drawer chest

Your secret is safe with me

“Blaise,” Draco fumed, storming into the living room, “what happened to the chest of drawers in my room?”

Blaise looked up from the paper he was reading and grinned at Draco.

“Do you like the new one? You’ve been whining about it so much, I thought I’d just replace that awful old-timer.”

“What did you do with that old-timer?”

“I sold it,” Blaise shrugged.

“You sold it,” Draco repeated flatly.


“Who did you sell it to?” Draco asked frantically.

“No idea,” Blaise said. “I didn’t get a name. Two people came by to pick it up. I think they were Muggles.”

Draco felt like he was about to faint.

“Did you take everything out beforehand?”

Blaise snorted.

“Of course! What do you take me for?”

“Everything?” Draco insisted.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at Draco’s tone and studied him.

“Yes, everything.”

Draco took a step closer and narrowed his eyes.

“Even what was under the secret false bottom in the second drawer, nobody but me knows about?”

Blaise paled and his mouth opened.

“Oh,” he simply said.

“Yes, oh,” Draco growled. “Great, now I have to hunt it down. You’re a lousy flatmate.”

“Hey, I just wanted to do you a favour,” Blaise said defensively.

“You better hope they haven’t found what’s inside it, or I’m going to kill you.”

Doing the locator spell was easy enough. Draco had feared it wouldn’t work, but it seemed there were no wards guarding the flat the chest of drawers had ended up in. Draco apparated to the flat, his heart hammering as he knocked.

When the door opened, Draco was sure he had to be dreaming. Of all the people in the world. Of course. Of course.

“Malfoy?” Potter seemed stunned. He was holding a toothbrush and was only dressed in a green t-shirt and pants. “How did you find me?”

Draco shook his head, willing his mind to work properly again.

“You have something of mine,” he said curtly.

“And what might that be?” Potter responded, a grin beginning to form on his lips. It took Draco off guard for a moment.

“Can I just come in and check something?”

Potter stepped aside and gestured for Draco to come in. Draco wasted no time and quickly found the chest of drawers in the corner of Potter’s bedroom. He opened the second drawer and took out the little book he had been so desperate to get back.

“What’s that?” Potter asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Nothing of your concern. It shouldn’t have been in there,” Draco huffed.

“Hmmm,” Potter hummed. “You know, I never would have thought you kept a diary.”

Draco blushed, quickly hiding his hands behind his back.

“It’s not a diary,” he said lamely.

Potter nodded, but he had a mischievous smile on his face.

“You want a drink?” he asked, turning around and heading back into the living room. Draco blinked and tried to find his voice again.

“Um, no thank you. You were obviously getting ready for bed. I won’t disturb you any longer,” he said hastily.

“You sure? It might be a great opportunity,” Potter grinned. Draco gave him a quizzical look.


“I don’t know,” Potter shrugged, “after two Firewhiskeys you might get the chance to run your hands through my incredibly infuriating, magnificent head of hair.” Potter tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t suppress a snicker. “I might even let you touch my strong and marvellous jawline.”

Never had Draco wished more the ground would open and swallow him up.

“You read it,” he said through gritted teeth. “You had no right.”

“True,” Potter replied, nonchalant. “I’d let you read mine in return, but I don’t keep a diary.” He stepped closer to Draco, studying his face intently.

“You look rather cute when you’re flushed.”

Draco made a sound that was something between a weird gurgle and a high-pitched squeak. Whatever it was, it was highly embarrassing.

Potter chuckled, coming to a halt right in front of Draco.

“I mean, I could just show you what kind of fantasies I’d be writing in that diary,” he said in a low whisper.

Draco gulped, not quite grasping what Potter was saying.

“Like what?” he breathed.

“Hmmm.” Potter’s eyes flickered down to Draco’s lips. “Like how I want to grab you right now and kiss you until you can’t breathe.”

Draco’s mouth opened involuntarily. Breathing was already hard with Potter standing so close to him.

“And then,” Potter continued, deliberately breathing on Draco’s lips, “I’d want your hands on the most delicious and perfect arse you have ever seen in your life.”

Draco groaned loudly. This was just too much. But then again, Potter really seemed to be teasing him in a rather flirtatious way. Trying to conceal his nervousness, he raised his chin and fixed Potter with a glare.

“These better not just be empty promises,” Draco said haughtily.

“Oh, they’re not,” Potter smirked, his eyes gleaming as he started pouring their drinks.

Is that my name on your underwear?- Dean x Reader

You groaned as tired to get away from the octopus you called a boyfriend. He had you pinned to the bed and the blaring of your alarm clock was pissing you off. It was of course on the other side of the room. You were notoriously lazy and this was the only way you got up for work.

Groaning as you tired to sit up again, only to be pinned back down. You frowned as turned to look at him but sighed as you drank in his perfect features. A smirked played across your lips as you remembered something that worked every time.

“Dean, there’s bacon and porn waiting for you… Dean.. Bacon and pooorrrrnnnn.” You whisper in his ear.

There was a snort and loud, “What? Where?”, as you were freed from your prison.

“Nothing dear. Go back to sleep.” You purred as you bounced to chest of drawers for something to wear.

Dean’s eye glued to your bottom as you shuffled clothes around. A cocky grin forming on his lips when he read what was scrolled across your bottom.

“Is that my name on your underwear?” Dean quipped as his grin grew wider by the second.

You froze before slowly turning towards him. You had forgotten you were wearing underwear that said, “Dean’s girl”.

“Yeah… So what? Gonna do something about it Winchester?” You grunted while sticking out your tougne.

“Oh. I’m gonna do something alright.” He said as jumped to his feet. You let out a loud squeal as he pulled you into his arms to pepper you with kisses.


On mobile. Just something that came to me.

Wittersweet: So, Starface, feel better now?
Sparkle Wit: You know what? I kinda do. That so-called hoverboard’s still sucky, though.
Firstwit: You shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Sparkle. But in this case, it’s overdue for a dental checkup.
[All laughing]
Witsend: [sighs] Yo, what should we do now?
Amble Wit: What else? Let’s eat lunch.
Hot Wit: Sparky, you coming?
Sparkle Wit: Maybe later. Hot Wit…whatever happened to the future?
Hot Wit: The future is always yet to come, Sparky. Didn’t you know that?
Sparkle Wit: I do, but that’s not what I meant. This future, it’s not the future I hoped for; it’s not the one science fiction promised me. What went wrong?
Hot Wit: Nothing went wrong, Sparky; you were just taken in by the magic of sci-fi, that’s all. The science in those fantastic stories is so believable that it seems possible. But, you know, that’s what makes good sci-fi so interesting. Sure, this present isn’t as space-age as you hoped it would be, but the future can be anything you want it to be, especially if it’s the future of your life.
Sparkle Wit: My life, huh?
Hot Wit: Your future is whatever you make it, so make it a good one. By the way, here’s your “hoverboard” back. I’m going for a quick bite. See ya.
Sparkle Wit: "Make it a good one"…

// It’s a rare thing for me to get the urge to draw anything that isn’t a stick-man (don’t ask) these days. I never really rated my skills as a drawer, especially on the tablet, but every now and then, I am inspired to do so.

@fuukonomiko, and her character Karimah have been so kind to me since I turned up here that such inspiration happened.

This is Karimah. It ain’t amazing but it works alright.

Making herself at home

“What’s that?”

“A chair. Armchair, if you want to be specific.”

“It’s – um – nice. Bit unexpected.”

“That corner of the room looked empty.”

“Well,” John sighs, “never took you for interior design.”

“Molly needed her own chair.”

“Molly? Why – why should she need her own chair?”

“… No reason.”

“Are those a new set of drawers as well?”

Sherlock lifts his newspaper closer to his face. “None of your business.”

Five Foot Two Eyes of Blue

Hey all, tonight’s kind of shitty, I know. But when I first saw the pictures tonight, all I could think of was Louis wearing Alex’s uniform. So here’s a quick scene from the OG verse I wrote about that. I hope it makes you smile tonight. I wrote in about twenty minutes so I’m sorry for any errors!

(and thanks @tommostummie for inspiring the title by sending me UNCALLED FOR lyrics to an old ‘soldiers coming home from war song’) 

“Where’re you, baby doll?” Alex called.

He had stepped out for maybe ten minutes to get a fresh set of milk bottles, a box of oats, and a tin of Vaseline, and in that time Louis had completely vanished from his favorite spot on the living room sofa. The book he had been reading was settled on the kitchen table, a cloth napkin holding his place, and Alex just gave it a glance and sighed.

“Louis?” he called again, and he didn’t get an answer that time, either. But he could hear the radio in their room, and he knew Louis couldn’t have gone far if he had turned it on.

Alex wandered into the next room, and the bedroom was empty, too, but he could see his chest of drawers was open, and he could see movement from between the half-open crack of the bathroom door.

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