two of you. Your apartment— the new one he had not only helped you hunt for but also helped you move into, greatly cutting the cost of movers out with those glistening biceps and thick thighs —is still going through her rebellious phase where the potted plants are trying to take over, courtesy of Kim Namjoon. So for now, there’s a potted plant in an awkward corner that both of you stub your toe against on your way to your bedroom.

You’re thinking Jungkook is going to go to town tonight, given the fact he’s on Cloud 9 and has had his ego stroked by a bunch of dudes for the past couple hours. Maybe you guys can try out the hot role-playing scenario you saw on GirlsWay a few weeks ago, or the handcuffs you impulsively bought from Amazon one Monday night. Or maybe, and this one really makes you flutter, he’ll let you fully take the reins for once.

All those lewd fantasies end up being for naught because just as you shimmy out of your gown (with the help of his hands, of course) and turn to climb him like a tree, he’s on the other side of the room getting your makeup remover out for you. And also talking. A lot. And way more than usual.

“Did you see him, babe?” he sighs, dare you to say, dreamily, handing you the cotton pads as he begins pulling a million pins out of your hair. Slowly and with a lot of confusion, you pull your fake lashes off and begin cleaning your face. “He was amazing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, having absolutely no idea who ‘he’ is or why Jungkook is so in love with him and not you at this very moment. “But so were you,” you add. Perfect. Stroke his ego and then stroke his cock.

Jungkook sputters at your praise. He’s carefully placing your hairpins on your thigh, cheeks flaming red every time he leans over you. “Was I?” he murmurs, voice sweet in that cute little way it always gets when he’s downed one too many shots of whiskey, enough to be buzzed but not enough to be wasted.

You turn and the pins clatter to the floor and across the bedsheets. “Yes,” you confirm, ignoring his sad huff at the mess you’ve made. Instead, you grab him by the collar of that pink button-up he taunted you with all night. “You were fucking incredible and I think incredible men deserve to have their dick sucked.”

Jungkook laughs at your vulgar statement, holding you gently by the hips as you climb into his lap. “Is that so?” The soft, shy persona is gone now, replaced by the gentle stirring beneath his dress pants. You nod hurriedly, plopping down on his lap and running your hands through his styled hair.

“Yes,” you confirm, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Luckily for you, I know this nymphomaniac who would gladly gobble up your cock at your every command.”

He snorts just as you push him into his back, nose adorably scrunched up. “First of all, you know I hate that word,” he chuckles, finally gracing you with a sweet peck that only makes you want him to fuck you into the fifth dimension. “Secondly, please don’t ever say you’ll gobble my cock up ever again.”

Something inside of you squeals with excitement as he rolls the two of you over, firm body pressing down on yours. “Oh, baby,” you groan, lazily throwing a leg over his hip. Jungkook grins and then decides to entertain you for a few minutes with a sloppy kiss.

You say a few minutes because just as things are heating up, he pulls away. He smiles apologetically. “As much as I’d love to be here with you, I actually have an early morning tomorrow.”

You frown at the sudden change in events. “Huh? They’re gonna make you work the morning after a Gatsby party?” you gasp, sitting up as he gets off of you. With every step he takes away from the bed your heart breaks a little more. “They can’t do that— that’s illegal!”

From the doorway he levels you with a comically raised brow. “No, it’s not.”

You scamper after him down the hall, watch the muscles in his back flex as he pulls his suit jacket on. “You can’t work on our anniversary— that’s illegal!” you offer instead.

He stops at your front door, feet squeezed back into his shoes. “Baby, it’s not,” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to peck your forehead. “It was either I work in the morning or work at night,” he explains, giving your messy hair a soothing caress. He’s looking at you with those eyes, the ones that make your heart lodge itself into your throat and make life a tightrope experience. There’s a devastatingly lovesick part of you that wants this moment, this kind face, to be engraved into your mind for the rest of your life. You want this to be the first and last thought you have and nothing else: just Jungkook’s adoring gaze on you for the rest of time.

The moment ends too soon when he flutters one last peck against your lips. “I’ll be done in the afternoon, okay?”

You pout. “Okay, your place?” you huff, making sure to get one last octopus squeeze around his waist. He nods. “Promise you won’t be late?”

The corners of his gaze soften. “You know I won’t,” he smiles, leaning down to bump your noses together playfully. “Can’t stay away from my pretty girl too long. Besides, I have a gift for you tomorrow.”

It’s with that sentiment and a hammering heart that you let him go. With Jungkook gone, there’s really nothing for you to do now. You took the next two days off in preparation for your anniversary sex, so you don’t have to head to sleep early like usual.

With nothing else planned, you decide on rewatching that Zootopia movie that had plagued you all night, ready to dissect every plot hole to hell and back. You don’t think Jungkook’s seen this movie yet so you add it to your long list of animated movies you’re forcing him to watch.

Part of you is actually really surprised Jungkook left. Well, kinda sorta, very, but not really. Jungkook was a good boy, that much was obvious. He took his job seriously, and if his job wanted him to come in at the asscrack of dawn, then he’d come in before the sun even rose. He was a goody-two-shoes, but even so, you were occasionally able to bring out that darker side in him.

Jungkook working, like actually working in an office setting, was pretty rare though. The dude had a chill job that let him stay home most of the time, and essentially clock in whenever he wanted. Every now and then you were able to convince him to stay, tucking him beneath your body or the covers, depending on the night, and refusing to let him go the morning after.

Once he had eaten you out until the wee hours of the day, ravenous between your thighs, and then went to work the next morning like he hadn’t broken you. Another time you had persuaded him into watching every season of the 2017 DuckTales reboot through the night. When the alarm had rung in the middle of the season finale, he had simply gotten into your shower and gone off to work.

So maybe you were a little confident in your skills, and Jungkook slipping between your fingers tonight was a huge bummer. But there was no use crying over spilled milk, you tell yourself, flinging your bra off somewhere in the corner as you snuggle back into your sheets. You’re ready to tear this Zootopia movie apart, scene by scene.

Even though your apartment is a little cold, you’re comforted by the fact Jungkook will be here to keep you warm all day tomorrow.

All men do is lie.

Despite his promise to come home early the next day, Jungkook ends up lying. The meeting he had been in all morning— the same one that had stopped you from getting bent like a pretzel the night before —drags on well past noon. Then, Kim Namjoon, AKA Jungkook’s favorite senpai in the entire world, catches wind of Jungkook’s success last night and absolutely has to take him out to lunch to celebrate.

You scoff, glaring down at your phone and the impulsive messages you’d sent out an hour ago when Jungkook had first texted you telling you he would be late.

You whirl around to stomp off in the direction of his living room, where all of yours and Jungkook’s favorite foods were growing colder by the minute. You had spent the longest time carefully laying them out, making sure the fried chicken was closer than the pizza but not closer than the breadsticks. Truthfully it’s a nightmare. There are about eight stomach aches worth of food sitting on his coffee table, the greasy stench makes you gag and will certainly stick to your hair for weeks, but none of that mattered because it was all for your beau.

Your very late beau who was making you grow more and more agitated with each minute that passed. Ugh! How inconsiderate of him to test your patience on a day like this. You didn’t want to be upset with him, but this was your first, real milestone as a couple with him. You had wanted to spend the whole day cuddled up, maybe finally tell him how much he really meant to you— definitely not waking up alone with eyeliner crusted eyes and an aching heart.

Deciding you’re being a little too dramatic, you head into the bedroom to calm down. This was fine, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the damn near harlotrous lingerie you had yet to put on. Jungkook would come over soon and everything would be A-okay.

Except for the part it’s actually F-not okay because soon it’s nearing sunset and the food has gone cold so you’ve stocked it into the fridge, and the pretty sheer bra has a wonky wire that’s two seconds away from piercing through your heart, but that doesn’t even matter because Jungkook being late for your all-day anniversary celebration has already ripped it to shreds anyway.

You plop down on the couch in defeat, impulsively opening up the Disney+ app to cry through another episode of Phineas and Ferb. You’ve abandoned the satin robe that came with the lingerie in favor of donning a big t-shirt that smells like him and makes your heart hurt even more. The setting sun paints the living room in muted oranges, the chirping of birds outside the soundtrack to your lonely day.

You end up watching some other cartoon on Disney+, avoiding the Marvel section because you had promised Jungkook he could be there when you lost your Marvel virginity. Well, at least one of you was good at keeping promises, you think bitterly. For a second, you think about randomly watching one of the infamous MCU films out of order just to spite him. But then you think of that soft puppy gaze and how disappointed he’d be in you.

Whatever! It wouldn’t ever match up to the way you felt now.

Anyway, you circle back. When you’re five episodes into Phineas and Ferb you hear the doorknob rattle.

You sit up just as the door swings open, visible from your spot on the couch. He meets your gaze almost immediately, big doe eyes caught in the act. What act? You’re not really sure. In fact, you don’t even know what you’re looking at when he walks in because he’s drowning in shopping bags. His lips twist into a grin. “Honey, I’m home,” he says playfully.

You don’t laugh.

Jungkook frowns, dumping all his bags down at the entrance before waddling over towards you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, coming to stand before you and cupping your face in his hands. He’s towering over you, so tall and gorgeous but for the first time, you’re not dazed by his beauty.

“Kook, you said you’d be back hours ago,” you say slowly, avoiding his gaze. You try to keep the frustration out of your voice, but you’ve had hours to dwell on it now, and those annoying cartoon characters, though charming at first, had only served to multiply your annoyance.

Jungkook blinks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean… yeah. But I got you presents?” he beams, glancing back at the mountainous pile he made by the door. You look over too. There are some luxury bags squeezed in between other shops you like, the occasional jewelers' logo on the side.

You stand with a sigh, sauntering off into the kitchen with him on your tail. “I don’t want presents,” you mumble, reaching to pour yourself a glass of water. You’re briefly aware of how childish you must seem. Jungkook hovers behind you.

“What? Yes, you do,” he says. “You had an entire wishlist on my Amazon of things you wanted.” It’s his turn to level you with an unreadable expression, slowly crossing his arms over his chest.

Your frown only deepens as you turn to match his stance against the counter. While it may be true that you did indeed have an entire list of impulsive items on his Amazon, that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted them all. Sometimes you just wanted to stare longingly at a pair of satin gloves without actually buying them. You don’t know how to explain this much to him. “They’re not…” you stop with another deep breath. “Forget it. Thank you for the presents.”

Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to question you. “What,” he says in an unimpressed tone, padding over to you before you can escape back into the living room to watch the entire princess movie collection on Disney+. “No, tell me what’s wrong.”

For some reason, that’s exactly what you don’t want to hear. “Jungkook,” you say flatly, narrowing your eyes at him. “You come home six hours after you said you would without telling me why, and normally I wouldn’t care, but today was supposed to be a special day for us.”

Jungkook reels at your bluntness. “Babe, I was out getting stuff for you. I know it’s our anniversary— that’s why I wanted to treat you,” he responds, oddly condescendingly like you’re a child who doesn’t understand what exactly he was doing.

You brush his hands away from your shoulders. “Yeah,” you huff. “Now I know that. But I spent all day waiting for you,” you stress, chest puffing as you grow more and more agitated by his inability to understand you. God, can he let you go now? At least a bunch of animated, geometrically drawn cartoons won’t question you like this and make you feel as childish as he was.

When he doesn’t say anything else you stomp back into the living room, snatching up your phone from its forgotten spot against the couch. “I’m going to bed.”

At that Jungkook seems to kickstart back to life. “What? ___, it’s barely six,” he says as he follows after you into your bedroom. You ignore him, shuffling beneath the covers. In all actuality, you’re going to bed to mope and watch more animated family shows, maybe cry under the guise of the plot just being so sad. Jungkook sits beside you just as you click back on to finish off your episode. “Baby, I don’t get it,” he sighs. “You’re always talking about how much you want this or that, and I go out and get you it all but now you’re mad?”

You bite down on your lip, eyes lasered in on the pictures moving before you. “Jungkook, just forget it.”

“No,” he says, more sternly than he’s ever been with you before. “If there’s a problem, tell me.” There’s a heavy pause, and then he says, “don’t make me waste my time guessing what’s wrong, okay?”

“Waste your time?” you scoff, sitting up with pinched brows that you find match his. “I’m not trying to waste anyone’s time— in fact, that’s hot coming from you, Jungkook.”

He rolls his eyes. “What are you even saying? You’re mad because I took a little long getting presents, for you, might I add,” he huffs, plopping down on the edge of the mattress beside your knee. “You’re always saying you want this and that, but you can’t handle me going out to get those things? Do you hear how weird you sound?”

You whip the covers off of you. “Me talking about things doesn’t always mean I want them,” you defend.

Jungkook snorts. “Yes, it does,” he says. “Anytime you ramble about stuff for minutes like a little kid it’s because you want me to buy it for you.”

You blink. “Like a little kid?” you repeat, stunned by his comparison. Granted, you always knew you were the more childish of the two, but you never thought that would equate Jungkook thinking of you as a child. Something red and nasty flares in your chest. “Well sorry,” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, “sorry we all can’t be perfectly mature golden boys who would never see the light of day if I constantly wasn’t dragging them out.” You know it’s a somewhat low blow, especially because Jungkook’s told you before how his introverted tendencies were a sensitive issue growing up, but you can’t help it.

Jungkook groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Baby, don’t do this now,” he warns, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Stop acting like this.”

“Like how?” you spit, “like a kid?” Jungkook says nothing, leveling you with a blank stare from the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes, phone falling off your lap. Another episode of Phineas and Ferb had started, the corny opening tune filling the space between the two of you. “At least now I know what you think of me,” you mutter over the guitar riff.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook blurts, sitting up wildly. “Of course I’m gonna think of you as a stupid little kid, look at you,” he seethes, gesturing at the phone beside you. You flinch. “All you do is watch kids shows and whine whenever I wanna watch anything normal adults watch. You complain every single day about the most normal things, like your job? Why should I fucking care that you’re working a dead-end office job in a field you didn’t even study for— that’s not my problem, __!” he snaps, eyes narrowed into little slits. “I just won an award last night,” he says suddenly, voice back to its regular volume. “I’m at the height of my career and I’m only going up, but I can’t even enjoy that because I have to come home and cater to you,” he finishes, a loud scoff punctuating the final word.

You had never imagined Jungkook finally bragging about himself would be at your expense.

A beat of silence passes, the angry glint in his eyes quickly fading away the longer you don’t say anything. You sniff once, turning your head idly to the side where Phineas and Ferb is still blaring loudly from your phone speaker. Picking up the device, you throw it across the room where it hits his closet door with a terrifying bang the breaks the silence.

The sound snaps Jungkook out of whatever shock he’d been in. “Baby…” he says slowly, carefully, like you’re a caged animal that’s just escaped the zoo.

“I’m going home,” you say, also a little too calmly. You saunter over towards his closet where your shattered phone screen glares up at you as you yank a pair of sweats off a hanger. Jungkook is still frozen on the edge of the bed, watching you with wide eyes as you move about the room.

It’s when you’re in the hallway leading downstairs that Jungkook finally snaps out of his daze, scampering behind you as you descend the stairs. “Baby,” he rushes out, loudly bounding down after you, “___, wait,” he gasps, catching you by the kitchen counter collecting your keys. “I-I didn't mean that,” he rushes out, eyes wide and frantic as they flicker over your expression. “I don’t think that—I don’t, baby, please, just… let me explain, please.”

“Jungkook, let go of me,” you respond, shaking your wrist in an attempt to release yourself. He’s not even holding you tightly— he never would—but the sound of your heart pounding in your ears makes your movements jerky and erratic. “I wanna go home.”

“No,” he chokes, cornering you against the counter. “No, baby, please just listen to me, I-I—“

“You what, Jungkook?” you snap, placing a hand on his chest and forcefully pushing him away. He lets you, stepping back with a wobbly bottom lip. “You need to tell me how you’re too good for me? How much I hold you down because I wasn’t lucky enough to get a job like yours straight out of college?” He says nothing, swallowing roughly as you jab a finger into his chest. “Well let me tell you something,” you snarl, chest heaving, “I may be childish and a huge complainer, but I’m not stupid enough to let someone walk all over me like this.”

With that, you make your great escape. Truthfully, you don’t want him to see the tears in your eyes as you yank his door open, stomping down his steps and in the direction of the nearest bus stop. The door opens right after you tug it shut, painting your shadow across the sidewalk. There’s the scrambled sound of house slippers against the concrete that follows you down. “Go the fuck back inside,” you snap without missing a beat.

Sensing your obvious anger, he pauses before he can reach you. “Text me when you get home?” he calls out quietly.

“No,” you respond.

You would never admit to anyone that you spend the entire night eating a tub of mint chocolate ice cream. It’s disgusting and makes you gag, but it’s the only one you have in your apartment. And of course, it was brought over by none other than Jeon Jungkook himself a few days ago. Even when you’re trying to comfort yourself over how mean he was, on your anniversary night no less, you’re plagued by thoughts of him everywhere.

As much as you want to brush his words off, put on that cool girl exterior you’ve maintained since high school, there’s something different about this situation. You guess it’s impossible to brush off such hateful words when they come from someone you love and adore so much.

Were you too childish? You had always believed that side of you was what made your relationship with Jungkook so perfect. The two of you meshed well because of your differences, like yin and yang. So how had he been able to so easily deconstruct every inch of that balance in a matter of a few seconds? Was this perfect reality all in your head this whole time?

You want to tell yourself it was just a heat of the moment outburst from Jungkook, give him the benefit of the doubt because he’s never snapped at you like this before. Of course you’ve fought a couple of times in the past year, but neither of you had ever stooped as low as you did yesterday. Furthermore, the insecure part of your brain says he obviously felt this somewhere in his heart to bring it up at all. What he had said to you wasn’t something someone could make up on the spot.

You don’t text him when you get home, partly to spite him, but mainly because you had left your phone at his place anyway. You know he tried calling you last night because the call log is synced up to your laptop. He called on and off for about thirty minutes before he probably found your phone in his room. Whatever, he can mope in his regret for all you care

—is what you wanna say, but the longer he goes without showing himself to you the more your insecurities and hurt fester. Was this it? Was this the end of what was probably the best year of your life? It’s too painful to think about, to even consider the possibility that Jungkook might have gained a new insight last night and decided, hey, maybe this is for the best after all.

You drown yourself in an ungodly amount of sugar for breakfast, your laptop blaring yet another episode of Phineas and Ferb on the dining table. Muscle memory has you making Jungkook’s favorite pancakes before you can stop yourself, and by the time you do realize, you’ve resigned yourself to the blueberry smell anyway.

There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb.

It’s not.

It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. You open the door with a fright, jumping back when he slumps forward and almost crashes face-first into the floor. “You didn’t call,” Jungkook cries, leaning a little too much of his weight onto you when you reach out to steady him.

The thundering of your heart slows upon registering it’s him. “Kook?” you frown, nose pinched at the ungodly stench of alcohol wafting off his clothes. “Have you been drinking?” you ask even though the answer is staring you right in the face (and in the nose).

He groans, staggering deeper into your arms. You blindly push the door shut behind him, resigning yourself to this new situation while your pancakes grow cold in the other room. “Baaaby,” he slurs, letting you guide him into the living space. He’s unceremoniously dumped onto the couch, half-opened eyes gazing up at you. “Let me,” a hiccup, “explain.”

You won’t lie. There’s a very obvious sense of discomfort sitting in your chest, torn between two paths that you don’t wish to choose between. His skin is warm and flushed like he’s just walked all the way here in this morning sun. You step over to the window that faces down onto the street below. There’s no sign of his car; you would have killed him if he ever tried to drive in this state.

“Did you walk here?” you ask instead, deciding there’s no need for one singular path, not when you can walk straight down the middle, both cleaning him and grilling him at the same time.

Jungkook’s response is delayed, head lolling from side to side as you help him out of his sweater. His skin is sweaty beneath, scorching to the touch. “Uh-huh,” he groans. Jesus, you sort of assumed but him confirming it really set things into perspective.

By no means did you and Jungkook live on opposite ends of the earth. On a good day, a drive from your place to his took about ten minutes. But walking? Easily an hour. Had he walked all the way from his place, drunk on top of that?

You brush his hair away from his face, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. His lips are pouty yet chapped, dehydrated from the sun and the alcohol he reeks of. “Sit up for me,” you instruct, scampering off to your room for chapstick and water.

“Anything for you,” Jungkook wheezes, throat probably dryer than a desert. When you return, he’s two seconds from face planting into the coffee table and breaking that pretty face of his. You catch him with a hand on his shoulder, keeping him balanced. “Tell me what to do,” he chokes out, voice hoarse.

“Just need you to drink some water,” you say, pressing a cup against his lips. He drinks it, but a drop still dribbles down his chin.

“No,” he groans, catching your wrist in his hand when you reach up to apply some chapstick on him. “Tell me what to do,” he stresses, “to fix this. Fix us.”

His words make you pause, the tube of chapstick hovering over his plush lips. “You don’t have to do anything,” you respond quietly, trying to finish the application so you can pull away.

Jungkook doesn’t let you go. You try to look away, but there’s something about him that looks off. Maybe it’s the raw skin under his eyes, red and swollen. Or the sad droop to those same eyes that hold you captive. Or maybe it’s the subtle tremble in his hands, the fingers that hold tightly to your wrist, not to keep you there but to ground himself. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he rasps out, shakily bringing your hand to his mouth, where he presses one airy kiss to your knuckles. “Tell me ho-how to fix this and I’ll do it,” he pleads, a vulnerable look in his eyes.

Unable to withstand the sheer amount of agony on his expression, you look away. “___, please,” he chokes out, stumbling off the couch in his drunk and desperate haze until he’s kneeling in front of you. “I can’t… I can’t,” he sniffles, tears clouding those pretty eyes you’ve come to love so much. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

You clench your jaw. “You’re Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur, slipping your hand out of his hold to run through his hair. It’s knotted and a little too greasy, two things Jungkook would usually never allow. “This year’s Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award recipient,” you remind him, trailing your thumb across his cheekbone when he turns to look up at you with those big Bambi eyes. “Sweet and shy, but you love being rowdy with your friends. You love movies and TV and organizing your shirts according to fabric type. You work harder than anyone I know and never complain. You date me, even though I’m a huge child,” you smile sadly.

“No!” he jumps, turning that frantic stare back into you. “Y-You’re not— it’s not,” he stammers, words still slurring together. “I’m a liar,” he cries, resting his forehead on your knees. His shoulders shake. “I don’t deserve you,” he weeps quietly. You place a hand on his shoulder. “Y-Y-You make my life so much better, ___, so colorful and fun. I-I wish I knew you in high school,” he admits, “maybe I wouldn’t have been so emotionally constipated now.”

“You’re not,” you reassure him softly.

He disagrees. “You bring out the best,” he hiccups, “the best in me.” Your heart skips in your chest. “I-I love you, you know that?”

You sputter, eyes wide at his sudden confession. “I… love you so much, y’know? I think about you ev-every night, ___,” he rambles, eyes dreamily gazing off into some miscellaneous spot on the wall behind you. “I can’t get you out of my head. Like you're a song, o-on repeat but it’s not annoying because it’s my favorite song, and I could listen to it for the rest of my life, y’know? My favorite song, I know all the words b-because it’s all I think about! I love... My love… I love you so much.”

“Kook,” you rush out, cheeks flaming as you try to pull him away from where he’s slumped over your legs. His passionate speech has you abuzz, body tingling everywhere until you feel overwhelmed, head spinning like you’re on a rollercoaster. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He nods sleepily, seemingly coming down from whatever alcohol induced rampage has allowed him to walk for an hour straight in this searing heat just to confess to you. “Y-You don’t have to say it back,” he continues to stutter as you guide him through the living room on wobbly legs. “I just-I just— can I?” he babbles. “Can I love you, ___?”

You pass through the kitchen space, where whatever you were watching on Disney+ is blaring loudly. It distracts Jungkook for about two seconds before his attention returns to you. When you don’t answer, he presses on. “Is that okay?” he asks, whirling around to face you, catching your shoulders in his hands. He towers over you by the entrance to your bedroom, dark curls tickling your forehead. His eyes are dark and glazed over, both in tears and an emotion so raw and unfiltered it squeezes around your chest until you can’t breathe. “Is it okay for me to love you?” he murmurs softly, knocking his nose against yours.

Your cheeks blaze. “Yes, th-that’s fine, Kook,” you blubber, placing a hand over his chest, where his heart is also hammering away. “Just need you to go rest now, okay?”

He nods sleepily, nudging your nose with his one last time, like a soft almost-kiss, before letting you push him into the room. “Yes, yes,” he breathes, his body finally crashing from his adrenaline spike. He flops down onto the bed unceremoniously, dark waves fanning across your pillows. You try to wiggle him out of his shirt, but it only gets about halfway up his chest before he blindly reaches for the covers. His legs stick out awkwardly, clad in the sweatpants you’ve come to associate with him.

When he’s all swaddled up in your blanket he finally goes limp, tiny snores leaving his lips as he dozes away from reality. You sigh, pressing a palm to his forehead. He’s still warm and clammy, but at this point, there’s nothing you can do but wait for him to sober up.

With a final kiss to his forehead, you leave the room, closing the door behind you before sliding against the wooden surface. There’s a trapped bird in your chest, wildly flapping its wings in an effort to get out, and it’s all stupid Jungkook’s fault in the next room. Stupid Jungkook who demolished and remodeled your heart all in less than twenty-four hours. It doesn’t calm down, even when you rush off into the kitchen for a glass of water, or when you try to immerse yourself in some other show on Disney+. It stays beating against your ribs and your chest until you’re forcing yourself to sit down on the couch and process.

He wakes up a little before dinner. You hear him from the living room, where you’re flicking through the options on Disney+ for the nth time that day. You’ve seen the first fifteen minutes of about twenty different series and movies by now, always growing antsy and abandoning them early on. The only reason you know he’s awake is because the shower turns on for a few minutes, and then his bare feet are heard padding across the hallway back into your room.

By the time he resurfaces in the living room, you’ve resigned yourself to just more Phineas and Ferb, nonchalantly watching the silly cartoon. (Except you’re anything but nonchalant, and your heartbeat rings in your ears.)

Jungkook hovers by the door, clad in a pair of shorts he’s left here before, and a t-shirt you stole from him. “Hey,” he says quietly, lingering by the doorframe. You nod back in response. “Can I watch with you?” Again, another nod.

Slinking over to the couch, he’s rather careful as he sits down, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. You don’t even think he can see the screen of your laptop until he murmurs, “he’s my favorite character,” when Perry the Platypus appears on the screen.

You hum. “Thought you didn’t like these kids shows?” you ask. You don’t mean it to sound as petty and backhanded as it comes out, but that’s really no one's fault but his own.

Jungkook’s breathing tightens beside you. “No,” he admits, “I don’t. Only watch them because I know you like them.” You contemplate pausing the episode and engaging in a real conversation with him, but at this point, you’re very tired from the events of the last day. Jungkook doesn’t press either, just shuffles more comfortably beside you.

You get about five minutes in, quiet chuckles shared between the two of you, before he strikes. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says, so hushed you almost don’t hear it. His hand is resting in the space between you, pinky brushing against yours. “About… being late. And the presents.”

You inspire slowly. “That wasn't even the problem, silly,” you brush off. From your peripheral, you see Jungkook’s slow nod. “I didn’t want any presents,” you mention, “I just wanted you.” You look away from the screen immediately after, pretending like the spot on the ceiling is actually really interesting.

The two of you fall into silence, the animated characters on your screen rapidly chattering away. “Oh,” Jungkook says after a moment.

You roll your eyes. They’re moist but you don’t want him to see. “Yeah, oh,” you parrot back softly, relaxing into the couch again. “Did you eat the food I left out?”

Jungkook shuffles beside you, the soft lull of the speakers soon being cut as he reaches over to pause Phineas and Ferb. A couple of seconds pass and then he’s leaning into you, head resting on your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, placing a palm over the hand he had been teasing for the past few minutes. “I thought I knew what I was doing but I was wrong.”

His voice is so soft and sincere, it makes your chest ache. You try to burrow your face against your opposite shoulder, try to hide the stray tear that escapes out of the corner of your eye. “It’s fine,” you brush off, voice choked off and hoarse.

Jungkook leans up, pecks your cheek so tenderly it makes you go mushy. “No, it’s not fine. I acted like a know-it-all and said something way out of line,” he murmurs, raising his head to look at you. His hand feels warm over yours. It’s the touch you craved all day and yesterday, the warm feel of his body against yours. You’re embarrassed at how easily you melt into it. “You’re the best thing that has happened to me in a long time,” he tells you, holding your hand close to his chest. “I had no right to say those things to you.”

You sniffle, resting your head against his shoulder now. His heart beats loud enough for you to hear. “Was it true?” you mumble. “Do you really think of me like that?”

He shakes his head, his soft breaths fanning across your forehead. “No, never,” he answers. “I think you’re incredible. My brain was just trying to justify my dumb anger.”

You nod, even if you don’t believe it just yet. But that was a conversation for later, you suppose, sometime in the future when you aren’t on the verge of tears and threatening to crumble apart at the simplest word that leaves his mouth.

“I should have come home like you wanted, thought about my words before saying them,” he says, snuggling closer to you. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” you sniffle, covering your face with your free hand as he presses a kiss to the vein that runs over the back of the hand he’s holding captive. “Now it just sounds like I'm just being inconsiderate of your gifts and a crybaby.”

Jungkook kisses your temple softly, gently. “Don’t think about the gifts,” he says. “Just tell me what you wanted to do, doll.”

His voice calms you, has you like putty in his arms. “Watch movies,” you mumble, toying with a thread on your couch cushion. “Be with you.”

He hums. “Then we’ll do that,” he says, reaching for your laptop again. The screen nearly blinds you when it flickers back to life before you, Jungkook’s low breaths against your ear making it near impossible for you to process the titles on the screen. “You liked Disney+?”

Belatedly, you nod. “I like the animated movies,” you admit quietly, the anxieties of before slowly melting away, even more so when he slides his arm around you, pulling you close against his chest.

Unlike other times where he’ll critique the hell out of such childish films, Jungkook says nothing as he starts up the Zootopia movie instead, the same one you had wanted to show him before, right from the beginning. “That bunny looks like you,” you murmur when Judy Hopps first appears on the screen.

Jungkook snorts. “You say that about every cartoon bunny.”

You turn your head to glance at him over your shoulder. He meets your gaze with a small smile you return. “It’s because you’re so cute,” you say softly, lips twisting playfully when his cheeks grow scarlet.

He knocks his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “Not cute, just lucky,” he chuckles. “Lucky enough to have you.” Your heart turns over in your chest, threatening to burst out of your rib cage at his words. You try to turn in his arms. Before you can say the words that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue for months now, he’s beating you to it once again. “I love you,” he confesses in a hushed whisper, no alcoholic influence.

Something inside of you blossoms, eyes wide as he chastely kisses you. He pulls away without you ever reacting, too caught up in surprise to kiss him back properly. He stays close, curls tickling your forehead as he leans over you. “You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know. I love you,” he says again, long lashes blinking down at you. “So much. It makes me feel like a stupid teenager again, going to the mall to buy a gift for my crush.” He laughs sheepishly, reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “Is that okay?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

It mirrors the confession he’d given you that morning, those slurred words and teary eyes. It had been difficult to pinpoint the legitimacy of it before, the meaning scrambled by his hazy mind. But with him staring at you like this now, like you single-handedly plucked the stars from the sky to put them in those sparkly eyes of his, it makes something inside you ache.

Still, you choke on your own spit. “I-Is it okay for you to love me?” you sputter incredulously, realizing the oddity of the same question he’d thrown at you earlier. But now, you’re both sober and you can really tear apart that sentence. Jungkook nods a little too seriously for your liking. “Are you crazy?” He blinks in confusion, brows pulling together as you slowly but surely lose the last bits of your sanity. “You’re an idiot, Jeon Jungkook,” you huff, “a stupidly handsome, rich, walking dream, idiot who goes out with stupid girls like me.”

“Not stupid,” he murmurs, closing in on you again as he finally understands the truth behind your masked insults. He smells minty and like his favorite body wash of yours.

“No,” you deny. “You’re actually, like, insane. You have a bachelor pad, make enough money to sustain an entire litter of kittens, look and talk like every teenage girl’s dream boyfriend— but you mess it all up by dating evil, conniving hoes like me who lose their shit over Disney cartoons.” He says nothing, watching you with an amused grin as you talk over yourself, basically regurgitating his statement from yesterday except it kinda seems plausible now that you’re over it. “It’s stupid. No, you’re stupid. No— I’m stupid.”

Jungkook chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. “Done?” he says, a dimple appearing on his cheek. You could kiss it away, but you need him to know the amount of stupidity in this room was astronomically high. “You’re not stupid, baby,” he says. You level him with a look. “Well. You have your moments.”

“Moments?” you repeat, standing up in a hurry that has him flopping down beside you. Your laptop is lost somewhere on the cushions, the voices faded as they grow farther away. “I am so stupid. I called Namjoon a whore for taking you out for lunch!” you cry. “I am the stupidest person in the world.”

Jungkook cackles, standing up beside you. “Yes, yes, you’re my stupid girl,” he teases, tapping the pout on your lips playfully. “So stupid she slanders herself instead of just telling me she loves me too.” He bumps your noses together, dark eyes staring at you almost daringly after his claim.

You fold soon enough. “I love you,” you mumble, “even if I’m too stupid to say it.”

He rewards your confession with a kiss, pulling you into his arms soon after. He sighs, almost wistfully. “Whatever shall I do with my very stupid girl?”

After exactly three minutes of feeling safe and loved in his arms, he abandons the living room in favor of leading you back to your room, where he pushes you down against your mattress. You cling to him, leaving him positioned over you at an angle. His chest presses against yours, arm curled around the back of your head. “Gotta get up, baby,” he laughs.

You shake your head, caging him in your arms. “Nuh-uh,” you murmur, legs wiggling when he places a hand on your hip.

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss against the side of your ear. “Your movie is still playing in the other room,” he reminds you, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hip. You don’t release him, his mindless touch only encouraging you to keep him close. “Babe?”

You say nothing, relishing in the comfort of Jungkook’s presence. His hair smells good and feels even softer against the side of your face. The cotton shirt he found is crumpled beneath your fists, dark blue pattern wrinkling. Finally coming to terms with his new home, Jungkook eventually relaxes into your hold with a sigh.

“Alright,” he hums, patting your hip as he repositions himself more comfortably. “I get it. My pretty girl must’ve missed me, huh?” You nod, soaking in every detail about him in this moment. Jungkook shifts, the hand on your hip suddenly falling over your thigh instead. “Or should I say my stupid girl?” he purrs, hand slipping between your thighs. “My stupid, little girl?”

A gasp catches in your throat when he runs his fingers over the front of your panties. Your legs kick out wildly at the sudden touch, toes curling at the hands you dreamt about all day and night. “Oh,” you pant, each brush of his fingers feeling better than the last.

“What?” he says, mouthing against the side of your neck. His tongue feels warm, but the trails of saliva he leaves have you shivering. “Too dumb to speak?” he scoffs, biting down against a particular spot on your neck. You whimper, unsure if it’s because of his hands or his mouth.

“N-No,” you try to sneer back, fingernails digging into his skin through his shirt. His hands are getting braver now, the pad of his pointer finger dancing over your engorged clit. The sheer material of your panties certainly doesn’t help, each touch feeling like it’s being magnified three times over. And if it felt this good with underwear, you can’t even begin to imagine how it’d feel without.

You don’t have to ponder for long, because soon after Jungkook is slipping his hand beneath your waistband, touching your sensitive pussy head-on. “Kook.”

He uses your momentary vulnerability to ease himself from your hold, finally recoiling enough to smother your mouth with his. You moan in surprise, thighs quivering as he gets to work circling your hardened bud sans your panties. Jungkook isn’t the least bit kind as he kisses you ruthlessly, likes he’s trying to compensate for something with his movements. When he finally pulls away it’s with an obnoxious pop and cherry red lips. He huffs, glancing down to see where he’s got his fingers pleasuring you.

Your thighs are squirming back and forth, closing around his hand every few seconds. Jungkook snorts. “Huh, look at that,” he mutters, trailing down until his fingers are gliding over your quickly sopping folds. “Stupid girl is good for something.”

Your cheeks burn. “Kook, I’m not—“

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed glare. “Not what? Not stupid? But I could’ve sworn you just spent the last few minutes saying you were,” he drones meanly, landing one light slap against your cunt that makes your hips buck.

You bite down a whimper. “I was just…” you trail off, eyes rolling back when he teases one finger against your opening.

“Kidding?” he supplies. “Well, I wasn’t.” Your heart stutters in your chest, eyes growing wide as he finally pushes himself off of you, propping himself up with an elbow beside your head. His gaze is dark and unrecognizable. “I think you’re so fucking stupid, doll,” he sneers. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

You should have seen this moment coming, the manifestation of that shiny side of the coin finally reaching its full potential.

While Jungkook wasn’t exactly shy about his interests, he certainly wasn’t tripping over himself to tell you every new kinky thing he wanted to try. You sort of guessed he had some interest in this sort of play a few weeks ago when you watched the Barbie movie at his place. A lot of that night had branded itself into your three am wet dreams, but there was one particular moment that stood out to you. That was you, on your knees, with him condescendingly patting your head. Or just last week, you vaguely remember the term slipping through his lips as he pleasured you with The Bullet Bestie.

The thing about Jungkook was that, until last night, he would have never admitted, or so much as even thought, that he was better than you. That was fine because you would say it enough for the both of you anyway. Did you think Jungkook was amazing, an absolute diamond among these measly rocks? Absolutely. (Were you slightly biased because you were his girlfriend? Skip.) However, you also had this insane evil villain complex that made you want to brag about everything you possibly could, especially if that meant bragging about your boyfriend.

Realistically speaking, he was better than you, that much you could look past yesterday’s anger to admit, and not even in a stuck-up, conceited way; he had a really good job, an architecturally amazing house, and a hot girlfriend. Meanwhile, you had a mediocre job, an okay apartment, and an insanely sexy Calvin Klein boyfriend, half of which he had pointed out yesterday. Regardless of how powerful that third factor was, he still outnumbered you three to one.

Sue you, Jungkook was amazing. Anyone could see that! Except, maybe, himself.

And if the only time Jungkook would openly brag about his greatness or establish how much better than you he was, was in a post-fight, sex-induced setting, then you were more than happy to be his punching bag. So long as it was on your terms, and not as a result of his weirdly bottled up feelings.

(Yeah, you would have a long talk about that tomorrow.)

But for now, you pout up at him, clamping your thighs shut purposefully. “You’re stupid too,” you defend, “stupid and mean.”

Something in his expression changes. Suddenly, he’s moving at superhuman speed as he snatches his hand out from where you had previously trapped him between your legs, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. “Mean?” he mocks. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” You shiver, fingers wrapping around the wrist that holds your sweater. “Wanted me to be mean and push you around like a little rag doll?”

Jungkook looks at you for another two seconds, before he’s slowly pulling away from you, leaning back on his knees. His tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening from the movement. “Baby,” he says so quietly it instills a prickle of fear in you, tainted with delicious excitement.

“Yeah?” you whisper, sitting up tentatively as you watch him, He was a bit frightening, like a wild animal about to devour you whole.

Jungkook rolls his neck, the joints in his spine cracking as he begins tugging off his shirt. You salivate at the sight, too focused on the sinewy muscles of his body to catch the dark gaze he levels your way. He throws it off to the side, his sleeve of tattoos that wraps around his bicep and begins to crawl down his chest wonderfully unobstructed now. “Eyes up here,” he says and you quickly meet his gaze. He leans forward, muscled arms coming to cage you against the headboard. “Stupid little sluts don’t have the room to make such comments,” he rasps out, unamused expression adorning his normally soft features. “Don’t you think so?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stammer, leaning away as he comes closer and closer, eventually just turning your head to the side to avoid that emotionless look. It’s the wrong move, and Jungkook lets you know as much by forcefully digging his fingers into your cheeks and turning your face back around to meet his gaze.

A hand grabs beneath your knee, tugging harshly until you’re flopping down onto your back with a squeal. You settle with his knee pressed hotly against your core. Jungkook stays towering over you. “Dumb little girls who make me watch cartoons,” he spits, tracing a hand over your chest, molding your breasts beneath his hands roughly enough to make you gasp. “And watch little animal movies on Disney+. Aren’t they just so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you concede, subtly shifting your hips for some desperately needed friction. Jungkook snorts, finally granting you your wish with one rough slide of his thigh against your core.

“I agree,” he says, and surprises you with a hand around your throat as he leans in to properly grind his thigh into you. “All they’re good for is being dumb little sluts with good pussy,” he murmurs darkly, thumb pressing into the side of your neck forcefully. “Sometimes, they don’t even do anything,” Jungkook continues, his other hand on your hip hauling you higher up his thigh. You mewl, soaked panties rubbing roughly against your folds. You miss the soft swirl of his thumb, the gentle prod of his fingers. Even so, you can’t deny this change in Jungkook is doing something to you, riling up a part of you that you hadn’t known existed. Maybe it’s the horniness from yesterday that was left unfulfilled, the one year anniversary sex that was put on pause. “Just lay there and take it, too fucked out and dumb to say anything.”

His fingers loosen for the briefest of seconds and you gasp for breath. “That’s terrible,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into his thigh, so close to his swollen cock.

Jungkook chuckles without an ounce of humor, pressing your foreheads together as he helps grind you to completion. “Isn’t it? I think that stupid little girl is cute though.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, vision spotting as he tightens his hand back around your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you moan, stomach tight from all the stimulation.

Jungkook hums, slowing you down with a tight grip on your waist. “Hm, what are you sorry for?” he croons, pink lips pulling into an evil smile. “You said you weren’t that stupid girl, __.”

You shake your head, trying to roll your hips up again but he’s holding you too tightly now, rendering you immobile beneath him. “I am,” you choke out shamefully, grabbing at the hand on your hip in a feeble attempt to remove it. “I am a stupid little girl.”

Jungkook smirks, leaning down to slot his mouth over yours. “That’s right,” he murmurs, “nothing but a dumb little slut.”

You shiver, opening your mouth when he slides his tongue against your bottom lip. He’s not the slightest bit nice, and more messy than usual. He pulls away with a bite to your lower lip, meeting your trembling gaze with that same unrecognizable glint in his eyes. “Come on, dummy, keep up,” he snarks before devouring you again. You try to, you really do, but he’s moving like an animal today, despite his slow and drunken movements from that morning. So you end up with his saliva dripping down your throat, clinging to the corners of your lips as he begins slowly grinding you against his thigh again. He flashes you a wicked smile, pearly teeth on display for you as he glances down at your messy appearance.

“Are you gonna touch me?” you ask, lower lip trembling at the thought after your desperate rutting. Jungkook purses his lips together in thought.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Don’t know yet.”

You whine. “Jungkook, please,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I need you.”

Jungkook chuckles, running his hand up your waist and taking your shirt with him. He slips his fingers beneath your bra, pushing the wire over your chest as he mouths at your neck. “Cute,” he says. “Can’t do it yourself?”

You tremble, chest arching into him as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I-I can,” you gasp. “Just feels better with you.”

Jungkook follows your statement with a nip against your skin, tongue soothing over it right after. “Why? Because I do everything better than you? Even make you cum better than you?”

Your cheeks heat up at his blatant ego rearing its head, hands carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. You say nothing, and that only eggs Jungkook on. “Come onnn,” he teases, finally, finally rolling his hips down onto your core. You squeak, head falling back against the pillows as you’re granted the one thing you’d been chasing. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask, voice wobbly as he continues to slowly rut against you, the front of his shorts pressing against the soaked crotch area of your panties. “Oh, oh, Jungkook,” you whine.

Suddenly he bites down harshly, teeth digging painfully into your skin. You yelp in surprise, pussy throbbing at the pain that shoots throughout your body. Jungkook pulls away and doesn’t bother soothing over it as he leans up to capture your jaw this time. “Say you’re a stupid little slut who can’t do anything without me,” he purrs, kisses too soft for the words he says.

Your mind blanks, torn between the humiliating phrase he wants you to say and properly checking him in his place. In the end, it’s with a twisted need to please him that you’re repeating the words back to him. “I-I’m a stupid slut,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he continues pushing you right along the edge. The rope pulled tightly in your core is slowly being pulled apart, threads hanging on for dear life. “Can’t... can't do anything without...”

“Without who?” he asks, reaching down and untying the front of his shorts. “Can’t do anything without who, baby?”

“Without you, without you,” you cry, bucking your hips up against his, the combined movements of both your bodies making you shake like a leaf. “Ah, K-Kook,” you wail, hips stuttering as your orgasm finally swallows you up. Your panties quickly grow wet and icky from your own arousal that pools between your thighs. Jungkook lets you writhe beneath him as you chase your high, mouth sucking a pretty blossom against your jaw.

You know better than to expect the night to end here, especially after seeing the glint that had been in his eyes as he watched you unravel.

He leans close, let’s his nose brush against yours as you catch your breath. “So perfect for me,” he groans, slotting his lips against yours. You can barely keep up with him, languidly going along with his hot tongue. “Perfect, perfect girl,” he murmurs, a stark change from the less than friendly adjectives he used just moments before. “Tell me you love me?” he says softly.

You nod, mind fuzzy as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Love you,” you exhale, letting your fingers knot in his hair. Your proclamation does something to him, makes him grind the front of his cotton shorts hard against you. For someone that was often rough and brutal with you in bed, he sure was sensitive to the mushiest of things.

“Don’t deserve you,” he huffs, hot breath fanning across your skin. He switches gears fairly quickly. “Tell me you hate me,” he begs hoarsely, rutting against your soiled panties. “Tell me I’m a piece of shit and you could do better without me,” he pleads, voice too airy to be another one of his usual sex-induced thoughts.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he rolls his hips. “It’s not true,” you whisper, “I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”

Jungkook groans, suddenly winding back and tearing your ruined panties down your legs. You gasp in surprise, letting him haul you about in his blind, self-inflicted rage. “Stupid, stupid,” he huffs, though at this point you can’t tell who it’s directed at. With your underwear out of the way, he wastes no time plunging his fingers back into your cunt, bypassing the tight ring of muscle around it without any of his usual care. “You should hate me,” he snarls, lips pressed against your ear.

You moan, back arching at the sudden pleasure that blossoms between your thighs. “I-I don’t,” you gasp, toes curling.

Jungkook groans, the sound traveling down your spine and straight into your pussy. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, slipping an arm around you to pull you so close until you can’t breathe, chests lined up together. His skin is warm to the touch, scorching almost. “Fuck,” he groans, curling his fingers inside of you. You whimper and moan, incapable of staying still beneath him as he tortures you with a thumb to your clit. “Tell me you hate me,” he seethes again.

Despite the fog that’s settled over your mind, you still manage a resolute shake of your head. “N-no,” you cry, digging your nails into his back. They run dark red lines over his skin, making him hiss at the sting.

Whatever punishment he’s trying to put himself through is falling through with your refusal to admit such a thing. It aggravates him even more, your adamant stance on loving him so, and he’s retracting his fingers before you can cum again. “Please,” he chokes, face tucked into your neck. He’s sloppy with his movements; as he pulls his shorts down and kicks them away, he nearly suffocates you with his weight. “I don’t deserve you, ___, please.”

“I love you,” you whimper for lack of explanation. Jungkook leans back, that same madman gaze in his glossy eyes. He’s looking at you in disbelief almost, pouty lips puckered and swollen. Your hands slip from around him, falling on either side of your head.

Like a cobra he strikes, collecting your wrists in one hand he pins above your head. The sudden movement has him leaning in close, lips brushing over yours. His lashes are coated in a wetness he refuses to acknowledge, looking at you like you drive him insane. “If you ever try to leave me,” he whispers, jerky breath fanning over your skin, “I’ll lose my mind.”

He loves you so much it aches.

“I won’t,” you whimper, feeling your own eyes well up with an emotion that consumes every inch of your being. “I’ll never leave you, you stupid, stupid boy.”

A faint smile crosses his features at your words, lips quirking to the side. You relish in it for all of two seconds before he’s ramming his cock into you, your sensitive walls spawning around him. You sob loudly, eyes rolling back into your head. Your legs instinctively hook themselves around his waist, digging into the base of his spine as he rolls his hips into you.

You feel full and complete like he belongs there in this moment and every moment after this. It makes your heart constrict painfully. Jungkook’s soft groans follow your more unraveled noises, the vulgar slapping of skin on skin the underlying melody to it all. “Ffffuck,” he spits, greedily swallowing your moans up. You whine, arms bucking in an effort to hold him close. But he’s determined in his act of restraining you, long fingers tightening around your wrists until they hurt. “I warned you, didn’t I?” he huffs, snapping his hips into you.

Your walls clench around his hard cock, the drag as he exits sending shivers throughout your body. Jungkook’s body towers over you, glistening in sweat as he nails you into your mattress. “Remember what I said?” he asks, voice but a shuddery exhale. You shake your head numbly, overwhelmed by the rough drag across your walls. “All those months ago, when you first came over,” he adds. The hand on your hip abandons its post to cup you beneath the jaw, palm pressing sinfully against your throat enough to block the tiniest of airflow. “I’ll fuck you and keep you forever,” he murmurs, voice deeper than the pits of hell. He licks a fat stripe over your cheek like you’re nothing but a sweet for him to devour. “Do you remember that, pretty girl?”

You nod jerkily, hips arching up into him when he thrusts into you again. It’s a memory that replays in your mind every so often, your first night with the man you had planned to humiliate over a mere misunderstanding, now your boyfriend of one year. “Want that,” you gasp, tears blurring your vision when he begins picking up the pace. “Wanna be y-your pretty girl forever.”

Jungkook groans, kissing the corner of your mouth. His thighs are some magnificent beings, keeping his pace consistent even as he loses himself in his overwhelming need to kiss you. “Always,” he manages, soft lips pressed against yours. “I won’t ever let you leave.”

A shriek tears itself from your lips as he picks up that harsh piston, releasing your jaw to hold both wrists above your head. It makes his curls dangle in front of his eyes, covering that beautiful dark gaze. It makes his thin little necklace swing back and forth too, though it’s too small to actually touch your face. The rhythmic swing has you hypnotized, just like everything else about Jungkook.

With the length of his hair, you’re left staring at his lips, pulled taut between his pearly white teeth. The word from before sits heavy in your chest, begs to drip from the tip of your tongue. But he’s moving too fast and too hard, scrambling your thoughts until all you can think about is the cock plunging into your heat. His name falls from your mouth like mindless blubber instead, arms thrashing as your second orgasm swallows you up. It sends you crashing, body spasming as the sheer euphoria waves over you slowly and then all at once.

“Perfect,” he grunts, leaning down to slot his mouth against yours, “my perfect girl.” Your cum makes the sound of his hips erotic, the loud squelching following your panting. Still sensitive from your high, your body unconsciously tightens around him, keeps his cock from fully leaving. It brings a soft whine out of Jungkook, one he tries to muffle against the side of your face.

“Inside,” you whimper, even though your body feels like jelly beneath him. “Cum inside, Kook, please,” you beg.

It only takes a few more thrusts into your leaking hole for him to finally reach paradise, hips stuttering when that first shot of pleasure hits him. “Fuck, fuck,” he growls, wildly snapping his hips into your achy cunt. You moan, feeling just about brainless at the overstimulation. His cum leaves you full, almost makes your belly bulge from it. When he’s done he doesn’t bother pulling away, simply slumping into your limp form. His cock, though quickly softening, serves as a plug for the cum threatening to spill out of you.

There’s a muted noise coming from the other room, the faint sound of the mail slipping through your letterbox, the quiet chattering of the street outside. And of course, the loud blaring of your laptop playing the Phineas and Ferb theme song. Jungkook registers it at about the same time as you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips.

He pushes off of you soon after, leaning on his palms over you. He’s got that molten look on his eyes, the heat of a thousand suns burning behind those irises as he looks at you. Like he can’t get enough, even though he’s just about taken everything there is to take. “Love you,” he murmurs quietly.

A drop of sweat rolls over his forehead, clinging to the end of his eyebrow. You reach up and brush it away, let your hand trail down his face to cup his cheek. Immediately he leans into the touch, eyes falling half shut. “Love you more,” you respond.

“Impossible,” he scoffs.

Soon after you’re both stumbling out of bed, clothes haphazardly shrugged back on as you drift through the living room. There’s a thin, hot pink package sitting at the door, just having slipped through the letterbox; the stark Sexuality Unleashed logo is printed on the visible side, so you have to wonder what Doyeon could have possibly ordered this time that could be so thin. The laptop is awkwardly sandwiched next to a throw pillow, barely open a crack. Jungkook retrieves it, sets it on his lap as you scamper over to the couch.

“More Phineas and Ferb?” he asks quietly. He hates it, you know he does. And still, he wants to watch it with you.

You nod. “Please.”

He isn’t so concerned with the plot as you, clicking some random episode to start. You snuggle into his side, quietly singing along to the opening. After a moment, Jungkook speaks again. “Phineas and Flirt?” he offers cheekily.

You roll your eyes. “That might’ve been your worst one yet,” you sigh, trying to drown out his indignant huff by focusing on the screen.

“I don’t exactly see you coming up with these,” he points out, obviously feeling wronged.

Without missing a beat you say, “Disney+ and bust.”

epilogue

commercial break one ; the resolution

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