#I forgot how to tag fics..

[fuckingstrange]

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Trust him.

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WARNINGS: Reader has trust issues, HURT/COMFORT + SMUT, sweet smut tho, praising, pet names ("baby", "good boy"), cumming early, sexual undressing(?), Luke doesn't cum in this but he will in the next one, kinda non-beta read

WORDS: 1,170+

PAIRING: Luke Alvez x M!Reader

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·a/n - Comments/Reblogs are appreciated! I love feedback!

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You follow Luke's guidance, letting him push you onto your back, surprising yourself with how close you're letting him - emotionally and physically. You feel him slot between your legs, his lips brushing against yours delicately, as if he was making sure to treat you with care, as if you were something fragile. In his mind — You are fragile. You own a heart shattered enough to cut somebody's foot if they were to step on it. The sight of blood would be anything but foreign to you.

His skilled fingers start working on your shirt, pausing about halfway down the line of tan buttons. “Are you okay with his?” You hear him ask, though your mind is so clouded with anxiety and fear you're unsure you can even verbally respond without betraying yourself in some way.

You don't know if you're okay with it. You have to ask yourself if you truly want this, though end up giving yourself no better answer than when he asked. You love him, and you think he loves you. But with how many times somebody has told you that then ended up hurting you, you're not sure if he's being truthful.

Luke notices the empty stare you have, the slight tremble in your hands as you think of the worst that could happen. You've trusted him enough that you stayed in this relationship with him for seven, coming up on eight months now. You've let him in enough that he can tell the nod of approval you gave him was forced. He leans back, looking down at you. “Baby.. we don't have to do this if you don't want to, y'know?” He says while rubbing your hip, the touch meant to be soothing.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, looking him up and down as you conjure up reasons to trust him this deeply. Your mind runs in circles for a few minutes, your gaze directed at his face, trying to read any hidden meanings behind him trying to get in your pants. Your heart begs for the deep connection, wanting nothing more than to be his and have him be yours. Your fear-riddled mind has no chance against your heart, but it does have you whispering “Spare my heart, please,” as you pull him down to meet your lips again.

Luke's own heart aches at your plea, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head as he deepens the kiss. He can't help but mumble soft words of reassurance, saying, “I'll heal that heart of yours” before he lets his tounge slip between your lips.

The kiss is gentle. It's soft and slow. Something you're not used to with past relationships. You lean into it, sighing quietly and falling to your back, this time bringing him with you, letting the weight of his body press you down into the couch.

His hand moves up your side until it finds your hands, your fingers interlacing as he presses it down next to your head. Luke definitely isn't pinning you, scared that you're too mentally fragile to be restrained in any way shape or form during sex, he's simply holding your hand for comfort. You feel him give it a soft squeeze, which you do back to reassure him as well.

Luke adjusts himself, and for a minute you think he's simply straddling your leg before you feel his knee press up against your crotch. Your eyes immediately open from the foreign feeling of it, a boyish moan slipping past your lips and drowning in the kiss when he starts rocking his knee against you. You squeeze his hand tight, feeling your heart begin to pound in your chest while your cock hardens in your boxers. You start to squirm beneath him when his lips find their way to your jawline.

You give him a mix of a moan and a whine as you start rocking your hips to meet his knee, the movement slow but feeling good anyways. Heat rises to your cheeks when you hear him mumble a praise, the words “good boy” and “keep going” slipping from Luke's lips before he can even think about it. You pull your hand away from his to wrap your arms around him, pulling him even closer than he was before. He takes the opportunity to resume unbuttoning your shirt, working off the other half of buttons he hadn't before. You feel your cheeks burning, feeling on fire from being so exposed to him.

You close your eyes, not sure if you're ready to see the look on his face when he sees you like this. He works off the last button, the loose brown material sliding off and getting splayed out on the couch beneath you. You feel him start to pull off of you, letting your arms drop so he can sit up. You feel his eyes on you, making your breath hitch as you wait for some kind of degrading moment. But nothing comes. The silence hurts. More than if he were to be calling you ugly. His knee has stopped moving, your hips protesting the absence of friction with a rut against him.

Luke stares at you like you're a work of art, his hand coming up to ghost along the bare skin of your waist, causing you to flinch and whine. He soothes you with a kiss, his tounge finding it's way into your mouth as he resumes the movement of his knee, grinding it against your hardened cock.

“You're gorgeous. So.. fine.” He mumbles against your lips, his hands resting on your chest so he can focus on providing you with more friction, more pressure against your aching cock.

You can barely hear him with how much you're paying attention to the feeling of it all. His knee moving against you, his tounge brushing over yours, his hands on your chest causing goosebumps to rise. You whimper as your hips buck involuntarily, your hands shooting to grasp at his sides, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. You have to pull back from the kiss, croaking out a weak warning of “If you don't- if- I'm gonna-”, only to cut yourself off with a pant or whine each time.

Luke seems to take this as a challenge, hearing you're about to cum just from his knee alone makes him want to moan. His hands slide from your chest to your hips, purposely brushing over your nipples to earn a gasp. He grabs your hips and starts guiding their movement, making sure you don't have to lift a finger to get what you need. The second he hears you start to beg, involuntary “please”’s falling from your lips, he knows you're just about there. He makes sure to keep the same slow but deep rhythm of his knee, not wanting to pull you off the path to your orgasm.

He encourages you almost absent-mindedly, praising you for each noise that you let out, praising you for each drop of cum that soaks into your boxers. His knee grinds into you even as you let go, making you moan louder than you ever thought you'd be comfortable with. You squirm, you moan, you cry, as you cum. But you find yourself not caring one bit. Because Luke is the one making you do it.

#God this took forever to write #hhhhhhhhhhhg #hotboxed fanfiction #luke alvez x m!reader #luke alvez fanfiction #x m!reader #criminal minds fanfiction #Luke Alvez #x male reader #I forgot how to tag fics..

[ao3-crack]

(x)

#archive of our own #ao3 stuff #ao3 quotes #archive of our own quotes #fanfic #fanfic quotes #funny #ao3 #ao3 tags #this isn’t a fix-it fic #this is the opposite of a fix-it #this is a break-it #i make it so much worse #bro star kid is so fucking good #I watched npmd and now I’m rewatching the whole hatchet field universe #and I forgot how fucking good they are

[midnightectosnack]

Ecto-Implosion 2023

Happy to finally show my piece for the @ecto-implosion!

I was playing Hades a lot when I signed up which left me itching to read a crossover between these guys, and this was the result on my end ^.^

My partner for the event was @half-deadmagicperson and she did an amazing job crafting a story with these characters! The story is up on AO3 and you can read it here: How Danny Broke His Favorite Star Projector. It's an incredible feeling to read something inspired by your art, and more so in this case since Magic put everything I asked for and much more in it! 💚

I'm so happy to have decided to join in another DP event, a big shout-out to everyone who also participated and a huge thank you to the mods for hosting!

#i decided to go with watercolor pencils this time and learned so much in the process #lots of do's and dont's that I'll apply better next time especially in terms of knowing when to stop layering stuff ahajakkajak #the pencil strokes look so pretty irl wish it showed better through the pic #might do a digital version if i have time during the holidays but we'll see lol #ectoimplosion2023 #danny phantom #fic: how danny broke his favorite star projector #dpxhades #small edit bc i forgot the crossover tag lmao

[itsredpaint]

the high elder and his 2 beloveds he turned into vidyadhara (highly illegal)

#nikiki's art #hsr #honkai star rail #i dont know how to tag this bro #dan feng #yingxing #BC ITS TECHNICALLY NOT DH OR BLADE SO? #jing yuan #jing yuan at least u only have one name #ANYWAY DRAGON TRIO AU #INSPIRED BY FIC BUT I. PUT ALL OF THEM LMAO #jingrenheng #whats the shipname for the 3 of them before #jingxingyue #?????????? idk man #I FORGOT TO TYPE SOMETHING

[tizzymcwizzy]

HEY YOU!! I HAVEN'T POSTED FIC IN A WHILE BUT I JUST REMEMBERED I HAD THIS FINISHED ONE SHOT FROM A YEAR AGO I FORGOT ABOUT

here's the link to read it on ao3

it's a post rocketear 5.8k one shot with an original character akuma that's just a vessel for me to do some Adrien character exploration

also some art for it from a year ago

#i literally forgot i wrote this cause i was gonna do some better art for it but i couldbt figure out her design #its not important for the plot so i didnt write it out djjdbdhdg #ANYWHO #I WRITE FIC IF YOU DIDN'T KNOW #i should post my stuff more hfhdhdjff #miraculous ladybug #ml #mlb #ml fanfic #mlb fanfic #god i never know how to tag these #ml fanfiction #mlb fanfiction #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #???? #whatever dhhdhdjgm #my writing #my art #remember those golden days #adrien agreste #memora

[auri3]

these guys don't know how to kiss without making it weird i re-re-reread This delicious fic by @vetoing-clocks and like- look at me- look at m- HEy this fic changed my life. It's exquisite. i promise you you'll like it, go read it so we can all become insane over it together <3 anyway, i got inspired

#roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #one piece #zosan #blood #not a lot but still #i haven't posted in so long i forgot how to tag things #fanfiction fanart #fic rec

[bbb-bbbbbbb]

fanart of a scene in “surface tension” by sakasamasa on ao3

#best fic ive read in a while- highly recommend!! sorry this is spoilers but its a one chapter fic #hlvrai #frenrey #i have never posted hlvrai art. feels weird tagging #uhhhh how do i tag gordon? do i have to say feetman? im going w gordos #gordos freeman #benrey #hlvrai fanart #ooooh fuck having a sideblog now is incentive to finally finish all my daisy daisy fanart wips noooooooo i have stuff to do #half life vr but the ai is self aware #added id. i forgot #my art

[betheflyinggrapes]

A little scene from @vampireghostlawyer 's fic modern man traditional medicine which you should read because i have. at least twenty times

#fear and hunger #fear and hunger termina #fear and hunger daan #fear and hunger karin #daan von dutch #karin sauer #im sorry for tagging but i really want to just say thank u for the fic it has given me so much life #ngl i kinda want to draw more scenes from the fic its just so good. lies on the floor. thank u for the food #i totally forgot daan n marinas clothes should technically be ripped to shreds but. i forgor #this is also my first time drawing marina i did not do her justice hhhhhh #marcoh will forever be a mystery to me #but yes. im bad with words but thank u again for such an amazing fic i really cannot express how much serotonin it has given me

[graveposting]

me when

me hwhen the------

the brainworms-

#i was thinking about fic ideas but this would have needed too much setup #writing a fic is a commitment you gotta stick around from the beginning to the end and #drawing the thing as one picture however is #uhhh #something something i really don't know man #just inject the gravecest straight into my veins already just fuck me up thank you #art by me #gravecest #coffincest #tcoaal #the coffin of andy and leyley #technically safe for work but let's be real here #not safe for life #how's that gun taste andy #did you realize that's what she meant when she said she'd blow your brains o- #what do you mean that's even better #oh wait i forgot to tag the characters too #ashley graves #andrew graves #this image was so powerful it had to be dithered or else it would have killed everyone who looks directly at it #nsft

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

THIS TOOK FOR-FUCKING-EVER. GOD. *points at Eddie* And it’s all HIS fault. How did YOUR section end up the longest!?!?

*coughs*

Anyway.

I don’t even usually like this kink but I don’t know I was fucking possessed or something. I had a lot of fun writing it and so I hope you all enjoy!

Title: Both Bermuda and Golden (Lost but Doing Just Fine)

Rating: E

Pairing(s): Eddie/Tommy, Buck/Tommy, Buck/Tommy/Eddie, Buck/Eddie

Chapters: 5/6

Chapter Summary: Eddie was raised to say 'thank you' when someone gifts him nice things like ringside seats and helicopter rides.

Buck likes honorifics and being good.

And Tommy likes when men who look like Buck and Eddie do as he tells them.

(Or: three scenes in the evolution of Buck, Eddie, and Tommy's relationship, all united by one particular word.)

#mads writes stuff #911 abc #911 fanfic #bucktommy #kinkley #buddie #buddie fanfic #buck/tommy/eddie #bucktommy fic #kinkley fic #I forgot how annoying tagging all the different pairs in a throuple is

[toothbrushfingers]

when you’re reading a fic and everyone is horribly ooc

bonus: there’s untagged …content…

#one time i was ready a fox and it had untagged sa #i don’t understand how they thought they was ok #like maybe they just forgot to tag it #but that seems LIKE A PRETTY BIG THING TO FORGET #httyd #how to train your dragon #httyd fandom #httyd movies #httyd rtte #race to the edge #hiccup haddock #httyd race to the edge #rtte #hiccup horrendous haddock lll #httyd fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fic

[non-plutonian-druid]

[ID: a three color drawing (black, white, and teal) in the style of Seth’s illustrations from the Lemony Snicket series All The Wrong Questions. Five and Viktor (both about 13) are seated at the counter of a diner, talking. Luther (in his 20s), who is a patron seated next to them, looks concerned about what he is overhearing. Grace stands behind the counted holding a coffee pot and gazing into space. A missing poster for Ben is taped to the counter. In the mirror behind the counter, a reflection Diego and Patch (both 15) are visible in a booth. End ID]

i really should leave time between art posts for them to breathe and accumulate their fair share of notes, but also i need something to do while im waiting for my onions to caramelize.

In this installment: Five and Viktor meet over breakfast to discuss business, Luther is a Concerned Citizen, Diego and Patch also meet over breakfast to discuss business but in the background, and Grace is NOT a robot and this diner is NOT fully automated no sir. Also as usual Ben's face provides some ambiance, thank you Ben.

#tua #the umbrella academy #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #five hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #grace hargreeves #really? grace hargreeves is the tag? ok #eudora patch #the business is What Is This Dastardly Crime And How Are We - two children - Going To Solve It #i still dont know what the dastardly crime is tho which is exhibit A why i dont write fic #i mean yeah in general its Using Children To Farm Eldritch Tentacle Monsters but what are the actual crimes theyre solving #who knows not me #im doing something very fun here which is that ATWQ has two thematically and plot resonant diners #one of them is where lemony meets with his favorite people to have good food #and the other is a weird noir fully automated one where no one works #with the help of grace's just. whole deal. i can do both at the same time! #as per usual almost forgot #my art #guess who didnt tag this with the au tag and forgot for a full month #meeeeeee #snicket five

[harrygoeswest]

Love Aged Like Fine Wine

Harry is drunk and lost not too far from home, and there's only one person he wants to call to rescue him.

A/N: Hello everyone 👋🏼 it has been a loooong time since I posted anything on Tumblr, and I was admittedly reluctant to do so. However, I reblogged the lovely Sarah's (@harry-on-broadway) fic challenge the other day and it inspired me, and I would be doing a disservice to write the whole thing and never look at it again, especially since I quite like it. SO, I give you my first one shot in over a year. Bear with me, I'm a bit rusty... Special mention as always to Miss Liz (@all-things-fic) for reading and validating me.

I'm using prompts 14 & 19.

Trigger Warnings: Absolutely nothing (apart from the odd f word)

Word Count: 6533

~~~

“What do you want, Harry?”

An offended scoff was his initial response. “Not a very nice way t’greet y’best friend.”

He was right, it wasn’t. “You’re not my best friend.”

“Ouch. Though’ we were besties ‘n now y’makin’ me feel sad.”

Harry was slurring more than he usually did. I feared if he tried to say obviously, ‘overshly’ would turn into a soft, deep single syllable alike to the word ‘shush’. It wasn’t particularly late to warrant his level of drunkenness. Especially on a Tuesday evening. Chewsday, if you will.

“Harsh truths are easier to take when you’re drunk.” I said, shrugging as if he could see the action.

“Why’re y’bein’ so ‘orrible?” He whined.

“Why are you calling me pissed as a fart at 8:45 on a Tuesday night and ruining my bath time?”

“‘S there some space lef’ in the bathtub?”

“Don’t make it weird.” I grimaced. “What’s going on?”

He produced an incoherent mumble. I heard the rain get heavier, both on the phone call and outside my house.

“What was that?”

“M’st…”

“Aye?” I asked, my face surely a bewildered picture.

“I’m lost.” He huffed, agitated.

I sat up in the bath, water and suds sloshing around me. “Lost?”

“Yes.”

“W-,” words failed me, and I barked out a sharp laugh. “How are you lost?”

“How does anyone else get lost?” He said, stroppy.

“Wow, you really are drunk.”

He hummed, but it was a defeated noise. “C’ya come ‘n get me?”

“How am I supposed to come and get you if you don’t know where you are?”

“Well I was only at The Holly Bush.”

I laughed twice as hard that time. Put in perspective, The Holly Bush is no more than a ten minute walk from Harry’s house. “How long have you been walking?”

“‘Bout ‘alf an hour.” He muttered.

Now I was really howling, like a hyena on laughing gas. “Jesus Christ, Harry!”

“‘S not funny!”

“On the contrary, years of comedy begs to differ.”

He practically cried my name down the phone. “‘M really tired ‘n cold ‘n… weh,” I think he meant wet, “please come get me.”

I took a deep breath and mourned my premature bath. “Fine. But do not move from wherever you are.”

“Won’t.”

I stood up and watched water and soap suds cascade down my body with a pout. “What can you see?”

“Er…” a pause followed, I assumed for his vacant thoughts. “‘S like a lot of trees.”

I rolled my eyes. “That could literally be any part of the Heath, mate. Say more words.”

“I can’t see shit! It’s dark and it’s pissing it down!”

“Don’t get arsey or you can stay there and drown in rain water.” I warned him. “Find a road sign. Or a street name.”

He grunted. After no more than fifteen seconds he produced, “Platt’s Lane.”

“Alright, I know where that is. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Thank you.” He said. At least I think that’s what he said.

I murmured a little, “Sure,” and then hung up. 

I dressed quickly in the easiest clothes I could find - a pair of tie-dye jogging bottoms, an old t-shirt and a crewneck over the top. I pulled on the first pair of trainers I could find and ran out to my car whilst fighting the rain. I also took a towel with me. My hair was still in the bun I’d put it up in for my bath.

It was really battering it down now - it was loud inside the car and the windows were steamed up. It was even louder when I turned the air conditioning on to defog the windows.

Once I could see outside the front and back windows I finally made my way to find Harry. I still mourned my bath as I drove - I missed how warm it was and how comfortable I had been. Now I was out in the cold and wet to rescue my drunken idiot friend.

It didn’t take me very long to find said drunken idiotic friend. He was sitting on a yellow grit box under some trees at the junction of Platt’s Lane and West Heath Road. He was soaking, shoulders slumped and looking at the floor. I pulled up as close to him as possible and leaned over to push the door open.

“Get in, you moron!” I called.

Harry looked up at the sound of my voice. He leapt to his feet almost immediately after, and staggered his way over to my little car. He nearly tripped over twice on his way, and he hit his head as he sat down.

“Fucking hell.” I muttered. “Look at the state of you.”

He grumbled, readjusting his sodden jacket, and then looked right at me. His hair was drenched, water dripping from his neck down his arms and chest, and his forehead down his nose and cheeks.

“Here,” I threw the towel at him. “You’re gonna make my car smell.”

“‘S tha’ the wors’ a’ya problems?” He asked, a snide tone laced in his mushy words.

“I wish it was.”

I pulled off again as Harry began to attempt to dry himself off, although I feared a towel would do very little to help him. Fortunately we were only a mere five minute drive from his house anyway. He probably could have walked home faster if he were sober. 

It was a relatively quiet drive since Harry spent most of it rubbing my towel over every available inch of his body. He did however sing along to the one song he heard playing, but he didn’t quite have the same masterful tone as usual. He even seemed quite timid.

I parked as close as possible to his front door and shut the engine off.

“Where are your keys, H?”

He gave me a dopey blink and then looked down at himself, double chin appearing accompanied with a pouty lower lip. “Dunno. On me somewhere.”

I sighed and unclipped my seatbelt, then reached over to him to feel through each of his pockets for his house keys. Of course I found them in the hardest one to reach on the inside of his jacket. He giggled while I did, like a child being tickled. I smacked him on the arm before I got out of the car.

I ran up to the front door and unlocked it, opening it so that my paralytic companion could be jettisoned inside his home as quickly as possible without getting more wet.

“Come on, then,” I said as I opened the passenger door, my shoulders hunched because the rain felt weird on my neck.

Harry practically fell out of the car at my instruction, so I lifted him up and placed his arm around my shoulder so I could manage his weight better. I kicked the car door shut behind us and walked him to the door. I realised on our little walk how unfit I was.

“‘M sorry.” He mumbled.

“It’s fine.” I said, my voice tight. It was only strained because he was heavy and I was weak.

“Didn’t even think I drank tha’ much, was only few whiskeys.”

Only a few could range anything between 3 and 30. I didn’t chide him for that. “It’s alright, Harry. I’m sure you’d do the same for me.” I meant that genuinely and not as a threat I’d be getting that level of drunk in the future just to call him to rescue me.

“Would.” He insisted.

I awkwardly held onto him as we got inside, twisting at an awkward angle to close the door and keep any more rain from getting in. Harry felt like dead weight against me.

“Ready to get upstairs?”

His affirming nod was the surest action I’d seen from him this far.

“Alright,” I took a deep breath, “let’s go.”

I made sure we navigated the stairs one at a time, because I had visions of him tripping up and cracking his head open if he tried to do anything by himself. And now, in the warmth of his massive home and up this close to him, the boy reeked of stale beer and sweat. I didn’t want to ask what he’d been doing in The Holly Bush for him to get that bad. I hadn’t seen him that wasted in a very long time.

“Meant it, y’know.” He slurred.

We were only halfway up the stairs and all I could hear was my own panting. Admittedly I was surprised he hadn’t passed out yet. 

“Meant what?” I heaved, and pushed him up the next step.

“I w’ do the same f’you.”

“I know you would.”

“Don’t even have t’ be drunk.”

“Right.”

We stopped for a minute, not at anyone’s request but Harry didn’t seem to want to move. I looked at him as he did me, and he produced this hazy-eyed, closed-lip smile. 

His woolly but content expression made me laugh. “I think it’s bed time for you, mate.”

He groaned. “Don’t call me ‘mate’.”

I frowned. “Alright. Sorry.”

When we finally reached the top of the stairs, Harry collapsed on me by way of a hug. We were standing in the middle of the hallway, his entire body somehow wrapped around mine. I was suffocating in the smell of a brewery.

“Don’t leave me.” He begged.

“I’m not… Need to get you to bed somehow.”

He pulled his head back to look at me, eyes heavy. “You can take me to bed.”

“That’s what I just said.”

He nodded repeatedly like a bobble-head figure. 

I made a face, perturbed, and nudged him in the direction of his bedroom. He nearly fell over as he turned around, and ended up palming the wall the rest of the way. I kept a hand on his back just in case.

As soon as he saw his bed he was climbing onto it, still fully clothed and in his muddy trainers.

“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, reaching after him like he was a toddler, “Harry, take your shoes off.”

He laughed maniacally into his bed sheets, the muffled sound disturbing.

I huffed with a scowl and did it myself. His vans were dripping wet so I took them to the radiator and left them on top to dry. I made sure the radiator was turned on, too. The last thing Harry Styles needed was the flu again.

He was sitting up now, watching me with a warm expression. I ignored it.

“Need to take your clothes off or you’ll get a cold.”

“Yes, Miss.” He was beaming now.

The attempt at taking his t-shirt off was painful, and I ended up having to help him.

“Jeans too.”

I knew that would be more agonising to watch than the t-shirt, and I didn’t want to have to look at his bare chest for too long, so I went for a walk to the closest bathroom to get another towel. His jeans were still around his knees when I got back.

“Jesus Christ.” I said through gritted teeth, and freed his jeans from around his ankles. They were a heavy kind of damp and thudded when I put them on the floor.

“‘S cold.” He commented, staring up at me.

“I’ve just put the radiator on.” I told him, and handed him the towel. “I’ll find you some clean pants.”

I left him to dry his no doubt tacky chest and legs while I searched through his drawers for some clean underwear. I threw them at him once I’d located them.

“Where’s your laundry basket?”

“Wardrobe.” He said, voice getting gruff.

I collected his dirty clothes from off the floor again and wandered into the walk-in wardrobe attached to his bedroom. I stared at it for a while, not just because it was ginormous but also because I couldn’t believe the amount of crap in it. It was bulging with clothes - some I hadn’t seen him wear for years and others I hadn’t seen him wear at all. Ever. 

I dropped the clothes in my hand onto the overflowing basket in one of the cupboards, hating to do so because it was just adding to more chores. And then I realised that this was not my house and I would not be responsible for washing any of his clothes.

“Harry, do you want something to wear in bed if you’re cold?”

He never answered.

I peered into the bedroom to see he’d already tucked himself into bed.

“I guess not.” I muttered.

I stood next to his bed and watched him for a minute. His eyes were closed and he was breathing regularly but I couldn’t work out if he was actually asleep or just pretending to be. His eyelids looked shiny and delicate and his cheeks were dusted pink - a combination of his inebriation and being outside in the cold for so long. I could hear the radiator chugging and it was definitely warmer than it had been when we arrived.

Without thinking, still staring at him while possibly passed out like a lunatic creep, I wrapped my index finger around one of his curls and moved it out of his face.

He giggled suddenly, catching my wrist. “That tickled.”

I smacked his hand away. “I thought you were asleep, you absolute git!”

“Not yet.”

I rolled my eyes and scowled at him. “I’m goin’ home. Seeing you in bed is making me want mine.”

“Can always share mine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I scoffed, and made a move to leave. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

“Aye, wait!” He shouted at me.

“What?”

“I don’t want you t’ leave yet.”

“Well, I’m exhausted, and you’re about to pass out on me anyway.”

He said something that was complete and utter incoherent nonsense.

“I don’t know what you just said but I’m not changing my mind.”

He whined my name again and reached for my hand. “Please stay bit longer? Like havin’ y’here, havin’ y’around.”

“Well, that’s nice of you to say, but I still want my own bed.”

“Please?”

“No.” I stood my ground, but I took a step closer and pinched his cheek. “But I’ll come back tomorrow after work if that makes you feel better.”

“Feel better if y’stayed wi’ me now.”

“Well that’s not going to happen. Just call me if you need anything.”

“Need y’now. Need y’all the time.”

“Stop being daft.”

“‘M not bein’ daft - I mean it.”

“You are being daft. Just go to sleep - I’ll come back tomorrow. I promise.”

He stressed my name and sat up. “Y’not listenin’ to me. ‘M bein’ proper serious - I want ya t’ stay wi’ me. I need y’here.”

“No, what you need is sleep.”

He scowled at me.

“I’m going to go and get you a pint of water and a paracetamol and then I’m going home. And that’s the last we’re gonna say on this, end of.”

I left the room and  found my way to the kitchen, though admittedly I did get lost on my way there since I’d only been here once before and it was a considerable amount of time ago. I did as promised and got him a pint of water and found some paracetamol in a drawer full of miscellaneous items close to the sink.

I couldn’t fathom why Harry was so needy, insobriety aside. We were friends, yes, and had been for some time, but we weren’t that close. Or perhaps we were and I just refused to admit it due to his increasing popularity and the fact that being perceived near him in the public eye terrified me. I was perfectly happy with my mundane job and my mundane life. I appreciated Harry for what he was - a friend -, and didn’t expect anything more or less from that level of our relationship. Nor had I ever, and it surprised me that he suddenly did.

Perhaps I was overthinking it all. That was likely.

I returned to Harry’s room to find him out of bed in just his pants.

“What are you doing?” I asked, putting the water and the tablets on his bedside table, trying to avoid looking at his chest.

“Need the loo.” He said without hesitation, and marched past me.

I sighed, watching after him until he was safely in the bathroom with the door closed, and then I perched on the edge of his bed with my head in my hands.

I was irritated, yes. I knew I shouldn’t be as irritated as I was, but I couldn’t help it. This was not the evening I had planned for myself. I was supposed to have an early night and go to work in the morning with a clear head and no bags under my eyes. Now I was going to look like the walking dead, and feel like it too.

I stood up again when Harry reappeared. I watched him stagger and sway across the corridor and it made me nervous. He tripped once and nearly smacked his face against the doorframe.

“Fucking hell, Harry.” I said, panicked, and reached forward to steady him.

He laughed, more a giggle of that from a small girl. “I’m so drunk.”

“I know you are. That’s why you need to get into bed.”

“I will, jus’ one more thing before I do,”

I thought he was going to start running riot around the house and I was going to have to chase after him, like a dog owner with a tyrannical pooch. But instead, he just wrapped his arms around my middle and shoved his face into the crook of my neck. His body was warm and it felt strange being this close to him when he had so little clothes on.

I let out a long breath, reciprocating it this time. “You’re a twat.”

He hummed when I stroked my hand over his damp hair. “Not very nice.”

“And yet still true.”

He grunted, but never moved a muscle. A moment of silence passed before he said anything else. “Thank you f’ comin’ to rescue me.”

“Sure, anytime.” I didn’t mean that. Or maybe I did, but I’d be bitter about it if it became a recurrence because I couldn’t stand to disappoint people who meant a lot to me.

He let me go, and I thought that was finally going to be the end of it. Instead, he took my face, quite harshly, between both of his hands until my cheeks squished. His gaze was dopey and warm again, but somehow different to last time. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Harry, that hurts.”

He ignored me. “I love you.” It sounded more like ‘ah luff you’ but that wasn’t relevant in the moment.

“Yeah, I love you too, now let go.” I was trying to pull his hands away but apparently he was still physically stronger than me even that drunk.

“No,” he shook his head at me and then brought what felt like my entire body against his chest. “I mean I really love you.”

I couldn’t see anything. I felt us begin to fall sideways, but with his strength I had absolutely no control over where we were going.

“Harry!” I screamed, still trying to fight him with no luck.

I think we hit the bed because the landing was softer than anticipated and Harry didn’t wince or flinch. That could also be attributed to the levels of alcohol in his body. He was probably majoritively quite numb.

“Y’like, my favourite person.” He said, voice much quieter now, and I could feel his nose in my hair. My face was pushed into his chest. “Want y’around all time. Rubbish a’ showin’ it but I miss y’when ‘m nor’ at home. ‘N I don’t mean everyone, I mean jus’ you.”

I was listening to him with baited breath. I’d never really been on the receiving end of ‘drunk words, sober thoughts’ - I was usually the one talking and making a fool of myself. Once I told my sister’s boyfriend (at the time) what I really thought of him in front of our entire family after keeping my mouth shut for so long. They broke up the next day and she came to live with me for a month. I felt almost paralysed now listening to Harry.

“Mus’ think ‘m nuts ‘cause I’ve never said anythin’ before, bur’m scared. You’re a scary woman.”

I tried not to take offence to that, even though it was likely true. I had tried for the longest time to give off a very ambiguous aura. I didn’t want anyone to know me, least not the real me. I liked the illusion of being dead inside even if I was far from it.

“Loved y’ for so long now I can’ ‘ide it anymore.” He was really slurring now and words were about to fail him. Somehow, he was still holding onto me. “‘M like tha’ 1975 song.” I wanted to ask which one, but I didn’t have to. He proceeded to sing the words, “I’m in love with you.”

Just once he sang them, maybe slightly off pitch but it still sounded good. Not sure it would hold up to any of his previous performances, but I’d take it.

I didn’t know what to say. I was in a state of shock to be honest and the thought of moving terrified me. But then his grip around me loosened, and he let out a singular loud snore.

I pulled back, horrified, to see his sleeping face - mouth wide open. Another snore was released. “You are fucking joking.”

I sat up, his limp body falling away from me. I smacked his arm in the hopes of waking him, but he never flinched. “Harry,” I said, hitting him again.

Still no movement.

“Oi.” Smack.

Nothing.

I didn’t know what to do. Who does that? Who makes an admission like that and then falls asleep? And why did it have to be this boy? I was speechless, and when I finally managed to clamber off the bed I was also useless.

I stared at him with a look of bewilderment, as he lay there passed out on his unmade bed, mouth agape and naked besides his white y-fronts. It was then that the reality of what he’d said hit me, and I started to cry.

I wasn’t angry or upset - I was overwhelmed. Drunkenly, Harry had just told me he loved me. Then immediately passed out. Now I was left with my own feelings and his and no one to talk to about it. What was I supposed to do?

I desperately wanted to leave and get some sleep, but I also couldn’t help but think that would be morally inappropriate. Leaving a friend alone while dangerously intoxicated was how 50% of all murder documentaries started. Not that Harry was likely to get killed by an intruder in his mansion complete with security fortress. But he might accidentally fall down the stairs or choke on his own vomit.

And yet, the idea of staying in this massive and unfamiliar house to process all those thoughts made me even more hysterical. The idea alone provoked a loud sob, and I quickly covered my mouth because it was such a horrendous sound.

I made my decision that instant. I put Harry properly into bed with all of my remaining strength, covered him with his duvet, and then I fled from his house like a bat out of hell. On my way out, I took his spare keys with me.

I barely slept that night. My head was swimming and even though I couldn’t keep my eyes open, my brain was in overdrive. That, and the cat was sleeping on my chest and purring right in my face. His whiskers tickled my nose.

I found myself thinking about the early stages of mine and Harry’s association. 

I couldn’t have called him a friend when we first met because I hated him. I don’t think that feeling was ever reciprocated on his part but I couldn’t ever stand to be in the same room as him. Why? Because I felt the need to constantly contradict societal comments and beliefs. The world - at least people in my world - deemed him a golden boy who never did any wrong. I was convinced it wasn’t the case. My downfall was my lack of determination to prove it.

We met through mutual friends, as these things always seemed to happen. I couldn’t even remember which friend it was - neither me nor Harry talked to them anymore. But one day he was just there, and periodically from then onward he continued to show up. I couldn’t even remember when it was, but it was before he cut all his hair off. One Direction’s last few remaining days, perhaps? Anyway, he was suddenly omnipresent and came with an abundance of attention and it infuriated me.

I remember once, Harry confronted me on my obvious dislike for him. That was our first encounter collectively with ‘drunk words, sober thoughts’. I can’t remember exactly what I said but I wasn’t very nice and I remember the Bambi look in his eyes when I walked away from him. After that he was notably absent for some time. If I asked him about it now I’m not sure how honest he’d be about it. He was lucky enough to be able to claim work absences for long periods of time - I imagined he’d use that excuse. How truthful that would be, I didn’t know.

Our reconciliation came after that. He saw me alone in the nearby shop and asked me to join him for a coffee. I couldn’t really say no - it was a Sunday afternoon and I was only going back home to vegetate for the rest of the day. I think it was spring - I probably would’ve just read a book and gone to bed early. We spent the next 3 hours in Ginger & White, and after we got kicked out of there we went up to The Holly Bush, ironically.

I saw a different side to Harry that night, and I always put it down to having him to myself. There was no one else there with us apart from the locals in the pub who wouldn’t bat an eyelid. It was just us, and he was unapologetically himself, as was I.  We suddenly had an entirely new perception of one another - a higher level of understanding. On that random Sunday evening alone, I came to appreciate Harry for just being Harry. I saw who he really was, and I liked him.

From then on, I enjoyed his company. It became a regular thing - an afternoon doing something random together, just the two of us. And it ranged from simple coffee shop talks to entire day trips out of London. I realised then that what we’d basically been doing was dating for about 5 years with no physical contact.

I laughed out loud, disturbing the cat. He ran off and left me alone. 

We’d had our own intimate relationships with other people outside of our friendship, which I guess is why I’d never thought about it that way before. He also seemed to do that with multiple other people - I wasn’t the only one. Was I?

I never had to apologise for the night I was rude to him. I always wondered why, and I always berated myself for not saying I was sorry. I’d admitted I was wrong about him a long time ago, but only to myself. It seemed a bit too late to do it now, but I assumed he’d forgiven me. I could’ve been wrong.

I think I finally fell asleep around 4am. My alarm for work went off just 3 hours later and I burst into tears as soon as I realised the situation I was in. I called into work sick and went straight back to sleep.

How much more sleep I had was uncertain. It felt like only 2 hours, but it could’ve been more. Since I wasn’t working, I decided to get a McDonald’s after showering. Mostly for Harry rather than me, although I’m sure he’d make a comment about it.

I used the key I’d stolen last night to let myself in and went straight up to his bedroom with the McDonald’s in my right hand. Except I didn’t make it to his bedroom, because I found him on the bathroom floor next to the toilet, on his front with his cheek pressed to the tile floor.

“Harry…?”

He moaned, limply raising his hand and dropping it again immediately.

I moved into the room, leaving the McDonald’s in the hall because the smell would not go well with the pre-existing one in the room. It seemed Harry had vomited since I left. I sat on my knees beside him and stroked a finger through his curls, similar to how I had done last night.

“Are you alright?”

“Not really.” He said, voice whiny.

“No, I’m not surprised. I brought you some breakfast.”

He managed to lift his head and look towards me. I pointed at the hallway and he followed where my finger suggested.

“What is it?”

“McDonald’s.”

He screwed his face up. “You know I don’t eat meat.”

“Yes, that’s why I got you a Fillet-O-Fish. And mozzarella sticks.”

“Not very healthy.”

“Well, boiled eggs and avocado doesn’t make for very exciting hangover food if you ask me.”

He blew a breath out so that his lips wobbled. “True.”

“You gonna sit up and eat it?”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“Come on, then,”

I took his arm and helped pull him to a sitting position. He sat against the bathtub and rolled his head back, mouth open and breathing heavy. I left his food in his lap and sat opposite him with my back against the wall.

“This is probably one of the worst hangovers I’ve had in a long time.” He said, grimacing into the paper bag. At least he could form complete words this morning.

“How much do you remember?”

He laughed once. “Not much. I remember calling you, and waiting for you to come get me. I remember when you turned up, but that’s about it. I don’t remember getting home.”

I swallowed thickly. That meant he probably didn’t remember telling me he was in love with me. Or rather, singing it.

“Next thing I’ve woke up in my pants about to vomit.”

“I think you were the most drunk I’ve ever seen you.”

He paused before he took a bite out of his fillet burger. “Really?”

“Hands down. You fell over nearly three times. And you wouldn’t let me go home.”

“Oh, I’m not surprised by that. I’m a very clingy drunk.”

“I was aware of that before last night.” I muttered. “Who were you with?”

“Tom and Tyler.”

“Ah, one of those evenings, was it?

“Yeah, didn’t expect it to be quite that bad, though. Was only going for one.”

“That’s how they all start.”

“Mm, I should know better.”

“Yes you should.”

He laughed around his mouthful and then swallowed it. “This was a good call, thank you.”

“No problem. Although I have to say I did not expect to watch you eat it on the bathroom floor.”

“I know. Feel like a uni student.”

“I don’t think uni students have bathrooms this big.”

He smiled, but didn’t say anything while his mouth was full. “Think I’m gonna have a shower, if you don’t mind?”

I shrugged. “Your house.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes in jest. “Will you hang around a bit while I do?”

“Sure. I’ll put some coffee on.”

“Cool.” He grinned. 

He shoved the empty box into the paper bag and screwed it up. I took the rubbish off him once we were standing again and left him alone to shower.

I did as I said I would and made him a coffee, and then helped myself to a glass of water and an apple out of the fruit bowl on his counter. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen now. He seemed to be behaving normally, so I was certain he’d forgotten his admission, but that worried me because I was now going to have to admit that I knew. And I still wasn’t entirely sure how I felt.

When Harry did reappear he was fully clothed and looked a lot fresher than he had done before. His hair was damp but beginning to curl and his complexion had a bit more life to it.

“Feel better?”

“Loads better, thank you.”

“That’s good.” I said with a pressed smile. I pushed his coffee towards him.

“Cheers. Where’s yours?” He asked with a subtle frown as he took a sip out of his mug. He made an approving sound. “That’s good.”

“You know, I don’t actually like coffee.”

His frown deepened. “You have coffee all the time.”

“No, I have a mocha.”

“That’s still got coffee in it.”

“Yes, but the hot chocolate kind of makes it a fake coffee. A coffee for people who don’t like coffee.”

“Right.” He chuckled. “I had a thought upstairs just now… why aren’t you at work?”

“Because I barely slept.”

He looked concerned. “You better not have stayed really late because of me. Should’ve kicked me in the crotch and told me to get over myself.”

“Oh believe me, I tried to leave you here to go to bed, H. But I actually got back at an acceptable hour, that wasn’t the problem.”

“Just a bad night?”

I hummed. “No, I still blame you.”

“Why?” He asked, leaning his hip against the counter side.

I looked at the kitchen top and pursed my lips. “You… you told me something that gave me a lot to think about.”

“I didn’t give you some rubbish music samples, did I?”

I snorted. “I wish. Might’ve helped me sleep.”

“What then? I can’t remember anything.”

After a charged silence, I let out a long sigh. “You told me you love me. You said you love me, and then gave this little speech about missing me. And not just as friends - you said like The 1975’s song, I’m in love with you. But you sang that part, and then immediately fell asleep.”

When I met Harry’s gaze again he was staring at me, and biting his cheek. Neither of us said anything for a while. I was hoping he’d say something. Or perhaps me repeating what he said last night meant he felt like he didn’t need to say anymore.

I cocked my head. “Did you mean it?”

He stood taller, inhaling as his gaze became glassy. “Yeah. Yeah of course I did. Well, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, obviously. But I meant it, although I didn’t mean to tell you in that way… you know, while utterly shit faced.”

“You were completely shit faced.”

“Yeah… no, that’s not how I planned on telling you.”

“Was there a different plan?”

“Maybe…” He turned his nose up and scratched the back of his head. “If I told you what it was you’d hate it-,”

“You don’t know that.” I retorted.

He raised a judgemental brow at me. “Er, yes I do.”

I laughed and put my head on the table. “Whatever.”

“Anyway,” he huffed, but it had a lightheartedness to it, “of course I fucking meant it. Been living with it for ages - it’s all had time to brew. Aged like a fine wine.”

I started laughing, and then I felt his arms wrap around my chest. I was pulled up by him to stand straighter, and he rested his chin on my shoulder. His back was against my front and it felt quite nice. I don’t think we’d ever stood like that before.

“Your love has aged like a fine wine?”

“Sounds right cheap when you say it like that.” 

“You said it. That is literally what you said.” I was still laughing.

“I know.” He whimpered.

I twisted my head to look at him, but he’d hidden his face. “You’re gonna have to bear with me.”

“In what way?”

“Well, this is a lot for me. I’m still… processing it, and I don’t know how I feel. You’re my friend and I love you, of course I do. Just…”

“Not in love with me yet.” He concluded.

“Yet.” I sniggered.

“I’ll remain optimistic, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

He giggled, and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Take your time. Preferably not forever though, ‘cause… the biological clock is ticking.”

I snorted again. “Reel it in.”

“Sorry.” He hummed and squeezed my shoulders tightly. “I am going to have a movie day on the sofa. Do you want to stay?”

“For that I do, fuck yeah.”

“Sweet… go and make yourself comfy. I’ll get the snacks.”

He bumped my hip with his when I passed him so I kicked him back. He gave a childish laugh, and I shook my head at him, but I found as I wandered into his overcompensating living room that I had this giddy feeling in my stomach I’d never felt with him before.

What was I, the most stubborn woman on Earth, going to do?

~

“What d’you want, H?”

“Not a very charming greeting.” He groused.

I pouted. “You’re interrupting my bath time.”

“Is there some space left in the bathtub?”

I smirked and sank lower into the water. “For you? Never.”

“Hey!”

“Always,” I laughed around my correction, “I meant always.”

“That’s more like it.” He chuckled. “I was calling because I think it might be my turn to get dinner. So what do you fancy?”

“Well, you, obviously.”

“Obviously.” His matter-of-fact tone matched mine. I could imagine him nodding his head. “How about a chippy?”

“Oh, fuck yeah. My usual please.”

“Curry sauce too?”

“Wouldn’t be my usual without it.”

“Just checking. So, I will be knocking on your door within the next hour. Make the most of that bath ‘cause I’m coming.”

“Cool. See you in a bit.”

“Bye-bye.”

“Love you!” I shouted before he could put the phone down.

He was quiet for a minute. “Blimey. Don’t need to shout it, darlin’.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “Just in case you forgot.”

“I could never. But I love you more. See you shortly.”

“Okay, bye-bye. Love you most.”

“No!” He shouted, but I cut him off before he could refute it more.

I felt smug. I let out a satisfied sigh and laid my head back against the edge of the tub. 

I had taken my time in coming around to Harry’s admission, but he was incredibly patient with me and I was always grateful for that. It had been little over a year since his little bender, and I felt really good about everything. We felt really good about everything.

Our relationship seemed to only be moving up at a pace we were both happy with, and I couldn’t ask for anything more. All we had to do was keep it that way, and I had every confidence we could.

~~~

If you read this far, thank you <3

Come Talk To Me

#harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harryonbroadwayficchallenge #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles ff #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst imagine #harry styles angst imagines #harry styles fluff imagine #harry styles fluff imagines #i forgot how much i fucking hate writing tags on the bottom of posts #this is endless

[rockingrobin69]

Numbly

“I've been informed,” Harry Potter burst through the door with his habitual earth-quake of a shout, “that you don’t even like peppers!”

“Good morning,” Draco said dryly. Harry Potter glared.

With a sigh, Draco retreated to the kitchen to fetch the biscuits from the cupboard.

Around his third one, an insistent crumb hanging to his upper lip with all its tiny might: “Peppers, Malfoy!”

“Pardon?”

“Peppers!”

Draco blinked. “If you’ll be so kind as to tell me what on earth you’re on about.”

“Pansy said you hate them!”

He looked absolutely outraged. Draco sipped his long-cold tea.

“Do I?”

“She said you’re allergic!”

“Am I?”

“Stop—fucking with me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” But the corner of his lips was twitching. “I’m not allergic. I was simply a horribly dramatic child and she still naïve back when we were, what, six. Seven. I’m fine with peppers now.”

Harry Potter pouted, terribly chipmunk-ish, and even put the biscuit pack down. Down to business. “I cooked the—bloody hell, Malfoy, just, honestly. Why wouldn’t you say? That you hate peppers. I would’ve made something else. I would have happily—why?”

Utterly bemused, “I am. Honest, I mean. I don’t mind peppers anymore.”

“That’s a fucking lie and we both know it.”

Grasping at straws and failing, at least managing to stop the wobble of his stupid mouth, the automatic turning downwards. Went for his cup instead. The tea was ice-cold and flavourless and Draco poured it down his throat like it could cure him.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he then said, venomous, and turned his eyes back to the wall, where they refused to stay. It was always like this when Harry Potter barged into his flat. Even the water stains on the ceiling lost their usual allure and could not hold his attention. “If it’s raining, cast a bloody Impervious. Or take an umbrella.”

Harry Potter took a deep breath instead, sounding awfully, weirdly small. Some of the tension bled out of him in increments, his shoulders first, then the fists unclenching, then his belly un-hardening. His jaw was last. Draco was helplessly mesmerised by the transformation.

“You’re impossible,” but his voice finally not straining, his fingers not twitching towards the biscuits. No longer needing the obvious distraction. “Next time, if I make something you dislike, you have to tell me.”

“An order,” Draco huffed. “How sweet.”

Harry Potter could blush all the way to the roots of his hair. It was such a stunning, breath-stealing wonder to witness.

“It’s not a… fuck you.”

“Hmm.”

They sat there in strangely amicable silence. The oven still gave that choking, desperate cough every ten seconds, and it set a nice framework for their breathing, for the non-fidgeting. Harry Potter was always fidgety, but not when he sat in Draco’s kitchen like this.

“What’s your schedule? For today. Nev said you’re doing overtime again.” Leaning back, giving Draco that look all his friends liked to wear, the one on the border of a telling-off. It didn’t usually work on him, but Harry Potter had a slight edge to his disappointment that made Draco’s skin crawl.

“Not—exactly. Shouldn’t be so late. I’ll be home for bedtime, Mother, I promise.”

Even his mother didn’t glare like that. “Third time this week? I kind of want to strangle your boss.”

“Ha. I should inform you that violence is usually frowned upon in the workplace.”

He didn’t smile, but he came near it. Draco could tell, because the corners of his eyes were dancing. “Does it count if it's not my workplace?”

“Mm. Fair enough. Strangle away.”   

Now he was smiling. “When d’you start? Want a ride?”

And Draco was so grateful he didn’t launch yet another tirade about how Draco should quit that he said, “Why not.” (Only because he was distracted and rather tired, and not because sitting behind Harry Potter on his motorbike was in itself half-punishment, and not because clinging to his waist on tight turns at far-too-quick was—anything at all). On the downside, it made Harry Potter practically beam, and Draco still needed his eyes.

“Great! I mean. That’s good. That you won’t be late. Bad for your, er, record, and stuff, and you might not get a—bonus or something.”

They didn’t do bonuses at McMillan & McMillan, but that was neither here nor there. Draco nodded, pushed himself up on not so flimsy legs, collected his coat from where it was crumpled on the back of a chair.

“What about lunch?”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t take. Any lunch.”

Why was he so obsessed with food? It was dangerously endearing. “I have an apple in my bag. Come now, you promised I won’t be late.”

“An—” Harry Potter shook his head, loosening even more curls out of his bun. They were rain-flat and miserable and still entirely too sweet. “I’ll buy you a sandwich at that poor excuse for a cafeteria you got there. And so help me god, Malfoy, you’ll eat it, or—”

“All right,” both hands up, “no need to shout. Your wish is my command, etcetera.”

He pouted so hard it was almost comical. But there was something still wounded there, so Draco added, “As long as there’s peppers, you know,” and then he was fuming again, bouncing on the balls of his feet and ready to deliver yet-another lecture. Draco watched him, amused, and forgot to lock the door behind him, and forgot his scarf.

Did remember his umbrella, which he Leviosa-ed to follow the Death Machine, stuck it against the silly jacket's back when they reached the office. It wasn’t raining anymore, thankfully allowing Draco to arrive not wet-dog for a change, and it made absolutely no difference.

Harry Potter took off his helmet to watch Draco enter the building. Didn’t follow him inside (wise, to prevent a murder), and so Draco completely forgot about the sandwich threat until it was roughly lunchtime. At which point, a drawer in his desk suddenly jumped open, and a far-too-fancy £12 bready tower appeared. On it a note that scrawled pepper-free, git.

Harry Potter had a lot to answer for. Draco, distracted, chipped away at the sandwich all the same, and was only shouted at twice, and didn’t even spill coffee on his keyboard.

‘Not exactly overtime’ at the office meant staying after everyone else to take note of stock and arrange all the impossible paperwork. That Draco was given this task was already hilarious, and always a disaster: that his boss insisted on continuing to give it to him, possibly commendable. Maybe he thought Draco was being stubborn. Maybe he thought, nobody could really be this bad without actively trying. Well, he didn’t know Draco yet! There was always time to learn.

Stock was stocked. The backroom was stuffy and still smelling slightly of smoke (not Draco’s fault, probably), the sweet dusty smell of paperwork going to rot. It made his head spin, not unpleasantly, made him inhale a little brokenly and laugh to himself. The sandwich from all the way back lunch sat heavy in his belly, sweating. Everything was so incredibly laughable.

When he finally finished (after only forgetting three steps in the protocol), the sun had long set and the streetlights were humming. Not worrying, Draco thought, going back to the office (forgot his bag). Not worrying at all (back to the office, to check he locked the door). (Why would anyone give him the keys?) (Some disasters were just asking to happen).

On his way home he stopped by the corner shop for another pack of biscuits. Some disasters, sure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t prepare in advance. Harry Potter would surge in soon enough with another grievance. Draco was giddy by nature, and so the shakiness was not necessarily to do with this.

To the crescent moon drowning in cloud he wondered, do I hate peppers?

Couldn’t remember to decide by the time he made it back.

#this came to me in a not-enough-sleep #and i've been making little scenes of it in my head all day long #draco insists on calling harry 'harry potter' every single time #he hits his head on the oven and harry gives him a kiss and they're both mortified? sitting under the kitchen's neon light in silence #everyone barges in his flat and they're all so dramatic and he's so dryly amused by it #also they're all so disappointed with how little care he takes of himself and he chokes on how he's barely keeping it together #no this is fun i promise. i promise #anyway what do i tag even. i forgot how to do this #drarry fic #right? #1300 words ish #rockingrobin69 #this is a part of a wip? technically? i GUESS?

[homocrafting]

do you ever think about whatever the hell is going on with Impulse and Etho in the life series. like what is up with that

imagine you're ethoslab and you're playing this new death game for the first time. people are making alliances, and there's a war brewing- you know what side you're on. You're with the King, you are one of his men, and you live in a wool castle with your ally, the closest to you if only due to physical proximity. he doesn't come home a lot, but that's fine. You're still close.

Then the castle burns, more than once, and you really should have expected that. With time you'll start seeing burning houses as a sign, maybe a metaphor, but not now. You aren't yet aware of your penchant for bases susceptible to fire. You're more worried about your things.

Then the war hits, and you're not sure when, but you realize this guy- the one who was on your side, the one who lived with you- has turned on you. Is it turning on you if he was never on your side at all? But you thought you were friends, so it kind of hurts when he's the one who takes your last life.

The second time you do this he's not your friend at all- he chose the south, and that's alright with you. Your team is, frankly, the best. You have a best friend who might be something more, and though you have no castle, he helps you build a snow fort. Things are good. Then they aren't so good anymore, but you make them good again, even if at the expense of your other teammates. To you he matters more, so you keep him close.

You don't think of him much, the guy who betrayed you and killed you. Maybe you should have, but you have better this time.

Until he helps spawn that wither, and then it all comes crashing down, and in the end you choose being a survivor over being a friend. In the end, you can't give your life to a dead man. In a way, he killed you again.

The third time you don't quite believe it when your best friend is soulbound to him. Your best friend says they're happily married; you ask him if he's sure, he says of course he's sure, and that's how he takes you best friend from you twice.

You're not sad with your soulbound- it's a new experience, you never talked to him much before. This time your ally is the one who builds a base. No one wastes any time in pointing out how flammable it is. You both know it will burn soon enough.

But when it does you burn the whole world down with it, and in the end you both team up with your best friend and the one who killed you in more ways than one. You think he's happy, though. You kind of wish he weren't.

They betray you again. The portal's trapped, it couldn't have been anyone but them. It feels fitting, that you burn too. It's the third time he takes your life.

(If you asked he would tell you it wasn't them- your best friend would tell you they would never, and you'd believe the latter but not the former. You never ask.)

The two of you are there for the fourth round, too. By now you know how these games work. You ally with the people you were with when you truly first met your best friend, except this time he isn't there.

This time, you look at him- at the man who's killed you twice, now- and he looks back. You know he's not sorry. You aren't either.

He asks you about your cows, if you want to combine forces. You aren't fully sure what it means when you accept it, this feeling you get, but it doesn't feel wrong when you're allies. You know what he is- he's one to play from all sides, he's a traitor, he's your ally, he's the one with the backup plan, he's the reason you've died so many times. He's resourceful, he's smart, he's tricky, he's the type to pretend he's less than he is.

You can never fully trust him, but vaguely, you know he doesn't want that. You cheer for him, when he's the last of your team standing.

You aren't sure what to think of him, when you see him in the fifth game, but you know and he knows, so you guess it's fine.

#impulsesv #impulse #etho #ethoslab #trafficblr #life series #ecstra explosions #I FORGOT MY GODDAMN WRITING TAG #uhhhh. fuck it new one #ecstra content #that'll do. proabably #anyway this got a littls out of hand I had Not meant to make it dramatix but I think that one Bee fic with cleo and etho changed my brain- #-chemistry so you get this! I guess! #not sure if it's read more worthy but I hate clogging dashes so #anyway I find it crazy no one talks about them. like girl what. how are you not seeing all this #shoutout to The People for being my most based friend ever and also thinking about them

[intheticklecloset]

Catlike Qualities (Bungo Stray Dogs)

One Shot

Summary: Atsushi gets stuck in an awkward position on the couch and Akutagawa takes full advantage of it.

A/N: So...new fic! It's been over six months since I shared anything new, but I've been feeling good about it lately, so here we are. I struggled to decide what to return with, as I've written a few fics for various fandoms in my off time, but ultimately I decided I wanted to return with one that wasn't filling anyone's request. One that I wrote 100% because I wanted to and for no other reason.

I don't know if this is the start of a new era of fic writing/sharing for me or not, but for now, I hope you enjoy this short Shin Soukoku fic for what it is - a pure expression of my love for the characters, shipping, and fandom. The way it all began.

Thank you for being here, and for your continued support. <3

Word Count: 819

~~~

Atsushi was giggling up a storm and Akutagawa hadn’t even touched him yet.

“Wait,” the weretiger pleaded, covering his stomach with his hands as he gazed up at his boyfriend’s wicked smirk. “Wait, please!”

Akutagawa made a big show of cracking his knuckles before wiggling his fingers playfully, unable to help but chuckle a little himself when Atsushi squealed and burst into another round of giggles.

Moments before the two had been reading together on the couch, with Aku sitting like a normal person and Atsushi lying with his back where his butt should have been and vice versa, holding his book aloft. How he managed to do that was beyond the mafia member, but then Atsushi did have a lot of catlike qualities to him, so he supposed it just came with the territory.

Still, eventually Atsushi couldn’t keep his positioning any longer and he began to slide backward off the edge of the couch, saved from hitting his head on the hardwood floor by Rashomon’s quick reflexes. Akutagawa had every intention of helping him back up, but then he realized what an advantageous position this was and quickly thought the better of it.

Now he was straddling Atsushi’s hips, pinning his butt in place where it was supposed to be originally, watching with amusement as Atsushi’s flushed face beamed up at him from the floor, desperately trying to cover up his tummy as if that was going to save him at all.

“Move your hands,” Akutagawa ordered.

Atsushi whined. “No way!”

Without another word or warning or even a threat, Rashomon shot out from Aku’s coat and wrapped around his boyfriend’s arms, forcefully pulling his them above his head. Then the darker man’s wiggling fingers descended, and Atsushi began laughing in earnest.

“Ahahahahaha no! No fahahahahahair! Ahahahaku, plehehehehease!”

“What’s the matter? I thought cats liked having their bellies scratched.”

“Thihihihis isn’t scrahahahahatching! Thihihis is tihihihihickling – AHA NOHOHOOO!! Nohohohot thehehehehere! Plehehehehehease, Ryu!”

Akutagawa’s heart swelled at the rare use of his first name – and a nickname version of it at that. He tapped his chin in a mock-pondering way with one hand and dug the pointer finger of the other into Atsushi’s navel. “I wonder if it’s possible to tickle you so much your weretiger form comes out as a defense. Should we find out?”

Atsushi’s eyes flew wide open in elated panic, struggling against Rashomon’s hold while kicking his feet uselessly behind him. “If yohohohohou do thahahahahat I’ll fihihihihihind a wahahahahay to tickle you withohohohout your cohohohoat on!”

Akutagawa was not going to admit that the threat was enough to stop him in his tracks. “Very well. I’ll just tickle you a normal amount then, shall I?”

“Gahahahahaha please – Aku PLEHEHEHEHEASE!!” Atsushi threw his head back and cackled when his belly button and ribs were tickled at the same time by merciless, dexterous fingers that had no business knowing exactly where to press and dig to make him react this way. “Ehehehehehehe I cahahahahahan’t! It tihihihihickles so much – Akutagahahahahahawa!”

“Oh? What happened to Ryu?” Aku teased, moving both hands down – or up, depending on your perspective – to squeeze Atsushi’s hips playfully.

“RYU!! Ryu, plehehehehease, stohohohohohoooop! It tihihihihihickles!”

Akutagawa had to admit, he loved making Atsushi laugh like this. He went back to his tummy, scribbling wildly over it and enjoying the desperate scream it pulled from his boyfriend. “It tickles, hmm?”

“Yehehehehehehehes!”

“Why?”

“What – whahahahahat do you mehehehehean why?!” Atsushi cried, arms trembling in Rashomon’s hold.

“Why does it tickle so much, weretiger?”

Atsushi’s cheeks flared bright red as he realized what Akutagawa wanted him to say, and he groaned as he replied, “Behehehehecause I’m tihihihihihicklish!”

Akutagawa couldn’t help it. He dug in even harder, slipping a finger back into his navel. “How ticklish?”

“AIEEE!! AHAHAHAHAHA VEHEHEHEHEHERY!! I’M REHEHEHEHEALLY TICKLISH, RYUUUUUU!!”

At this point Atsushi was laughing so hard tears were springing to his eyes, so Akutagawa decided to have mercy for now and let up, awkwardly leaning down and bracing himself on his elbows above Atsushi as he caught his breath, loving his pink blush and bright eyes, his wobbly smile.

“Very ticklish?” he murmured.

Atsushi shuddered. “Y-Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Akutagawa pressed their lips together, only aware that he’d retracted Rashomon after Atsushi wrapped his arms around his back and pulled them both off the couch so they were cuddling on the floor.

Atsushi murmured something under his breath. Akutagawa pulled back and asked him to say it again, having missed it the first time, smirking at the darkening blush on his boyfriend’s face.

“I said, I…I like it when you tickle me,” the weretiger admitted softly, burying his face into the crook of Aku’s neck.

“Yeah?” Akutagawa murmured, barely able to focus now that Atsushi was beginning to press soft, chaste kisses along his skin. He shivered, pulled him in closer, and said, “Then I guess I’ll have to start doing it more often, won’t I?”

#fanfiction #tickle fic #bungo stray dogs #bsd #atsushi nakajima #akutagawa ryuunosuke #shin soukoku #sskk #playful #teasing #boyfriends #cute #stuck tickles #fluff #tickling #ticklish #tickle #it's been so long i forgot how i used to tag stuff #had to use another bsd fic as a reference lol