A Fic A Day Keeps The Doctor Away

Hi! I write fics for any and every fandom/celebrity (give or take a few). Drop a request in my inbox with or without a plot idea and I’ll do my best to serve :)

[aficforeveryfandom]

Good Things

Hey guys! My first reader fic! Harry styles x reader!

If you want to request a fic (any fandom, any pairing) leave an ask in my inbox!

Also idk feel like there’s solid potential for a pt2 so if you want that then I shall deliver

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This was a big moment. But you could totally do this.

All smiles and waves, you made your way over to the plush red of Graham Norton’s sofa. It was your third time on the show, now promoting yet another season of your hit T.V. series and a cool new film you had written. As ever, Graham was funny and charming, putting you right at ease. This wasn’t the big moment. Not yet.

A flamboyant flowered suit walked onto the little stage to the side of the sofa, worn by the Harry Styles. Oh my god. Okay. No, yeah, you could totally do this. And the opportunity to see him live so close was not something you were about to miss a second of. He sang in that gorgeous rasping voice and smiled that gorgeous cheeky smile and god he was incredible.

When he came and sat down - right next to you, like literally you could smell him oh my god he smells amazing - you noticed his hands were slightly shaking. Adorable. Graham started asking questions about his upcoming album and possibilities of another tour, the other guests gently teasing him for his out there fashion. You sat quietly, vaguely in awe, giggling quietly occasionally at Harry’s defence of his suit. In all fairness, it was beautiful. He was beautiful. As audience laughter died away, Graham began to look serious.

“Now, Harry, tell me, did you... speak to anyone... backstage?”

Harry blushed gently, his eyes slightly widening because he knew something was coming as he opened his mouth to confess: “No, I err I didn’t really get err the.. chance.”

“How about our other guests?” Graham teasingly enquired, “Y/N? Did you get chatting to anyone in particular?”

Where was this going? You knew Graham knew about how much you loved Harry. Was he really about to out you in front of everyone? Specifically, in front of the very man you admired so much? “Well I arrived a little late Graham, having spent far too long trying to get my mother to stop talking and hang up the phone so I could get here!” You laughed along with the audience.

“Do you have an excuse Harry?” Graham quirked his eyebrow, clearly knowing the answer.

“Err... well I didn’t want to embarrass myself Graham.”

“Keen to impress a certain someone?”

Harry spluttered into his drink slightly - what on Earth was going on? Why hadn’t Graham shone light on your admiration of Harry? And why was Harry still slightly beetroot?

“Oh this is so good,” Graham revelled in frustrating omniscience, “okay, okay. Harry, someone on this sofa is a very big fan of yours...” Shit. Shitshitshitshitokayheregoes. “But I hear you are a rather big fan of someone yourself... care to confess?” What?

Harry turns slowly, so the beam of his gold specked eyes casts over you. “Y/N... err... I really like your show... err.. yeah I just think you’re really really cool...”

As he continued to blush, you felt your mouth fall open. He was a fan of YOU?! “Oh my god no way! You’re the first person I ever saw live! I love your music and your damn flowery suits so much!” Okay, so you could have played that cooler. Dammit. No it’s fine, he’s smiling, god he’s grinning so wide his face might split in half and yours might too.

“So, when’s the wedding guys?” Graham laughs.

Somehow, you get through the last ten minutes of the show. The second you get backstage, you and Harry make eye contact, and without thinking you throw your arms around him. After a very tight hug, you pull back slightly, his hands clutching yours to keep you close. You feel his eyes trail down the silver sheen of your figure-hugging dress... almost like... like he wanted you. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he brings his eyes back up to meet yours and smiles widely.

“So...” he ventures in his deep, divine voice.

“So...” you repeat, and then, emboldened by his stare, “how about we fangirl over each other over coffee?”

He grins, eyes widening in youthful surprise, answering “I think that sounds amazing. Tomorrow?”

Okay. Now or never. Just, just say it.

“I was thinking more like tonight,” you say with a slight smirk.

“Tonight it is,” he replies, but adds in a gentlemanly fashion and with a cute flush , “but no err... funny business. I want to know you, not just your work. I feel like you’re... very special... and important... and deserve err good things.”

You smile softly, realising that he might actually be trying to pursue something. Something real. “Then to good things,” you say, “and greater things together.”

[aficforeveryfandom]

The Love Shack Tavern

Time for a Merthur fic! Remember 0304 where the barmaid in the tavern fancies Merlin? Well this kinda spirals off from there soooo

Lots of fluff :)

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“Oh no, sorry, I was talking to your friend,” smiled the barmaid. Arthur’s face catapulted through the spectrum of human emotion, from confusion, to surprise, to shame, to annoyance. Merlin looked quite frankly rather pleased with himself, shooting Arthur a cheeky grin.

“Merlin??” Arthur questioned, not really having considered the dollophead to have any sort of appeal before. But whatever, he could totally let it go. “Are you absolutely sure she meant you?” Okay so maybe not completely let it go. When Merlin continued to smile and a faint blush rose in his cheeks, Arthur tilted his head slightly in bewilderment.

After the bar fight and the drunken pretty boy who was literally a nightmare on legs, Arthur really started to think. He watched how Gwaine looked at Merlin, like he was precious and desirable. Again he relived the mistaken barmaid, her dough eyes sparkling at his servant. Then he thought about Gwen, how close the two were, and the way she smiled at him like he was some beacon of hope. And Morgana - she really liked him, and trusted him, and cared about him. Arthur had never really considered how much other people seemed to like his idiot manservant.

Merlin felt Arthur’s eyes on him as they rode. He chuckled to himself, thinking he was still fixated on for once not being the drop dead gorgeous one. Although he totally was. With his stupid blonde shiny hair and his stupid bright eyes and his stupid stupid jawline and those rippling stupid muscles. But this time, Merlin had been the sex appeal, and by god he was never going to get over that.

But Arthur wasn’t thinking about the barmaid. He was wayyyyy past that. Arthur was studying the curve of Merlin’s pinkish lips, the gentle slope of his nose, the slight smatter of dirt on his cheek and the mess of shiny black hair shifting in the wind. He couldn’t place when Merlin had started getting muscular, but the toned arms and broad back were... well they were absolutely fine. Totally fine. But there was more. Arthur saw the glinting eyes of the young lad who had called him a prat and laughed at “daddy’s men”. He admired the tiny dimples in his smile, so reminiscent of their teasing and laughing. In his lightly tanned skin he found the memories of a dozen battles and hunts and adventures, in his long fingers the deliberate pokes and prods but at the same time the gentle kindness as he helped Arthur with his armour. Oh no. Really? Oh he couldn’t. There was absolutely no way on this earth...

Arthur was in love with Merlin.

Damn. He so nearly avoided that. What should he do? Does Merlin know? He can’t possibly know, there’s no way. But does that mean he should be informed? Maybe a... a letter. Flowers. Wait no that’s girly. Well Merlin is a wuss. But still.

“You alright clotpole?” Merlin looks at Arthur quizzically as he speaks, noticing him turn a peculiar chartreuse colour.

“Yes you’re just really hot”. Oh no. Oh no Nono no. Oh he had said it without thinking, without realising. He had just turned around and said the thing he promised himself he would write in some flowers. In a letter. Fuck everything was stressful.

Merlin just gaped. He pulled up his horse. And gaped. Every few seconds, he would take in a breath as if to say something, but then return to the slack jaw position. Arthur. Arthur found him, him, attractive? And admitted it?!?! Was he supposed to say thank you? Ignore it? What if it was a ploy, to test his reaction? What if Arthur knew that he liked him? No, he couldn’t know. So that... that meant Arthur did like him.

Arthur watched in mute horror as Merlin slowly climbed down off his horse. Then he saw his hands, beckoning him. He shouldn’t take orders from his manservant... although it was hot... like, super hot. Oh no. His body was ignoring his brain and he was genuinely climbing off his horse and Merlin was right there in all his mud smudged glory and how he wished he could just-

The train of thought was broken by lips meeting. Slow and cautious at first, wary even, it quickly became heated and intense, tongue hitting tongue and teeth snagging skin as they both realised a destiny neither of them had been shouldering. Hands found grooves and books and tangles as they stumbled across the ground, firmly intertwined and lips not disconnecting even for a second. Not until Merlin, clumsy as ever, tripod backwards over what seemed to Arthur to literally be air, and found himself hanging in Arthur’s strong embrace. They looked at each other for a long while, as though seeing the other for the very first time. Tenderly, Arthur swept away that cute smatter of dirt gracing Merlin’s cheek, then leaned in and kissed him again.

When they arrived back at the castle that evening, significantly later than anticipated (“ran into some sort of riot at the tavern father, felt it my duty to put a stop to it”), Morgana and Gwen exchanged a glance. Morgana discreetly slipped Gwen a few coins, secretly pleased to have lost the bet. When Merlin went in to Arthur’s chambers later that night to do a final clean up, he very much didn’t leave again. Prince’s orders.

Gaius decided that the tavern was in fact not a feasible excuse anymore, and he would rather have to think of another.

[aficforeveryfandom]

Lonely Together

This is a drarry fic not inspired by the Rita Ora song but its title I suppose. Very brief, slightly oblique mentions of self harm and suicidal tendencies.

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7th year Harry Potter was a little more broken than he’d imagined. His brain ached constantly, sometimes outdoing his heart. Every now and then, the image of a blanked Kings Cross station swirled through the cracks in his skull and tore at his wrists.

But he couldn’t tell anyone.

How do you turn to your best friends and say: I died and this is how it felt. Truth was, he didn’t even know. So instead of talking, Harry became quiet and withdrawn. At 2 or 3 or 4am he would creep out into the Hogwarts corridors and up towards the Observatory, hoping that proximity to the stars would somehow set him alight.

He didn’t do this every night though.

7th year Draco Malfoy knew that things would be hard. He could hardly look into the eyes of the bereaved for fear he would see his father’s cruelty reflected back at him. Sometimes he just sat and cried, silently, slim shoulders shaking with rage at his birthright and grief at the horrors it had caused.

He didn’t sleep.

Because everytime Draco closed his eyes, he saw that room burning and burning, lived again the screams of the friend he had to abandon. Or he saw those scars that snaked along Hermione’s arm, the vicious curls of pain on Ron’s chest, the benevolent stare of Dumbledore even as he condemned him. He didn’t speak or sleep, just existed as a ghost does. At 2 or 3 or 4am he would creep into the Hogwarts corridors and up towards the Observatory, teetering at the edge of death just to remind himself he was alive.

When Harry dragged himself up to the Observatory this night, he heard the sound of tears. A figure, leaning out, shoulders shaking. He ran up and pulled them backwards, nameless and faceless but not another pair of dying eyes please, please.

Draco felt his arm being pulled back urgently, whipping his slender frame round and into the shoulder of a boy who smelt like burning embers. He slowly lifted his head to meet those eyes, the ones he had fixated on for so long. In them, he didn’t see the hatred or sadness of so many others, he saw concern and compassion. Did Harry... care?

“You alright?” Harry whispered, stepping back gently but not letting go of Draco’s hand. Something about that soft pale skin felt like a solace.

“I believe, Potter, that that is the most stupid question you have ever asked,” was the tentative reply, followed by a tiny laugh on both parts.

Harry stared into the eyes of Draco and found not cold but warmth. He saw someone, finally, as fucked up as him. In those gorgeous eyes lay pain and fire and understanding and god for some reason all Harry could think about was kissing him.

So he did.

It was slow, gentle, tender, more of an embrace or a reassurance. As the scattered stars flamed, Draco and Harry fell into each other’s pain, lips connecting hearts and nightmares. It deepened, subtly, both finding urgency in the recognition of true despair, lips and hands moving frantically as tongues met. They put everything into that kiss, every pain and torture they had pouring into the other’s warm touch. The unrealised yearning of 7 years, the pressure of greatness and the worry of not living up to it. Two sides of the same coin crumpled to the floor, Draco in Harry’s arms or Harry in Draco’s they couldn’t quite work out but they were a mess and that was finally okay.

And they’re not saying that kiss saved them. Because Harry’s eyes still closed to Kings Cross and Draco’s to the Room of Requirement, and both cried, if anything, more than ever.

But Harry went to the Observatory at 2 or 3 or 4am not to be singed by stars but to bury his head in the nook of an understanding shoulder. And Draco went to the observatory at 2 or 3 or 4am not to fall over the edge but into kind and protective arms.

They were not perfect. The problems were still there. But on those nights, surrounded by nighttime sheen, they could atleast be lonely together.