touch me harry

I always thought that Magnus is just fixing Alec’s jacket. You know as the reason for him to touch him. But it was just about 5 minutes ago that I realize that he is stroking his cheek too. I never saw that he brushed his finger at Alec’s cheek. No surprise that Matt couldn’t keep straight face and smiled and blushed. 

Seriously, what is wrong with me when it took me so long to get some of their touchings? 

Her Skeleton Will Lie In The Chamber Forever…

2

Sometimes I just remember how soft Mr Graves hands were, as they slowly slid down Credences neck, then softly along his jaw. THEN I GET ALL TINGLY BECAUSE THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED 😅 I just can’t bYe

6

my favorite fics [26/?]

Autumn Leaves by @fukcinglouis; 27k, read on ao3

Summary: “Brave?” Harry frowns, caught off guard. “No, not particularly.”

“You seem brave,” Louis decides, pushing off the wall and stepping on the butt of his cigarette. “You are strong, and you are not mean. That’s good,” he assures, touching Harry’s arm gently.

“Thank you, but that’s not true,” Harry smiles ruefully. “I’m really not anything special.”

Or, Harry is an American soldier in France during World War II, and Louis is a French waiter that doesn’t mean to fall in love with him.

Fleur & Hermione as hair braiding buddies is something very dear to my heart, okay.

You love me, right?

A/N: Maybe not exactly what you had in mind, but I hope you enjoy. 

“Don’t touch me!” you giggled. But Harry didn’t listen as he continued to reach for you, narrowly avoiding the bicycle kicks you were sending his way.


“Oh, come off it, m’hands aren’t that cold,” he said with an eye roll as he finally got you to settle beneath him. His hands rested on your sides, and while your flesh was protected from his chilly fingers by the thick fabric of your sweater, you could feel the coldness hovering above.


“They are freezing, Harry.” You looked around best you could with Harry keeping you still, trying to find some way to escape. But you were trapped in the middle of the bed like a raft out to sea with no sight of shore.


“Fine, fine. Won’t touch you.” His shoulders slumped in dejection, bottom lip protruding pathetically. You looked for signs of movement; you’d been in this relationship long enough to know Harry never gave up without a fight. “But yeh know, love, cold hands mean ‘ve got a warm heart.”


Your eyebrows raised, mouth in a hard line. “That is the biggest load—”


The words hardly left your mouth before Harry’s hands infiltrated your warm sweater. He roamed the expanse of your warm body, squeezing and tickling all the spots that made you squeal. Maybe it wasn’t his cold hands, but the sound of your laugh echoing throughout his bedroom did make Harry swell with warmth.


“Harry…Harry, please,” you pleaded through heavy breaths, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. “My tummy hurts…think you’ve given me a cramp.”

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The thing that is fucking me up the most is the simple fact that Harry Styles is a fucking legend. The lads a fucking legend. Among the fucking mess and anarchy that is 21st century pop-culture, the boy has managed to make himself iconic before he’s even dropped a single. He’s managed to make himself relevant and raw and real. Fucking incredible. Never seen anything like it in my time, will probably never see it again. I’m so ready for everything he’s got to offer. Legend.