#pleasebekidding

Harry Potter and the elusive day off

pleasebekidding  @fuckyoupbk

Chapters: 13/13 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Additional Tags: Sleep disorders, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, in all honesty this has a bunch of pain, problematic therapist/patient stuff, mind healer!draco, auror!Harry, no seriously the therapist/patient stuff is super problematic but welcome to fanfic, Child Abuse

Summary:

Auror Potter needs a fucking break. He is wiped. He is exhausted. He probably didn't intend to put himself into a magical coma but these things happen. And who cares, really? He is comfortable in a house where he has hidden away all the shit he can't deal with. Guaritore Christopher Black is an exceptional psychiatrist with a specialisation in sleep disorders. He is also Draco Malfoy in a Glamour. Minister Hermione Granger knows the dangers and the complications, but she needs her best friend back.

Excerpt:

“It’s so pretty, here,” he said. “I probably didn’t pay enough attention, in the beginning.”

Draco reached for his wand and wordlessly nudged the curtains the rest of the way open. “It’s beautiful all summer, if you don’t mind the heat. Beautiful all year around, really, but the beaches, and…”

He took a breath. He didn’t like the way his tongue was tripping him up. He acknowledged his irritation with himself, though, and then he let it go. Dwelling wouldn’t help.

“So — what would you say? If you could see him — tell him — this Draco of yours, who by the way sounds very, very handsome. If you confessed this gross violation of his privacy. Assuming he didn’t toss you out on your arse, of course.”

Harry laughed quietly. “I’d like to see him try. I’m an Auror, you know, a rather good one, and he has the upper body strength of a Cornish Pixie.”

“Good with a hex, though,” Draco growled.

“Sneaky,” Harry agreed. And then he leaned in, and took Draco’s hands. He was gentle, but firm; he was certain, and the his power thrummed around him again, so strong and warm and beautiful that it made Draco’s chest ache. Harry held his gaze as his large, calloused hands covered both of Draco’s. He closed his eyes for a moment when he lifted Draco’s hands to his lips, and kissed them. Knuckles, and then fingers, and then the backs of his hands, as if he was something incredibly precious.

“I’d tell him I’m sorry I violated his privacy,” Harry said. “And I’d ask him not to hate me for it — because he’s so much a part of me now that I couldn’t stand it.” Harry’s expression softened just barely and his eyes searched Draco’s face, twice flicking to his mouth.

“Well, he’d be fucked, then,” Draco said, after a long moment, his entire body language shifting. “That was some seriously romantic bollocks, despite all the terrible stalking.”

Harry snickered. “Look, I was already in the habit. We used to stalk each other at school all the time. Usually took turns, but I have to admit I was always better at it than he was. He mostly sprang from corners, desperate for attention.”

“That is not what I was doing!” Draco said, giving up the pretence of the Glamour at last.

“Really? That was what it looked like. For years.”

“Nonsense.”

“How many hours did you spend spelling those flashing badges?” Draco flushed. “And did you make your own Dementor costume, or did you have it made at Madame Malkins’?”

“I cannot believe you almost got sorted into Slytherin.”

“I can’t believe I told you that.” Harry frowned, and then seemed to remember something. “I have a Kneazle kitten. Her name is Dora. I picked her out because she seems to have some very odd abilities for a Kneazle.”

“Why are you telling me that?”

“Because I want to spend the summer here with you. Healing, resting, and showing you exactly how sorry I am at least a couple of times a day.”

Draco stood up, and locked the door to his office with a little swish of his wand. “And why would I let you do that, Potter?”

But Harry didn’t answer; he was on his feet, hands cupping Draco’s face, kissing him so deeply and thoroughly that Draco couldn’t avoid a little mewl of desire. His entire body responded, and despite the difference in their heights, he actually felt small, pressed against Harry. Small and sort of… swooned. It felt quite extraordinary to be the sole focus of all that intensity, and he couldn’t help but take Harry’s hips into his hands and pull him in close.

Harry ended the kiss, but he didn’t pull away very far. “I don’t know why you would, Draco. I just hope you do.”

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Damon shakes, if he’s been sober too long. There’s no explaining that. He misses Alaric like a limb, like an organ. He’d flip the switch for good if he wasn’t afraid the bastard wasn’t somewhere watching. He goes about his days, he makes the hard choices, he keeps everyone alive, and he drinks like it’s his job.  And he shakes. It’s a couple of days after the episode at Whitmore that Stefan comes to him in the library.  “The only person you had in your life for five years,” he says. “And you left him to burn.” Damon doesn’t defend himself. He swallows the last of the bourbon in his glass.  “Got anything to say for yourself?” Damon says nothing.  “Nothing?” Alaric chips a tooth, grinding them together. “I’m the bad brother,” he reminds Stefan. “Now, fuck off.” Stefan doesn’t fuck off. He stands in silent judgment with the blood of a thousand people on his hands and he eventually walks away.  In his room, later, Damon buries his face in Alaric’s ugliest jacket because it still smells like Alaric but it won’t, for much longer. And his hands shake like an alcoholic’s. Alaric loved him for no good reason and against all odds even though he was the bad brother. And it makes Damon hate him a little. It raised his expectations. If Alaric was here he’d lie alongside Damon on the bed and he’d say I’m tired, let’s just fuck and get some sleep and he’d unlock Damon’s body with those capable fingers and he’d fuck some peace back into him and then they’d sleep. But he’s not here.  Would have been better not to have those snatched moments when the veil dropped. But. No.  He doesn’t even care that he’s crying, but he cares that his hands shake.

 amorevna said: oooh yeah you write such good fics, if you ever wrote A/E I’d probably enjoy it *hint hint* ;) LOL oh man, I may try.  Do you have a prompt in mind? And also, have you read the A/E and A/E/D fics written by pleasebekidding or lit_chick08?  Because they are DIVINE.

always and forever, my darlingest

our love is so epic i ship us so hard

oH OH i forgot to tell you barricadeur and i have decided it is entirely plausible and more than possible that elijah was chilling in paris during the june rebellion

he probably helped

(if you dudes don't tvd elijah mikaelson is a recurring character who might possibly be the greatest fucking vampire ever to grace the screen or a cw show marketed for teenagers, ever, and his hair is a force of nature)

and she suggested it would then be probable that he could slip some blood into the drink of a certain alcoholic revolutionary or the cup of the object of said revolutionary's affection

holy fuck i just

WHICH WOULD MAKE THEM VAMPIRES AND THAT'S HOW THEY SURVIVE THE BARRICADES, THAT'S HOW

ugh my heart