#in my mind the mug is always STAMPED but whenever i draw her looks she looks better with no makeup

[touteytout]

photostudy + makeup testing....

#my art #my ocs #uriyah (oc) #in my mind the mug is always STAMPED but whenever i draw her looks she looks better with no makeup #also i couldnt decide on a gradient map

[omg-baeyoung-baeran]

Maybe I Should Resign (Jumin/MC Oneshot)

Summary:

When your cringeworthy, cutesy cat-based post-its meant for your depressed friend are accidentally sent to your stone-hearted boss...take it as a sign to turn in your resignation letter.

o-o-o-o

It was mischievous and amusing, he admitted. The words written were always related to his current situation for some reason. Initially, it was odd and suspicious, but after it had given him comfort on several occasions, he had grown a little fond of the notes sent attached to his cup of coffee. 

Unless it was something related to cats, he was never the type to waste time, energy, or even money on something that did not involve the family and the company’s benefit; therefore, he never bothered finding the person behind it. He figured it was another scheme from someone who wanted to get ahold of his affection, so it was in his best interest to leave things be. The interaction went on for months, and the unknown person did not seem to have missed a single day doing the same task.

Impressive.

This mysterious person had persistence he would applaud of if he or she were not using it on something insignificant.

“Make efforts for yourself too because you are worth it!” The sticky note was purple this time.

That day, he bought himself a cat mug and was delighted by it.

Is this what commoners mean by “reward yourself”?

The first time the note made him frown deeply was when his father was involved with another woman, though the message was not the reason why he had made such a face. He wondered once again who the person might be behind the notes. Is it a woman who has the same intentions like his father’s passing lovers? Is it a man who is sucking up for a promotion? 

He had asked Jaehee before who had been preparing his coffee lately, since he had her retire from the task to handle more important matters at hand.

“It’s the chef’s son who prepares the coffee for the executives, Mr. Han.”

“He is not an employee.”

“Yes, but he volunteered to work without pay to help his father fulfill his duties without problems. I have offered to raise the concern to you, Mr. Han, but he refused.”

He hummed, raising his hand to his chin in thought. “Make him sign a contract and ensure his pay is more than sufficient to compensate for the days he did not get paid.”

Jaehee nodded and reconfirmed, “We will need to help him get a lawyer for the contract. The chef has mentioned before that his son is illiterate, so I will be contacting Mr. Joyou for recommendations.”

For a brief second, his eyes flashed in confusion. “Are you sure his son is illiterate?”  

He received the third report the next day, proving that the chef’s son was indeed illiterate.

From mysterious messages, it went down south to suspicious messages.

Fortunately, nothing other than passing one-sided notes was happening. The messages were innocent and can sometimes be helpful, thus there was no need to be alarmed.

“Meow~ a kitty a day keeps the purrblem paway!”

It can sometimes be… cute… he begrudgingly confessed. 

That was the first time it made him smile and his heart flutter.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

It was a huge mistake.

All this time, she was digging her own grave, and she had no idea she had dug deep enough to be a knock away from entering the gates of hell. She had been writing him notes to cheer him up and, perhaps, brighten up his troubled days. Pretending to be a maid to gather information unavailable online from a huge company seemed to be a huge hassle. He was tasked to do it for months too; hence, she made sure he wouldn’t get too lonely.

She wrote him notes—which she thought might help him smile—and stuck them on the cup of coffee he would serve for the employees. He never mentioned anything about it whenever they got the chance to chat. It was a bit disappointing, but her little help appeared to be working well. He seemed genuinely happy, and that was the only thing that mattered.

That was until she got a response in the form of a cat-shaped baby blue sticky note.

The coffee area was empty early in the morning. Most employees were yet to arrive, but the tray holding the cup where she usually stuck her messages already had a sticky note attached to it. Her lips touched the rim of the mug, her own sweetened coffee warming her cold lips.

Oh? A response? I wasn’t expecting that….

She took the note, flipping it around to inspect it.

Cat-shaped? Aw, so cute! Seven really loves cats. 

Her eyes scanned the message written.

“Write something about cats today.”

Huh? Wait, hold on, something’s wrong here.

She felt the heavy feeling of dread fill her stomach as she analyzed the piece of paper in her hand. Her mother had always jokingly called her “stupid” when she was in her teens, but she never believed it was true until she actually gave evidences to such hypothesis. Her joke was probably not a half-meant joke but a prediction of what she would become in the near future.

One thing she was certain of….

This is totally not his penmanship.

She had known Seven for years and was one of his closest friends. He would even take her out at random times to get ice cream even when his schedule was loaded. They would write on receipts and draw doodles of whatever came into their imagination. His penmanship was not necessarily messy but it carried its own charm.

This, on the other hand, looked too elegant to be his.

“Umm… good morning, Ma’am,” greeted a young man with brown hair and light brown eyes.

She forced a smile, tucking the note into her skirt’s pocket. “Good morning! Are you gonna grab a coffee?”

“Oh! Umm… no… haha! I am more of a tea person, though I make coffee for the executives.” His laugh sounded awkward, but she thought he looked like a nice guy. “Please do excuse me,” he muttered before passing in front of her, grabbing the tray where the cup with the note was placed.

The coffee she drank nearly burst out of her nose when she choked.

“Miss?” the boy questioned in a low voice, albeit slightly alarmed, “Are you okay?”

Her laugh can sound as fake as it was, but her petrified mind was too horrified to function.

“Ohohoho! I am fine! Nothing to worry about!” she beamed between coughs.

Later that day, Jumin did not get his daily note.

He tried to deny it the best he could, but it was just too evident.

It was the first time it made him upset.

Just a little bit.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

When a week came without a single note from the mysterious messenger, he started to feel unusual. It may be childish of him, but because he had learned to like it, it brought him disappointment to find a typical cup of coffee served in front of him. Perhaps it was from the fact that he forcefully abandoned his childhood before that his childhood spirit came back to bite him now.

Each morning, it got him curious of what secret message he would receive for the day. Will it be another joke? Another cat pun? He learned to find excitement in the short letters and “freebies” that came with it. Once, he got a stamp, and it caused him to raise a single brow.

“What is this?” he asked the chef’s son while he studied the white cat stamp between his fingers.

The chef’s son cocked his head to the side. “I do not have a clue, Mr. Han. I just found it on the tray next to your cup. I assumed it was something important and someone wanted to send it to you.”

It was nothing expensive, yet he kept it displayed on his table.

That was weeks ago… and he missed it.

Again, just a little bit.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

The gossip which greeted her ears the moment she entered the office mortified her beyond belief. Apparently, the heir of the C&R International company had asked if anyone knew of someone who was courageous enough to leave “memos” on his cup of coffee. He worded it terribly, as though it was a violation of the company’s rules and regulation, so it was not a surprise people made a huge deal out of it.

I’m leaving this company. I will never rise from the ashes of my shame and humiliation. Surely, Mr. Trust Fund Kid will know immediately if he’s ever free to check the cctv footage.

With a silent battle cry, she filed her resignation a day later…

and just her luck, a secret agent had successfully stolen quite an important document from the CEO the very same day.

“You are relieved from your mission, Agent 707.”

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

“Are you sure you did not misplace it, Father?”

Three people stood inside the CCTV control room. They were surrounded by more than 20 monitors that were flashing previous clips from the past weeks.

“I am sure without a single doubt that I kept it hidden in drawer 7.”

Dark, calculating orbs scrutinized the video. It was the last clip they were reviewing, and it was where the chairman can be last seen holding the documents prior leaving it in drawer 7.

“How can it disappear when no one has entered Father’s room? Have you double checked the system if anything’s amiss?”

He patiently waited for a response while the control manager worked on the system check—his eyes drifting back to the multiple clips they were previously analyzing.

There was Yeonwa chatting with Jaehee...

Jaewoo bringing in three boxes of pizza...

Helena bumping into Chong—

He frowned.

“August 6, 2018” was coded on the top right corner of the screen. If he was not mistaken, the company suspended all works that day to celebrate their successful purchase of Grace Cup Store.

So why are there employees working?

“Mr. Han,” the male manager cut off, “I believe the entire footage was placed in a loop since March using videos back in 2016.”

“Since… March?” He racked his brain for any memory that happened back in March. There were international events, meetings, partnership requests….

“Surprises will start today~ I’ll make sure you’ll enjoy it.^^”

Now that he recalled, he was pretty sure the notes started back in March.

o-o-o-o

Soooo this is meant to be an open-ended oneshot, but we MAY post a second chapter (emphasis on “may”)

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #mystic messenger jumin #mystic messenger jumin x mc #mystic messenger oneshot #mystic messenger han jumin #jumin han #jumin #jumin x mc #mysme jumin #mc ya dun goofed

[letdecemberburninflames]

Top of Our Class

Chapter 7: Fifth Year

Fic Type: Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter Crossover, (half)Elf!Reader, Slytherin!Reader, Draco Malfoy x Reader

Warnings: Some sensual stuff. Also, cute as shit.

Draco slides open the door to your compartment, collapses on the bench opposite of yours, and pulls out a book. You roll your eyes, why couldn't you ever ride the train undisturbed? You ride in silence, Draco is reading an Alchemy book, and you are drawing a sketch of the view out the window, but you finally need to break the tranquility.

"I thought you never left the company of Crabbe and Goyle?" You say.

Draco looks up from his book. "They've been annoying me more than helping me, and Blaise is off snogging some girl, so here I am being interrogated by you."

You roll your eyes, "I need to change into my robes, and this is my compartment, so I'd like to stay in it." You say.

"Go ahead." Draco says, but he makes no effort to move.

"That means get out Malfoy." You say, looking at him.

"But this is technically my compartment too." He says, his smirk becoming broader.

"Never mind, I'll go to the back and change."

Once you get back to the compartment, you see Draco has left. You sit back down happy, but after a few moments, Draco comes back in, "Miss me?" He asks.

"Actually, I was hoping you had tripped and fallen off the train." You reply.

"Aww, I was just changing."

"Wait," You say, "If you left the compartment, then what was the point of kicking me out?"

"Just to annoy you." He responds, that familiar smirk on his face.

---

Mary Beth cornered you in the hallway on your way to Ancient Runes class. You hadn't spoken to her all summer, and you weren't about to start now, even if she wanted to.

"Y/N I really miss hanging out with you, and I'm really sorry if I offended you." She glanced down at her shoes.

This was good. She was crawling back to you, make her suffer! "I'm sorry too. I was just so jealous of you and Cho and I just didn't want to lose you as a friend." Wow. Where did that come from? The words had come tumbling out of your mouth so fast you hadn't even known you'd said them till she hugged you.

"Thanks Y/N. I really am glad we're friends again." You nod shortly as she steps back. "We never stopped being friends." You reply with a smirk.

---

In fifth year, Professor Umbridge was introduced into the school, and her lack of talent in teaching the Defense Against the Dark Arts class became increasingly obvious. You missed Professor Lupin, and wished that he would come back. What did it matter that he was a werewolf? You knew that there was something going on, Draco was no fun this year, he was too busy being a suck-up to Professor Umbridge, and Harry Potter seemed to have his own gang. Then there was the fact that Fred and George made a dramatic exit to set up a joke shop, and everyone seemed extremely possessive of their Galleons. You spent the whole year utterly confused, and you kept being knocked off by Draco, who was always too busy to talk to you and was dating Pansy Parkinson. You always had the Quidditch matches to look forward to, and the upcoming one against Ravenclaw was going to be great. Besides, Emma and Molly kept you company most of the time anyway.

---

You open your eyes, try to sit up, then let out a groan of pain as a shooting pain spiraled up your side, and let your head fall back down onto your pillow.

"Lay down Y/N, you're going to reinjure yourself!" Madame Pomfrey bustles over to your bedside and you realize that you are in the hospital ward. It all comes flooding back suddenly, the Quidditch match, the Bludgers, the fall. "You took a nasty tumble dear. Fell from nearly 60 feet! I'm surprised that you aren't dead, the way those games are played nowadays. But you survived, though goodness knows how, with only a few broken ribs, a fractured skull, and a broken leg." You groan again as you attempt to roll over, but Madame Pomfrey pushes you back down flat, but not before you see the door to the hospital ward open. You turn your head to see the team striding towards you, mud splattered and with brooms in hand.

"Did we win?" you gasp out, your chest stabbing with pain.

Flint stares down at you, "Of course we did. Malfoy caught the Snitch just after you scored that point."

"The Ravenclaw team is a joke, we won by a landslide. I'll get those two Ravenclaw Beaters, two Bludgers at once, you should be dead, Y/N! They'll pay for that one." Adrian frowns.

"Hold on, where's my broom?" you say, trying again unsuccessfully to sit up.

"Uh, well it, uh kind of got blown off into the lake when you fell off and um, you know the squid, uh well needless to say, you'll need a new broom." Miles looked uncomfortable.

Just as you were about to let him have it, Madame Pomfrey bustled up to them and shooed them away. "She needs rest, now out!" 

You groan again, your leg is hurting badly. After a few minutes the hospital ward doors burst open yet again, and Molly and Emma hurry over to your bedside.

"I made you a Get Well card." Says Molly, and puts it on the table next to the bed.

"I heard what happened to your broom." Emma frowns. "How are you supposed to fly without one?"

At that precise moment Madame Pomfrey rushed over flapping her arms. "I said no visitors, she needs rest! Now go!" and without further ado she hurried Emma and Molly from the room. 

The only hope of getting a new broom was as a Christmas gift from your mother and father, but it probably wouldn't be a Nimbus 2001. Or you could ride your old Cleansweep 6, but you would really rather not. Mary Beth didn't visit you till later, it was her team that had lost the match anyway, so she probably had been trying to avoid your gloating and teasing.

---

"Checkmate!" you exclaim happily as your knight smashes Malfoy's king.

"How do you do it?" he asks incredulously while studying the chessboard to see how you won.

"I've had lots of practice. My grandfather loves chess so whenever I visit we play. He's taught me tons of tricks." You reply.

"I can see that." Malfoy frowned, still trying to figure out how you beat him. It was very late and you were nearly the only ones left in the Common Room. You and Malfoy were playing wizarding chess by the fire; it got especially cold in the dungeons in the winter.

"Hey Draco?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you something?" you ask tentatively.

"Sure." You take a deep breath. No one, not even your best friends knew this, and it was a risk telling him.

"Um, well, I uh, I'm not uh fully human."

"What?" Draco looks up from scooping the chess pieces into a bag, his grey eyes questioning, but bordering on frostiness.

"Well, my mother is an Elf. Not a house elf, a Mirkwood Elf." You say quickly and his look of horror fades. "They do magic, so I'm still pureblood, I'm just not completely human."

"Well." Says Draco, looking ruffled, "That explains your talent on the Quidditch field, and chess, and the reason you've got the highest grades in Slytherin, and why you're so pretty, and..." he trailed off.

"Just please don't tell anyone and please don't be mad at me because I'm not..."

"Human?" He nods. "Well if you think I'm going to stop being friends with you because you're better than anyone else, you're wrong."

"Hold on a second, did I just hear you call me pretty?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"No, of course not I..."

"Yes you did, I heard you. I don't care and I know it doesn't mean anything, but no one's ever called me that before except Blaise, and he just, well you know."

Draco nods again. "Watch out for Blaise, when he gets his eye on a girl..."

"I know that, but we've made up and we're just friends, I can handle him."

"If you say so." He stares off into space as if there was something he just remembered. "Well, it's getting late, I think I'm going to head up to bed now, see you at breakfast."

"Goodnight." You reply as you gather up your chessboard and pieces and head towards the girl's dorm.

---

"You really shouldn't do things like that Emma; you're going to hurt yourself!" Molly stared up, arms folded across her chest, at Emma who was dangling upside-down from a branch of a tree in the courtyard, laughing.

Mary Beth looked up from her book and said, "Since the branch is suspended at an eighty-nine degree angle, and the drop from the branch is about four feet, and she's dangling at about ninety degrees with the wind blowing at around twenty mph, the probability of her getting hurt is..." You smile. Today the four of you were going down to Hogsmeade and you planned to visit as many stores as you could.

Emma dropped down onto the snowy ground, still laughing. Molly stamped her foot impatiently. As you walked towards the village, cold winds whipped snow into the air, stinging your face, and despite your best efforts, you were still cold. The four of you hurried into The Three Broomsticks for some mugs of warm Butterbeer. With a sigh Emma drops into a chair and pulls off her gloves as Molly goes to order the drinks.

"I can't wait for the Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match next week!" you say excitedly as you pull off your green-and-silver Slytherin scarf.

"Yeah, get ready to have your asses kicked!" says Emma, grinning at you.

"No way! Slytherin's going to win for sure." You flip your H/C hair.

"I can't believe we lost to you." Mary Beth chimes in disappointedly.

"Neither of you should be counting your dragons before they are hatched." Says Molly, while setting the drinks on the table. "Hufflepuff may very well win this year."

"Yeah, right." You and Emma say together, laughing. You take a swig of your Butterbeer and it warms you right down to your toes.

"I'm not even sure they've ever won the Cup." Says Mary Beth thoughtfully.

Molly frowns at her, "We beat you in last year's match."

"Yeah, but that was technical!" retorts Emma.

"Meanwhile Slytherin beat all of you." You smirk at them.

"I want to go to Zonko's." says Emma abruptly and she stands to leave. You pull yourself out of your chair, dreading the cold walk as you pull on your gloves. The four of you walk out into the bitter cold, thinking of the warm fire that blazed in the joke shop.

---

You were staying at Hogwarts for Christmas again this year; your parents were going to America again. You wake up Christmas morning with a pile of presents on your bed. It was the typical, a new drawing set, a dress, and sweets from home, stuff like that. Molly sent you the new leather gloves you had wanted, Mary Beth had given you a book on the ancient Egyptian wizards, since she knew you loved learning about them, while you received a box of Turkish Delight, your favorite candy, from Emma. But at the bottom of the heap was a long, narrow box. You look at the tag and frown to yourself. 'To Miss F/N L/N' was all it said. You tear into the package, unwrap the parcel and laugh with delight. A new broomstick! It was the same model as you had before, a Nimbus 2001. Just what you needed, you had been using the school's brooms since yours had been destroyed by the giant squid.

---

It was springtime again and you were at your favorite spot by the lake. Well...kind of. Instead of sitting in the shade of the tree you were doing your homework up in the topmost branches with Tundra, where no one could bother you. It reminded you of the times you spent climbing trees with Legolas in Mirkwood. A slight breeze blew through your hair as you finished your paper on concealment charms for Professor Flitwick. You breathe in the fresh cool air and stare out at the glistening blue lake. The giant squid was basking in the warm shallows, and schools of fish darted here and there. You think back to your last Hogsmeade trip with Molly and Emma and laugh. Emma had tricked Molly into eating a fudge covered cockroach, with some help from you of course. When Molly had found out what she had eaten she screamed right in the middle of Zonko's! Mary Beth had laughed so hard her Butterbeer had come up her nose! You run a hand along Tundra's back. He was a very large cat now, not fat just very fluffy. He purred happily. A sudden rustling of leaves sent Tundra scurrying up to the next branch, he never was very brave.

"Go away Draco." You frown down at him from your perch.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"What are you doing here? And why is Pansy with you?" you ask suspiciously as you slide down to a branch above where they were standing, Tundra following timidly.

"None of your business, now go!"

"No way, I was here first!" You say glaring at him. Then you look at Pansy, then back at him. "Oh. I'll be leaving now." You say, realizing why he was there. You feel a flush creep up into your cheeks. 

You clamber back up for your Charms homework then jump down from the tree and hurry away to the castle. You were glad Pansy had finally caught Draco's attention; you were really tired of constantly setting them up.

---

It was the last day of school, and tomorrow morning you would be going home, all you had to do was endure one more day of classes. After lunch Draco slipped a note into your hand. You unfolded it during Transfiguration that afternoon. "There is a meteor shower tonight. Do you want to watch? –D.M." You scribbled your answer, "Isn't that at midnight?" on the back on the note, folded it up and the origami bird fluttered back across the room to Malfoy. He scrawled something on the wing of the bird and it soared over and landed back on your desk. "Yes, so? If you want to come, meet me by the tree next to the lake at midnight." You quickly tucked the note into your notebook as Professor Snape's eyes swept the classroom, landing on the note for a second before moving on. One of the perks of being a Slytherin was that since Snape was the Head of House he let you get off easy.

---

"You came." He sounded surprised.

"Of course I came, now let's get this over with. It's quite late." You stifle a yawn. He grins and collapses against the base the tree. You sit down next to him and wipe your hands on your jean clad legs. "This is a bit clandestine, don't you think?" You comment as you watch the stars.

"Maybe a little." Malfoy smirks back. You sat shoulder-to-shoulder with him in silence, gazing up at the seemingly falling stars for a while. You shivered; it was a bit nippy out.

"Are you cold?"

"Kind of."

Draco slipped off his cloak and draped it around your shoulders and you smiled up at him.

"Thanks."

You continued to watch the celestial show; it was so pretty with the full moon and stars reflecting in the surface of the lake. You yawned, it was late, and you were tired. You curled up on the ground with you head in Draco's lap. He smiled down at you, eyes twinkling, before turning his eyes back to the sky, running his hand through your hair. He was dating Pansy, and yet he had invited you to watch the meteor shower.

"Hey Draco?"

"Yeah?"

"Is this a date?"

"I don't know, is it?" He stared down at you before looking back up at the sky.

You watch for a few more minutes contemplating his response before you speak again. "The meteor shower is over, and it's getting late. We should head back." You sat up and ran a hand through your hair, you didn't want to know. Malfoy stood and pulled you up with him. You were a little disappointed that this would probably be the last time you saw him all summer. You went to bed that night dreaming of swimming in the sea under the summer sun.

---

You glanced around at all the people bustling around Platform 9 and 3/4. It was noisy with the sound of owls screeching, cart wheels squeaking, and students talking. You had ridden on the train with Molly, Mary Beth, and Emma as usual, but you had just stared out the window as they talked. You were tired from getting to bed late due to Malfoy's late night meeting. You stood by a wall, waiting for the line to get through the pillar into the Muggle world died down before you joined. Your parents would be waiting for you, and you couldn't wait to get home. You pulled out a book and began to read.

"Y/N."

You look up. Draco is standing in front of you, with a rather expressionless look on his face. "Yes?"

He has his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. "So about last night ..." he begins tentatively, but you interrupt.

"You shouldn't have asked me since you're dating Pansy." You frown. "She might keel over and die if she finds out that you asked me out. Or where you just doing it to get her off your back?" You raise an amused eyebrow.

"It seems that overnight I've forgotten how infuriating you are." He smirks and shakes his head; his nose is almost touching yours. 

You want desperately to back up but there's a solid brick wall behind you and you can't slide over because there's a pillar on your left and Malfoy's arm is pressed against the wall behind you on your right. His hand lifts to trace your jawline, and his pale hands are icy cold.

You answer softly, almost sure you're blushing, "You would think that, wouldn't you."

He grins at you before leaning in, his lips brushing yours softly. His bottom lip was well below yours, an open-mouthed kiss. Something like an electric shock spirals down your spine, and he pulls back, smirking, before kissing you again. This time you kiss him back. You he keeps kissing you, each kiss more deep and passionate than the last. He runs his hand through your hair; your back is pressed against the wall. He smirks, and you know he can feel you breathing hard, pressed against him. He bites your lower lip playfully, and when you gasp he slips his tongue in. He tastes sweet, like candy, his soft lips warm, despite his cold touch. He kisses you one last time before pulling back, grey eyes with that familiar glint.

He smirks at you again before speaking. "I have to go. I'll see you next year." He disappears into the crowd, leaving you rather shell-shocked.

You talk little on the ride home with your parents, wondering why Draco had kissed you. And even more confusing, why you kissed him back. He had been dating Pansy Parkinson, still was as far as you knew. He didn't even like you. Sure you were friends and teammates, but... There were so many questions running through your mind and there didn't seem to be answers for any of them. You had no idea why, you didn't like him, or did you? Another unanswerable, mind-twisting question that would nag at you all summer.

#draco #malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #slytherin reader #hogwarts #Harry Potter #magic n shit

[5160763]

Here you all can have this a day or two before AO3. Probably. There’s fluff. And so much kissing. Ugh. I thought it would be fine for Kaito to be less severe compared to how I usually write him for fluff. I guess. Maybe it’s weird. I don’t know. You ever gt so tired you start feeling nauseous? It wouldn’t be fair if I did a fluff piece for Kaishin and then left you guys alone yeah? yeh. Unbeta-ed.

Kaito has been suspiciously quiet for the past fifteen minutes.

It’s house-cleaning day, the third Saturday of every month in which Kaito turns their entire house upside down looking for an excuse to dust and to relegate Saguru’s extensive Sherlock Holmes collection into the storeroom with the roomba that they’ve never used. Saguru’s job during this day would be to drift after Kaito as he works from room to room, being careful not to get in the way of his dusting or cleaning or polishing. Kaito would usually find something to grouse about: the amount of clothing he owns, or how they should switch their old bookshelf out for a larger one, and maybe Saguru should buy a new mirror to replace the chipped one in the bathroom. Whenever he does find something to talk about, Saguru’s responsibility then would be to make a series of appeasing, noncommittal sounds. His actual job doesn’t actually begin until Kaito has worn himself out on cleaning, his husband finally emerging from the rooms looking sweaty, dusty, and pleased. When that happens, usually around six in the evening and the house still looks the same (except for the kitchen table that might have been shifted an inch to the left), Saguru will set aside whatever it is he had been working on previously to bundle him off for a hot bath, and to cook him a feast as gratitude. As habit will have it, Kaito’s constant chatter allows Saguru to track his progress with an absent ear as he works on polishing a story he is currently writing.

The house is quiet now, and Kaito isn’t making a sound. 

It takes a few minutes for the silence to register with him, longer still for him to take an active notice. Pausing in his typing, Saguru sets his laptop aside, and sets off in the direction of the library where he remembers last hearing Kaito’s voice from. The floor is slippery from the polish Kaito had been using on his flooring sheets, and Saguru nearly falls over twice before he reaches the library door. “Kaito?”

“In here.” Unlike anything he had imagined, Kaito is sitting cross-legged on the floor and perusing a heavy album with interest. Allowing himself a quiet sigh of relief, Saguru joins him on the floor when Kaito gestures at him. “Look.”

It’s a somewhat old album, dating back to approximately four years and twenty-seven days ago. Saguru remembers taking the photos with a sad looking digital camera he had discovered from amongst Kaito’s belongings when they were first moving into their new house, the battery half run down and memory card near to full with pictures of all the houses they had considered purchasing before they had settled on their current one. Chasing Kaito around the house with it until he had given in and settled on looking exasperatedly at the camera each time Saguru took a picture is still a pretty good memory that he revisits whenever he is bored and can’t sleep.

“These pictures are old.”

“I’m old,” Saguru points out, and receives a jab from Kaito’s elbow to his ribs for his trouble. “Ow. Domestic violence.”

“You are as old as I am.” Kaito says, most of his attention on the photos. “Don’t be insulting. This reminds me of when we had to sleep on the floor because you messed up the delivery date for our bed.”

“Now.” Drawing himself up straight, Saguru does his best to look indignant. “I did nothing of the sort. The furniture company messed up the delivery date—”

“After which you said let’s buy a bed from IKEA until our actual bed gets here, which was when I realised I had married an incompetent for the rest of my life—”

The quiet gasp Kaito makes into his mouth when Saguru kisses him is gratifying. Curling an arm around his slender waist, he drags Kaito close until the heavy weight of him is spilled into his lap, taking greedy, sipping kisses from his lips till Kaito pushes at his shoulders, needing air.

“You do realise that kissing me changes nothing.” Brushing a kiss over his forehead, Kaito presses his hands to Saguru’s cheeks, the tips of their noses touching. “You’re daft, and incompetent, but because I love you, I chose to marry you.”

“For life.”

“For life!” Feigning alarm, Kaito pulls away. “Oh, well, I do suppose there is this thing called divorce that I’m sure your grandfather can help with.”

“He’s my grandfather.” The grin on Kaito’s face widens, and whenever Saguru thinks it’s impossible to love him any more than he already is, he does. “If he’s going to be on anyone’s side, it’ll be mine.”

“Because I’m rich, and just you wait until my grandfather hears about this.” Modulating his voice into Saguru’s own, Kaito smirks at him. “No one divorces a Hakuba.”

“It would be nice if you will kindly stop borrowing my voice to parrot my own words back at me.” Following the curve of Kaito’s back down to the swell of his arse, Saguru gives it a squeeze. “All these years of growing up, and you’re as insufferable as ever.”

“It’s good to be consistent,” Kaito says, dryly, reaching behind him to return Saguru’s hands pointedly back into his own lap. “Now kindly leave off the molesting so I can reminisce in peace.”

Most of the pictures in the album were taken by Saguru, with snapshots in between for when Kaito had wrestled the camera from him. He doesn’t have an eye for photography like Kaito, the photos clearly amateurishly taken, but he’s proud of the fact that Kaito had liked them enough to print every single one of them out as opposed to deleting them like he said he would.

Bare and devoid of furniture and various mismatching decor that is more Kaito’s work than Saguru’s own, the house is near to unrecognisable. The pictures are saturated with sunlight, clusters of boxes infesting the corners of every single room he sees. In them, Kaito is a blur of movement, running on ahead out of frame laughing, always laughing, as the focus tries and fails to capture him time and again.

He’s much calmer on the next page. Fully stretched out on the floor and half buried in a snowy mound of packing peanuts, Kaito has an arm thrown up over his head, aiming a lazy, beckoning grin at him. Saguru vaguely remembers having just cleaned the floor seconds before Kaito had decided to make a mess on it. There’s Kaito, sitting on the kitchen counter with a dish of butter next to him, about to take a bite out of his sandwich, a smear of mayonnaise on the corner of his mouth because if there is anything Saguru has learned about him, it’s that his husband is very messy (and hence the constant cleaning). Kaito, hands on his hips and confronting the small pile of boxes towering over him against the wall. Kaito, again, crouched low on the floor as he coaxes a fat, fluffy grey cat that they later learn belongs to their neighbour (who apparently has a penchant for brief bouts of freedom) with a small handful of blueberries.

“Ah, this reminds me.” Saguru stops Kaito from turning the page, pointing at a photo of him reaching up into the kitchen cabinet, a mug sitting out on the counter in a nest of tissue paper. “Where is this mug? I never do see you with it.”

“It’s with the dining set the Hattoris gifted us. Why?”

“I bought it for you.” Saguru is far too old to be sulking, but it’s a near thing. “You’re supposed to use it.”

“You bought me a Noritake and expect me to use it every day when you know I’m not particularly careful with the kitchenware?” Kaito throws him an incredulous look. “I don’t have a proper occasion for drinking soda out of it. Any occasion, for that matter. But it is very nice to look at.”

A beat of silence, Saguru staring back at him. “You weren’t supposed to know it’s a Noritake.”

“I’m trained in these things, Saguru.” Kaito says patiently, gently dislodging his hand from the album and turning the page. “I’m a jewel thief, amongst interest in various other antiquities, and it’s something of a pre-requisite. Even if I weren’t, there is the authenticity stamp on the bottom. I’m neither blind nor senile.”

“Astounding, considering the fact that you were only in high school then.” It isn’t often that Kaito voluntarily speaks about his history as the Kaitou KID, and out of respect for his privacy, sensing a deep hurt that Kaito had buried, Saguru had never asked him about it. “Is that common, now? Training children to identify the authenticity and grade of precious stones and antiques by sight.”

“It wasn’t so much of training than over sharing of her hobby. She—I mean the Phantom Lady—had always wanted someone to talk with who can appreciate these things. I think she thought it was fun, setting me on those assignments. But it’s hard to say no when she’s your mum. That’s all part of old history, now.” Seemingly oblivious to the bombshell that he had just dropped on Saguru, Kaito hums at a picture of Saguru brushing his teeth over the kitchen sink.

“The Phantom Lady.” Saguru repeats weakly. “Your mother.”

“The same woman whom you tried serving dinner to on cheap, plastic plates out of spite because she interrupted you when you wanted to get me into bed, yes.” Catching on to Saguru’s horror, ever the impertinent imp, Kaito grins. “She hasn’t forgotten.”

“And you did not think to stop me.” Assuming that Kaito takes after his mother, buying his way back into her good graces will be impossible. He is going to have to resort to grovelling, or something equally as embarrassing. “You—”

“The thought did cross my mind, but whyever would I do that?” Shrugging, Kaito pats him patronizingly on the cheek. “Be honest with yourself. It wouldn’t have made a difference. And it was amusing.”

The sound Kaito makes when Saguru tackles him is a cross between a shriek and a squeak. Swatting at him, Kaito attempts to squirm his way free, gasping when Saguru catches hold of his wrists, pinned down by his weight when Saguru sits on him.

He’s still laughing, of course. The brat.

“You’ve gotten much poorer at escaping.” Saguru says, nipping on Kaito’s earlobe playfully and feeling a responding shudder go through him. “That’s for laughing at my plight.”

“Ah—as you’ve said, I’ve grown old. And you’ve had a lot more practice.” Breathless, Kaito tries to break free of the hold Saguru has on his wrists to no avail. “So much has changed since our marriage.”

“So much has changed since meeting you.” Correcting him, Saguru lets go of Kaito’s wrists, Kaito immediately putting his arms around his neck and pulling him down close. “Since wanting to be a better person for you.”

“If only your marriage proposal was as romantic.” A hand curls into his hair, Saguru smiling at the affection in Kaito’s voice despite his words. “The years I’ve spent with you have been very kind. And looking back, if I hadn’t made the same choices I did that led us to today—”

“One way or another, with or without me, I’m sure you would have found your own happiness.” Shushing him, Saguru leans down to touch their foreheads together. “You’re tenacious, clever, stubborn, and kind. I wouldn’t say that it would have been easy, but you would have found a way. It’s in your nature.” A quiet exhale, Kaito closing his eyes as Saguru brushes a gentle kiss over his eyelids. “I’m glad you chose to spend those years with me, Kaito. For choosing to share your joys, your sorrows, your hopes and your fears with me. I can only hope that I did the same for you as you did for me. Thank you, Kaito, for all the fulfilling and joyous years.”

“I’m,” Kaito says, and he’s biting down on his lower lip, cheeks pink. “I’m not dead yet. But. You are. You did. And.” He shudders on an inhale. “I love you. For all those years and all the rest to come.”

Smoothing Kaito’s fringe back from his face, the both of them nicely on their way to their thirties, no longer as limber or as sprightly as they once were, as lonely or as furious, Saguru kisses him, breathing a silent promise. “I know you do.”

#kuroba kaito #hakuba saguru #ff #hkk #honorary mention of yukito

[luminoustico]

How Many Times?

So, due to conversations with @@introspectivenavelgazer  I ended up doing a YouTube binge of Crazy Ex-Girlfriend songs. Came across this one, and well, my brain leapt in and things snowballed on from there. 

“Did you two do it on the sofa?” asked Sherlock, dressed in a crisp black suit with aubergine shirt. His buttons strained against his chest as he stretched.

“Mm-hm. The fireplace?” said Tom, accountant neat in a bought navy suit and jazzy striped tie, and his curls dangling over his forehead.

“In front of,” replied Sherlock. “On the rug. Wall?”

“Only foreplay.”

“Hm. Interesting.”

“Oh!” Molly stamped her foot, turning on her heel out of her living room, throwing a quick glare over her shoulder.

“Get out of my head!” she snapped.

“You put us here,” said Sherlock languidly, suddenly leaning on the stair bannister, brushing his fingers through his dark curls. He ran his other palm over the painted wood. He raised an eyebrow. “I seem to remember an occasion on the stair as well.”

“Bottom or top?” Tom called up, sat on the bottom step. Sherlock smirked.

“I believe we switched.”

“Shut up!” Molly snapped. Two glasses of wine after work, it had seemed like a good idea, but the side effect of imagining her two most significant lovers haunting her flat was decidedly adverse. “It’s bad enough you’re both figments of my imagination, you don’t need to be slut shaming me!”

She stormed up the staircase.

“Who said anything about slut-shaming?” asked a still smug Sherlock. “Do remember Molly, we are inside your head—”

Molly slammed the bathroom door shut. She caught her breath, leaning against the pine wood. Her breaths even, she went to the sink, turning on the tap. She washed her hands, humming softly to herself, dried them. A yawn came from her. Eyes flitting up to the clock above the toilet, Molly ran her toothbrush underneath the cold running stream.

“Also in here.”

“Ah!” Her toothbrush fell into the sink with a clatter, glancing up at her reflection. Behind her stood Sherlock.

“On the floor. And underneath the shower,” he added, pointing. Molly hurried to pick up her toothbrush, furiously ignoring his words.

“I only got the bath,” Tom remarked, now lying in the empty bath, flicking through a magazine about knitting patterns. He’d glanced over it once and called her attempt at making him a scarf ‘alright’. Everything had been just ‘alright’ with Tom. “Got a bit of a bum deal, didn’t I?”

“I suspect we both did,” Sherlock mused. Molly growled, switching off the tap and storming out of the bathroom. Stamping down the landing, she burst into her bedroom. Locking the bedroom door, she squeezed shut her eyes. She clenched her fists tight.

“Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens,” she sang underneath her breath, desperately. An earworm was better than one more minute of this. Repeating the verse over and over, she sat on her bed, wriggling out of her trousers and kicking them off into the laundry basket. Letting the song fade to a hum, she toed off her socks and pulled her hair from its bun. Her hands fell against the buttons of her blouse, undoing them with expert flicks of her wrist.

“On the rare occasion, we did do it in your bed—”

“For fuck’s sake!” Molly groaned, covering her face with her hands, falling back onto the duvet. Her half-undone blouse fluttered down her sides, exposing her bra to the cool air. Drawing her hands away from her face, she rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. “Go. Away.”

“Which was a pity,” Sherlock continued, now suddenly crawling on top of her. A lock of his curls fell down over his forehead as he brushed a stray hair behind her ear. He ran his thumb along her bottom lip. “As it was most comfortable—”

“No! No, stop it, Molly!” She shook her head, sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Behaving like the most overzealous of teenagers. She hurriedly dropped her thumb from her lip. She closed her eyes again. “Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens…”

A grinning Irish face popped round the doorframe. "I also feel inclined to remind you that we too, did some rather unspeakable things to one another in this house," Moriarty drawled.

Grimacing, Molly left her bedroom and went down to the kitchen, pulling down the blinds. She made herself busy with tea, switching on the kettle.

“Brown paper packages tied up with string—”

“Definitely the island—”

“Over the sink—”

“Oh, and somewhere around or near the fridge, if I recall—”

Molly’s jaw tightened. Her breathing hardened. “These are a few of my favourite things—”

“The table!” Tom exclaimed. Molly groaned low and hard.

“Oh yes, the table, lots of memories there!” Sherlock looked at her, breaking the volley of shame he and her ex-fiance had shared in. “We can stop any time you like, you understand.”

“Yeah,” Tom said, “no offence Molls, but singing Julie Andrews ain’t going to help.”

Molly let out a frustrated screech as the kettle boiled. “I know! I just – you two were really annoyingly creative.”

“Just thank God, or whoever is up there, that we’re not in Baker Street,” Sherlock smirked again. Wherever, whenever, however, she imagined him, he always carried traces of that smirk; even if the real life one currently looked at her like she was a wolf and he was a sheep about to be consumed. 

Tom raised an eyebrow.

“Baker Street?”

“When John was out with a girlfriend,” Sherlock explained, “and while Mrs Hudson was partaking in her ‘herbal soothers’. There was the sofa… the armchair… John’s armchair – the staircase – both staircases – the hallway—”

“Shut up, Sherlock.”

“In your head!”

“No shit!” Molly laughed. She poured out a cup of tea for herself, stirring the honey and mandarin tea and letting it infuse.

“Those took me some effort to get if you remember.”

“Oh for God’s sake. You bought me tea, so what.”

“It’s only available in America.”

Molly frowned, blowing on the hot liquid. “Is it?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in return. Molly sighed, waving a hand. “In my head, I know. You only know it’s from America because I know it’s from America and that it takes at least two months to get here because of customs—”

“And when exactly did my real-life counterpart deliver that tea to you?” Sherlock asked, insistently edging closer to her, with a memorable heat in his eyes. Molly shrank instinctively against the worktop, arousal pooling in her belly before she had the sense to put him on the opposite side of the kitchen island. He still had that insistent look about him.

“Two days after Sherrinford,” Molly answered. “It was a gesture. Not much of a gesture, you just shoved the box at me and ran away—”

“Oh for God’s sake Molly, stop for a moment and do what others don’t do: think. Even with my connections, I could not perform a miracle of time and get that tea sent all the way from America to the front door of your flat in two days. Conclusion?”

“You ordered the tea beforehand,” Molly said quietly. Avoiding Sherlock’s eye, she took a sip.

“It was expensive. And difficult to get. What did you get me for Christmas?”

“Can we go back to listing sex places?” Molly asked, looking wildly about for her ex-fiancé, but he seemed to have vanished from her imagination.

“Hm – oh, the landing! Not quite as comfortable as your bed.” The heat returned to his eyes.

“An antique surgical set. I thought it would fit into your whole—” she gestured vaguely, “look. Took months to come, had to chase up the seller, only arrived the evening of the party, that’s why I was late – oh you bastard!” she shouted, realising. She whirled on Sherlock, but he was gone. She was alone in her kitchen, in her bra and pants and half-undone blouse. With a warm mug of honey and mandarin tea that, despite everything, Sherlock Holmes had made sure she’d got. Just as she’d made sure he’d got that set.

The doorbell rang, and Molly ran to answer it before she could remember the state of her clothes. A whirl of cold flipped about her, bringing her attention to her bare skin and she yelped, staring into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes, flesh and blood Sherlock Holmes. She blushed.

“Wait a minute,” she said, slamming the door in his face. Quickly, she put the tea to one side.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Every step she took up her staircase was punctuated by that curse, and she sprinted into her bedroom, pulling jeans and a loose clawed t-shirt from her wardrobe. Tugging the t-shirt over her head, shoving her cold legs into the jeans, she ran back out onto the landing, doing up her flies as she sprinted back down the stairs. She wrenched open the door.

“Did you chase up the seller about that tea?”

His eyes flicked towards the mug on her side table. He gave a curt nod, folding his hands behind his back. “They said it would take another two weeks. I thought after—” he faltered, “Sherrinford – that wasn’t ideal.”

“Oh God – Sherlock – just another quick question. Tell me as quickly as possible; don’t worry about hurting any feelings. Was it real?”

“First time, no.”

“First time?” Molly racked her brain but came up short.

“I said it twice.”

“Oh.” She’d forgotten there was a first. It had all melded into one declaration, which she’d gnawed on and chewed over for a fortnight.

“Second time, yes.”

Molly supposed she should feel shocked, or bone-shaking relief, but she found herself reacting with actions instead of words. Clutching the lapels of his coat, she pulled him down as she reached up to kiss him. It was softer than she planned, their initial contact, but he soon deepened it and all at once, she was pinned to the wall, his hands on her hip and in her hair, her front door kicked closed. Molly rested her hand on his bicep, pulling away from him.

“Yes? Really, yes?”

“Always.”

Molly glanced down at his blue shirt, back up to his eyes. She bit her bottom lip. “Do you want some tea?”

Heat entered his blue-green eyes and his wolfish smile. It was a heat that shot straight through her body, made her gasp and bite her bottom lip. The heat that her mind had given to Sherlock’s eyes was a poor, poor imitation.

“Later,” he said.

#introspectivenavelgazer #sherlolly #mollock #sherlock x molly #sherlock #eleanorwrites