#here it all is in a neat little package of a drabble for you

[juneknight]

Idling || 10

Previous drabble here.

You have Jake's attention, certainly. Not his respect nor his fondness, but his attention.

About this: some minor descriptions of wounds suffered by both the system and the reader. Jake being (justifiably) mean. Angst angst angst. Hurt no comfort.

*

He points to the table and chairs and says: “Siéntate.” 

And you do not need to ask what he means.

*

Jake Lockley tends to your wounds. It is surreal to know that the hands which so tenderly clean the blood from your arm, so carefully inspect the edges of the wound, these are the hands which slit a man’s throat earlier that night. His own wrists are bloodied from Marc and Steven fighting against the handcuffs. He does not act as if he notices the wounds at all. 

“Well?” he mutters, holding a hypodermic needle and syringe up to the light of the window and inspecting its contents. The little wooden box he had pulled from a fucking hole in the wall was–unlike many other things around the flat which regularly collected dust–well maintained, pristine beneath the oak lid. Jake had opened it with familiarity, and inside was an array of medical items: needles, vials of liquids with the labels scratched off, needles and gauze and antiseptics. 

He works with nimble skill, and you know that he has done this work before. His eyes flash up at you after your silence. The look in them is entirely unknown to you, a familiar landscape of deep brown framed with dark lashes, but the expression, the anger and emptiness turns it into a foreign land. Another planet.

“How long have you been hiding from them?” you can’t help but wonder. You wince when Jake begins to numb the wounds. The bleeding is sluggish, but you see as he recurrently wipes the crimson away that they are not as deep as you thought…thank god. 

“Siempre,” says Jake. ”Always. Ask better questions.” 

“Khonshu said—”

“Listening to a word from him is the first place you went wrong tonight. Better questions. Con prisa.”

“You’ve been working for Khonshu even after Marc and Steven bargained for their freedom. Why?” 

“I like the work,” he says. “And it keeps us safe.” 

“They don’t want you to kill anyone.” Jake rolls his eyes and says nothing. You press him: “I’m serious. Steven wanted to turn himself in. Have you ever spent time in a psychiatric ward? Or prison?” 

The look Jake casts at you could freeze the boiling water in a kettle. You can’t help but blanch, stomach dropping somewhere between your feet, heart pounding with an instinctive fear. How can he look at you with such obvious hate when his hands are so fucking gentle?

“That is never going to happen,” he grits out.

You gather whatever guts you have left that haven’t twisted into knots and say, voice trembling more than you would like: “Then no more killing.”

“You don’t control me,” he snaps, placing the last steri-strip in place. He crumples the packaging with obvious violence, like he would much rather be crushing your throat. “You might have Marc and Steven by the balls, but not me. Never me.”

A scream of pure frustration and fury bubbles in the back of your throat. It takes all of your mindfulness to swallow it down. This conversation is getting you nowhere—it is getting Steven and Marc nowhere. You need to try a different strategy. Pulling your arm back, your eyes scan the neat little wounds which will likely scar. 

“Thank you,” you say a little stiffly, trying hard to infuse the gratitude in your voice that you are sure you feel for the man—deep, deep down. 

Jake snorts. He is placing unused supplies gently back into the box, latex gloves snapping as he removes them and leaves them in a bloody pile on the tabletop. Your window of opportunity is closing before your very eyes. Though he hasn’t said as much, you know that Jake doesn’t want to spend a moment longer here with you than he has to, and once he has finished this job, he will disappear back into the headspace. 

“You care about them,” you say. His eyes flash upwards from his work, dark and mistrustful. He still says nothing, but you figure that perhaps that is as much encouragement as you could expect from him. “This is important to them. Steven’s heart, his conscience—it’s huge. And Marc already feels like he has too much blood on his hands. Do it for them. Please.” 

After a long stretch of silence during which you hold your breath, Jake mutters something beneath his breath. 

“What?” you ask softly. 

He turns in his chair, the legs screeching against the hardwood floor. He stares at you straight-on, and it’s almost too much. If you thought Marc’s gaze could pin you in place, then Jake’s has you feeling like a frog pinned to a lab tray, ready to be taken apart by a scalpel in his skillful hand. 

Looking you straight in the eye, he says: “I said, you are the dumbest bitch I have ever met.” 

You gape. “Excuse me?”

“‘Do it for them?’ Like everything I have ever done has not been for them? If I wanted a lecture on how to care for my brothers, I would ask for it from anyone in London but you. Because not a single person in this dismal fucking city has hurt them the way you did tonight. You know what I will do for them? I will spare you my hands around your neck. This. One. Time.

“You let them know that I said, you’re welcome.”

And with a strange shiver, face grimacing, Jake is gone. 

The body looks at you, and for a moment you don’t know who is fronting. The eyes are perhaps just as unfamiliar to you as Jake’s were, though there is no hate in them. He looks at the table, taking in the supplies. His eyes rake over your wrist, even when you clutch it against your chest as if you could hide it from him. As if you could take it back. 

Then Steven says, sounding so heartbreakingly resolute: “I think I’d like you to leave, now.”

[broomsticks]

@nanneramma queen of RANGE, queen of rare ships, queen of big, big feelings in small moments. the hpsaffics summer exchange was the first time i got to read (and write for!) nan and it was LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT and i love that we’re both baby mods there now.

baNan is so caring and supportive and ridiculous and someone you can absolutely count on for ‘yes and.’ i love how fully you embrace everyone’s insanity uniqueness, and you brighten the day of everyone who’s fortunate enough to know you — well except mine the few times you manage to snipe beta requests out from under me. 💝

nan writes such a diversity of characters and ships and genres, and they’re all such gems that choosing was LEGIT TORTURE, BUT:

getting steamy in this hot sweltering greenhouse: Bloom • Neville/Blaise • 17k, E. fluff, angst, smut, pining, guilt, humor, friendship, there are a million feels in this one and nan hits all of them perfectly. p.s. my heart always for background ginsy. there’s also lots of exceedingly lovely and thoroughly well deserved comment love on this piece if you too are into perving on that XD

the loveliest little bit of warmth by the cold Scottish sea: Landlocked, Oceanbound • selkie!luna x pansy • 7.5k, T. both luna and pansy are brilliantly characterized here — luna with a perfect blend of serenity and strangeness, and pansy with just the right amount of guilt, hesitation, holding-back. nan has a way with descriptions and turns of phrase that’s just magical; the selkie au feels come through in every other line.

this one hurts. And All I Loved • Bellatrix character study • 5k, M. get into bellatrix’s dark desperate hauntingly lost mind, full of pain and horror, and feel for her!! such terrifying pictures here of her in the Forest, in Black Manor, in the Hogwarts halls, and eventually, to Voldemort.

best twist. Child's Play • George/Oliver • 2k, M. one of those fics i am truly struggling to come up with a rec for because there’s so MUCH in here! is it hopeful, exhilarating, excitement with our favorite quidditch boys, or is it uhhh not that? read it. you’ll feel things. you’re welcome.

‘read it. you’ll feel things. you’re welcome.’ x2. ad te omnis caro veniet • Pansy/Tom • 1.3k, M. "Pansy wants to finish her masterpiece. Tom helps her—for a price." no really i genuinely don’t know how to rec this. the buildup is impeccable. don’t let the tags put you off. you’re in good hands.

tiny bites of sheer heaven. i am tired, i am yours: saffics summer exchange double drabbles // 200 words, misc pairings and ratings. each and every one of these is perfection in a neat little package. such a range of pairings and feelings. some of my favorites: Menagerie (eighth year pansy/ginny flirting), Rather Have You (helga/rowena smut), and The Upper Hand (cho/ginny slow burn romance!! i stg! the buildup you manage to get in 200 words!)

---

for an explanation of why i just wrote you a whole ~thing~, check out this post & the ‘mutuals march’ tag below!

[downspiral-dreamer]

"[I] trusted [you]." - SEND ME A NUMBER AND I’LL WRITE A MICRO STORY USING THE WORD OR PHRASE { Knowing the bullshit you've been through I figured this could be therapeutic. }

this is the meme, feel free to send more in, but like hell this is gonna be a micro story, i got carried aWAY

~ * ~

       “I trusted you.”

      The words left Ronan’s lips, deadened, emotionless; the calm before the storm. He could feel pain and rage and despair roiling inside of him, twisting and coiling around his heart and squeezing tight. But those first words, they were cold. As cold as Ronan wished he could be. As hard as he wished he could be so that the tears stinging the back of his eyes would stop.

      A long silence fell over the basement room, dark and heavy like a clouded night. Daniel didn’t speak, scratching at the back of his neck, refusing to make eye contact. The signs of a boy trying to find a lie that would fit just right in his mouth, to feed to his opponent, to attempt to sweeten a situation gone sour long ago.

      Finally, he spoke. “It’s not like that. You’re getting mad about stuff that isn’t true.  I told you, it’s not that I like Trenton more, it’s--”

      A wave pushed up through Ronan’s throats and he felt as though he might vomit, but instead a shout tore free. “Shut up! Just shut the fuck up, Daniel. Can you just tell me the goddamn truth for once? Is it really that hard?” Ah. There came those stupid tears.

      Daniel turned away to continue pushing belongings into his duffel bag. “I am telling the truth, you’re just overreacting. I’m not ready for a relationship right now, that’s all.”

      “I’m gonna say something here, because unlike you, I can be honest.” Ronan gritted his teeth, trying his damnedest to remain steady. Just for a few minutes longer. Just to make sure that his fiance - ex fiance - knew what was what. “I looked through your messages. Okay? I looked through them all, the ones you had with Trenton. You know, the ones where you talked about how much of a burden I was, about how much you hated that I couldn’t keep a job. I saw all the shit you called him, special ‘nicknames’ you said you reserve for special people. So can you maybe, just MAYBE, stop lying for five seconds and just admit it?”

      More silence. Ronan stood motionless by the bed, watching as the man he had fallen in love with continued to pack, saying that he would be going to stay with a friend until he had had a chance to ‘recuperate’ from the ‘pain’ of having to break up for his ‘own mental health. The friend was unnamed, but it didn’t take much for Ronan to know he was going to Trent’s house. Not in the slightest. That’s where he had spent most of his time the last few weeks anyway.

      Daniel continued to stay silent, having finished packing up his more essential belongings, and moving to take his vest off the hook in the wall. Ronan remembered how he had helped Daniel find that vest, how he had walked two miles in pouring rain and thunderous skies to get superglue so that Daniel could put the patches he was so excited for onto the vest.

       “Be honest for two seconds before we never fucking talk again.” Ronan wasn’t sure why, but he needed to hear it. He needed to have it said to his face. Not just in messages behind his back.

      Daniel made a sound between a huff and a grunt, a noise of annoyance.

     “Just admit it. You never loved me. Or if you did, you only loved me until I stopped being useful to you. The moment I got too sick to work, to bring in money, the moment I became too tired to fuck your ‘play partner’ for you to watch, then whatever you thought was love went away. Is that it?” Ronan stepped sideways, blocking Daniel’s route to the door.

      “Stop acting like a child. This is why we’re not together anymore.” Daniel attempted to move past. “Knock it off.”

      “No, don’t even try that shit.” Ronan didn’t move. “I’m not acting like a child. I’m asking for one honest fucking answer from the man I was gonna marry. You know, the man who had engagement rings picked out? What are you gonna do with those? Throw them away? Send them back so you can get your precious money back?”

      Daniel shoved past him, and despite how much he wanted to chase after the other, sobbing and cursing and yanking on the back of his shirt to drag him back, Ronan didn’t move, only watched as Daniel made his way to the stairwell that would take him to the front door.

      “I fucking trusted you when you promised you would love me no matter what.” Ronan spoke the words only loud enough to be heard from the boy ascending the stairs. “You made me believe love existed and just like everybody else, proved that I only mattered for as long as I was useful to you. Don’t forget that.”

     He could hear the door slam upstairs. Knew that he would not see Daniel again. Knew that Daniel couldn’t hear him. But he finished the sentence off anyway.

      “I hope you remember that. I hope what you did fucking haunts you when you try to sleep at night.”

[withclawandvine]

i’m sorry but i simply must gush about how good of a partner bakugou would be to someone with adhd, okay? 

okay. here’s a lil drabble.

Most nights, you have dinner at Katsuki’s. His place is nicer and his kitchen’s always fully stocked, unlike yours. But tonight unexpectedly finds him in your little apartment instead. You know better than to try helping with anything. It’s not that you’re a bad cook—you get along just fine—but your kitchen is barely big enough for one body, and you know that bumping elbows with Katsuki while he works will drive him nuts. It’s better for both of you if you let him do his thing, so you take your time showering and applying your skincare before joining him in the kitchen. 

As soon as he hears your footsteps, he whips around, brandishing a bag of shriveling carrots like a weapon, “The hell’s this?!” 

Your brow wrinkles, “Carrots?” 

“No, dumbass!” he throws the fridge open. “What’s goin’ on in here? When’s the last time you opened this thing?” 

“Yesterday.” To refill the water pitcher. 

“Don’t bullshit me,” Katsuki barks, gesturing to the cluttered shelves. “Half this shit’s inedible.” 

You shrug, “It’s always like that.”

Katsuki’s face twists up in a way that has you unsure if it’s in outrage or concern. Before he has the chance to express either, you explain that it’s really easy for you to forget about things—especially if they aren’t clearly visible. That you buy produce with the best of intentions, but things get shuffled around and next thing you know, you’re tossing out wilted spinach and moldy broccoli. “I’ve learned to manage most of my symptoms, but this one…” 

“That’s why you’re always eating that instant crap?” 

He seems so baffled, you can’t help but laugh as you try to defend yourself, “It doesn’t go bad!” 

Katsuki lets out a long-suffering sigh, turning back to stir the curry bubbling on the stove. He mutters to himself about how lucky you were he was able to salvage anything. Despite his grousing, the food is still delicious.

- 

When you get home from work a few days later, Katsuki is lounging on the couch, feet kicked up on the table. Your heart warms at the sight of it, and you can’t keep the surprise out of your tone, “What’re you doing here?” 

He scowls at your approaching form, as if you’ve just said something impossibly stupid. “I live here.” 

He doesn’t. You don’t argue. Just lean down and kiss the first thing you can reach, which happens to be the top of his head. He lets out a huff of annoyance, and you can just make out the disappointed pout on his lips before he pulls you down for a proper kiss. 

“Hi,” you all but sigh the word. Katsuki rolls his eyes, but the effect is hardly what he’s going for, since his cheeks have gone pink. You drop a kiss on one before pulling away, “I need some water.” 

“You hungry?” You call over your shoulder as you enter the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cabinet. “I’m not gonna lie, the food situation isn’t any better than it was last time you were here, but I can call in for something, if you wa—” Your words turn into a gasp when you open the fridge. 

It’s nearly unrecognizable. The various bottles of sauces and condiments are no longer shelved in the door. Instead, there are neat rows of produce. It’s all been chopped and cleaned, waiting in clear containers you’ve never seen before. Anything that doesn’t fit on the door is stacked neatly on the shelves, next to the packages of various proteins. Everything is carefully labeled with expiration dates. The produce graveyard that had once been the crisper drawers are now full of bottles and jars and anything else with a long shelf life. 

You’re so busy gawking you almost don’t notice Katsuki hovering in the doorway. 

“You did this?” 

“Who else?” It sounds gruff, but his eyes are watching you carefully, trying to gauge your reaction. 

You think you might cry. For most of your life, it seemed as if nobody noticed how much you were struggling, and those did had never made such an effort to ease those burdens. You never could have expected this, and you don’t know how to express how much it means to you. You can only hug him tight, and hope your gratitude will seep into him. Katsuki’s hand curls around your neck, guiding your head back just enough to look you in the eye. One of his rough thumbs sweeps over your cheek, the tenderness deeply at odds with his grumbling of,  “No more shitty food, okay?” 

Which is just his way of saying Please take care of yourself, so you smile and nod, still a bit teary. He scoffs a little, nudging your head back into his chest. As his hand curls around the back of your head, he whispers a promise to take care of you. 

The way he says it makes it sound like a threat, which makes you laugh. But you still thank him for it, your voice quiet and earnest, “I’d be a mess without you.” 

He snorts, “Don’t I know it.”

[blossom-hwa]

Hi :D can i request luna? i love your works sm <3

of course you can!! thank you so much for the request, and I hope you enjoy this <3

Winter break drabble game: send me a WIP and maybe a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble from that WIP for you!

~

Title: White

WIP: Luna

Pairing: Seungmin x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Triggers: death (?)

~

The witch’s cottage blends into the trees. If it weren’t for the slight flicker of firelight against the night, Seungmin probably would’ve walked past it entirely, but you pull him away before he can. “There,” you whisper even though no one else is here with you two. 

Seungmin doesn’t blame you, though. Something about the moment feels strange. Charged. Like if he says something a little too loudly, the world will shatter to pieces. 

Slowly, quietly, you make your way to the door of the cottage. Seungmin raises a hand. Hesitates. Then knocks. 

An eternity seems to pass. You and Seungmin exchange looks. Then - 

“Come in, travelers.”

Seungmin twists the doorknob. It creaks under his fingers, but then the door swings open without a sound. 

The inside of the cottage almost looks creepier than the dark forest. There is light, yes, from lanterns glowing strangely and a fire roaring in the fireplace, but shadows flicker on the walls and the floor and with every step Seungmin takes inside, it feels like he’s walking into a death trap. 

A pile of rags begins to move before Seungmin’s eyes. It shifts, almost like one of the shadows at the edge of his vision, and then an old, wizened face with surprisingly sharp eyes appears over one of the tattered couches. 

Behind him, you let out a small eep of surprise or fear. The only reason Seungmin doesn’t make a sound is because his throat feels frozen. 

“Please close the door behind you,” the witch says, stepping forward. “Then I will answer any questions you might have. For a price, of course.”

You look at Seungmin, then look at the door. With hands that he can see are shaking even from here, you carefully shut it. 

“Now, then.” The witch places herself onto a seat. “What do you have to offer me?”

Seungmin’s throat feels dry as he pulls the small package from his pocket. When he extends it forward with a trembling hand, the witch’s dry fingers brush against his. 

It takes everything in him not to jump. 

She takes her time opening the package, pulling away the string that keeps it together and unwrapping the clumsy paper covering. Next to him, you wince almost in embarrassment. “I told you I couldn’t wrap things well,” you mutter.��Seungmin fights the urge to smile. 

Finally, the jewel falls into the witch’s palm. She stares at it. Scrutinizes it. Holds it between two fingers, lets it glow in the firelight. 

And then she nods. 

“This will do,” she says, and Seungmin lets out a deep sigh of relief. “What questions do you have for me, travelers?”

You nudge him forward. Seungmin sends you a scowl - you give him a little sarcastic smile that helps calm his heart even as he scowls deeper - and meets the witch’s clear, clear eyes. “We are on a quest,” he says quietly. “To save a princess lost in a tower. Perhaps you have heard of her.”

The witch inclines her said. She says nothing. 

“We have a prophecy.” You step forward, holding out a small piece of crinkled paper. “There is only one line that doesn’t make sense. It is marked there.”

The witch scans the paper. Her expression doesn’t change at all as her eyes rove over the page, hopefully taking in every word of your neat handwriting. Finally, she looks up. 

Her eyes fall directly on you. 

“You mean there is only one line that doesn’t make sense to him.”

Seungmin blinks. “What?”

The old woman turns her gaze to him. “You never needed to come to me,” she says quietly. “You already have what you need with you.”

“She’s right, Seungmin.”

Seungmin whirls around. “Y/N, what are you - what the hell do you mean? What’s going on? If you understood the prophecy, why didn’t you tell me?”

Your eyes flicker in the lantern light. Seungmin has never seen you look this way before - devastated, heartbroken, determined, and so many more things all at once. 

Your jaw clenches for a moment before you open your mouth, almost like you don’t want to say it. 

“I didn’t know if I wanted to believe it.”

A hand lifts from your side as you take a step back. It rises to your throat, pulls out something Seungmin has never seen before, not once - a sort of necklace, maybe, one with a strange little flower-shaped charm as a pendant, pure white and iridescent like a pearl. 

And - 

All of a sudden, Seungmin understands. 

A flower that blossomed to show its love to the moonlight. 

It wasn’t a physical flower - at least, not really. It was a flower child. 

“NO!”

Seungmin tackles you to the ground and you fall with a thump, head slamming against the floor. Guilt rips through him - that has to hurt - but Seungmin focuses on the charm at your throat, bright white in the darkness. 

“Get off of me!” you yell, grabbing for the charm at the same moment he does. “You need this, you need it - go away and just let me -” 

“What is wrong with you?” Seungmin screams. “I’m not going to do this if it means losing you -”

The charm comes away in his hand. He grips it, ready to toss it down and smash it underfoot, but then you knock it away and it flies into the air. 

Tables crash. Chairs fall. Seungmin grabs you and shoves you against a wall and you retaliate with a kick to his knees that sends him buckling to the ground. Your eyes blaze and if it were any other moment, Seungmin would let you go, let you do whatever you think you need to, but - not this, not this -

He grabs your leg. You kick his face. And as he reels backward, covering his nose, you reach the charm. 

You turn around. Your eyes sparkle - are those tears? - as you raise the charm to your lips. 

“No -”

A shower of petals fills the air, whirling across the cottage and covering everything until all Seungmin sees and feels is iridescent white, white everywhere, dusting his hair and washing his vision and spilling onto his body like the softest blanket that itches and scratches and tears his skin apart because it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be that you are gone -

A scream rips through the cloud of petals. Only when it dies down does Seungmin realize it was him. 

Slowly, slowly, the storm settles. Seungmin swipes away petals from his eyes. Stares at the sea of white that has washed across the cottage. 

Your figure is nowhere to be seen.

You were a flower child. You were one of those cursed by the gods with a flower’s mark on your body and the power to grant one impossible wish with the last puff of your breath. 

You never told him. Never gave him a hint. 

And yet you gave your life for him to finish his quest, all in a shower of petals. 

Seungmin closes his eyes against the blinding white, tears cutting tracks down his cheeks. But instead of white, all he sees is your face right before you swallowed the charm, the look in your eyes as you stared back at him.

There was nothing, he realizes, that you wouldn’t have ever done for him. 

Something shifts in the cottage. Seungmin’s eyes flash open - maybe it’s you, maybe this was all some horrible prank, maybe you’re still alive - 

It’s the witch, picking her way around toppled furniture and broken glass. In her hand she holds a white flower that shimmers like the moon and the stars. Seungmin can only watch as she picks up his hand with dry, dry fingers, and drops the flower onto his palm. 

Its softness scorches his skin. 

“Go, now.” Her voice is impassive. “Do not waste their last gift.”

Seungmin stares at his palm, unblinking. Your life for a flower. Your life for a quest. 

Your life for a princess he doesn’t even know. 

Grief and fury wash over him and for a moment, Seungmin considers dropping the flower and crushing it like he tried to crush the charm around your neck. He imagines how it would look under his foot, white petals dirty and stained with the dried mud on his shoe. It’s almost satisfying. 

But this flower all he has left of you, and as much as it hurts, Seungmin won’t erase the last gift you’ve imparted upon him. 

Slowly, he gets up. With numb legs, he exits the cottage, the space beside him conspicuously empty without you. 

It is true, he realizes as the door swings shut behind him, that no one ever truly realizes what they have before they’ve lost it. 

Least of all him.

[hvvpymin]

drabble

Jungkook and Jimin flaunt their dates

~

Jimin entered the apartment, Jungkook behind him, and shrugged off his coat to the couch before heading for the fridge. It’s a neat place he has, a small space of neutral colors and straight edges. There’s a hint of marshmallow and menthol in the air despite it being dry. Jungkook liked it, just as much as the fuzziness of the brown sofa he just plopped onto. Altogether, sitting back in Jimin’s living room with nothing to hear other than Jimin’s soft movements was a distinct sensation for Jungkook- pleasant, like one of his favorite shower gels.  He was just lounging there, comfortable, when a taped box sitting on the center table immediately caught his eyes. Seconds later, it was on his lap. He leaned and tore through the box.

Whatever was inside the package had nothing to do with him, the act a plain intrusion, but Jungkook was simply unbothered. That’s what he got to do after being close friends with Jimin for years- sit lazily on his couch without any invitation and pry on his things. Always, he tells himself that he’s not overdoing it with the privilege because Jimin has never seriously called him out.

“Oh yeah, the books,” suddenly, there was Jimin’s voice behind, indeed unbothered. Jungkook turned to see the older carrying some soju and beer. Customary, he thought.

“You pick the most bizarre titles,” Jungkook just remarked, face showing no interest, as he went back to examining a book with dolphins on the cover.

“They’re from a friend.” Jimin set down the drinks on the center table. Jungkook paused.

“Books from a friend?” he hummed. He gave the book on his hand another look, checking from cover to cover as if searching for something. “How romantic,” he says.

Jimin shook his head and threw a small laugh of disbelief. He opened a bottle of soju, carefully wiped the mouth, and took a swig. “Just take your beer.”

There was one little thing that has been getting Jungkook a little tense. He took a can, popped the cap to a second of fizz, before downing half of the beer. There was the initial bitterness, then the cold fizz on his throat, then he felt himself starting to relax. He finally let out the question that has been sitting at the tip of his tongue. “So how was the date?”

Jimin looked straight at the other boy. He was just mulling how he forgot to put the vacuum cleaner back in the storage room again, having spotted it beside the bedroom door, when the question sliced through his train of thought. “You wanna know?” he asked with lips formed into a smirk.

Jungkook just raised an eyebrow.

The response was a laughter and Jimin has made a show of it, folding himself in half and almost falling off the couch. Jungkook just watched and when Jimin’s had his fill, he got up and looked at Jungkook. He gave one last short laugh before saying, “Hmmm well, for one, the other guy was hot,” easily back to his prim and dashing self, enough to pull off a teasing smile.

“Oh, was he now?” Jungkook took another swig.

“Uhuh,” Jimin proudly confirmed before making a point of lifting up a forefinger. “And that’s key.” At that moment the younger was already struggling to school his expression and Jimin could easily tell. He’s having fun. “Particularly liked the tight pants. Definitely made it worth lagging behind from time to time.” His stare dropped lower and Jungkook followed it to find himself staring down at his own legs. “You’ve always been more of a sweat pants, loose pants kind of guy, haven’t you, Kook?”

“Woahhh.” There was a surprised and insulted tone to Jungkook’s voice. “I may not be too fond of tight pants but there shouldn’t be any doubt I can rock them as much as the next guy.”

“Hmmm…” Jimin was pouting, disagreement apparent on his face. “Any next guy can’t really match this one. My date’s thighs were god-tier.”

And Jungkook let out a choked cough. Meanwhile, Jimin just watched him as he drank his soju straight, satisfied. The younger clung to his can of beer as if it’s the only thing that can help him and downed as much as he could in one gulp before snatching the next chance to speak. “Anyway, he didn’t happen to be crass, did he?” He asked scratching the back of his neck.

“Are you nitpicking now?” Jimin asked, fake scandalized. “Well, he kept offering me food.”

Then Jungkook remembered all the times he fought Jimin for the last bit of food.

“Also, offered to carry my bag, which, mind you, almost weighed nothing but the gesture was nice.”

And Jungkook remembered all the times he played rock, paper, scissors with Jimin to decided who would carry the bags of groceries.

While the younger was having his quick trips down memory lane, the whole thing just got more amusing for Jimin. He was the sort that never only tells, eyes always keen on even the most subtle of reactions, and he could clearly see the younger taking time to process all the little bits he fed him. He’s so glad Jungkook dished out the question.

He’d be damned if he didn’t make this fair game.

“In short, my dear Jungkook, he was 10 out of 10, would go on a date with again,” Jimin laid it out, pulling Jungkook out of the jumble in his head. “And since you started it, YOU tell me about your date.”

The last part didn’t immediately register and Jungkook looked Jimin over to find anticipation there. Suddenly he felt himself keen on saying the right words. He remembered one time when Jimin asked him what he thought of pineapple on pizza and soon found out it wasn’t really about his actual thoughts but about giving the right response. And right then, it was up to him if he wants to ride with or against that. It crossed his head, just to get back for being frazzled earlier, to lie and mess with Jimin.

Should I though? he thought.

“Total cutie, laughs like an angel.” He decided he’d go with that.

Once again, Jimin lunged himself into laughter. “You know me so well,” he said after calming down, a fond and knowing look on his face.

“Why? Why? Why?” There’s a lift at the corner of Jungkook’s lips, a full-blown smile threatening to appear as he asked. “Why are you talking about yourself, Jimin. We’re talking about my date here.”

“Yes, of course, your date Jungkook. Okay, tell me more about him.” Jimin leaned forward, left elbow propped on his leg as he cupped his own cheek with his left hand. Jungkook couldn’t miss to note how soft said cheek looked.

“He was so sweet, he told me I always look adorable eating and let me eat as much as I wanted. And when I offered to carry his bag, he giggled, actually giggled, so beautifully and gave it to me like he was so pleased to let me carry it.”

“You like stuff like that Jungkook?”

“A sweet spot.”

“Hmmm.” Jimin was biting his lower lip now. “And, did you get to check him out. Appreciate his tight pants, maybe.”

“Well…” Jungkook looked Jimin in the eye, smiling a little bit shy and a lot fond. “I didn’t really get to stare much, since he kept lagging behind even though I went through the trouble of matching his strides.” And then his smile got bigger. “But I’m very much familiar anyway because I’ve had too many indecent thoughts regarding… that.”

“I guess my date is kind of crass after all.”

“Well, it’s not like you really just found that out now.”

Jimin looked at the unopened beer cans still on the table. “You need more drink, Jungkook?”

Jungkook examined Jimin’s face, his eyes, his lips- “No.”

“Want to watch a movie?”

“In your bedroom?”

“Yeah. I’ll lend you something to change out of those tight pants too.”

“Good idea.”

[nikkxb]

Discreet

We started doing prompts on the KogKag discord group, so here’s a short drabble for our first prompt: Mail carrier. 1039 words, teen rating with mature references, short little thing that was immensely fun to write.

If you’re interested in the discord group, PM me for the link.  If you enjoy, please consider sending me a ko-fi.

***

Your package is currently out for delivery. Expected arrival by 8pm.

Kagome had been checking the shipment’s tracking for a week now. Bad enough that she’d been so jumpy when trying to figure out what to purchase, but the wait? Absolutely awful. And she wouldn’t be in this position if Sango hadn’t finally talked her into it.

Though she had been curious. Everyone made comments alluding to their own personal toys and she saw enough online to start feeling like she was missing out on something. But it was far easier to think about buying a sex toy than it was to actually do it.

She thought she’d die the first she went on the website Sango suggested. It was so…so…so sexy. So explicit. Not that they showcased people having sex, but just the sheer volume of products, all for so many different uses she’d never heard of — it was overwhelming. Only the promise of discreet packaging, great prices, and reliable products helped her own curiosity finally win over mortification. Well, kind of.

Kagome didn’t know how many times she looked at that website before she actually took it seriously. She found the owner’s blog and a quick scan through their recommendations, she had her choice narrowed down to three different toys with excellent reviews. All ones she could afford, all ones she could hide in her nightstand, and all ones that had her blushing down to the tips of her toes.

And then she saw the add-ons and almost scrapped the whole thing. Why were there so many different types of lube? Did she need lube? She had so many questions and not enough fortitude to find the answers. Well, she tried. But after learning why someone would buy numbing lube, she hadn’t had the courage to do it again.

Kagome still couldn’t believe people actually did that, let alone enjoyed it. However, the many positive reviews from both men and women over the particulars of how that lube worked for both numbing and ease, she couldn’t deny that they did.

But that was getting a bit ahead of herself. The last thing she needed to think about was other possible pleasures when she was still having trouble accepting that there was a discreet package holding a simple vibrator heading her way.

A solid week of picturing how this was going had her antsy in her apartment. She couldn’t sit without fidgeting, she couldn’t pay attention to the TV, she couldn’t even read, she was so restless. So she cleaned. Starting in the kitchen so she would still be able to hear the doorbell when it arrived, Kagome washed all her dirty dishes, put them away, wiped down the countertops, and when she was rearranging the fruit sitting on her table, she decided to start sweeping.

Sweeping the floor was a good thing, she figured. Quiet, but productive and it would have her moving and hopefully expelling some of this ridiculous energy coursing through her. And she didn’t even know why she was so nervous! The website guaranteed discreet shipping, the blog had photos of the boxes they sent out. It’s not like she was going to receive a box painted with a neon pink, glow-in-the-dark dildo with a naked woman showing how to use it. She was going to get a plain brown box that only showed her name, address, and the return information, along with the simple brand logo on the top.

Simple. Easy. Discreet.

She could do this.

It’s not like she was living at home anymore. And it’s not like this was her first foray into sex. She was a grown, healthy woman. She was perfectly within her rights to explore her sexuality in the privacy of her own home

A knock on the door shattered her attempt at being calm and she didn’t even pay attention to the broom clattering on the tile as she strode toward her door. Maybe it was someone else. A solicitor or a friendly neighbor needing to borrow an egg. Or it could be one of her friends stopping by unannounced like they sometimes liked to do. Or—

The door opened and standing there was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. A neat ponytail holding thick, beautiful black hair, high cheekbones, full lips, and broad shoulders she wanted to sigh over.

“Good afternoon,” he rumbled, his deep voice skating over her skin.

“Hi.” Holy mother of chipmunks, was he hot.

“Higurashi Kagome?” He shifted and she finally noticed the box he was carrying in one hand and the scanner he held in the other.

A discreet box.

With a logo.

Right on top.

She hated the heat that seared up her cheeks. “That’s me,” she said, reaching out to sign on the scanner.

Maybe he didn’t know what it was. Maybe he never heard of the website and she was safe. Maybe he didn’t know that this was her first attempt at the orgasm her previous boyfriend had been completely incapable of giving her.

His strikingly bright blue eyes took in her blush, in her sudden shyness, and then dropped to look at the package in his hands. Her face burned even hotter when a sly, sexy grin spread on his face, recognition lighting across his face.

“Here you are.” His voice dipped deeper, a little husky, and Kagome wanted to sink through the floor as she took the box from him. “Hope you enjoy.”

She was going to die. He knew.

“Thank you,” Kagome managed to stutter out.

That smirk grew and then he was pulling out a card and pen from his pocket. He jotted something on the back and then handed it to her, finally stepping away from the doorstep. “Have a good day.”

Kagome managed to close her door without slamming it, her body shaking as she looked at what he gave her. Kouga, his business card read, along with the phone number and social media information for what appeared to be a local woodworker. Maybe he built things on the side?

Flipping it over, she flushed.

I’d love to see that pretty blush again. Drinks? Call me.

As soon as Kagome could function again, she was going to kill Sango.

[wordsturnintostories]

we're pack, moonchild.

Seokjin | Yoongi | Hoseok | Namjoon | Jimin | Taehyung | Jungkook

Masterlist

Summary: You've met Kim Taehyung. Everyone has. [a drabble in which you go to the same school with the Bangtan gang and are tiring to figure out if that's what they really are. a gang? or a pack?] Word Count: +1k Note: Make sure you read Namjoon's chapter first. Basically, there's no first or last chapter with this little series, but Namjoon's chapter kinda creates a basis. (idk, it just makes sense to me.) dedicated to my precious baby @dope-boss who ended up with Tae as her bias because she couldn't choose and asked me to do it for her ✨

Gif not mine, credits to the owner.

You’ve met Kim Taehyung. Everyone has. Either in the cafeteria, in class or in the green park that this school flaunts as its biggest attraction. Although everyone knows that’s a position already occupied by the slim, cheeky Taehyung. He’s part of the Bangtan gang for sure, always linking arms with Jimin and pushing his nose into Jungkook’s hair - a friendly gesture the shy younger one tolerates.

However, his closeness with them doesn’t deter him from meeting every student in his grade individually, taking at least one break to pass the time and the gap from I know you by sight to We’re acquaintances and I wouldn’t mind hanging out with you. You’re not sure how he does it, but he is a true social butterfly, denying no one the smooth tone of his voice or the bright bubbling of his laughter.

But the fact that astounds you to no end is that he actually remembers almost everything. He may be chained to low grades in Mathematics and Chemistry class, but all social information just sticks on him like he’s honey. And the fact that he’s talking to literally everyone lends him vast knowledge.

The first time he came to sit with you, he’d initiated small talk that transitioned to weightier topics faster than you could think. Unlike with others, Taehyung’s listening gaze and body posture had been soft as you willingly listed the reasons for your current unhappiness. He had attentively listened and even given helpful advice that had embedded itself in your chest ever since. The next day, you had found a sweet note on your desk together with a small care package, all of it decorated with Jimin’s neat handwriting and Taehyung’s thoughts.

“I hope you know that you are precious,” it whispers in beautiful calligraphy. “May your trials end in full bloom.” It’s only then that you realize that Taehyung had never asked you to reveal your burdens to him. He hadn’t prodded or poked, his presence had merely made you so comfortable that you had dropped everything on him without even asking. The thoughtful care package had almost made you feel guilty then. Talking to your friends that day, making them revisit their own memories about their first encounter with Taehyung, you all realized something shocking. All of them had been in a similar situation with him.

Something about Taehyung seems to make people entrust him with their secrets. Maybe it’s the big brown eyes that spell home. With rosé cheeks, you think that you don’t actually mind Taehyung knowing so much about you. There’s not a single time anyone had ever seen or heard him gossiping. Behind his back, people admire his purity and his innocence. No, you trust Taehyung for some strange reason.

Returning to the second time you met the skinny energetic boy, which had been almost two months after the first time, your brain pointed out that talking to him increased a sense of comfort in you. It gave you a feeling of completeness. He casually picked up where he left off the last time, asking about your family, your hobbies. Being the active listener he is, you end up with tears of being touched and not an inch of knowledge about him (just tidbits, even though he answers each of your questions truthfully).

However, he appears in the school play during the summer drama, wrapped in a Greek chiton, letting a naked shoulder excite the girls in the grade beneath and the row before you. They giggle. Obviously, they are enamored. It doesn’t really make sense to you until another actor puts a golden laurel on Taehyung’s head.

Under the stage lights, his black eyes turn into blue crystals, his eyes connect to yours. It’s a second maybe but it’s a weighty, long second at the same time. Like his mind connects to yours for this moment in the universe, you know that he is indeed looking at you, not the crowd all around. As if it’s your soul he’s picking out consciously from all the people here. You shiver albeit feeling heated. Taehyung nods, either because he accomplished or accepted something or even just because his drama role requires him to, but you sense that nod in your heart. When he goes back to the next scene, you drown in the thudding of your soul. Something’s happened. You just don’t know what it is.

After that, it’s almost like you can smell Taehyung. Every time he’s around, no matter if near or far, your mind just knows. He doesn’t talk to you much apart from friendly conversations about presentations and projects, but the strange feeling seems to be mutual, albeit a little secretive.

What you can count on are Taehyung’s gentle, kind eyes on your bad days. On the days that suck, your focus is easily drawn to the glorious lighthearted banter that the boy shares with his friends. It makes you want to join in, tempted by this mysterious feeling of closeness, but then you remember that you’re not part of the Bangtan gang, so you stay away. The strange connection to him is comforting even if you have no idea what it is exactly that holds the two of you together so tightly.

Finally, when you step up to the platform next to Namjoon, you understand. Taehyung greets you first out of all the pack. The fur of his cheeks is at least as smooth as his voice as he caresses your hands.

“Take your place in the pack,” he advises, “we’ve all been waiting for you.”

He’s the Wise Wolf, the secret-keeper, the wolf of knowledge to advise the Alpha. The old soul in a young body, drawn to what’s good and pleasant. With a deep breath, you feel the impact he has on the pack. It’s become peaceful, more balanced with his presence, able to read the crowds around them. If he says that there are no potential threats, everyone relaxes. Maybe that is why the wolves are so calm with you around. On second thought, maybe they just like you. His brown eyes twinkle along with the stars before he sets off to play with Hoseok.

“Welcome home, soul-friend.”

Thanks for reading! :)

Masterlist | moodboard masterlist

taglist: @xmagicxshopx, @jiminnies-baby, @inappropriatepirate, @dope-boss

Seokjin | Yoongi | Hoseok | Namjoon | Jimin | Taehyung | Jungkook

[jennygirl2014]

Six-Inch Kickers *A Steve Rogers multishot*

****Okay, so here is a little fun for what very few readers I have left lol I haven’t written anything in a long time. I know that, I’m sorry.  Here is a little drabble I wrote up but never finished! So...for the fun...I’m posting it. AND I want YOU GUYS to message me with ideas on how it should end.  I will (and I promise I will) finish the fic with the best answer I get! So, be creative, be dirty, be fun, be fluffy, give it your best shot.  Don’t be too brutal, this was written almost 2 years ago lol oh and fair warning, this has some adult language, adult themes and some hints of smut. Not really NSFW, but almost.

Part 1

              The music was a little too loud for my liking, ringing in my ears and making the room vibrate.  I had been in this scene before, only it was nowhere near as glamorous as this.  After deciding to turn my life around I had grown adventurous and applied for a job at Stark Industries which I never thought I would get, or even consider myself. And yet, somehow it happened, and here I was, sitting behind a desk for nine hours a day in the best version of office apparel I could put together, and a loaded 22 concealed at all times. Having the gun of course just made me feel like a badass, I didn’t expect to ever use it, and I hoped I would never need to.  Sometimes after a nine-hour shift there would be these rooftop parties, and it only made sense to go.  Not only did I meet some of the most interesting people, but I was lucky enough to have my own suite in the building, and the music would keep me up anyway so it only made sense to attend these things.  Times weren’t always this fun, after running away from home as a teenager and trying to support myself but failing I had ended up with five roommates in a small apartment, and a job that had me dancing on a pole wearing heels and nothing else.  Now, I had my own cozy king size bed and a breathtaking view of the city. 

              If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was how to pick out a good outfit, and for these parties I had to look as good as I wanted to feel.  I was used to those high heels from back in the day, and although I wasn’t required to wear those six -inch kickers, I usually settled on three or four, or five. I was feeling daring and took the old black strappy ones out, just to show off that I could still walk in them.  A simple purple wrap dress was what I chose to sport, because it looks sophisticated and yet casual, and it’s easy to slip out of if need be.  Was I trying to catch someone’s eye?  Yeah, maybe, but not just anyone, I had my target on lock for one man in particular.  I’m sure many women there were hoping for the same, but lucky for me, we had already been getting close in the past few months.  Although I was worried that we were staring to cross into that dreaded friend-zone.  I’m not an over confident woman, if anything I am the opposite, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t try and get what I wanted.  The truth was I was kind of lonely, it was hard for me to let people in, and the man that I was secretly admiring just happened to be in the same boat.  

“I’ll take a cosmo with three cherries, please.” I asked the bartender for my drink of choice while I leaned against the counter.  I looked around the room a bit as I waited, hoping to see the familiar face I had been looking forward to seeing, but when I was out of luck I turned my attention to my drink and it was set in front of me.  I took a few sips, minding my own business, when I heard his voice from behind me.

“Hey there,” Captain Steve Rogers’ voice broke my concentration, and I smiled before looking to my right to see him strolling up.  He casually rested his arm against the bar and leaned in with a breathtaking smile.  His teeth were so perfect, and his smile was like sunshine.  Yes, when it came to Captain America I was like a little school girl with a silly, knee knocking crush.  Well, except for the adult voice in my brain constantly reminding me how badly I wanted to rip his shirt off and ride him ten different ways to Christmas.

“Captain Rogers,” I addressed him with a sly smirk while lifting my drink to my lips.

“Emma, I keep telling you to call me Steve.” He chuckled, and I noticed his eyes falling directly onto my cherry colors lips.  

“Sorry,” I apologized after taking a satisfying sip, “Keeps slipping my mind.”

“Look at you all dolled up.” He made what sounded like a compliment and I felt my cheeks starting to go rosy.  

“Well, you know, can’t show up to these things in my pajamas.” I joked, and then he cut a playfully suspicious eye at me.

“Did you get taller?” he asked with a smirk. I bent my knee and lifted my foot to show him my fancy high heels.  “Ah, that explains it.” He smiled at me once he brought his gaze back to my face.  I had to convince myself that he was looking at my scandalous shoes, not my ass. “Do you enjoy coming to these things?”

“I do,” I sighed a bit, “But it felt like a good night to curl up and watch a good movie.” I admitted.

“So what’s stopping you?” he asked me innocently.

“The noise,” I shrugged, “But I also just felt like interacting a bit.  It can get a bit lonely sitting behind that desk all day.”

“What kind of movies do you like?” he went back to the previous topic.

“All kinds I guess, lately I’m really into the classics, like Casablanca, To Kill A Mockingbird. I just got A Star is Born.”

“Really?  I’ve been trying to catch up on my movies but there still is one I haven’t seen.”

“What’s that?” I was genuinely curious to know.

“Pretty Woman.” He admitted, and I dropped my jaw in shock and he laughed, “Yeah I know, it’s crazy.”

“Well I have it in my collection if you would like to come over some time.” I said without even really thinking, and then it hit me, just how that sounded.  

He had been over to my place once before, but he didn’t stay long.  He had offered to carry a package up to my room for me, and I gave him a glass of water after just to be courteous.  That was about it.  We had bumped into each other on a few occasions while out and about, we ended up having lunch together a week ago when he just happened to be sitting behind me at a local diner.  And then there was that one time he changed my tire while I was stuck at work, and I thanked him with a cup of coffee.  That was about it.  Him being a gentleman, just as one would expect from him, and me repaying him with beverages.  The thought of it all made me realize what a loser I was.  But it’s not like you buy a guy flowers, right?

“Sure, that would be fun.” His eyes lit up at the idea, and it made me smile.  

“Just let me know when.” I told him as I took another sip of my drink.

“Well…do you want to get out of here?” he asked me innocently, and I almost choked on my drink. I wasn’t expecting it to happen so fast.

“Oh,” I had to think of something to say, “Yeah…yeah I guess we could go watch it now.” He must have noticed me hesitating.

“Or we could do it another time.”

“No, no, it’s cool.  I just wasn’t expecting that, but why not?”

“You said it felt like a good night for a movie so I just thought…” he sort of trailed off, maybe realizing it was a bit direct.  I smiled again and chuckled, he was cute when he got flustered.  Typical Steve, not wanting to overstep his boundaries.  

“Yeah, sounds good.” I finished my drink in three swigs, trying to steady my nerves and summon the courage. “But just, give me one minute,” I said as I held up one finger. He nodded and walked away from the bar in the direction of the door.  I leaned over the counter and demanded some more liquid courage, knowing I needed it.  “A double for the road.” I spoke with urgency to the bartender.  He chuckled as he poured me two shots worth of premium vodka in a small glass, and I grabbed it and tossed it back without a second thought. I grimaced as it burned my throat and set the glass down with a clank on the wooden counter.  “Charge it to Mr. Stark’s tab, will ya’?” the bartended chuckled again but nodded.  I knew Tony wouldn’t mind; he had the money after all.  I made my way to the door, still swallowing the burning in my throat, and eventually saw my movie partner at the door.

“Ready to go?” he asked me as he offered his elbow, such a gentleman.  I grinned and slipped my hand onto his strong arm.

“You bet.” I sounded too eager.  We walked away from the booming party, but the sound of my heartbeat booming in my ears still had me shook.

              We took the elevator down a couple floors and with our arms still linked I led him out of the elevator and towards my suite.  We were quiet the entire way, not a word to exchange, which made me wonder if he was slightly nervous about coming back to my place.  I couldn’t imagine that being the actual case, instead I figured he was simply not into the whole party scene, he was a more laid back, old fashioned kind of guy. He liked things quiet, simple, neat and in their place… oh crap.  It had conveniently slipped my mind that my room wasn’t in its nicest state, maybe not even nearly ready for company, especially the company of a highly attractive god-like gentlemanly beefcake.  I darted to the door and stuck my key in the lock but excused myself.

“Just give me a quick moment to, uh…tidy up.  I wasn’t expecting company.” I blushed a bit as I tried to explain myself.  He gave me a warm smile.  

“I’m sure it’s fine.” He offered, but it wasn’t enough to convince me.

“No, no, no…just a moment. Just sixty seconds, I swear.  Count to sixty and I’ll be back out.” I spoke in a rather frantic manner.

“You want me to count to sixty?” he chuckled.

“Yeah!” I opened the door, cracked it just enough to slip inside and then closed the door behind myself so tightly I almost closed my dress in there.  How embarrassing.  

              In a fury I dashed around the apartment, I threw all of my dirty dishes into a heap in the dishwasher, not bothering to place things in there the correct way, then I ran into my bathroom and grabbed all of my dirty clothes off of the floor, bunching them in my arms as I scrambled to the next clothing item on the floor.  By the time I had picked up all of my scattered clothes, my arms were full, and I hastily tossed them all in a basket that I hid in my closet.  My sixty seconds were probably close to being up, so I had to keep moving fast.  In a panic, I threw my covers back into place on my bed, placed the pillows back nicely on the couch and lit a scented candle just to be safe.  I did a quick spin around my apartment, looking for anything I might have missed. No socks, underwear, bras or any other items of clothing on the floor.  No messy dishes out.  Candle lit. Bathroom clean, enough.  No shoes laying around.  Everything was good.  I raced back to the door and flung it open, seeing Steve standing there with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face.

“I counted eighty-nine seconds,” he teased me.

“Well, better late than never.” I spoke, slightly out of breath, but I was feeling thankful that I had avoided embarrassing myself with my messy way of living, “Please, come in.” I stepped aside and let him walk through.  He entered, slowly, while looking around my place casually.  

“It’s nice.” He stated. I closed the door behind him and relocked it, just out of habit.  

“It suits me fine.” I replied, trying to make small talk.  I saw him about to kick off his shoes, “Oh, you can keep your clothes on.” I immediately went hot from head to toe at my Freudian slip, “I mean shoes!” I tried to quickly correct myself, but I knew he had heard me.  He turned and looked with his eyebrows raised.

“Oh, good.  I didn’t think taking your clothes off was required.”

“No!” and I laughed, entirely too loud.  I was mentally kicking myself, trying to keep it together. “No, just shoes, but you can leave those on.” I was mortified.  He was turning me into a prattling school girl, when I used to be super smooth. “You can take a seat on the couch.” I motioned over to my plush sofa, just wanting to sit next to him and get the movie rolling to avoid more embarrassment.  He obliged, getting comfortable on one end of the sofa while I found the movie and put the disc in the player.  Without meaning to, I stayed bent over instead of kneeling, and it wasn’t until I stood up that I realized how inappropriate that must have been.  Damn that booze.  At the same time, I knew my dress covered what it had to…barely.  Upon turning around. I saw his eyes quickly dart away. Could it have been that he was looking? Well, I certainly gave him something to look at, that’s for sure.  My ass was my greatest asset back in the day when I used to dance for dollar bills.  But there was no way the modest Captain Rogers was checking out my ass.  “Okay, movie’s in.” I tried to ignore what I had just caught and I took a seat on the other end of the couch, practically a mile away from him.  

“Okay,” he let me know he was ready for the movie to start.  

“Oh, would you like some popcorn?” the thought suddenly occurred to me.

“I don’t want to be any trouble.” He offered.

“No trouble at all. If you don’t want some, I’ll just eat it myself.” I shrugged as I stood back up.  

“Well, it does sound nice.” He admitted.  I had some microwave popcorn hiding somewhere, and after finally finding it in a cabinet, I threw it in the microwave and then rummaged around for something to drink. What would he like?  

“Hey, how does a beer sound?” I offered him beer, since my wine was likely stale.  He had to like beer, right?

“A beer sounds great.” He called back out to me.  I popped the top off two bottles of beers, grabbed a bowl, waited for the popcorn to finish popping before pouring it into the bowl, and then headed back to the couch with everything in hand.  I sat back down and set the two beers and popcorn on the coffee table in front of us.  The movie had already started playing, I missed the first could minutes but I was fine with that. Afterall, I had seen the movie before, this was more about spending time with a certain someone.

              I had just leaned back and got comfortable on the far end of the sofa, leaning against a pillow, when I noticed Steve squirm a bit.  He twisted one way, and then another.  He leaned forward, and then way back, and I was wondering what was going on.  He seemed uncomfortable.  Just as I was about to ask him what was wrong, he sat forward again and turned halfway towards me.  “Feels like there’s something in the couch.” He mentioned to me.  I had to quickly think, I didn’t hide anything back there in my mad dash to clean up, did I? He reached his hand down behind the decorate pillow and into the couch cushion and pulled out something.  It was pink, long, had a ball at the end of it…oh God.

The man was sitting there with my massager in his hand.  

Of all the things to ruin the evening, nothing could have been worse than that.  My mouth went agape and my face flushed a hot, deep red. In the most awkward fashion, to match my embarrassment, he quickly set it down on the couch in between us.  He had to have known what it was.  I saw his cheeks turn a bright pink and he tried to casually wipe his hand down his denim covered leg.  I wanted to sink back into that couch until it swallowed me whole so I could disappear. How could I have forgotten that I put it there the last time I used it?  Why did he have to sit at that end of the couch?  Without a coherent brain cell left in my skull, I uttered the only words that came to mind.

“Oh shit…” and then a pathetic scramble to cover my ass, “That’s not mine.”

[jenanigans1207]

Original Drabble

As I’m sure many of you know, I’ve been participating in NaNoWriMo this month. This is a little one shot I wrote for some of my characters that is set before the timeline of the novel so it’ll never see the light of day otherwise. Still, I think it’s really cute and does a good job of showing my two boys and I wanted to share with you guys. 

So, enjoy some of my original writing!

--x--x--x--x--x--x--x

    Cam had never been particularly fond of his birthday. His parents had never really celebrated it when he was younger and once they gave him up, well, it was more of a bitter occasion than anything else. Still, each year Tyler wished him a happy birthday and cooked him whatever he wanted for dinner and that was enough for Cam. Except this year, in the very back of his mind, hidden in the depths of his heart, was a small seed of hope that he’d get to spend it with Cayden. Last year, their first year of being friends, Cayden had been shocked and distraught over the lack of a proper birthday celebration for Cam and had sworn continuously since then that he’d made Cam’s next birthday— and his next, and the fifteen after that— memorable and amazing to erase all the negative feelings and bad memories.

    It was this reason that Cam had been a little disappointed when arriving at school that morning to find out that Cayden had been called out sick. It wasn’t too uncommon, Cayden often got sick at the beginning of fall and the start of the school year. Typically it was just a head cold that he could push through but Cam couldn’t hold this bad timing against him. Instead, he tried to frame it in a positive light by focusing on the fact that it gave him something to do with his evening. He figured that he’d stop by later to check in on Cayden and maybe they could do their homework together. That was better than not seeing him at all on his birthday.

    The day had gone by slowly, each hour bleeding monotonously into the next, making it hard for Cam to pay any sort of attention. All he could think about was getting out for the day and stopping by Cayden’s house with his homework and some remedies to the common cold. It was his birthday, sure, but he was happy to overlook that if it meant taking care of his best friend. So, once the day ended, he stopped by Cayden’s locker, twisting the lock effortlessly through the combination and yanking it open as soon as he hit the third number. He rummaged through the locker, pulling out the books Cayden needed for his homework, depositing his own books inside. They shared lockers anyways since they each had a locker on opposite ends of the school, making it easier for them to get to their classes on time while goofing off in the few minutes they had in between.

    Once he was satisfied with that, he shut the locker, gave the lock a twist and headed for the door, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. The benefit of moving in and living with Tyler was the proximity to school. It was easy for Cam just to walk home, enjoying the crisp fall air. Fall had never been his favorite season, but it was his second favorite and it usually provided him with a good birthday full of nice weather and that was the most he could ask for. He hustled home, the exercise warming him up against the cool air, planning to just drop off a few things and gather some medicine so he could pop over to Cayden’s. Plus, he needed to tell Tyler where he was going.

    Except, the moment he opened the front door of the house, all of his plans changed. He barely had a foot in the door before he noticing the colorful decorations all around the house. Before he had a chance to register any of it, there was a loud noise as Cayden popped out from around the corner, blowing the party horn in his mouth. Cam jumped in surprise, dropping the books he’d been holding in his arms to the ground with a loud thud.

    “Surprise!” Cayden cried, pulling the horn away from his lips and smiling broadly. He threw his arms out wide, gesturing to the decorations that were filling the entire house. “Happy birthday!”

    Cam, in an attempt to get his thundering heart under control, took a step back and looked around. There were streamers trailing from every high surface in the house, balloons littering the floor and banners spanning across every doorway. It was colorful and exuberant and the kind of thing that Cam had never experienced personally. He glanced back at Cayden to see that he was dressed in jeans and a plaid button up, a party hat on top of his head. He was smiling broadly still, looking pleased not only with his work but with Cam’s reaction. Cam couldn’t stifle the smile that rose to his own lips when he noticed the second party hat in Cayden’s hand.

    “What is all this?” He asked after a moment, stooping down to pick up the books that he’d dropped. “I thought you were sick?”

    “Nope!” Cayden’s grin was huge as he stepped forward and enveloped Cam in a hug. As he pulled away, he placed the party hat on Cam’s head, securing the elastic string under his chin gently. “I just needed time to prepare!”

    “Your dad called you out of school so you could come decorate my house?” Cam adjusted his backpack, glancing around the room again. He didn’t want to admit it because he had always, always downplayed his birthday, but he was touched. He’d never had someone go out of their way like this. This was more than he had ever expected in his wildest daydream and Cayden still wasn’t done, it seemed. He stepped forward with a giant ‘Birthday Boy’ pin, attaching it to Cam’s shirt and then stepping away and nodding in satisfaction. 

    Cayden took the books from his arms and then gripped his shoulder, steering him through the entryway and into the kitchen. “My dad doesn’t know I did this. He thinks I went to school and am just coming over here after to celebrate.”

    “Really? You lied to your—” The rest of Cam’s question died on his tongue as he entered the kitchen to find Tyler— who was also wearing a party hat— leaning against the counter and the island filled with treats. In the very center was a chocolate cake with white icing— his favorite— with words written across the top in green gel icing.  Even from the entrance of the room he could read Cayden’s handwriting on top of the cake: ‘Happy Birthday Cam’. Spread out around that was two trays of cupcakes, some cookies, a plate of brownies and what appeared to be lemon bars. It was obvious just by looking at them that they were all homemade by Cayden. His heart swelled with the realization.

    The floor in the kitchen was also covered in multicolored balloons and Cam had to kick them out of the way as he walked further into the room. A banner was taped along the length of the island, below the cake, wishing him the happiest of happy birthdays. Tyler had a bright smile on his face; the kind that made it clear that this was completely and utterly Cayden’s idea but he loved it. Their home had always been sweet and comfortable but suddenly it felt intimate in the best way. It felt like he was walking into a movie scene, as if there were some sort of unspoken magic hanging in the air, swirling lazily around them and dragging them into a moment that he would never forget.

    “Happy birthday,” Tyler said, his voice indescribably tender, as they entered the room.

    Cam could feel his throat constricting slightly with fondness and gratefulness. He took a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself, dropping his backpack on one of the kitchen chairs. He had tried to guess a few times what Cayden would do for his birthday but he’d never expected it to be this over the top— and he’d definitely never expected to love it as much as he did. Tyler had initially tried to make a bigger deal of his birthdays but after being shut down so many times, he’d given up. It was plain for Cam to see, though, how happy Tyler was that this year was a big event.

    “Guys, this is—” He paused, glancing from Tyler to Cayden, “amazing.”

    For all of his life, his memories of his birthday were boring at best, and bleak and tragic at worst. And suddenly, in the few minutes he’d been home, this birthday was already overwriting all of those negative memories and replacing the ambivalence he felt towards his birthday with happiness. It had never been hard for Cam to imagine why people liked birthdays, he had just never liked his in particular. He’d always liked celebrating with other people and had done his best to make Cayden’s birthday special the previous year, but he’d just never had or wanted that treatment for himself. Suddenly, though, that was drastically changed and he found himself swept away, hoping that all the future years would be this amazing.

    “Yeah, well, I couldn’t just sit around and let you spend another year not celebrating your birthday.” Cayden dropped the books on the table by Cam’s backpack, exchanging them for a neatly wrapped package that was sitting on top. “I mean, seriously.”

    After his parents had given him up, Cam had spent a long portion of his life feeling unimportant to people. It was still something he struggled with on occasion, but had mostly gotten over. And yet, still, it felt like this was Cayden saying that he was important, that he mattered, and that he’d always matter. And that, more than anything else, was what touched him the most.

“Still, you didn’t need to go this—” Cam was cut off by Cayden deliberately handing the gift to him, gesturing for him to open it.  

He took it delicately in his own hands and looked at it. It was beautifully wrapped in green wrapping paper, the creases and corners neat and perfect. Cam knew that Cayden’s mom had taught him to wrap gifts— it was something they did together every Christmas. Last year they had added him into that tradition and she had done her best to teach Cam her magical ways of gift wrapping but he couldn’t quite grasp it as well as Cayden did. Instead, he’d sat off to the side, laughing with them and ripping off pieces of tape as necessary. The experience was perfect in its imperfections, giving him that feeling of family he’d always been seeking.

Glancing up from the package, Cam could see Cayden looking at him expectantly, an excited expression on his face. With that knot still in his throat and a grateful smile on his lips, Cam slipped a finger under the edge of the wrapping paper and tore it open delicately, doing his best to spare the paper. Once it was off, he flipped it over in his hands to find the video game he’d been asking Tyler to buy for weeks. He could feel his face light up at it as he looked back at Cayden.

“No way!” He exclaimed, placing the paper on the counter. “I’ve been after this for weeks!”

“I know,” Cayden smiled as he crossed the room to stand by Tyler at the counter.

Tyler finally pushed off, pulling a chair away from the island and gesturing to Cam, who obliged and moved to sit in the chair. Once he was settled, the other two moved to stand across the counter from him. Cayden slid the cake in front of him while Tyler rummaged through the nearby drawer to pull out candles and a lighter. Again that knot formed in Cam’s throat— he’d refused a birthday cake each year— but he knew it was from sheer happiness. He clasped his hands together in his lap to try and keep his composure while Tyler stuck the candles into the cake and began to light them.

Once everything was in place, Tyler and Cayden took up singing with no preamble. Neither of them had particularly great voices, but they swayed from side to side as they sang, their eyes focused on Cam the entire time.

“Make a wish!” Cayden cried, once their song was done.

Cam looked at both of them, really looked at them. He took a moment to notice the way Cayden’s hat was crooked on his head, too far to the left, and the way Tyler was leaning forward anxiously on his hands. These were the people who had found him in his worst moments and never left. These were the people he was closest to in the world— the ones he considered his family. And they were looking at him with all the joy in the world, waiting for him to blow out his candles.

Overwhelmed with emotion, he choked out, “I don’t have anything to wish for. This is more than I ever could’ve asked for.”

In response to that, Tyler clasped Cayden proudly on the shoulder and Cayden bit his lip to control his smile. Cam took a moment to commit the image to memory before taking in a deep breath and blowing out his candles in one fell swoop. The other two broke out into ridiculous applause after he succeeded and immediately moved to clear the cake away.

“I know normally cake is done after dinner,” Cayden was rambling immediately, something he did when he was either nervous or excited. In this case, Cam was left to assume it was a mixture of both. “But I was just really excited. I know you’ve never had a cake and honestly that’s just a tragedy and I just wanted to change that as soon as I could.”

“Cay.” Cam leaned onto his elbows on the counter, levelling his best friend with a fond expression. “It’s perfect. Seriously. It’s even better than I ever thought it could be.”

“Speaking of dinner,” Tyler was heading to the far corner of the kitchen where the crock pot stood. Cam hadn’t noticed right away because he had been overwhelmed by everything else, but now he could smell the beef stew that had no doubt been cooking all day and it was mouth watering. “Who’s hungry?”

“I am starving.” Cayden crossed the room to help dish up the stew. “I worked up an appetite after a hard day of grueling, tiresome work.”

Cam didn’t even try to stifle the laugh that came in response to that. Instead he let it bubble up inside of him, filling him with a content warmth that made the moment even sweeter. “I’m sure taping things is a lot of hard work.”

“Oh, it is.” Cayden confirmed as he slid into the spot next to Cam, two bowls of stew in hand. He set one in front of himself and one in front of Cam, wasting no time before digging in.

A moment later, Tyler placed glasses of milk on the counter in front of them. He disappeared for a moment and then came back and slid in on the other side of Cam, his own bowl in hand. They ate together, Tyler asking Cam about his day at school and Cam filling Cayden in on the things he’d missed. They acknowledged that there was homework to do, but Cayden was adamant that tonight was not the night to do it. With a reluctant sigh, Tyler agreed.

Once they finished eating, they threw their dishes into the dishwasher before Tyler dismissed them to the family room to play Cam’s new game. As they settled in on the floor, backs against the couch, he turned to look at Cayden. Cayden was looking back at him, green eyes the color of the wrapping paper earlier, his head tilted slightly to one side.

“Thank you,” It was perhaps the most heartfelt thing he’d ever said in his life and the small smile Cayden gave in return showed that he knew that.

He leaned slightly over, bumping his shoulder gently against Cam’s. “I don’t know how I’m going to top it next year.”

“Nothing will ever top this.” Cam stretched his legs out in front of him, clicking through the starting menu of the game. “This is forever going to be my favorite birthday.”

As Cayden mimicked his position, selecting his own player in the game, he smiled. “Challenge accepted.”

They lost themselves quickly in the game, hooting and hollering and shoving each other as they battled. Tyler popped in to watch for awhile before bidding them goodnight with one more birthday wish. It was the first and last night that Tyler let them stay up as late as they wanted, despite school the next day. They played until the early hours of the morning, falling asleep leaned up against each other, a unrivaled sense of contentment in their hearts.

[letterfromtrenwith]

Les trois Français - Ch. 4, 5 & 6

A crime/mystery AU

1793. After returning from the Americas to find only disappointment and heartbreak in Cornwall, Ross Poldark fled the place he once called home. Several years later, he leads a disordered, secretive life as one of London’s infamous Bow Street Runners, losing himself in the city’s murky alleyways and dark criminal workings.

His Aunt Agatha’s declining health finally convinces him to go back to Trenwith, the Poldark family home. There, he finds his cousin Francis, the county’s chief magistrate, embroiled in the perplexing case of the murders of three French emigres. Unable to resist the lure of a mystery, Ross must confront local politics, long-neglected friends, old enemies and lost loves in order to find the truth.

- A clue to the identity of a killer, an unexpected reunion and a surprise visitor complicate the case. 

~

Chapter 4

“How long have the dead Frenchmen been here?” There was an abrupt silence at the breakfast table, and Ross realised that he had spoken the question aloud unprompted. After Francis explained the case to him the day of his arrival, Ross had sworn up and down that he did not want to get involved, that he was only here to see his family. Francis looked unconvinced but apparently accepted it. However, in the intervening two days, Ross had found himself turning the issue over in his mind, leading to Agatha snapping at him more than once for not paying attention to her.

“Come all the way back here just to ignore me!”

Now, he had given himself away and the triumphant smirk Francis failed to hide behind his tea cup was highly irritating. He had been away for over ten years, and somehow his cousin could still read him like a book.

“Changed your mind, cousin?” Ross said nothing, annoyed at having given in. Francis chuckled. “Very well. de Vayssiére arrived in ’91 – he landed at Falmouth. du Pas came to London sometime in the ‘80s, but came down here last year to see if he could find more work – as I’m sure you know, London is overrun with medical men, both genuine and otherwise. d’Aubigné arrived shortly after, also from London.”

“Both from London?”

“I thought the same thing, but there’s no evidence they met in the capital, or knew each other before lodging at Killewarren. They’re from different parts of France, and I can see no other connection.”

“There must be one.”

“Not necessarily. If they were killed by different people, as your friend Dr Enys says.” Ross ignored the stab of guilt the mention of Dwight Enys brought. As a young medic, Dwight had treated Ross in the battlefield hospital in Virginia, turning a potentially disfiguring head wound into a neat scar beside his left eye. They had become good friends thereafter, travelling home to England together before Ross made his first terrible visit to Cornwall.

They were eventually reunited in London – when Ross finally made it there. Dwight had patched him up – and sobered him up. The doctor’s decision to return to his native county after completing his medical studies had come dangerously close to tempting Ross to return also. They promised to keep in touch, but like everyone else Dwight had had to contend with sporadic, abrupt replies. Bar Verity, he was the only one to persist in writing. Ross knew he should visit Dwight – should really have done so already – but the self-recrimination that his reunions with his family had brought was quite enough to be going on with.

“Must we discuss this at breakfast?” Verity’s complaint butted into his thoughts, and Francis tutted.

“Very well, sister, we shall take our discussion elsewhere, since we have a call to pay.” It took a moment for that to register with Ross.

“We do?”

“Yes.”

~

“This is Nampara land, is it not?” Ross frowned as their horses crested the small hillock. They had ridden east from Trenwith, towards the sea.  His memories of his childhood home seemed so far back in time as to be shrouded in mists, but he was sure that he recalled running along these paths with Francis as a boy.

“Yes, it is. We are to visit one of your tenants.”

“Tenants? I have tenants?”

“Well, some income had to be generated for the estate while you were gone. Uncle Joshua left it in my father’s care until you returned, so I had to take it on after his death. I look forward to handing all the papers over to you!” Ross grimaced, reminded of yet another thing he had neglected while burrowing himself into the chaos and filth of London.

They approached a clifftop cottage, a rough-hewn but attractive building that he remembered little of. A gaggle of dirty peasant-children scampered towards them as they tied up their horses. Francis fished in his coat and distributed a few coins into eager little hands.  A moment later, the cottage door opened and a thin, sallow-looking woman emerged. Her clothes were worn and much-mended, hair piled under a grubby cap. Clutching a small package, she made to gather the urchins before coming to a startled stop when she noticed Ross and Francis.

“Oh, sirs – I –“ With a jerky bob, she rushed away, the little ones scampering behind her.

“Do you know that woman?” Ross asked, watching her disappear along the cliff-top.

“Not particularly. I believe her husband is a miner – Drabble, I think?” What business would that woman have with his mysterious tenant, Ross wondered? Who were they coming to see? Francis offered an immediate answer by promptly knocking on the cottage’s oaken door. It opened to reveal a young woman, her face brightening as she saw who called upon her.

“Fr – Oh.” She halted her enthusiastic greeting as she caught sight of Ross. “Sir.”

“D - Miss Carne, this is my cousin, Captain Ross Poldark, lately arrived from London.” She sketched an unpolished but neat curtsey, light catching on her vivid red hair.

“Cap’n. Mr Francis has spoken of ye, Sir.” Her accent was a working-woman’s, but not quite.

“Is that so? I quite thought he had forgotten all about me!” Ross made the jest, although he was somewhat bewildered. Why had Francis brought him to see this girl? His cousin had made out as if they were to meet someone who could help with their solving of the murders.  What could some serving-wench – albeit a seemingly well-kept one – possibly have to do with three aristocratic Frenchmen?

“Cousin Ross means to help me seek out the truth about our unfortunate French guests. I believe you can offer us some aid?”

“Of course, sir. Please…” She stepped aside, and Ross followed Francis inside, still none the wiser as to what they could hope to achieve by coming here. They should be talking to the other French, and checking the woods where d’Aubigné was found, not wasting time!

“Ross? Miss Carne asked if you would like some tea?”

“Oh, er, yes, thank you.” He could at least affect some semblance of manners, not that politeness and decorum had been in the greatest of need these last few years.

“So, what do you have, D – Miss Carne?” Ross came to two simultaneous realisations – this young woman was some sort of informant, and that that was the second time his cousin had almost addressed her by what Ross assumed was her Christian name; and she had made the same mistake in return.

“I’m afraid I cannot help ye with the French doctor, or M. d’Aubigne -” her French pronunciation was surprisingly good “ – but the first man, de Vayssiere, was killed by a navy man.”

“A naval man?”

“Aye, a fight over a card game. John Bligh saw it – ‘is wife told me.”

“Why did Mr Bligh not report it?” She had gone to the stove to tend to her kettle, and Ross saw her brow crease at his question.

“He ‘as ‘is own ‘istory with the law. Like as not constables would ‘ave arrested ‘im for it. Whether they thought he did it or no.” Ross could not exactly argue with that – he had seen plenty of that sort of behaviour from so-called lawmen in his time.

“Would Mr Bligh speak with me? If you assured him that I did not wish to arrest him?” Francis accepted the steaming cup from her hand, and she pursed her lips thoughtfully as she passed another to Ross.

“P’raps.”

“Does he know the naval man? Or can he describe him?”

“Can’t say. But ‘e did tell his wife he saw whole thing clear.”

“And how do you know Mrs Bligh?” Ross took a sip of his tea and balked. “Ugh – what is this?”

“It’s nettle.”

“Miss Carne tends to the health of our district, along with Dr Enys.”

Ross finally took a proper look around the parlour-kitchen of the little cottage – his bemusement at their visit had made him remiss – taking in the haphazard mixture of jars and bottles on the shelves, pots of flowers on the windowsill. This woman was obviously some sort of herbalist  - that explained how she obtained her information; her clients would likely share local scandal and rumour, and be more inclined to speak to her than to a magistrate or a constable. An astute choice of informant on his cousin’s part; Ross was impressed.

In an attempt to be somewhat polite, Ross forced himself to finish the awful tea – which Francis seemed to quite enjoy – and drifted out of the conversation, which moved onto some other apparently routine matters of Francis’ business, and Miss Carne’s, although he did hear her agree to see if Mrs Bligh could persuade her husband to give a statement.

As with every other piece of information so far collected, this one simply added to the pile of questions, assuming that Miss Carne’s information was correct, of course. Who was this Naval officer? Did he kill the others, too? Why?

Actually ‘why’ might be fairly easy – a serving sailor could certainly come up with plenty of reasons to hate the French. But killing in the heat of battle was not the same as cold-blooded murder.

Chapter 5

“You insisted on coming, so you could at least try not to look utterly miserable about it.” At Francis’ admonishment, Ross attempted to school his features into something like a pleasant expression, and Francis chuckled. They were in the great hall at Killewarren, attending Caroline Enys’ soirée. Francis had to admit that he was a touch surprised when he learned that the party had not been cancelled, considering the recent fate of her houseguest.

“We considered calling it off, but thought perhaps it might buoy the mood of the district a little. And if there is some madman hunting the French, show him we are not to be cowed.” Dwight had confided when he visited Agatha a few days ago. Francis certainly appreciated this, and admired it. Of course, as Ross had immediately pointed out, the occasion offered other advantages. All of the French emigres were invited, along with many other important figures in the district. It was an excellent opportunity for observation.

They could certainly do with more information. Demelza had – as she ever did – turned out to be entirely reliable. She had also managed to persuade John Bligh to speak to Francis privately, confirming what his wife had related and managing to give a decent description of the naval officer. William Henshawe, the only useful man Francis had managed to recruit as a constable, had by means of some discreet enquiries, and one or two palms crossed with silver, ascertained the likely identity of this officer as one Second Lieutenant Robert Havering. Said Havering had, three days after stabbing M. de Vayssiere, departed the country on HMS Surprise, and therefore could not have killed the other two Frenchmen.

One down, two to go.

Of course, even discounting de Vayssiere from the equation did not put them much further forward. At Ross’ insistence, they had returned to the woods where d’Aubigné’s body had been found. It was raining on the night of the man’s death, and the woods were a common shortcut for locals and estate staff alike, so what he hoped to find Francis hadn’t known. He hadn’t visited the site himself, but sent two constables to look it over. He’d found himself cursing his useless men once again when Ross alighted upon still evident bloodstains on the fallen leaves.

“Here, look at these footprints.” The marks his cousin pointed at were somewhat blurred by later traffic, but Francis could see that they were deeper than the others surrounding them, and lacked a heel print.

“Someone was running.”

“Two men. You see, these are formal shoes. These here are larger – heavy boots; and they cross the others in some places.”

“So if the first lot are d’Aubigné, then he was pursued by his killer.”

“It would appear so.” With Francis in tow, Ross had followed the trails back to a clearing. This seemed to be where the pursuit began, as the deeper prints disappeared, and were obscured by a great many others, the clearing being the crossing point between three commonly used footpaths. Despite a thorough search, they found only one other thing in the clearing, a rope tied around a tree trunk, the trailing end peculiarly severed.

“It looks new. But does it have anything to do with the murder or not?” Ross had mused, examining the frayed end. They had no idea.

Now, they hoped something useful might be gained by examining the dead men’s countrymen. Subtly, of course.

“Ah! The famous Captain Poldark. How delighted I am to meet you at last!” Caroline approached, resplendent in a pristine white gown under a turquoise robe. She looked much more like her usual self than a few days earlier, and Francis admired her outward strength.

“Ross, my friend Mrs Caroline Enys, you know her husband, I believe.” Dwight had followed her.

“Hello, old friend. I am glad to see you looking well.”

“Considering Dwight mended your face, it seems to me you have been a most neglectful correspondent!” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ross shift awkwardly from foot to foot and hoped his cousin would not take Caroline’s words the wrong way. She loved to tease, always without malice, but Ross did not know her as he did.

“Yes, Mrs Enys, I believe I have. I shall beg your husband’s forgiveness forthwith.” It seemed Ross had taken her admonishment in the spirit it was intended, and whatever slight tension there may have been had vanished. Until, that is, the voice of a servant announced the party’s newest arrivals.

“Mr and Mrs George Warleggan!”

Oh no.

~

“You can make a report to the Admiralty, but whether they will take action is another matter.”

“Bligh agreed to speak to me, but I do not think he would agree to appear in court, so I could offer little evidence against the Lieutenant.”

“Well,” George took a thoughtful sip of his wine. “Considering the current conditions at sea, I doubt you could inflict more severe punishment upon him. The Surprise heads for the Southern Americas- dangerous waters, and not merely because of the French.”

“How do you know that?” Francis frowned. He had never known George to be especially interested in military matters, and besides, surely the movements of His Majesty’s fleet were secret?

“Oh, the Admiralty has agreed to share certain information with shipping companies, so far as is necessary to safeguard what trade we are able to conduct. I trust, of course, your own discretion.”

“Oh. Of course.”  

“If you’ll excuse me, I must find Elizabeth. See how much money she has lost us at cards.”

“You mean how much she has enriched you, surely?!” Elizabeth’s skill at cards was significant, and more than a few ladies and gentlemen of the district had emptied their coin purses for her over the years, although she would rarely accept more than a guinea or two.  

“Well,” George replied, amused, “there is always a first time for everything.”

Francis spent the next short while mingling, exchanging general chat with the other guests. It would not do to question anyone too closely, for fear of offending them. Besides, his French was not really up to anything more than small talk. Ross’ was better, so he eventually set off in search of his cousin, catching his voice through a doorway.

“Oh. Good evening.” The odd note in Ross’ voice didn’t register with Francis until he heard the replying voice, at which he darted back out of sight.

“Good evening, Ross.” It was Elizabeth. Francis did not know what to do. He had no especial desire to eavesdrop on what would undoubtedly be a difficult moment. However, he also wondered if it might not be best to stay close by so he could strategically interrupt if necessary. Awkwardly, he lingered as Elizabeth continued. “You look well.”

“As do you Mrs Warleggan.” Francis winced at the slight sneer in Ross’ voice, but Elizabeth either did not notice or elected to ignore it. He suspected the latter – Elizabeth was far from imperceptive.

“I am glad to see you back.”

“Are you?”

“Of course. Why should I not be? I know how your family have missed you. And considering I once believed you dead…”

“You did not seem to mourn me for long.”

“Oh, Ross! Must we do this? After all these years?” Silence. That was something about Ross which had not changed evidently. His sullen stubbornness had always annoyed Francis, and apparently it irritated Elizabeth also, considering her tone as she continued. “I was devastated when I was told you had been killed. But I was barely nineteen years old. What would you have had me do? Spend the rest of my life in mourning? A life of spinsterhood and bitterness? Perhaps you think it wrong of me, but I could not live without love.”

“And you found it with a man you knew I disliked.”

“Forgive me, Ross, but your feelings about him were never mine.”

“Hm. Evidently.”

“Oh, Ross, can we not be friends now? Could we not have been then? So many years have passed. Surely you have not spent them in anger and resentment?” Francis would not be at all surprised if that was exactly what Ross had done. “Besides, we were both so very young when you proposed to me. I was just a girl, and you barely a man. Did you have any real notion of love? I do not believe I did.”

“Hmph.” That was probably as close to an acknowledgement that she was right that Elizabeth would get, and Francis decided now was the appropriate moment. Affecting a casual air, he stepped around the door way.

“Ah, Ross! Elizabeth! Here you are!”

Chapter 6

Ross took a deep breath as he broke the surface of the water, shaking his head to clear his eyes. Pushing wet hair back off his face, he swam further out with a slow stroke. There was still a chill to the water this time of year, but it only added to the sense of refreshment Ross felt. How he had loved sea-bathing as a young man – running down to the beach on bright early mornings to plunge into the clear, cool water. Smooth, wet sand under his feet, fresh salty air in his lungs. The London bath houses he frequented were pleasant enough in their own way but nothing compared to this.

Back here, he realised just how used he had become to the city and its filth and stink. The fresh air of Cornwall was almost overwhelming, along with the open spaces, not to mention the quiet. He sat up at night in his room at Trenwith listening to…nothing. Nothing but the occasional hoot of an owl, and the rustle of the wind through the trees. It was never peaceful in the city – drunks shouting and brawling, prostitutes and pedlars hawking their wares, carts and carriages rattling back and forth at all hours.

He stopped and floated gently on the water for a while. The weather had improved and the sky was clear, a few whisps of cloud drifting gently by. Tiny waves lapped around him as two seagulls wheeled overhead, looking for fish no doubt. His environment may be tranquil, but Ross’ mind was not.

Pretence to indifference had long since been abandoned regarding the murdered Frenchmen. The case had ensnared him and it would not let him go until he had resolved it to his satisfaction. Like a hound at the scent, Blackstone often said, not entirely inaccurately, so much as Ross did not like to admit it. The thought of his colleague, as well as London, niggled him. He had sent a message back to Bow Street , claiming that family matters detained him in Cornwall for longer than he had envisaged. This was not entirely a lie – Agatha’s illness was not improving, and as much as they did not truly wish to acknowledge it, all in the family knew she was fading – but being home had raised some complicated emotions in him.

Seeing Elizabeth had redoubled that. He felt frozen to the spot as she walked down that hallway toward him, radiant in her white gown and golden robe; no longer the girl he remembered, but a beautiful, assured woman. She glowed with health and happiness – her wide, gentle smile and soft, warm eyes had not changed. It was obvious she did not lie when she said she was pleased to see him, but he could tell her feelings for him were not the same as they once were.

As if he had not been a fool to expect them to be. It pained him, but she was right about them. His misery and heartbreak at what he had chosen to regard as her betrayal had consumed him for a long time, but in truth he had not thought of her quite so much for many years. Disappointment and grief had simply been excuses for his shiftless life, something he knew had been slowly dawning on him for a while.

Thinking of Elizabeth brought him back to the case again. After Francis chanced upon them – although Ross suspected not entirely by accident – Ross had taken the opportunity to ask Elizabeth what she knew of the French emigres. Her French had always been excellent, and he had been right to assume that she had therefore spoken with many of them.

“I have not been out much lately,” she had explained – and he had to admit it was still something of a blow to learn that she had five children; he had once upon a time dreamed of what his children with her might look like, although it was rather more that it emphasised once again how long he had been gone.

Dr du Pas had attended on her once or twice during her pregnancy, and she could account for no reason why anyone should wish him ill. M d’Aubigné she had not known especially well, but again had no notion as to a motive for his murder.

“He was a little…grand. Rather pompous, which I imagine came from his time with the royal retinue. I think he rather considered most other people beneath him. “ She pursed her lips in disapproval. “He also spoke very often and very openly of his hatred for the revolutionaries and the French republic. They have their sympathisers in this country, of course, but none that d’Aubigné would have been much in company with.”

Ross was impressed with her frankness, and her thoughtfulness. She had been a great help, too, in speaking to the other emigres. His own French was not bad – better than Francis’ – but Elizabeth’s was flawless.

Not that the other foreigners had actually offered much information – the usual mix of gossip, wild speculation and self-interest which generally greeted any crime, particularly those committed amongst the gentry. Many were genuine in their desire to help, but knew very little. Several had been patients of du Pas, and most knew de Vayssiere as a gambler and womaniser, but both seemed to have been generally well-liked. Elizabeth was also not alone in her assessment of d’Aubigné.

Having encountered quite a few in London, Ross had found French aristocrats rather like English ones – religion and dislike of English food, fashions and customs aside, of course. Those resident in Cornwall were no different – the snobby, gossipy Madame de Voyer;  pretty young Comtesse de la Chatre, who was clearly and understandably very upset about the whole matter; the foppish macaroni M. de Dreux and his sycophantic associate M. Leféron; a wine-soaked priest, Pére Cornet. A M. de Cygne, who had arrived from London only a few weeks previously and therefore knew nothing at all, bothered Ross for some reason. He suspected it was because the man’s rather bulldog-like countenance and gruff manner reminded him of his late Uncle Charles.

Back on the sand at last, he dried himself roughly, pondering the facts. It seemed de Vayssiere’s death was simply a coincidence – a fatal scuffle, like the dozens which happened every night in the city. Ross had examined the unofficial statement taken by Francis from the man Bligh and could find no issue with it. But as he and Francis had discussed over a night cap, identifying de Vayssiere’s killer did not actually help much. There were still two others to find, and not much with which to find them.

~

He was greeted by an enthusiastic Verity upon his return to Trenwith after a leisurely ride along the cliffs. She ushered him into the sitting room to find a tall, handsome young man in naval uniform.

“Ross, this is my step-son, Lieutenant James Blamey. James, my cousin Ross.”

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Sir. Step-mama has spoken of you often.” He regarded Verity with obvious affection and it truly pleased Ross to see it. He had been genuinely delighted to learn that Verity had married and had a family of her own, although reading between the lines of her letters had told him it had not been quite straightforward. She had come to Trenwith alone, leaving her family in Falmouth, and he was sure she must be missing them.

“James came to surprise me!” Verity beamed.

“My superiors charged me with a letter to Truro, and were kind enough to allow me a detour.”

He had even been given permission to stay overnight, which struck Ross as unusually generous, but then again he was not a Naval man. Perhaps they were more indulgent masters. James had obviously visited Trenwith before, greeting his step-uncle with fondness when Francis returned from a morning at Grambler. Even Agatha seemed to like the boy, having been helped from her rooms into her chair by the fire in honour of his visit. He let her win several games of cards in a row, delighting the old woman.

Francis retreated to his study to take care of some estate paperwork and so Ross spent an idle afternoon of chat, tea and cards with his relatives, which frankly made him rather discomfited. He was truly happy to see Verity and Agatha so animated, but the pleasant scene was one of many, many things which filled him with guilt over his years of neglect of his family. Furthermore, he had never been at ease with such lack of activity, especially when there were killers to be caught! He would much rather be doing something, but he could not actually think of what to do. With James visiting, he would not get time alone with Francis after dinner. He had been hoping to ask if Francis or his constables had any other informants they could consult.

Agatha dined in her rooms, and Verity excused herself to sit with her before bed shortly after. The two Poldark men were therefore left alone with young James. Ross expected an at least pleasant evening of chat and port, but realised that he might be wrong when he watched how carefully James made sure his step-mother was definitely gone.

“Gentlemen, I must confess that I have not been truthful with you. Nor with my dear step-mama, much to my grief.” He sat in the chair opposite Francis, expression very serious. “I was in fact sent here by my senior officers to speak especially with you both. They considered me best placed for the task, considering my family connection.”

“Forgive me, but you say the Admiralty wishes you to speak with us?” Ross asked.

“Yes. About the matter you are both interested in. The unfortunate Dr du Pas and M. d’Aubigné. We know you have been looking into their deaths, as is your right as Magistrate, of course, Uncle, and only natural considering your occupation, Captain.” It did not surprise Ross that James knew he was a Bow Street man. Even if the fact had not managed to make its way into the news-sheets, the Admiralty were generally well-informed, in his experience.  

“And what of it?” Francis asked, frowning over the rim of his port glass.

“We would like to politely ask you to stop.”

“Stop?”

“Yes. You see, you could well jeopardise some very important work of our own…which I am not at liberty to disclose.” He hurried to anticipate their natural question. Ross frowned, but Francis beat him to his objection.

“Now, see here, James. If your superiors believe that our ‘family connection’ means I will be quite happy for you to just walk in here and tell me how to conduct my business they have got another think coming.  It merely means that whatever objections I have will be rather more polite than otherwise!” James looked utterly taken aback by this response, and Ross was torn between amusement and feeling something quite similar.

“But, Uncle – “

“Don’t ‘But, Uncle –‘ me, young man. I don’t answer to your admirals and commodores, no matter what they might like to think. I act under the same authority as they do – the King’s, and for the same purpose, the security of this Realm. They may fancy their work is of greater import than mine, but if the country is to be overrun with thieves and murderers, what is the point in fighting a war for it?” Ross was once again struck by the change in his cousin – from the nervous, highly-strung young man he remembered, to this confidant, self-assured figure who could have a naval lieutenant squirming in his chair. “So, if your masters want to convince me to stop my investigation into these heinous crimes, they had better be prepared to offer a damn good reason for it.”

“I – “

“Oh, come now, James. You know he is not going to let you wriggle off the hook. And, if your senior officers are as well informed about me as you seem to wish to indicate, they should know full well I’m not to be easily commanded.” Indeed, Ross thought wryly, the Admiralty would not need to look hard to discover that.

“Oh, very well.” James sighed. “We were warned this would not be easy. The fact of the matter is, there is a French spy operating in this district. Reporting upon the movement of ships at port, as well as our civil defences, amongst other things.”

“You have proof of this?” Francis demanded. Ross saw his cousin’s grip on his empty glass tighten. He could understand Francis’ agitation – the idea that an enemy agent operated here without his knowledge had to be a disturbing one.

“Yes. There are things I cannot disclose – on pain of court-martial! – but British agents abroad intercepted messages to the French command containing secret information. One of our people was able to insert themselves into the line of communication, making sure accurate information was not passed on, but allowing us to trace back to the source. However, something of a wall was hit after we found how the messages were taken across the channel.”

“In short, you do not know the identity of the spy.” Ross raised his eyebrows at the young man, who looked abashed.

“No. We believe there is also an intermediary we have not identified. Our agent in the district believes that his group is close to finding them – and we have no reason to doubt that – but we fear that your investigation may cause the spies to flee before they can be apprehended.”

“….Which is why you ask us to cease and desist.”

“Yes. Please.” It was a rather pathetic plea after all that, but James had evidently not been expecting the resistance his uncle was prepared to put up. Francis sighed.

“Very well.” James’ relief was palpable.

“Oh, thank you, Uncle. The Admiralty will be most appreciative of your co-operation. Now, er, perhaps I should retire. I did have a long ride this morning, and I have another tomorrow.”

“James…” Francis called him back as he was about to depart. “Please do not consider any of this personal.”

“I do not, Uncle. I wish that I had not had to bring such things into the family. Good night.” With a sketch of a bow, the young man withdrew. The two Poldark cousins sat in silence for a moment. No doubt, Ross thought, Francis was doing as he was, and absorbing what had just happened. Eventually, Ross voiced his most immediate thought.

“You are going to just give up the search for these murderers?” Francis turned in his chair to look at incredulously.

“What on Earth do you take me for?”  

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[blossom-hwa]

Gifts to You - RENJUN

Here’s the second of the seven scenarios for @dolphine-chenle for the @nctinc and @playnct NCTzen Secret Santa! Enjoy!

Pairing: Renjun x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, idol!au, drabble

Word Count: 1.4k

Imagine exchanging Christmas gifts with Renjun...

Masterlist | Drabbles Masterlist

It’s quiet in the dorm where you sit with Renjun. There’s a small Christmas tree in the corner with multiple gifts underneath and around it, and the floor is littered with bits of cookies and dishes you cooked up together.

You sit on the couch, snuggled into Renjun’s side. He has an arm around you, and every now and then he fiddles with your hair a little. It feels nice.

“It’s really quiet without the rest of the boys,” you mumble, half-asleep.

“Mm,” Renjun agrees softly. “I kinda miss them.”

You feel a stab of sympathy. Mark went home to Vancouver for Christmas, and the others are spending time with their families. Chenle managed to get a plane back home to China, or he would’ve been with you too. Only Renjun wasn’t able to go home.

Your parents decided to go visit your older brother at university in New York, so you’re alone for the holidays too.

“Me too,” you agree.

It’s the night before Christmas, and the two of you fall asleep on the couch, cuddled into each other’s sides.

~~~

Renjun’s annoying alarm wakes you up at seven in the morning. You blink blearily, trying to get your bearings.

You snatch up Renjun’s phone, ready to snooze the alarm, but the date stops you short.

It’s Christmas!

Next to you, Renjun stirs, groaning slightly from falling asleep in such an awkward position.

“Renjun, it’s Christmas!” you say excitedly, poking his side. He mumbles something you can’t quite hear before opening his eyes.

“Christmuth?”

“Christmas, Renjun, Christmas!!”

Finally, something clicks in his brain, and his eyes widen.

The two of you zoom over to the small Christmas tree in the corner of the room, eagerly looking at the gifts underneath. Together, you sort them into different piles- some are for the other members, but most are left for you and your boyfriend.

You take turns opening your gifts. First is a beautiful new notebook from your parents, hardcover and shimmering white and blue. You hug it close, remembering when you offhandedly mentioned that you were running out of space to write in your old diary. You will definitely use this one next.

From Mark to Renjun is an English dictionary. You snort at Renjun’s unimpressed expression. “It’s the thought that counts,” you say, stifling laughter.

“Easy for you to say. You’re already fluent,” Renjun grouches, tossing you another gift.

Haechan has given you a signed, framed, photo of him.

“Jesus Christ,” you say, gazing at the photo in grudging admiration for just the amount of guts that kid has. “Now I wonder what he got you.”

Renjun’s rolling around the floor laughing. “Shut up! At least he didn’t get me an English dictionary!”

That sobers Renjun a little, enough so that he can catch the gift you throw at him, also from Haechan.

It’s another signed and framed picture of the boy himself.

“I think for Christmas next year I’m going to give the boys a course on how to select appropriate presents for people,” you say as Renjun rummages through the small pile of gifts.

“I wholeheartedly support that decision,” he agrees, handing you another package, this time from Jeno.

“Jeno’s a good kid. Let’s see what he got me,” you say, unwrapping the gift with slight hesitation.

Inside is a book you’ve been dying to read for months but couldn’t because the library didn’t have it. “Oh my god,” you breathe. “I love Jeno so, so much.”

Renjun fakes betrayal, holding his hands close to his heart. “More so than me?” he gasps. You scooch over to him, hugging him tightly. “Of course not, Renjunnie,” you say.

“Good. Let’s see what he got me.”

Inside his package is yet another Moomin plushie.

“Another?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He glares at you over the plushie. “There’s no such thing as too much Moomin, Y/N!”

“Whatever you say,” you mutter, selecting Mark’s gift from your pile.

A half hour passes in this manner, groaning and yelling over some gifts, promising revenge over others, and holding a few of them close to your heart.

You’ve left your gifts from each other for last, and it’s with slightly trembling fingers that you reach for the package he hands to you. He takes the box you extend to him with equal nervousness.

God, you hope he likes your gift.

“You open yours first,” you both say at the same time. You glare at him. “You first!”

“Fine,” Renjun grumps, putting you in a chokehold. “When did you get so demanding?”

You look up at him in annoyance. “Let me out!”

He does, thankfully, and begins to take the wrapping paper off your gift carefully. You watch him closely, trying to gauge his every reaction.

The wrapping paper finally comes off, and two books tumble to the ground. Renjun picks the first up, flipping through the pages eagerly.

It’s a Moomin sketchbook you saw at the arts and crafts store about a month earlier. When you saw it, your thoughts immediately flew to Renjun, and you knew you had to get it.

“Do you like it?” you ask hesitantly.

“Do I like it?” he asks, looking at you with shining eyes. “I love it! Thank you, Y/N.”

You grin. “Then look at the other thing that fell out.”

He puts the sketchbook down carefully to pick up the other thin booklet.

On the front is a picture of NCT Dream and you, smiling widely for the camera. You remember that day. Taeyong took the picture.

It was the day of their first win.

Renjun flips through the pages silently, taking in every single picture. Some include you, some are of just him. Some are candids, and others are posed. Many include the Dreamies.

And on the last page is a picture of just him and you, laughing together as you sit on the couch. You hadn’t known Yuta had taken that one until he showed it to you, and though you were annoyed at first that he’d taken a picture without you knowing, you quickly got over it when you saw how cute Renjun looked.

Underneath, in your neat handwriting, is written, “Thank you for always being with me.”

Renjun’s eyes are glassy now as he tries to hold back tears. “This…”

“Took me hours to make, Renjun, so don’t cry on it now,” you say, closing the book and placing it on the table next to you. You wrap your arms around your boyfriend, and he buries his face in your shoulder. “Thank you,” he mumbles, voice muffled by your hair.

You stay in that position for some time until Renjun finally pulls away, motioning for you to open his gift.

The box is beautifully wrapped, with a nice ribbon bow and gorgeous wrapping paper. You take care not to rip the paper as you open it, carefully pulling the tape off of each edge.

Inside is another small box and two signed albums.

“What…”

“EXO. Signed by all members,” Renjun supplies.

“Holy shit.” You hug the two albums to your chest, gazing at your boyfriend with wide eyes. “I can’t believe you got these for me.”

“It was no sweat,” Renjun mumbles, trying to downplay his emotions. “I just asked them if they had extra albums and if they could sign them.”

“Shut up, you dummy,” you say, flinging your arms around him yet again. “God, I love you.”

Those three words make you freeze, and you feel Renjun tense up as well. Embarrassed and shy, you let go quickly. “Sorry if that was too fast.”

“N-no,” Renjun says, still looking shell-shocked. “I’m just… surprised.”

“Well, I hope you know it’s true,” you say, looking away shyly.

Renjun smiles widely.

You turn your attention to the small box that’s left to avoid squealing over how adorable his smile is.

Inside is a locket, with a little picture of Renjun on the left side and you on the right.

You really can’t hold back your emotions as you stare into the tiny locket. A tear wells up in your eye, and a huge grin stretches your face.

“I love it,” you breathe, gazing at your boyfriend. “Thank you.”

Renjun laughs shyly, taking the locket from you. He turns you around and clasps it around your neck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, looking down at it.

“I’d say the one that wears it,” he says, so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

“Why are you so sweet?” you whine. “It makes me feel bad.”

“Don’t be,” Renjun says, pulling you closer. “I love you the way you are.”

When you recover from his words, you two sit there, leaning against the couch as you talk and laugh. You miss your family and friends, but for now, you’re content.

Having Renjun with you is enough.

He and his love are a gift to you.

[overdrivels]

Today is my birthday!!! Could I please request a short Drabble with Reaper and how'd he'd celebrate a birthday at Talon HQ? I think it's unlikely they do that stuff, but Reaper used to be sweet. Thank u sm

Happy Birthday, anon. In order to be able to deliver today, I had to keep it short. Though, I’m not sure whose birthday you’d like, so have a reader-insert. Contrary to the title, there’s no angst. Really. 

(For future reference, chances are I won’t be able to answer requests like these same-day, so please don’t expect such requests to be handled in the same manner.)

Gift of Death (Drabble)

Reaper’s memory is sharper than most–you could even say it was near impeccable. Even when he was Gabriel Reyes, he took pride in the enormous amount of information he could retain, and as such, he was banned from trivia night on multiple occasions. 

Even more jarring was his uncanny ability to remember people’s birthdays, not that he ever touted such knowledge or made it explicitly known to anyone. 

So, unaware of this information, you were surprised to find a small box inside your Talon assigned locker. It was well wrapped in shiny red paper with silver stripes, not a crease extra or out of place, a small tag that read simply in neat letters, “Happy birthday”. Just reading the words made your heart swell just a little, and a smile made its way unconsciously to your lips. 

You’ve heard the rumors–small treats or cakes appearing in people’s lockers celebrating their day of birth. It’s been a source of excitement and bafflement for everyone involved. There aren’t so many people here who care about such things–you were all mercenaries, after all. Such personal pleasures were often forsaken, forgotten, even. 

But it seems that someone here didn’t forget–wouldn’t let any of you forget, for better or for worse. Though, in your case, it was a welcome gesture–it at least meant that someone cared.  

However, just as a precaution, you swept the interior of your locker, ensuring that all your equipment and possessions are still accounted for and these is nothing else that is new–it’s not a comforting thought having someone invade your privacy even if the intentions were good. The lock itself wasn’t tampered with and neither was the exterior–either someone had the combination or they were very, very good at getting into forbidden places. It was suspicious, and definitely left your skin tingling with excitement and anxiety. 

Satisfied that nothing was out of place or added other than the single gift, you plucked it out of your locker and held it. It’s heftier than it looked, and you shook it a bit, the muffled sounds of multiple somethings made themselves known. You wondered what it could be.

You suddenly shoved the box behind your back and whirled around, pressed up against your locker when you felt a presence behind you. It was Sombra, pretending to look innocent as she attempted to see what she could not. 

“What’chu got there?” 

You didn’t know why you were hiding the present, but you kept the little box defensively behind you as Sombra continued to try to peer over your shoulder and side to catch a glimpse. From her knowing smirk, you’re sure she knows. There’s nothing that goes down at these facilities that she is unaware of. 

Which meant…

“Sombra,” you drawled, producing the red and silver gift from behind your back against your better judgement, “you won’t happen to know who left this in my locker, now would you?” 

Her eyes widened in recognition and her eyebrows shot up when she laid eyes on the box. Bingo. 

“Sombra, you have to know. There’s no way that something would happen anywhere without your knowledge. That is, unless,” you trailed off, side-eyeing her, “this person is good enough to get the slip on you.” 

She pursed her colored lips, leaning in with her hands at her hips, clearly irritated with the idea that anyone would be outside her scope of knowledge. “You think I’m going to fall for something like that? Really? Who do you think I am?” You remained stoic, and let her try her intimidation tactics–you’ve dealt with worse. When she realized it was little use to do so, she gave you back your space, and tapped her nails against her cheek, clearly debating whether her dignity was important enough to take such a bait. 

She needs another push. “This person’s eluded all of Talon for months–years, now, leaving presents everywhere. You’d be ending an age-old mystery, you know.” You played with the box idly, awaiting her response and almost dropping it when you saw it. 

The hacker’s eyes lit up dangerously, and you could feel regret settling in your chest, cold and deep when she leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, and annoyingly smug. “Oh? So one Santa Claus can’t be caught by all of Talon? Some elite group you guys are.” 

Shit, the tables got turned. You needed to bring this back. Different tactic. 

“Sombra, it’s my birthday, couldn’t you at least do this for someone on their special day?” 

She seemed contemplative at that, pacing slightly around the locker area. “I guess it would be rude to not give you something for your birthday–you’re lucky I kinda like you. Otherwise…”

“Sombra. What are you doing?” The familiar growl nearly made you jump out of your skin. It echoed through the metallic halls, his presence seemingly everywhere and nowhere at once. 

“Just helping out with a mystery, like who put that”–she jerks her thumb at the neatly wrapped package in your hands–“in our little birthday star’s locker.”

You mouthed the strange nickname at her while Reaper pointedly looked anywhere except at the present in question. “What a waste of time; get back to work, Sombra. You have a mission in two days.” 

She grinned widely, striding up to the man with extremely confidence. She slapped his bicep with the back of her hand as she passed, and said, “Yeah, yeah. I got it. You don’t have to be shy, big guy, we all know it was you.” 

Before Reaper even had a chance to react, she cackled, winking at you and then disappearing into thin air, her laughter echoing in the halls like a ghost. 

You looked down at the gift, and then up at Reaper. “So it was you?” 

Well, that certainly explained how the gift got into your locker without combinations or any signs of vandalism. Your face must have betrayed your surprise–it was the last person you’d ever expect to care about something like this, let alone for a grunt like yourself–another face in the crowd, not worth looking twice at. You do your job, you get paid, end of story. There was no extra flair or anything worth noticing you for. So, why? 

He crossed him arms defensively and looked away. “Ridiculous, I don’t have time for these things.”

Wearing your brazen curiosity like armor, you said, “In that case, I’ll toss it.” 

His response was immediate. “Do it and I’ll kill you.” 

“So you admit it?” 

“I admit nothing.” 

You grin to yourself and shook the box gently once again, curious about what one of Talon’s most dangerous men got you. “What’s in it?”

He was silent for some time, but you waited. If he really didn’t want to answer, he would’ve ended this conversation on his terms, but the fact that he was still willing to stay and play along meant something. 

“…cookies.” 

His voice was so quiet, you weren’t even sure you heard him right. But when he didn’t bother repeating himself, you accepted it for what it was–the very last bit of humanity and kindness from a broken man who has long rejected such things, but subconsciously couldn’t let go of it. 

“Thank you for the gift, sir. I’ll be sure to finish it all. Oh, and don’t worry, secret’s safe with me.” 

“We’ll see about that, birthday-star.”

[joulethieves]

2, 5, 14, and 15 for mr. worldwide 👀

dale bitch–ANYWAY here’s Balthier headcanons in the form of drabbles cuz Im in a Mood

2) Cooking Headcanon

He’s dashingly handsome, a piloting prodigy, a sure shot, and dashingly handsome. One can’t expect him to be adept at cooking too. Balthier isn’t quite partial to the culinary art but will do so when it’s necessary. He prefers Fran’s cuisine, as her food just tastes alive in a way most hume cooking cannot. And, at the very least, she is merciful to his near-fatal sensitivity to heat-spiced fare (unlike Vaan and Penelo, who in their attempts to woo everyone with authentic Rabanastran streetfood, nearly killed the sky pirate with some fiery hellscape excuse of roast cockatrice). When traveling with the merry band of fools across every crevice of Ivalice, Balthier’s culinary skills are put to the test on nights when it’s his rotation - he finds the party is satisfied enough with his doings, or at least, they’re eating and thus kept alive, so no one should honestly be complaining, thank you very much.  Especially Vaan, with the griping about there’s no spice in here, this tastes like paper. Would that he could shove his mouth with some paper. Shut up, Vaan.

5/15) Bathing/Showering Headcanon & Singing Headcanon

It was nice to have his own shower, once upon a time. Well, his and Fran’s, but they’re a package deal, so who bothers with plurals when she’s practically his right arm. Fran is a lovely shipmate, all things considered. She picks her hair out of the drain, and only chides him a little bit when his stray earrings clog the pipes. Once upon a time, it was nice. With four others aboard his ship, there’s only so much hot water, and only so little patience. It’s after a particularly messy hunt in Sochen leaves nearly everyone dripping with flecks of blood and strips of maggoty flesh that Balthier puts his foot down (unfortunately, on a heaping pile of Coeurl shit somewhere in Tchita). “We’ll settle this the old fashioned way, lest we all murder each other before the Empire attempts to.”

Fran, the least filthy of them all thanks to her ranged weaponry and foresight, is a calm referee when she presents everyone with twigs in her curled fist. “Tallest twig earns first shower, so on and so forth.”

“WHAT?” Vaan shouts, so loudly that a  happily roosting nest of doves in a nearby tree fly off in a fit of terror. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU I HAVE GUTS IN MY EAR.”

Balthier doesn’t let that sway him, and when he catches Fran’s eye while the rest of the party is distracted with Vaan’s performance, she subtly twitches a long dark finger along the outermost left twig in her palm, and raises a white brow at him.

He would embrace her then for the gesture, but she’d slap him for getting blood on her new accessory. 

“As a leading man and pilot of the Strahl, I’ll choose first,” Balthier says, and Vaan still can’t hear him because he’s banging the heel of his palm against one ear while tilting his head over the ground. Some disgusting squelching sounds follow, and Vaan sighs. 

“That’s better. Anyway what’s going on?”

Balthier grabs the twig Fran instructed him to and holds it in his hands as Fran approaches the rest of the group. “Why, a lesson in the art of patience, my dear Vaan.” The boy is absolutely disgusting, and should be nowhere near the confines of his ship without first being doused in soap and water, but Balthier will take his hot shower first when he can get it.

On their trek back to the anchor, Balthier hooks an ankle under Vaan’s footing, sending the boy tumbling into a rushing Tchita stream. That will, at the very least, wash off the loose guts. Vaan’s screams are garbled in the river and Penelo runs after him, swept in the current. “Oh my god, Balthier, HE CAN’T SWIM!”

Balthier is still laughing in the steam of the shower an hour later. He takes his time, and sings.

14) Dancing Headcanon

“Fine-faced though you are, Vaan, I know you at least know how to count to three.”

Vaan huffs indignantly and scratches again at the stuffy Archadian one-piece bodysuit monstrosity he’s outfitted in. All things considered, he looks rather becoming, and if he could wipe that expression off his face that screams Someone Please Help Me and Let Me Run Around in Crop Tops Again he could look almost befitting of the Archadian ball they’re crashing tonight. “I was doing it just fine. One two three one two three one two let me fucking leave I wanna go home and I hate this stupid outfit.”

Balthier scratches the back of his head. Seems he couldn’t count after all. How sad. Never mind, he thinks, the boy will be distracting arm candy enough. The Archadian gentry despise same-sex relations despite the legality of it; thus the spectacle of them both together will be distracting enough while Fran pilfers the grand manse outfitted in opening-night grandeur for of the Opera star Yagadia Nieidrie Licentio.

The taller sky pirate of the two takes Vaan’s waist again, pulling him close. “If you’re wont to be so very insolent at least confine it to the shake of those hips of yours. I’m well acquainted enough to how those move,” he adds almost ruefully, remembering a night he almost can’t in a haze of snakehyps, liquor, and way too much shock factor. “Now, let’s try this again.”

Vaan’s face is nearly flushed to match the crimson brocade of the cropped jacket layered atop the bodysuit. Balthier would say it’s from embarrassment but no, Vaan’s actually just extremely overheated. “Can I get some water first? All this ballroom stuffiness makes me thirsty.”

Vaan breaks from his hold and Balthier watches the Dalmascan sway away, putting on a show with those hips, and finds himself licking his lips. “Do bring me a glass of that, then, would you? Neat, with a twist.”

Vaan snorts and waves his hand dismissively as he saunters away. “At least take me to the ball first, Balthier.”

–

(read more of my writing on AO3)

[park-loins]

In light of recent news (YAAAAAAAS JIN❤❤) can I suggest an OT7 drabble featuring each member gifting Jin something they think he'll need in the jungle?

“Guys, do we really have to do this?” Jin whines, backpack slung over his shoulder as his members line up in front of him.

“We want to make sure you have everything you need to survive in the jungle,” Jimin tells him arranging them all in the proper order.

“Did anybody vet these gifts? ” Yoongi asks, concerned, and Hoseok just shakes his head. 

“Uh, we do not need to be vetted, we are adults,” Jimin bristles haughtily. “Tae, go ahead.”

“I want you to have this,” Taehyung says solemnly extending his hands towards Jin. “I want you to take it with you.”

Jin makes a slightly disgusted face. “Tae, I don’t want or need a lock of your hair.”

“Take the hair Jin.”

Jin just bites his tongue and accepts the tiny plastic baggie, moving down the line. 

Jungkook unceremoniously slaps a small bottle into Jin’s hand. “Mattifying creme. Because you’re gross and shiny in the mornings.”

“Excuse you,” Jin draws away in offense, but after a knowing look from Jungkook, he grudgingly accepts it. 

“Open this later,” Jimin tells him quietly, suspiciously, with a wink. “For the long, cold nights.”

Jin rolls his eyes and tears into the envelope, ignoring Jimin’s flailing hands and cries of protest. He sighs heavily. “Where did you get this photo of Yoongi?”

“This WHAT?” Yoongi cries from the end of the line. 

“It’s from when he got drunk on his birthday,” Jimin shrugs.

“What am I doing to that poor eggplant?” Yoongi marvels.

“Hurry up guys. He’s gonna miss his flight,” Hoseok reminds them. “Here, take this. It’s a shovel. It’s for shitting in the wilderness,” Hoseok adds, and Jin cringes a little. 

“Why would he shit on a shovel?” Jimin asks, looking revolted. Taehyung shrugs.

Namjoon steps forward and hands Jin a thin book-shaped package. “Since nature has a tendency to make humans introspective, I got you this book on the link between the anarchist movement in Spain and 20th century surrealism. I think it’s a good partner piece to that book on French existentialism I gave you for Christmas.” He pauses to cackle at the disgusted look on Jin’s face. “I’m just shitting you. It’s porn.” 

Yoongi is last, and everyone looks at him expectantly. He silently presses a small, neat case into Jin’s hands. 

“What’s this?”

Yoongi tucks his head and mumbles, “You know. Minor first aid, flint, emergency blanket, vitamins, water filter, and some spices…. because, you know, you can’t eat bland food.”

A fond, gentle smile spreads across Jin’s face as he tucks the little case into his bag. “Thanks, Yoongi.”

“Just… Come back safe, okay?” Yoongi murmurs, face aflame, and Jin reaches out to squeeze his hand reassuringly. 

It’s quiet for a few moments before Hoseok breaks the silence. “You guys are fuckin’ gross.”

[gomustanggirl16]

Steve Rogers' Heater Like Body

Ok get your head out of the gutter.

so don't ask me why this is right where my mind went to yesterday in my Anatomy and Physiology class. We were talking about the musculoskeletal system and focusing on just the skeletal muscles. if you've ever had to take A&P then you know how dreadfully boring and difficult this section can be. My teacher decided to reiterate the one section over and over and let's just say I zoned and started thinking about a new chapter for my one fic. Then she was drawing on the board and it caught my attention when one girl asked something about the use of ATP(energy) the teacher answered and then moved on to the next slide and it was about Body heat. and then she went back to the same thing she'd been going on about for the last half hour. Well of course my mind automatically went to the famous super-soldier and how everyone always writes how he has a heater like body! Then something dawned on me.

I was brought back to a chapter in @isaiah18376 The Broken Shield. In one of the chapters he has T'Challa breaking down his theory on how the super-soldier was able to stop the helicopter and then he comes to the conclusions and it all leads to how much the serum enhanced everything and then another light bulb went off and I actually asked my teacher if the muscles are constantly contracting? that's what her drabble had been about. She said yes, they're always in a state of semi-contraction called muscle tone. I never made that connection before. so here's what I figured out!

ATP is a type of energy used throughout the body. It is created during cellular respiration. Cellular respiration is the breakdown of nutrients within a cell to release energy (ATP).  Ok stick with me now, because it's about to get confusing. Muscle cells are different then other cells found in the body. they look nothing like cells, they are actually shaped more like fibers hence why they're also referred to as muscle fibers. these fibers are then wrapped together in neat little packages that are then bundled together with more packages to get wrapped again and they make up the muscle. Now back to the neat little packages, muscle fibers are not the only things inside the packages. There are these myofiliments (proteins) called actin and myosin. Now these are attached to each other by little bridge like structures that pull on each other when a chemical called Ach is released. This is also known as a neuro transmitter, and guess what activates all this ATP. When those proteins pull they are what is contracting the muscle allowing for movement. It's actually a lot more complex so this is majorly dumbed down.

With that all in mind remember my question I asked my teacher? About how the muscles are constantly semi-contracting? This is so we do not have muscle atrophy. Hence why it is most commonly seen with people who are paralyzed. No feeling=no connection to nerves=dead nerves=no nerve transitions=no Ach to tell the muscles to contract. Another reason for this is to help the body maintain homeostasis. A constant body temperature. Now that you know this lets bring it all in and back to cellular respiration, that happens within cells. Steve's body as we know is super human which means everything is working way faster than humanly possible, which means he produces more ATP, meaning he produces more energy, which is why his heart beats faster. Meaning his circulations is above and beyond fast. This also means his neruo transmitters are faster, releasing more Ach making his muscles contract more.

In other words its all because everything is at super speed, therefore no matter when even asleep, he will always be a giant space heater. I do hope this made sense, I know it was very long, but I just found this so interesting and it also helped me understand the section even though it's the only part of the chapter I get.