Pairing: Peter X Reader Warnings: Language I think REMINDER: I do not have a tags list. Please stop asking me lmao
It started when Spider-Man crash landed on your rooftop.
You were up there often, usually cause it was quiet and perfect for being alone when you needed to be. Plus, the city lights looked gorgeous at night and you loved drawing the skyline whenever you could. It had become a normalcy for you.
What was not normal, however, was Spider-Man landing face first a few feet from you, letting out a groan of pain.
“What the hell?” You blurted, half scared and half worried as he rolled over, getting up slightly on his elbows and glancing at you.
“Oh, hey,” was all he muttered, not moving another inch but holding a hand to his side. “What’s up?”
Notes: Now this is gonna be a somewhat different type of imagine; an interactive one. There are two songs I want you guys to listen to when indicated- the first one is up to you but I strongly recommend listening to the second one so the experience feels more whole. I also recommend using headphones and even boosting up your bass settings lol Also! The second song might be repeated twice, but that’s up to you. If you follow me on Twitter, you’ll know which one I’m talking about. I hope you guys enjoy!
You and your friends laugh after yet another guy gets rejected when he asks to dance with one of you. It’s the type of night where you’re here to drink and dance and just enjoy each other’s company.
The music is loud, loud enough that you can feel every beat in your chest. It’s dark except for the constant flashing of lights in different colors. Everyone is singing along and jumping, dancing together. The drinks keep flowing but you take your time downing them. You’d rather enjoy this night with a clear head.
Someone taps your shoulder and you roll your eyes when you see that it’s another stranger asking for your attention. You can’t hear what he’s mouthing but his hand signals, pointing to you and then to him, speak loudly enough. You shake your head and shout, “No, thank you! I’m with friends!”
He nods and gives you a thumbs up before he moves on. You smile and appreciate the fact that there’s at least one guy here who respects a woman’s choice.
A new song begins to play and you literally scream when you realize it’s one of your favorites. ‘Hit This Hard’ by Post Malone begins to pump through the walls and your body begins to move with the beat. (Listen now.) Your hands are up in the air and you shout the lyrics along with everyone else. You laugh, enjoying every moment.
“You need another drink?” One of your friends shouts into your ear.
You nod, still dancing, and hand her your empty glass. You watch her as she pushes past the throng of people just to make sure she reaches the bar safely.
And then your eyes meet his.
You stop dancing, his gaze making your whole world stop. You get the feeling that you’ve seen him somewhere before but you can’t remember from where. He’s leaning against the bar, his elbow perched on top of it. He’s holding a glass of his own with just his fingertips. You glance back at his face and even with the distance, you see him smile. It wasn’t a smirk, but a smile. An acknowledgement.
You look away immediately, feeling completely nervous all of a sudden. Was he watching you? For how long? You look back in the direction where he was standing but he’s disappeared. You pout, surprised at yourself for the pang of disappointment that you feel in your chest.
Music and drinks.
That’s really the only reason I even agreed to come down with my brothers to this club. It’s been one hell of a month- no, actually, it’s been one hell of a year. I wasn’t about to deny a chance to hang out with my brothers before I have to leave again.
Music and drinks. That’s what I came here for.
But then her smile catches my eye. I gaze as she laughs with her friends. As she sips her drink. As she rejects a guy, whom I’m sure just asked her to dance. The poor bastard.
I keep watching her, completely unaware that I probably look like a creep right now. A new song starts to blast through the speakers and the way her face lights up has me loving the song already.
She begins to dance, slow and sensual to match the rhythm of the song. Her hips sway back and forth, her hands up in the air. She’s singing along with her eyes closed and I’m in a trance, one I don’t ever want to stop.
It’s not even about the way she looks or what she’s wearing; it’s the fact that she’s here to enjoy herself with music and friends. She could be dancing on any guy right now but she refuses to. It makes me wonder if she’d refused me if I even dared to ask.
I feel Harry or Sam nudge my shoulder but I just wave them off. One of the girls who was dancing with her starts to make her way to the bar and I quickly try to think of what to do. Should I ask her friend who she is? Or should I send her friend back with a message?
I don’t even get the chance to decide when her eyes lock with mine. The hairs behind my neck stand on end. I take a deep breath to try to maintain my cool while my mind goes into overdrive.
Should I wave? What if she rejects me like she did to that old bloke?
I try to smile but I can’t feel any part of my body. She smiles back, briefly, before she looks down at her feet.
Shit. Did I fuck up?
I stand up and start to take a step in her direction when someone grabs my arm.
“They’re asking for you up in the booth!” Harry screams into my ear. “The owner of this place!”
I curse the owner for ruining this perfect chance. I glance over at her, just to have another look in her eyes but… she’s gone.
Your friends drag you across the crowd of people until you stand together at the edge of the dance floor. You’re all giggly and too energetic, the alcohol starting its effect.
Even though you told yourself that this was a night for just you and your friends, you can’t help glancing around to see his face. You can’t ignore the hope that he may have followed you. He takes over your thoughts and your friends’ voices become muted as you begin to look from corner to corner of the building just for him.
Is it possible to have formed such a strong connection with someone you never even talked to? The feeling he has created in you is something you’ve never felt before and you want more of it.
You want him.
It’s like the flashing lights gods hear you as one of them slides over a face on the second floor. You recognize him immediately and your heart jumps with excitement.
He’s leaning over the balcony that looks over the main dance floor. His eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes are roaming everywhere.
Is he looking for you?
Keeping your eyes glued to his face, you begin to move forward onto the dance floor. You don’t even tell your friends, your only focus being on him. You push further and further until you’re at the center.
Just in time, a new song begins to play. ‘A Little Death’ by The Neighbourhood fills up the room and it consumes you. (Listen now.) Your body gives in and begins to move. You close your eyes and just dance on your own, the bodies of people creating a sort of circle around you. You raise your hands and run your fingers through your hair before sliding them down to your neck.
You hope against all hope that he finds you.
After quick hello’s and more drinks, I distance myself from the already drunk group that surround the owner. I walk to edge and find myself on a balcony where the whole club becomes my view. The flashing lights bounce off the walls and the bodies all moving against one another.
I take a slow gulp of my drink and set it down on a random tray. I perch myself against the railing and gaze down at the dance floor.
Immediately, I start looking for her. I hope she hasn’t left. I look from face to face, trying to find hers but with no luck. She’s nowhere to be found and I find myself slowly getting pissed and frustrated with myself for not approaching her sooner.
I start to give up when the music changes tempo and the new song that starts is slower. For some reason, I have the urge to stay and keep looking. I search once again and it’s like she was made to stand out from everyone.
She’s by herself. No friends. She’s dancing once again but she’s doing something with her hands that almost has me adjusting myself in my pants.
Her hands push her hair back and then they move down to her exposed neck. They continue their lucky path down her chest until they reach her hips and I’m already darting down the stairs, skipping steps to get to her quicker.
I keep my sight on her as I literally push people out of my way. I’m not going to let anybody or anything ruin this chance for me.
You feel heat overcome your body and your heartbeat accelerates rapidly. You bite your lip just thinking that maybe he’s there. Watching you.
She sought death on a queen-sized bed
And he had said, “Darling, your looks can kill
So now you’re dead"
You open your eyes and all the air escapes from your lungs.
He’s standing in front of you. His eyes are brighter than the lights dancing around you.
You’re not sure what to do but you do know you want him to touch you. You want to make sure he’s real and this is really happening.
You smile sweetly and slowly turn around so that your back faces him. You stare straight forward until you feel his body come up to yours. His breaths are warm against your neck. His fingertips graze the top of your arms and slowly slide down, his fingers intertwining with yours.
You gradually begin to move your hips against him and it’s like the music and the sounds around you unmute. You’re impressed at how well he moves with you. He squeezes your fingers before letting them go. He places his hands on your waist and guides you.
Since your hands are free, you reach up behind you and put them behind his head. He takes one side of your hair and places it on the other side, completely exposing your neck. The hands on your waist pull you closer to him so your whole back is covered by him.
You sense the tip of his nose skim the side of your neck before he plants a soft kiss on your skin. You’re pretty sure you moaned but the music drowned it out.
You drop your hands down to grab onto his and guide them down your thighs, your hips still glued together, swaying to the music. Somehow, he manages to turn you around so that you’re facing each other.
His eyes are dark now and you recognize the feeling they show since they might be reflecting your own. You reach out and run your fingers through his hair, pushing that one loose strand back. His hand comes up to your face and his thumb caresses your bottom lip so gently, you wonder if he even touched it. You dare to let your tongue peek out and lightly touch his thumb.
His eyes suddenly dilate and his hand slides to the back of your head. He pulls you towards him and your mouths make contact.
Through the fogginess of his taste on your mouth, you marvel at the thought that you don’t even know his name but one thing you do know for sure; you are completely and undoubtedly in love with him.
… “It’s always the maddest people that come up to me. The other day an old bloke in the queue for the coffee shop said, “I just flew in from Indiana the other day. Are you from the Arctic Monkeys? We love your music, great to see you.” It blows my mind what the Arctic Monkeys’ demographic is – it’s a mystery.”
Michael Gray imagine in which he gets jealous, which leads to feelings being admitted.
“Be careful Michael, If you keep on looking like you smell shit on your lip your face’ll get stuck like that.” Arthur teased him about the sour look plastered on his face. “What’s he got to look so pissed about anyway?” John asked. “He’s lookin’ at (y/n) over there. He’s in love with her, but too scared to say it, so he just sulks whenever another bloke talks to her.” Isaiah explained. “Shit, your face really will get stuck like that then. (Y/n) is a good lookin’ girl, lots of lads are going to try to talk to her.”Arthur proclaimed. “I’m well aware. Thanks.” Michael unenthusiastically responded. “Why not tell her you fancy her then?” John asked the obvious question. “Isaiah was exaggerating when he said I’m in love with (y/n). She’s a sweet girl is all. Either way, she’s never shown any interest in me. It’s not worth it to embarrass myself.” He lied.
just a little something for the absolute sunshine who we all adore on her birthday, hope you like this aaron centric theme fic @aarondingel
It’s the sound of trees whistling in the breeze which stirs Aaron awake, he can hear the birds chirping away outside and something travels through him with ease as he flickers his eyes open.
Robert’s laying next to him, face turned towards his, freckles even more noticeable against his soft complexion and bed hair. He looks oddly at peace and Aaron can’t help but leave him like that for a little longer. He’s wrapping an arm around his husband, nestling closer into Robert’s chest and tugging the covers over them both because the world can wait a little while.
He’s woken up again this time by the sound of flipping drums and tin cans being smashed together and he fights the need to swear as he senses two little children bouncing through the room. Robert’s there, turning over in bed and he’s fully awake now, shivering slightly because he probably hasn’t even bothered to put the heating on.
Robert leans down and kisses Aaron, sends something pulsating through the younger man as he looks at his lips. “I’d kiss ya thirty times but -”
Aaron gulps, “Yeah, keep it PG.” He mumbles out, desperately fighting the need to just go crazy and ask Robert to touch him in all the right places.
He can’t go around doing that though because Annie and Jacob are edging closer and they’re looking ridiculously adorable. They’ve both got neon hi-vis jackets on and the colour startles Aaron’s sleepy eyes.
Jacob’s only five but he seems to think he’s much older as he stands there cheekily waiting for his dads to pay him attention. He’d grown so much recently and it’s scary. Aaron can think back to the days when he used to sleep in between him and Robert and they’d just watch him breathe because they were that scared about something going wrong. He was perfect though, in every way he could be.
“Daddy! Happy birthday!” He’s saying, jumps hard on the bed and lands on Aaron’s thigh making him groan out in pain as Jacob fights a laugh and Annie looks all concerned.
She’s like that, Robert says she gets it from Aaron but Aaron’s always there to remind him of how caring and sweet he can be too and yeah, Robert only believes it sometimes.
He’s still got a long way to go before he genuinely believes Aaron’s sticking around and it’s crazy because Aaron was convinced he was the insecure wreck in the relationship. But since they got married officially, it’s Robert who says soppy things about wanting to not waste a single second of happiness.
Like it’s going to just evaporate soon.
It isn’t. Aaron knows it isn’t.
“You can’t do that to daddy anymore, he’s getting old like me.” Robert laughs out, watches Aaron laugh and then start attacking Jacob with tickles as his curly brown hair charges into Aaron’s chest.
Aaron rolls his asks, reminds Jacob and Annie how old he is now and watches them gasp and widen their eyes in shock.
Then Robert tells him his age and they topple over the bed dramatically as they gasp.
It’s a light moment, one Aaron didn’t think he could afford.
Aaron’s got to do the whole blindfold, act like you can’t hear your kids whispering loudly, thing.
He’s fighting a smile, biting down hard on his lip actually and then he feels a tray drop on his lap and he’s gasping.
“Take it off now daddy.” Annie whispers, all soft edges and blonde locks.
Aaron removes the blindfold and reads the toast out with a smile: ‘Happy birthday daddy.’
Robert’s standing there, looking all hot and bothered because he’s probably left the kitchen in a mess and the kids have probably run riot downstairs whilst Aaron’s been lounging about in bed. But he does this wink and something literally melts in Aaron’s heart.
Bellamy has been focusing on his breathing so much for the past half an hour that he’s way too aware of his own body, of the way his chest moves and his arms don’t, how he stares at the ceiling and forces himself not to shift on the bed. He inhales one more time, slow and deep and awkward, and it turns into a sigh. Or perhaps even a small whimper. He isn’t sure, when all he knows is his own body, and Clarke’s only a few inches away.
That is how the man had called him as he’d shown fucking Wanheda were they would sleep for the night. Bellamy has never bothered with the language, and so the translation was lost on him, but the meaning was not. Because there was only one bed in that room. One bed for two people. The meaning was fucking clear.
Dressed in the nondescript jeans and jumper Harry had bought for him, Draco should’ve looked like any other eighteen year-old bloke. Even his hair was unworthy of a third look (a second, certainly, because of its colour, but not a third) since Harry had taken him into the village to get it cut. Draco’s face in the wan December sunlight looked entirely unremarkable, and his hands were raw and red where he’d chewed his fingernails to the quick. What’s more, he wore a perpetually shifty look and tended to walk slightly sideways like crab. Twice they’d been stopped by policemen and asked to empty out their pockets – a situation made even more uncomfortable when the contents of Draco’s pockets were revealed to include four generic looking rocks, three wrapperless hard boiled sweets of different sorts, two large dried-up beetles and one almost empty tube of “personal lubricant.”
In other words, there should be absolutely no reason under the sun why Harry could not take his eyes off of Draco, even for a second. Let alone wank over the stupid prat in a public toilet. It made no sense at all.
Double duty fic! For both trek Fest and my 300 follower prompts!!
You were getting fed up. It was well past time for whoever was working late to leave. You’d scrubbed and dusted and vacuumed and mopped every other one of the meeting rooms and offices, but once more, Montgomery Scott, whoever he was, was making you late getting off work.
Aerospace Engineers were an unpredictable lot–some didn’t like anything in their office to be touched or they’d freak out (Mr. Spock politely told you you didn’t need to bother), some completely trashed the place in a burst of frustration or inspiration and then tried to apologize by flirting (Jim Kirk), and others (like Scott) were absent minded geniuses who’d spend days holed up in their offices scribbling like mad over their latest and greatest technology advancing ideas.
This night was the last straw. You’d been forced to cancel a long anticipated night on the town with some friends you rarely got to see and you were glaring daggers at the office door, wishing you could melt it with your stare and drag the delinquent engineer out by the scruff of his neck.
Heaving a sigh, you knocked on the door.
“Mr. Scott, I’m sorry to disturb to, but the it’s two hours past closing time and the custodian needs to finish the job. You’re the only office left.”
“Tell him not to bother. I’ll clean up m'self.” Came a distracted sounding Scottish voice.
“I’m sorry, sir. That’s not how it works. I can’t leave until I’ve cleaned every office.”
There was a silence, a loud rustling and shuffling, and the door opened to reveal a disheveled looking man in a wrinkled dress shirt and wildly mussed red hair. He looked startled when he saw you.
“Okay, when you said custodian, I thought old bloke in coveralls, not You,” blurted from his mouth.
“Sorry to disappoint,” you said wearily and sarcastically. “Could I please collect your trash and mop your floor? I promise I’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes and you can go back to designing rockets or whatever it is you do all day.”
“Good heavens!” Exclaimed Mr. Scott, looking at the large clock on his wall. “Nearly eight o'clock!! No wonder you’re hot under the collar! I’ll get out of your hair, lass.”
He turned and began gathering papers into a large briefcase in the corner.
“I tend to lose track of time when I’m deep into a project. I hope I didn’t put a damper on your plans.”
Pulling the stuffed trash bag out of the can, you deftly tied the ends together and put in a new bag like you’d done a thousand times before.
“You kind of did,” you said ruefully. “I’ll get over it. I’m a big girl.”
Nevertheless, you couldn’t stop the wistful expression that followed and the absent minded engineer noticed.
“Ahhh, dear. I’m truly sorry, lass. How can I make it up to you?”
You though hard for a minute, knowing you should say “no need” and move on, but he was kind of intriguing……
“Well,” you said slowly, dipping the mop in the water and swishing it over the marbled floor, “if you took me to Zephyr’s for dinner, like I was planning to do with my friends tonight, it would certainly help.”
You were half joking, but His jovial round face peeked up.
“I’d be delighted, miss…..”
“Y/N Y/L/N,” you supplied, face reddening. “You don’t really have to, I was just saying hypothetically…..”
“Hypothetically or not, a nice lass like yourself deserves a reward for dealing with crazy engineers all day long. Name the date and time and I’ll be there.”
“Ummm…Friday at 8?” You ventured.
“You’ve got it!” he exclaimed, typing something into his phone. “Looking forward to it.”
Well, what a way to get a date, you thought dazedly as you drug yourself to your car after you finally finished. “Scotty” as he insisted you call him, seemed like an actual good guy. Who knew what might come of it?
Chapters: 19/? Fandom: Emmerdale, robron Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden Characters: Robert Sugden, Adam Barton, David Metcalfe, Aaron Dingle, Chrissie White, Lachlan White, Rebecca White, Annie Sugden Jr, Victoria Sugden, Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Angst, Drama, Mystery, single dad robert, aaron is a boxer and mechanic and is GREAT with kids, and robert is like this ice king who can’t get close, aaron is a soft smitten kitten in this, Death, Guns, robert is a lying liar who lies and goes on the run, alternative universe, more tags to be added later, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse Summary:
robert made a mistake, and then another. so it’s no one else’s fault but his own that he’s stuck in some flat in east london with a five year old daughter and some bloke on his mind threatening to break down all those walls the infamous whites helped build.
um I demand a link to the photoshoot and the fic, please and thank
It’s actually not finished yet (that’s just the running tally!) but I can leave you with the picture (seriously what the fuck, Taron, I haven’t seen anyone wear these pants since 8th grade gym class, bless your horrible fashion):
“Hermione, I don’t know why you insist I got to the Yule Ball when I don’t even know who my date is,” you huffed as Hermione fussed over your hair. When Hermione heard that you didn’t have a date to the Yule Ball she went to work on finding a date for you. However, when she finally found someone that she believed you’d get along with she wouldn’t tell you whom. You asked Harry and Ron if they knew who your date was but Hermione’s warning glare intimidated them into not answering.
“Trust me on this, I know that you and your date will hit it off the moment you see each other,” Hermione insisted, adding one last curl to your hair. “I didn’t just choose any old bloke I found, I took several factors into consideration when I made my choice.”
“Alright Hermione, I’ll trust you on this but if I have a horrible time tonight you’ll need to buy me ice cream in compensation,” you demanded. If you were going to have a crumby night out, you might as well get rewarded for it. You would’ve much rather stayed in your dorm and read one of your books for pleasure.
“If you have a great time then you need to buy me ice cream because I want to hear every gory detail about what happened,” Hermione winked as she led you out of the room. “Now let’s get going we don’t want to keep our dates waiting too long.”
The closer the two of you became to the great hall the more nervous you felt. What if your date was absolutely horrible to you and ruined your night? What if your date was someone you loathed more than anyone, certainly Hermione wouldn’t go that route. When you arrived at the top of the stairs leading to the great hall you froze letting your nerves get the better of you.
“Y/N if you don’t go down there I’ll send him up here. I’m not allowing you to escape your date,” Hermione instructed offering you her arm. “ Let’s get you to your date so you can have a wonderful night.”
Reluctantly, you followed Hermione down to meet your date and were surprised to see a familiar red headed boy standing beside Krum looking at you in awe. You turned to Hermione who had a smug grin on her face, had your friend really set you up on a date with your biggest crush, Fred.
“Fred I had no idea that Hermione paired us up together for the ball,” you blushed.
“I practically begged Hermione to let me be your date. I hadn’t figured out how to ask you to the ball and when she came and asked me who you should go with I couldn’t help but mention myself as a potential candidate,” Fred grinned, taking your hand in his. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show up to the ball because going with a stranger is a bit intimidating.” You couldn’t hide your surprise that Fred wanted you to be his date.
“Hermione’s a difficult person to say no to Fred. Even if I was nervous she wasn’t going to let me miss the ball. Besides, I wouldn’t have missed out on a chance to be your date for tonight,” you smiled.
“Well let’s just be happy that we’re both here together then. I can’t wait to see where our evening will take us,” Fred beamed, pressing his lips to your hand. “Shall we dance?”
You nodded in agreement and silently thanked Hermione profusely for setting you up with the perfect date.
the anon who asked for 4 & 28, I’ll get on to 28 another time soon! thank
you so much for playing!)
Abby’s hair is so long that it sits at the
small of her back. She used to let Robert braid it, when she was younger, used
to praise him for his wonky designs and pretty ribbons and prance around the
house like nobility. Apparently the task has become too great for him, these
days, because she refuses to let him anywhere near it.
She’s almost thirteen. There’s not much in
her life he is allowed near, if he’s honest.
“Aunt Deb said I could go there, before the
school dance.” Abby says as they’re idly pushing their trolley around the
supermarket. She tries to hoist herself up so he’ll push her along but he
shakes it, and she falls, giggling.
“Oh, yeah? Nice you asked me first.”
on,” she groans, and the way her freckly nose wrinkles reminds him so much
of her mother. It makes Robert smile. “Like you wanna listen to me talk about shoes.”
“You said I had good fashion sense!”
But you’re a forty year old bloke - ”
he hisses, because she knows full well.
“ – and I’m
a teenage girl. You do the maths.”
“The maths is goin’ home without Cookie Crisp, you keep up that
“You’re such a - ” she starts to say, but
they almost run into someone turning into an aisle. Abby leaps back with a
smile. “Oh, hey, Mr. Dingle!”
Harry sends him an issue before the photos even leak, by courier, as if
he’s afraid Louis might not see it soon enough. Louis knew he’d been working on
something, because Niall told him, but he had no idea the scope was so big. “A
special document curated by Harry,” the magazine cover proudly proclaims. On
it, Harry stares at Louis through a spiderweb, but it’s hard to pay attention
to Harry’s eyes when Louis’s gaze keeps coming back to the collar around
Harry’s neck. The bottom of the picture is obscured by text, but Louis’s quite
sure there’s a leash dangling from the collar.
It’s admittedly not what Louis had been expecting.
Louis watches the cover for a long while before he flicks the magazine
open at random…
… and falls on an ad.
It only takes him two more tries before he methodically rips off every
page that isn’t to do with Harry, barely looking at the ones that do feature
him, until there’s a pile of paper at his feet high enough for him to throw a
good kick into it, scattering them everywhere.
This time when he opens the magazine, it’s to find Harry sitting on a
trashcan. He looks so young that for a second Louis assumes they’ve used old
pictures for the article, but the shot is quite obviously recent, even if
Harry’s hair looks nothing like on those Dunkirk pics (which Louis only saw
because Liam sent him some, it’s not like he trolled the #dunkirk tag on
twitter or anything).
Louis flips back a few pages, stops on a picture of Harry sitting on a
kitchen counter in the most hideous jumper Louis has ever seen; it looks like
someone’s killed a muppet and made a sweater out of it. It should look
ridiculous, but Harry looks beautiful, with his lips curled imperceptibly down
into a bored pout, his slender fingers pressed against his chin, his eyes
Another picture shows him holding a pint, looking too young to be
allowed to drink its contents. He looks like the Harry Louis met six years ago,
like the Harry Louis used to call his best friend before they were driven
apart… by the rumours, by fear, by time.
Louis loses himself in the pictures and the words, sitting cross-legged
on the carpeted floor of his hallway, fingers stroking the glossy pages. He
knows every word and every photo has been carefully chosen, knows Harry has
only shown precisely what he wanted to show, but he still gets fooled into
believing he’s being made privy to the deepest corners of Harry’s soul.
Once upon a time, this wouldn’t have been an illusion. The memory only
makes the deception more potent, and more painful.
Harry is baring his heart out for the whole world to see and he
apparently wanted Louis to see it so badly he made sure Louis would get a copy.
When Louis types Harry’s name into his phone with fingers that are
definitely not shaking from nerves, the autofill feature remains silent.
There are no previous messages saved. He doesn’t actually remember the last
time he texted Harry.
He doesn’t know what to write, so he goes for the expected.
Artsy, are we? he sends, not expecting any reply. He’s barely pressed Send that a
happy little bubble pops up at the bottom of the screen to indicate that
Harry’s writing back.
Did you like it?
He should lie.
Yes. he types, then adds,
against his better judgement; It’s amazing.
He doesn’t ask Harry why the fuck his opinion suddenly matters. But he
does something much worse.
Are you in town?
His treacherous thumb presses Send before he can stop himself and Louis
looks at his phone, horrified, but there is no turning back. He doesn’t even
know why he wrote this. He doesn’t even want-
It’s like he doesn’t have any control over his fingers. They fly over
his screen, while his brain desperately tries to hammer some sense into them,
in vain. Louis knows every letter he types is a mistake, but the magazine in
his lap is opened on that picture of Harry standing tall and long-haired, his
naked torso framed by the lapels of a ridiculous red jacket, and Louis can’t think.
Dyou want to come over?
Harry’s answer takes ages to appear. It’s definitely for the best. Louis
doesn’t even know why he asked, doesn’t know what he would do if Harry agreed.
They have been strangers for too long now. There is no mending what fame has
The answer pops up just when Louis’s managed to convince himself that he
never wanted Harry to say yes.
Absolutely love your fanfics. Just wondering if you could write one about Lily and Remus or Sirius hanging out/studying/something and James getting jealous. <3
Aw thank you! Hope this one doesn’t disappoint woo hoo
Lily, James noticed, got a haircut over the summer.
Not that it was much of a difference. Only a few centimeters off the bottom. It did make her look a little lighter, though. She was positively bouncing after a summer away from her friends.
James jumped, upsetting his glass of pumpkin juice. His head snapped up to meet a not-too-pleased Sirius.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Do you not even reply to your own name anymore?” Sirius rolled his eyes.
“He’s been calling Prongs for the last three minutes.” Remus raised an eyebrow.
“Prongs isn’t even my name,” James protested.
A second eyebrow joined the first.
“It’s a nickname.”
“How dare you.” Sirius glared at James, hand on heart. “How dare you.”
James frowned down at his pumpkin juice. He’d called Lily that once, in fourth year. Pumpkin Juice. Which was obviously a lame insult, because her hair was more reddish. Almost going on auburn.
“Anyways,” Sirius continued, slumping back into his chair. “So I permanently stuck these muggle magazine girls to the…”
Lily Evans looked up to meet James’ eyes. He froze, feeling a blush creep up his collar. She gave him a little smile, and he grimaced back. Charming, he was sure.
He looked back down, but not before he noticed her chair scraping back.
She slowly started walking towards them. You’ve got to be kidding.
James turned back to Sirius with desperately fake enthusiasm. “Yeah?”
Sirius looked at him weirdly but continued. “So the old bloke comes through the door, right, and…”
Fuck, she was here.
“Evans, beautiful as ever. Still no to elopement?” Sirius grinned up at her, holding up a hand.
“When Dumbledore retires.” She rolled her eyes, but slapped him a high-five.
“I shall persevere.”
“Hey, Lily.” Remus smiled.
“Hi! How was your summer?”
“The usual. Did you see the newest Star Wars?”
“It was amazing. Oh my gosh. Did you?”
“Took my dad.” He nodded.
Lily waved at Peter next, who waved back enthusiastically.
The time had come. James cleared his throat. “Hey.”
“Hello, James. What did you do?”
James panicked, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “Quidditch.” Idiot.
“Do you ever not?”
He shrugged, and she smiled. His stomach definitely didn’t just do a funny flop, no it did not.
“Anyways.” She flopped down lightly onto the bench opposite James’s. “I need to catch up on my Alchemy homework. I didn’t get the last essay we had to write because I was sick when they explained it. Could one of you help me out?”
James closed his eyes.
Alchemy was one of his favourites, and he was definitely the best at it out of the four of them. He’d be happy to help her. In the library. Probably alone. Because she needed it, of course, definitely not because he wanted to be alone with her. Which he didn’t, because he didn’t like her. Not like that, anyway. Agreeing to help Lily would just add Fiendfyre to the flame.
And so he kept his eyes down, lip bitten in case he came out with something idiotic, until Remus smiled. “Sure, Lily. Is after Potions in the Library okay?”
Lily nodded, walking off to join her friends.
How the fuck anyone expected him to concentrate on his homework, James did not know.
Peter was asleep on the desk and Sirius was busy fashioning paper blowflies to send to some Slytherins at the other table, so James chanced another look at the table across from them.
Remus sat beside Lily, flipping through a book. He found the page he was looking for, and slid the open book towards Lily
She nodded her thanks, brushing her cheek lightly with her quill before scribbling something else down. Remus opened another book, frowning.
James really wanted to hate Remus. He really did. It just wasn’t helping that Remus is the nicest person he knew, and that he always kept a courteous distance between himself and Lily, not even leaning over to whisper equations in her ear. He wasn’t doing a single thing that James could complain about. Not that he would complain or anything, because it’s Not. Like. He. Likes. Her.
Remus said something to Lily then, which caused a smile to break out across her face, her soft lips curling up into her rounded cheeks. James blinked. And blinked again. And swallowed, for good measure.
James watched Lily lower her head again just as he heard Remus mutter a bathroom before pushing his chair back and walking off. Lily looked up at James, who felt another flush coming on, before looking down again. She scribbled something on a piece of paper, neatly sliding it into a textbook. She stood up, walking towards him with the textbook in hand. She stopped behind the snoring Peter, offering the book to James.
“Remus said he borrowed this off you, and I’m done with it now. Thanks.”
She walked brusquely back to her desk and sat down. Her tone had been clipped, short. Had James offended her in some way?
He opened the book to find a note slipped inside.
Remus doesn’t even take Alchemy anymore. Care to quit staring and actually make yourself useful tomorrow lunchtime?
He looked up. Lily winked before hastily lowering her eyes to her essay.