#although lately i have gotten a tad annoyed a lot so may not be a good idea after all | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tobesolonely · 4 years ago

Text

aura

A/n: Hi everyone! this is a tad bit different from the things i usually write (I think) as i wanted to switch things up a little bit. I’m kinda nervous to post it so pleaseee please let me know your thoughts! As always please enjoy!! thank you to everyone who beta read for me btw :)

summary: witch!y/n can see auras and harry is blue

my ko-fi! thank you :)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N has always been able to easily empathize with others. She could see others' emotional energy— their aura— and this made it easy to know exactly what they were feeling. Not only could she see auras, but she could take away anyone’s emotional turmoil just by touching them.

One of Y/N’s most vivid memories from her childhood was when her best friend came to school one morning in tears over the death of her pet fish. When Y/N leaned in to give her a hug, she felt an overwhelming heaviness overtake her body as soon as they made contact. Upon pulling away from the hug, her friend’s demeanor was completely changed. Instead of being sad over the death of her fish, she was able to instead reflect on all the good times she had with him. Her friend was fine for the rest of the day, but Y/N was left grieving over a fish she never even owned.

Y/N went home that day, confused. How was it that her friend was so easily cheered up just from a hug? Was that all it took for Y/N to make others feel better? If that was the case, she decided she wanted to be a ‘Professional Hugger’ when she grew up. As time went on, Y/N learned that she didn’t even have to hug others to rid them of their mental pain. The slightest touch from her instantly made anyone she came into contact with feel better.

It took a few months for Y/N to realize it was her touch that healed others. Sure, that mental anguish then became hers to carry, but how many people could say they could heal someone just by touching them? If that was the price she had to pay, then so be it. From that point on Y/N made it a point to help anyone she could.

As Y/N got older and her skill with this power grew, she learned to redirect the painful energy elsewhere so she didn’t always have to sit with it. It worked some of the time, but it was something she was still learning to master. Y/N wasn’t always successful in doing this, though. While whoever Y/N touched went about their day feeling great, she would experience their emotions so intensely that she felt as if she were coming down with a cold. Y/N dealt with it in silence because the way she saw it if she was blessed with this gift, she had to be selfless and put it to good use. Y/N was a firm believer that all the good she put out would come back to her in another life at least ten times over.

It was difficult for Y/N not to touch everyone she saw whose aura reflected sadness, anxiety, or worry. She tried to stick to only doing this to people she knew, but there were some instances where Y/N encountered someone who was just so clearly unhappy that she could not help herself.

For example, right now.

Y/N immediately sensed this stranger’s emotional turmoil as soon as they entered the space. It was late afternoon on a Wednesday. Y/N had the longest, most physically demanding day at work and the last thing she wanted to do was go home and cook. Even though she had just gone grocery shopping two days prior, she stopped by her favorite Thai place on the way home. Y/N was in the middle of ordering when their presence quite literally took her breath away, causing her to stumble over her words.

She turned to look over her shoulder at the person who was so greatly distracting her and locked eyes with the most pitiful looking stranger she’d seen all day. The first thing Y/N noticed about him was his hair. It was unruly, like he had just gotten out of bed. She also noticed how tall he was–– if he had just a couple more inches on him, he would’ve had to crane his neck to enter the establishment. Upon making eye contact with Y/N the man quickly looked down at his shoes, twiddling his thumbs. His aura was a mixture of indigo and dark red when Y/N looked at him. Anger and sensitivity.

“Do you still need a moment?”

The voice of the cashier breaks Y/N out of her analytical thoughts of the stranger standing a few feet behind her. She nods, re-situating her purse on her left shoulder.

“Uh, please. He can go ahead if he’s ready.” Y/N gestures behind her and the cashier nods, asking the man behind her if he was ready to order yet. He steps up to the front counter, eyes trained on his feet as if he couldn’t walk without watching every step he took.

His energy was intense and Y/N wasn’t sure how much longer she could ignore it. Something about him was reeling her in— his aura wasn’t looking too bright at the moment, but she could just tell it usually was. She felt compelled to take away his pain, and she hadn’t spoken a single word to him yet. While he was placing his order, Y/N internally debated on whether or not she should “accidentally” graze his arm when they walked past each other. Would that be weird? What if she wasn’t able to redirect his negative energy elsewhere? While she did love to help whenever she could, some people’s emotional baggage was just a little too heavy. She didn’t know him. For all she knew, he could be a killer!

He turns back around once he’s finished ordering and stands by the entrance, out of Y/N’s way. The pair lock eyes again as Y/N makes her way back to the counter to order. Once again, he quickly looked away from her. Y/N’s trying to ignore the annoying nagging feeling she gets when she wants to help someone, but it’s unrelenting. She makes up her mind that once she’s done, she will approach this stranger to get a better read on his emotions.

“Nice weather we’re having today, isn’t it?” She cringes at her choice of a conversation starter and hopes he doesn’t notice. Y/N folds her hands across her chest, forcing herself not to reach out to him. He nods.

“Lovely.”

The tone of his voice causes Y/N to wince. It was sharp and short. He was clearly not in the mood to converse. Although Y/N knows this, she continues on.

“I love this place. I think I come here at least twice a month–– what’s your go-to order?”

The man turns to fully face Y/N this time, his aura now more red than blue. He was beginning to grow annoyed with her small talk.

“Green curry and stir-fried vegetables.” He doesn’t ask Y/N for her order, so she takes this as her signal to stop speaking to him. The bell above the door jingles, signaling another persons’ entry. Their aura is shining gold–– Y/N would not have to interfere.

Y/N moves away from this man, deciding not to speak to him anymore. She was getting better at accepting the fact that no matter how much she wanted to, it was impossible to help everyone. As he collected his food from the front and turned to leave, not sparing Y/N another glance, she silently hoped that whatever was wrong with this man would not last.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Harry was in a funk. There was no denying it, and he was over feeling so terribly. He hadn’t been feeling like himself for far too long. It seemed like everyone wanted something from him when he had nothing left to give. Jeff had set unrealistic deadlines, his mother was upset with him for not calling enough, and he was exhausted from constantly traveling and waking up in a new time zone. Harry needed a break.

Harry’s mind wandered to the pretty girl in the Thai place. She seemed inquisitive. She was very curious about his go-to order, and she was standing a little too close for his comfort. Harry was surprised when she didn’t ask him for a picture. He wasn’t trying to be cocky, but nearly everyone he met asked him for a picture–– he was Harry Styles. However, it was almost like this girl didn’t know who he was. She didn’t seem starstruck in the slightest.

While Harry was waiting for the light to change, it dawned on him that he may have been a tad bit rude to her. He noticed her happy expression drop when he shut her down, but he didn’t feel like talking. He liked to move from place to place as quickly as he could in the off chance he got recognized and it started circulating on Twitter. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a little bad. She was sweet like honey–– or so it seemed. In their brief interaction, she bought him comfort.

Harry wanted to turn back around and go back to the restaurant to check if she was still there. What would be the point, though? She would most likely be long gone by the time he made it back over there, as she did order immediately after him. Harry’s torn out of his thoughts when the cars behind him start honking, and he realizes the light must’ve turned green. He decides not to think about the confrontation anymore.

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The world works in mysterious ways.

Y/N was sure she’d never encounter the grumpy man from her favorite Thai restaurant again but yet here she was in another situation that involved take-out and him. His aura was dark indigo this time. Stress? Isolation? Y/N didn’t know, but she wanted to help him. In her eyes, there was no reason for anyone to be down this badly. She just wanted everyone to be as happy as she (almost) always was! She takes a deep breath before approaching him.

“Hi. How are you?”

Harry was absorbed in a text conversation involving his manager and stylist when a sweet, familiar voice interrupts him.

“I’m okay, thank you. Yourself? Also, we’ve spoken before, I believe.”

She nods, a troubled look on her face. “We have. At the Thai place. How are you, though? Really.”

Harry was beginning to find her a bit strange (but still incredibly gorgeous, even more than he did before now that he got a good look at her face). Why was she so concerned with how he was feeling? Was she going to ask him for a picture or not? As Harry opened his mouth to again tell her he was fine, the desire to tell her how he was really feeling came over him. So he did.

“Honestly? ‘M exhausted. I’ve been doing a lot of traveling and my manager wants a lot from me. I think I jus’ need a break.”

He radiated red. Anxiety? Anger?

“What do you do for work?” Now it was Harry’s turn to wear the troubled look.

“I don’t mean this to be rude, but you’re serious?”

Y/N nods, reaching out to place her hand on his shoulder. Just as quickly as she touches him she removes her hand, and she’s almost certain he didn’t even feel her touch. She notices him let out a visible sigh of relief, his aura changing from a red to a pale yellow. Optimism. Positivity. This causes her to let out her own sigh of relief.

“You’re feeling better! That’s great.” Y/N was not able to redirect his negative energy as the restaurant was too crowded and she didn’t want to risk putting it on anyone else, and she was feeling him. He was stressed, overworked, and anxious. Y/N just wanted to go home and nap, no longer in the mood for the food she just ordered.

Harry decided she was definitely odd but in the most endearing way possible. “How do you know I’m feeling better? Wait, am I feeling better?” Y/N watches as he works through his emotions, his aura ranging in color before settling back on pale yellow.

“Are you?” Y/N knows the answer to this of course, but she wants to hear him say it.

“I think I am. I’ve been feelin’ horrible all week but saying how I felt out loud to you automatically made me feel better. Kind of weird, but I won’t question it. Thank you for asking…,” Harry scrunches his nose, a distasteful expression on his face. “I don’t think ‘ve gotten your name yet.”

Y/N gives him a small, forced smile. “I’m Y/F/N Y/L/N. It’s nice to meet you. I’ll be seeing you around, I think.” Before Harry can tell her his name she’s gone.

And she didn’t even grab her food.

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Y/N felt like she had been hit by a ton of bricks. How one person could carry around all this emotional baggage was beyond her, but she wanted it gone. Immediately.

There was a spell Y/N kept on hand for times like these. Times when she couldn’t redirect the negative energy before it got to her. Times when it was just too much to carry. Y/N had regretfully done this spell more times than she could count and was an expert at reciting it from memory. The vile was open and ready to capture the negative energy that would shortly be leaving her.

Y/N works quickly to complete the process, unsure of what time her roommate would come barreling through the door. She had caught her doing things she deemed strange one too many times (she thought her roommate almost figured out who she really was when she caught her having a full-on conversation with her cat, Sapphire, once). She was beginning to run out of excuses for her “unusual” behavior. Y/N mutters under her breath, willing the energy to exit her.

She notices right away when it leaves her. She feels lighter— like her usual self again. She guides the energy into the vile and immediately seals it, hurrying into her room to lock it away. Y/N kept a box in her closet that she only opened if she had to. It was her Pandora’s Box, in a way. Nothing bad would be released into the world if she opened the box, but if the viles’ were opened then the bad energy she trapped would be re-released into the world, finding its way back to their original owners.

Y/N feels like she can breathe again once she bolts the box. She hoped that whatever he was doing, wherever this man was, he was still feeling okay.

Also, for his sake and everyone’s around him, she hoped he got a break.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N was on Harry’s mind.

Something about her was magnetic. He wished he’d gotten more information about her than only her name, but she left him in such a hurry he could hardly process their conversation. Harry felt like a madman! He searched ‘Y/F/N Y/L/N’ on all social media platforms, but he couldn’t find her anywhere. It was dumb luck that he had ran into her twice in such a short time span, and he hoped good things happened in threes and he would see her again.

He was almost certain that Jeff thought he was losing his mind.

Harry tried explaining his interaction with Y/N first at the Thai food spot and again when he was getting Greek food, but Jeff thought Harry was so sleep deprived he was imagining things.

“How did you see a beautiful, young woman who didn’t freak out or ask for a picture? Doesn’t make sense. You’re Harry Styles.”

“That’s what I thought!” Harry exclaimed wildly. He holds his phone up. “I’m thinkin’ she really doesn’t know who I am, though. I couldn’t find her on any social media platform. It’s like she’s off the grid or somethin’.”

“No social media at all? A little weird, isn’t it?”

“It’s fitting for her. If you met her then you would understand what I meant,” Harry felt the need to defend this alluring stranger who took away his pain just by listening to him speak. “Look at me, Jeff. Don’t I seem so much better than I was jus’ a few days ago?”

His manager couldn’t deny that Harry’s mood (and attitude) had done a 360. He didn’t complain about being woken up early and he happily consented to do not one, but two interviews.

“I mean, yeah? I guess––”

“Thanks to her!” Harry cuts him off. “I’m telling you. I need to see her again and thank her for whatever she did.”

“How are you going to do that?”

Harry leaned back against the counter in Jeff’s kitchen, mulling the question over. It was a valid one. How was he going to do that? He already tried to no avail to find her on social media. He hardly knew anything about her. All he knew was her name, that they seemed to have a similar taste in food, and that she went to the Thai spot at least two times a month.

That was it.

In one last effort to contact Y/N again, Harry planned to go to the Thai food place, pray the cashier who was working when he went in earlier this week was there, and leave his number with her. It was a risky move, probably not the smartest thing he could do, and Jeff would for sure drop him as a client if he knew Harry was doing things like this. Harry didn’t care. Phone numbers could always be changed, and he was desperate.

If Harry couldn’t contact Y/N, he would wait for her to contact him.

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Y/N was confused.

She stopped at her favorite Thai food spot (sooner in the month than anticipated, but she had another long day), ordered her usual, and was about to leave when the sweet cashier who was always there insisted she takes the piece of paper with ‘HARRY’ followed by a phone number scrawled on it.

“For me?” Y/N was confused. Something like this had never happened to her before. I mean, does it happen to anyone?

“He insisted,” the cashier warmly responds. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back–– knew you would soon enough.” Y/N’s face flushes at this and she makes a mental note to start cooking more.

“Well…,” Y/N trails off, not sure what to say. “Thank you? I guess I’ll give him a call and let him know you’ve done well.” The cashier’s aura shines pink. Affection. Love.

“You should. Take care!”

Y/N leaves the restaurant with the crumpled piece of paper in her sweaty hands, eager to get home as soon as possible. She wasn’t sure what it was, but something told her not to disregard him. His reaching out was a sign–– and Y/N did not ignore signs.

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“She hasn’t called me yet.”

“It’s been five days, Harry. She probably doesn’t eat Thai food every day. I can’t believe you did something so fuckin’ stupid…”

Jeff’s reprimanding fades into the background as Harry drifts off into daydreaming about what it would be like if– when- Y/N finally called him. Would she find him obsessed? What if she thought he was stalking her? Harry decided that when she called, he would immediately clear things up. He’d thank her for her kindness (his trademark) and see how she was doing. She left the Greek food place so abruptly when he last saw her that he was under the impression something was bothering her. Harry wasn’t sure what he could do to help if something was troubling her, but he could at least extend a listening ear to her as she did to him.

“Harry, are you listening?”

“What was that?”

Jeff shakes his head at Harry, an amused expression on his face. “Man, I hope she calls you soon.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

The phone rang three times. After the third ring, his gruff voice came through the other end of the phone.

“Hello?”

Y/N sharply inhales, suddenly growing nervous. “Is this Harry?” Silence. Y/N was preparing to repeat herself when he spoke again.

“Is this Y/N?”

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to be silent. Harry says nothing, awaiting her response. “Well, it is. You sound familiar–– how do we know each other?”

“Now that ’m actually able to talk to you, it sounds a bit silly…” He seems unsure of himself. “Promise y’won’t laugh at me?”

“I promise.”

Y/N says it with such conviction that Harry believes her, and it gives him the confidence he needs to proceed. “I was havin’ a hard time a couple of weeks ago. I was in line to get some falafel and you asked me what was wrong. What was really wrong.” Y/N says nothing, so Harry continues.

“I told you I was exhausted from work ‘nd wanted a break. That’s it, y’know? But I immediately felt better afterward. I’ve actually been feelin’ great ever since. I jus’ wanted to thank you, is all. I know it sounds weird and it’s probably all in m’head but I feel like talkin’ with you was just what I needed.” Harry’s rambling, nerves finally catching up to him. She was gorgeous and he was afraid she would think he was insane.

“I’m glad to hear you’re still feeling better, Harry. That’s great.” Y/N’s voice is gentle and soft and to Harry, hearing her speak was just as comforting as getting a hug from his mum.

“I’m also really sorry that I was such a dick when you tried talkin’ to me the first time at the Thai spot,'' Harry feels embarrassed, stumbling over his words. “Not sure if you remember but I was just havin’ a shit day. I thought you were gonna ask for a picture and I just wasn’t in the mood.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything and Harry winces, certain he’s offended her when she starts talking again.

“That’s okay. I know you were having a bad day.”

“How did you know I was having a bad day?” Again, Y/N pauses before answering.

“Well, I didn’t do anything to you for you to be so rude to me. I knew it had to be a problem involving yourself.” Harry notices that Y/N speaks very slowly. It’s as if she considers every word before she speaks. He’s intrigued by her.

“That is very true.” Y/N doesn’t say anything so Harry takes it as his cue to keep talking. “I’m sorry if me leaving my number at the restaurant creeped you out. I hope you didn’t feel obligated to call me.”

“Not at all. I’ve actually been wondering how you were doing since we had our encounter at the Greek place–– that doesn��t creep you out either, right?”

Y/N was hypnotizing. Harry was infatuated.

“Not at all.”

“Can I ask you something, Harry?”

“Course.”

“Why would I want a picture with you?”

Harry had to get to know her.

“Do y’wanna grab coffee sometime?”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Something was definitely different about Y/N–– Harry just couldn’t put his finger on what it was. To begin, she truly had absolutely no idea who Harry was. At first, he thought she was just messing with him, but he quickly realized she was being serious. Y/N said she had “heard of” One Direction, but she never listened to the band’s music. Harry supposed that could account for her being unaware as to who he was. Maybe he wasn’t a “household name” like Jeff always said he was.

Harry was also right about her not having social media. When he asked Y/N why she didn’t use it, she said she preferred to occupy her time with more substantial things. She didn’t elaborate, and Harry didn’t ask. She was however very interested to learn what a big social media following Harry had. He tweeted the word “Do” and they watched as the internet went wild trying to decipher what he meant. He even started trending worldwide for it. It made sense to Y/N after that why Harry was so intent on not taking off his sunglasses and beanie.

Y/N was having a great time analyzing his aura.

She noticed that whenever someone glanced in their direction, his aura briefly turned red. Anxiety. When Y/N attempted to make a joke, it turned pink (she chose not to analyze that too much). Mainly though, his aura shone that beautiful, pale yellow that Y/N loved to see the most. Harry was doing well. He was happy. Y/N would not have to intervene today.

She couldn’t explain why, but she felt obligated to help him. Even though his energy made her feel so terribly last time, she would’ve still taken away his pain if he was blue without even thinking twice about it. Why was she so drawn to him? Y/N wasn’t sure what it was about Harry that drew her in, but she knew she would do anything to help him. Anything to see him happy.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Harry felt the same way.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N missed Harry terribly.

She wanted to call him–– just a brief conversation to see if he was doing okay. He mentioned when they last saw each other nearly two weeks prior that he was going to be very busy in the coming days, and she wondered if he still was. Harry told Y/N that he loved his job (of course he did!), but being so busy sometimes really hurt him. Not just mentally, but physically as well.

She longed for him.

Y/N searched through her call list for Harry’s number and immediately tapped it, listening closely as it rang. She was about to end the call in defeat when Harry answered at the last moment.

“Hello?” He sounded tired, under the weather.

“Harry,” Y/N begins. “I haven’t heard from you in a bit and I just wanted to see if all was well. How do you feel?”

“Hi Y/N,” Harry perks up slightly, but he still sounds a bit congested. “‘M not sure if you can tell from m’voice, but I’ve got a cold.”

Although Y/N wishes with every fiber of her being that she could rid Harry of his cold, she cannot. However, she can make sure all is well with his mind.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she pauses for a moment as she usually does, hoping Harry can tell how sincere she’s being on the other end. “How do you feel though? Are you still feeling happy?”

“Jus’ feelin’ not the greatest again. I’ve been stuck in my house with this fuckin’ cold and haven’t seen anyone in days.”

“I can come over.” Y/N doesn’t think twice before offering. If he had to suffer physically, she at least wanted him to feel okay mentally.

“I don’t want to get you sick. It’s okay–”

“I don’t mind, really. I’ll keep you company.”

Harry doesn’t say anything and Y/N’s sure she must’ve creeped him out. They don’t even know each other well and here she was offering to come over to his home and keep him company while he was sick. She’s about to rescind her offer when he lets out a loud sigh.

“My manager might kill me if he finds out I did this… but sure, let me give you my address.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

As soon as Harry got off the phone, he sprung into action. His home was a mess. There were crumpled up tissues all over the floor beside his bed, a sink full of dishes, and he’s pretty sure every bathroom in his house was a mess. He opted to not have anyone over to clean up after him as he didn’t want to risk getting anyone sick and man did it show.

He quickly gathered up all the tissues and threw them into the bin in the corner of his bedroom, surveying the rest of the mess before deciding he and Y/N wouldn’t be spending time in there, anyway. He was going to focus on the mess downstairs, instead. He loaded his dishwasher and record time and used disinfectant wipes on every surface he could in the kitchen, dining room, and living room. He then surveyed the bathrooms and cleaned the one with the least amount of mess, closing the doors to the other ones. He would worry about those some other time.

Harry was nervous to have Y/N over. He was just nervous to be around her in general. He missed her over the past couple of weeks but he opted out of contacting her, terrified that he was a bother. After Harry finished cleaning in record time, it dawned on him that he didn’t really have any food prepared to offer Y/N. If she was coming over to his house just to cheer him up, the least he could do was offer her something to eat. Harry hated doing things like this, but he was desperate. He texted his assistant and asked if they could drop off some food from the Greek place he and Y/N liked, making a mental note to find out what other places she enjoyed eating at for next time.

Y/N gets to his house much sooner than he was anticipating.

He rushes to his front door, looking through the peephole before opening the door. Y/N has a big smile on her face and looks absolutely gorgeous, as she usually does. She has a huge water bottle in one hand and a tote bag with the phases of the moon slung over her shoulder. He’s never seen it before and thinks it’s lovely.

“Hi,” Harry says breathlessly. “Thanks for coming. Uh, come in please.”

Y/N smiles and takes a small step forward, crossing the threshold of Harry’s home. She thought it was incredible–– and rather clean. “What can I do to help?”

Harry was getting used to Y/N’s straightforward approach to things, so he’s not phased by her question. “Jus’ you bein’ here is great, honestly.”

Y/N can see that Harry’s aura is that deep indigo that she’s not fond of, but she wonders if he can work through it himself before she steps in. “So it’s just your cold that’s got you feeling down? Can we sit down and talk about it?”

“Sure. Also, not sure if you’ve eaten yet or not but I’m gettin’ some food dropped off for us.”

“That sounds great, I haven’t had dinner yet so thank you. Can we sit?” Y/N doesn’t wait for Harry to answer. She makes her way to his plush couch in the adjoining room, walking through the place like she’s been there before. Harry loves it.

“I think I told you the gist of it on the phone earlier,” Harry says, settling onto the couch beside her. He leaves some space in between them since he doesn’t want to risk getting her sick, but he wishes he was closer to her. “I’ve been feelin’ down ‘cause I’ve been stuck in the house with this cold. S’not fun.” Y/N hums in understanding. Harry notices that she reaches out her hand to him slightly and then quickly retracts it, but he doesn’t mention it. Y/N says nothing, just continues looking inquisitively at him. Harry doesn’t feel uncomfortable under her gaze–– he stares back.

“Something’s making you feel nervous. What is it?”

Harry isn’t surprised that she was able to figure out there was more to what he was feeling than just loneliness. How was he supposed to tell Y/N that she was the reason for his nervousness, though?

“It’s nothing. I promise.”

“I don’t think so.”

Harry scratches the back of his neck nervously. “How are you so good at reading me? S’like you’re inside my brain, Y/N.” He lets out a little chuckle after saying this but quickly stops when he realizes Y/N isn’t laughing along with him.

“You’re just easy to read,” she cooly responds after a second. “Why are you so nervous? Do you have something coming up for work?”

“Not really…”

“Then what is it? Something going on with someone in your family?”

Harry was quickly realizing Y/N wouldn’t drop this unless Harry gave her an answer. He silently hopes for the best before answering her.

“It’s you,” he mumbles, shifting around uncomfortably on his couch. “You make me nervous.” Y/N watches as his aura changes from red and blue to pink, and his cheeks flush slightly.

“Why do I make you nervous?”

“You just do.”

“Why? Have I done something to hurt you?”

Y/N was so painfully oblivious that it was cute. Harry was quickly realizing that his heart doubled in size every time he talked to her.

“No. Quite the opposite, actually,” Harry reaches in the pocket of his sweatpants for a tissue, facing away from her while he pauses to blow his nose. “You’re so… you’re jus’ very interesting. Mesmerizing, really.”

Y/N feels her skin heat up at Harry’s compliment. His aura is still shining pink, the brightest pink she’s ever seen since meeting him. She was sad to see there was still quite a bit of indigo and red, though. “Thank you. That’s very sweet of you.”

Before Y/N can stop herself, she reaches out to grab Harry’s hand. Immediately she feels his energy transfer to her and without thinking, Y/N flicks her finger out of force of habit. The beautifully potted Pothos that Harry has sitting on his television stand instantly droops, leaves turning brown and wilted.

Harry’s completely perplexed.

The first thing he notices is that he’s feeling better. Great, even. He feels as good as he felt after the interaction he had with Y/N in the Greek food place all those weeks ago. The next thing he notices is that his gorgeous Pothos, a plant that is nearly impossible to kill, is dead.

And it was all Y/N’s doing.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

please let me know what you thought!

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #aura #thanks for reading!

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shibalen · 4 years ago

Note

[1/3] Hi~ May I pls request a Magi + KnY romantic male matchup? I'm a 5'0 hetero fem. I love to draw & sing especially! (I sing opera & I wanna be a voice teacher) I often take endless pics of the sunset and sea bc it's so pretty. I dislike bossy ppl. Quirk: I have a red birthmark on my arm shaped like Alaska lol! To strangers, I'm quiet, shy, friendly, and kind of a loner bc I'm rlly awkward (plus I value my time alone) I easily open up to funny ppl tho.

[2/3] In private, I'm more chill, funny & playful, especially w/ family. I can joke around them a lot. I have a short temper but I forgive just as quickly. I tend to smile or laugh a lot if I'm feeling embarrassed, sometimes I feel stupid for doing so :( I can be hard on myself yet I feel it's necessary to improve. I'm an appreciative person so I'll say thank you like 1000 times lol! I like to be straightforward in relationships even tho I still may be shy. I highly value family & honesty.

[3/3] I'd prefer a s/o who is family-oriented, devoted & genuine. It'd be great if they have a sense of humor too! I'd be the type to sing softly to my s/o while we're alone and close together. Maybe try to lull them to sleep, hehe! Thank you so much! Sorry it was so long, please take your time! I appreciate your hard work! Stay safe and healthy!! (*´︶`*)ﾉ"=͟͟͞͞♡

♡︎ matchup for @ne-nene-ne

bonjour! omg we sound so much alike? idk maybe it's just me? hehe

anyhowdies, thank you for your patience and popping up in my notifications so often! here is your mauchup~

|| magi: i match you with . . .

koumei ren

• since Koumei is not fond of loud and lively people, he would love all of your qualities! you're quiet but still easy to get along with, playful but value family as much as he. someone as well-balanced is a good match for him.

• he completely understands the habit of being hard on oneself. i feel like he's like that as well (hence all those hours of work) while he can appreciate your need to improve, he never fails to check up on you, ensuring you're not being overly critical of yourself.

• you wish he could do the same for himself because the words 'enough sleep' and 'self care' do not apparently belong into this man's vocabulary. you gotta gently remind him to eat and take a bath.

• also pls lull him to sleep, he needs it. all those late nights planning military strategies have done their part so your heavenly voice is the only thing that can put him at ease.

• you can just be talking and he already finds himself relaxing.

• he's eternally grateful to you for coming into his life ♡︎

• Komei is incredibly devoted and would never dream of betraying you. if he comes back late, know he was not out doing anything unfaithful but once again got emerged in planning tactics.

• he knows you get angry at him sometimes for it so he will try to make it up to you by any means!

• your first meeting was at an arranged marriage. your arranged marriage. it was something neither of you wanted at first and honestly it was pretty awkward with both of you being more reserved (ーー;)

• it wasn't until you bumped into each other in the drawing room that you began talking about your shared interests and growing closer.

• since then drawing became reserved for spending quality time together and relaxing.

• Koumei got a tad insecure though when he realised he had fallen in love with you although you were already married. he knew he was inferior when it came to appearances and quite sloppy in mannerisms compared to his brothers, poor thing.

• thankfully you caught onto that quite quickly and reassured him you loved him just the way he was ♡( ��‿◡ )

• for someone so smart Koumei had no idea what to do except stand there with butterflies in his stomach and heart warming up so much the heat reached to his cheeks.

• he may appear like a gentleman, but once you've gotten past that layer you'll find out he has quite the sense of humor.

• you can joke around with him all you want as long as it's about nothing too inappropriate. you should also expect some light-hearted teasing, hehe

• i'm sorry to say this but occasionally your height will be targeted, he can't help but rest his hand on your head. it's cute, it's vulnerable, it's free real estate!

• if you get annoyed by this he'll just feign innocence . . .

• "could you stop using me as your armrest?"

• "armrest? what are you talking about? i am simply expressing my love for you through physical affection, my dear :)"

• more than teasing though, Koumei likes complimenting you. he will ruffle your hair affectionately, tell you what a good job you've done, how pretty you you look. you might think it's just flattery but rest assured all of these come from his heart!

• look no further because Koumei will use his status to show you the most beautiful sceneries in Kou.

• sunsets from high towers, a wide view of the ocean from imperial ships. when you've got a bit more time he'll carry you through the skies at twilight with his djin equip.

• sneaky bastard might just do a few stunts to have you cling onto him tighter (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

• he prefers staying indoors during his free time so he'd be more than happy to listen to you practice opera singing.

• sometimes he goes outside to feed pidgeons and invites you along. those are such peaceful moments when you can talk about your worries or just admire how nice the weather is.

• Koumei lowkey prays you won't get into fights with Kouen or Kouha because they're both really bossy and you have a short temper.

• but because family is important for them as well, you'll learn to get by. he's so happy.

• though when will you start to think about having your own family? that's a question for later date because at the moment all Koumei wants is to live a happy, comfortable life with you ♡︎

runner up: Alibaba Saluja

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

|| kimetsu no yaiba: i match you with . . .

tanjirō kamado

• you guys have such matching sweetheart energies that i had to put you together!

• you also have the same values of family and honesty which makes your relationship all the stronger. you both respect each other and there is nothing but trust in your communication.

• your first meeting happened when you were teamed up together for a mission along with Zenitsu and Inosuke. Zenitsu immediately, of course, got googly eyed for you and feral boy Inosuke wanted to fight you.

• you started feeling awkward with so much going on but Tanjirō quickly got them to give you space.

• he approached you so kindly, understanding you were shy in this new situation.

• it took little time for you to open up to the Kamaboko gang, seeing as how bizarre they are, but Tanjirō was special from the beginning. needless to say, he was curious about you as well |ω-o)

• you two hit it off so well and continued to hang out after the mission. he never pressured you to talk and his patience felt almost godsent. with every new bit he learnt about you Tanjirō found himself becoming more and more enamoured with you.

• he finds your playful yet relaxed mannerisms so pleasant. you're like his sanctuary whenever he needs a break from the restless world around him. he knows he can tell you everything and anything and you'll listen.

• Tanjirō absolutely loves pampering you! you're such a lovely person that all he wants is to make sure you receive back all the positivity that you spread around.

• he won't judge you for your short temper, i mean he's friends with Inosuke after all. he'll only ever look at you with sweet, loving eyes.

• if you do have a small argument, you both end up apologising a million times and laughing cause neither of you will stop saying sorry. it's the cutest thing.

• Tanjirō is a bit on the serious side, and it's canon that he's insecure about the trait. it would be so wholesome if you taught him how to loosen up and joke around!

• he'd be clumsy at it at first but gradually get the hang of it.

• his jokes would still be so bad, poor child. you think it's really adorable though and laugh anyway ♡︎

• that proud twinkle in his eyes when he sees he succeeded making you smile is just— asdfghjk so full of love

• will assure you there is never anything wrong with laughing or smiling. your laugh is one of the most beautiful sounds to him so be prepared for a lot of silly jokes.

• please teach this boy to draw, i'm begging

• you and Nezuko are basically like siblings already. Tanjirō's heart swells every time he finds you with Nezuko, braiding her hair, singing to her or even simply giving her headpats.

• it's during times like those especially that he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life together with you.

• won't not brag about it aloud but Tanjirō likes he's the only person that get to hear you sing (aside from Nezuko) it's like your little secret, something that's reserved for him alone

• Zenitsu always grits his teeth seeing what lovebirds you are. though you were both a little shy about it at first, there is almost always some physical affection between you: hand holding, leaning against each other, cute, fluttering kisses.

• his favourite places to kiss you are your forehead and lips. he may get a bit flustered if you do it to him though but that's because he's so happy ♡︎

• !sharing cool scar/birthmark stories!

• "see, it looks like Alaska!"

• ". . . what's an Alaska? is it an animal?"

• "no, it's a land, silly. a very faraway land."

• "oh, i see! we should go there together some day. it'll be great!"

• your dates include many walks and picnics in the forest. he wants to show you all the best views of sunsets and oceans there are!

• i know this sounds corny but Tanjirō will 100% gaze at you instead while you're admiring the scenery. your reaction is just so precious and you look absolutely stunning in the soft light. you can't really blame him for being smitten ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

• he will remind you every day how dear you are to him. with daily but meaningful displays of affection, Tanjirō lets you know he will never leave your side ♡︎

runner up: Kyōjuro Rengoku

i hope you enjoyed! i admit i haven't seen magi in ages so i don't know how well it turned out ㆆ﹏ㆆ but thank you for the kind wishes, and make sure to take time off to breathe ♡︎

#len's matches #anime matchups #matchups #magi #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #koumei ren #tanjiro kamado #ne-nene-ne

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bensroger · 6 years ago

Text

Feelings - Ben Hardy! Roger Taylor

Summary: Roger doesn’t hate Y/N, even though it appears so. He’s distant and doesn’t pay much attention to her, even though once upon a time they were best friends. However it may seem that he hates you, he knows he doesn’t and it’s killing him.

Word Count: 5033

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: This kind of seems boring at first, so bare with me! I spent a lot of time on this one and it’s kind of long so I hope you at least like it a bit. I know this isn’t really realistic but if I’m honest, which fic is? Anyway, hope you like it! Feedback always helps too! This is a bit different from my writing usually... Also please excuse any errors!

Roger doesn’t hate you. At least, he thinks he doesn’t.

Everyone else seems to think that he hates you, because that’s the way he acts. You yourself are still unsure why Roger hates you. You don’t ever remember doing anything to be rude to him, not once.

You had known the band since their Smile days, and have always been close to Freddie. You both shared an interest and passion for clothes, and you even studied fashion design in college. Once the band starting gaining momentum and became more known, Freddie asked you to be their stylist.

And of course you accepted; It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to see the world, and a great time to be with your friends since you were close with most of boys. Keyword being most. You knew Freddie was capable of choosing their own stage outfits; they all were, but you know he just used it as an excuse to keep one of his best friends close.

So here you were, a fashion stylist for a world famous band, traveling the US with your friends, and having the time of your life.

Brian and John were both ecstatic for you to be joining the tour as their stylist, and they had both grown closer to you. You were constantly around the band, even during rehearsal, acting their audience, cheering when Freddie asked you to. You loved what you did, you loved your friends, and you were happy, except for when you weren’t.

Roger was your biggest issue. He hated you, and that hurt. Brian always told you to ignore his comments or his scoff every time you’d walk in the room. But you couldn’t. You knew Roger better than you’d like to admit. You could tell when he was lying and when he was nervous. You of course knew what type of clothing he liked to wear, and went to great lengths to make sure he liked what he was wearing. However, no matter how much effort you put into him, Roger never seemed pleased.

The part that bothered you most was that Roger used to be a friend. A really close friend, in fact. You had so many memories of him, so many laughs. You talked to him a lot about your issues, and in turn, so did he. He was almost as good of a friend as Freddie back then. And then one day, it was different. Roger barely looked in your direction, and spoke coldly to you. There no more laughs, no more deep conversations, nothing. For many months, you sadly kept trying to talk to him, ask him what’s wrong, tell him you still care about him, but you were only met with eyerolls and shrugs. So eventually, you stopped trying and caring. That was years ago, though, and now your former friendship was simply a faint memory. Roger hated you.

He was a womanizer, flirting with every girl he met and instantly liking them. He could never walk away from a woman without giving her a smile or flirting. But he couldn’t care less for you, didn’t even bat an eye.

Roger never greeted you the way he greeted other’s and the only reason he was around you was because he had to be. You couldn’t but wonder what a hug or quick kiss on the cheek would be like from him. But he didn’t hate you, because if he hated you, he would’ve said something incredibly snide that he wouldn’t mind if you heard. Roger doesn’t hate you because he actually really likes the outfits you make for them, in fact he loves them.

But still Roger knew he felt something toward you, because whenever you walked in the room he’d automatically roll his eyes or scoff, and you took note of it.

Freddie was sitting across from you at table on the bus as you two were playing Scrabble. It was your turn, and Freddie was saying your name repeatedly but you couldn’t hear him. You were looking at Roger, who was asleep with some tall and skinny blonde girl cuddled up next to him, herself asleep, too. You were lost in thought–trying to remember of some awful thing you had done to him.

Freddie looked at you, feeling sorry that you had to put up with Roger. “Y/N, don’t worry about him. We all know Roger is a dick.” He said, smiling at you.

With a sigh and a shake of your head you responded, “You’re probably right.”

*********

“Why do you hate Y/N?” Brian frowned at Roger, a few hours later, talking quietly enough for nobody else to hear. “All she has ever done is help you and be kind to you. You even used to be friends.”

Roger shook his head and pulled the cigarette away from his lips. “I don’t hate her.” He muttered.

“Then why are you always so rude to her? We all see it, Rog. She only wants to help you. She goes out of her way for you all the damn time.” Brian shook his head.

Roger looked over in your direction, a smile on your face as laughed as something Freddie had said. Something in chest tightened, and he ran his fingers through his. “I’m just not very fond of her is all.” He frowned, facing Brian now.

“She’s practically an angel… Has Y/N done something to you?” Brian said, still pestering him. Roger let out an audibly groan as Brian was still talking about you. You snapped your heard once you heard him, and your smile quickly faded to an expression he couldn’t read. You looked away after a few seconds.

Roger sat there at the back of the bus, he ran his hands through his hair again; one of his tells for when he was nervous or lying. He himself didn’t know why he wasn’t fond of you. Maybe it was because you cared too much for everyone, because you were always so kind and sweet to everyone you met. He wasn’t sure. Roger didn’t know what to say, so his only response was a shrug. Brian shook his head at this.

A few more hours later, and you had finally arrived in the ever-busy city of Los Angeles. You stepped into the beautiful and lavish hotel lobby, taking in your surroundings. You looked over at Roger, the girl from the bus still glued to his side, and you rolled your eyes. Brian came back from the front desk, an annoyed look rested on his face. “They overbooked the hotel… The idiots. So we’ll have to be sharing rooms. John, Freddie, and I can only squeeze into the suite since it’s the biggest so that leaves Y/N with…” Brian paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes. “Roger.”

Roger didn’t say anything, although he was displeased, he figured there wasn’t anything to do in the moment. As he walked away toward the elevator, Brian leaned down to reach your height. “If you don’t want to be with him I’d understand. Any of us wouldn’t mind switching…” He said quietly.

You gave Brian a smile. “It’s just for two nights Bri, but thank you.” You said, picking up your bags and following Roger’s footsteps. You were the only two people in the elevator after Freddie, John, and Brian had gotten off at the third floor. An awkward and uncomfortable silence filled the elevator. “Do you know what floor we’re on?” You asked Roger, pushing your hair behind your ear, something you did whenever you were anxious.

“The eighth.” He said in quiet voice, only looking ahead at the doors in front of him. You looked down at your feet, and softly sighed. There was a ding and the two doors in front of you opened.

Roger stepped in front of, and headed down the hall. You followed behind him, your bags still in your hands. He stopped in front of the door, and wordlessly unlocked it. As you both stepped inside, you froze once you saw the single bed. “Would it have killed them to at least get two beds?” You mumbled. “Whatever, sharing shouldn’t be to-”

“One of us gets the bed, one of us gets the floor, how does that sound?” He interrupted, not giving you a chance to speak.

“Alright.” You sighed. Your eyes darted toward the bed, debating whether or not you should demand you sleep there. However, your kind hearted nature got the best of you once you remember how bad Roger’s back would hurt after some shows. So, with a sigh you said, “I wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

Roger contemplated arguing with you on that, because he had planned to sleep on the floor, but he knew you wouldn’t make him take the floor. He only nodded, and then threw his belongings on the bed, and quickly left the room to go God knows where. You just shook your head and muttered under your breath, “Asshole.”

You started to put your makeshift bed together, hoping it’d take Roger some time to get back. You threw a few extra blankets you had got from a maid down the hallway. You took one of the many pillows and threw it down, sighing at the poor mess of a “bed” in front of you. There was a knock at the door, and you got up from your “bed,” and prayed it wasn’t Roger and that he forgot his key or something. You unlocked the door and swung it open. “Freddie!” You beamed. “What are you doing up here?”

“Well we’re just all in our room, talking about possible songs, and we wanted to see if you and Roger wanted to join? Although I don’t suppose you care much for lyrics but we just didn’t want to leave you alone.”

You shook your head and let out a small laugh, “Well you’re a tad late, I’ve been alone for the past fifteen minutes. Roger left to go do something…” You paused for a moment, and frowned. “Or someone, I guess. He left without saying a word.”

Freddie said. “Alright, but would you still like to join us darling?”

“Of course, it’s better than sitting than sitting on my so-called bed.” You said, gesturing toward the mess of blankets.

Freddie sighed. “I’m so sorry Y/N. Roger can be such–“

“No, I was the one who offered to sleep on the floor.” You interrupted Freddie. Still, he gave you a pitiful look.

*********

The boys were, as Freddie said, just talking about songs and lyrics for the album they were working on. You just sat there, fiddling with the gold bracelet around your wrist. Finally, you stood up and said, “Would any of you like something from the coffee shop across the street?”

“Yeah sure.” Brian smiled. Once you got their orders, you headed down to the lobby. The sun was about to start setting, but the heat outside remained. The coffee shop wasn’t too crowded since nobody really wanted coffee on a hot day. The fan overhead spun slowly and there were a few people inside.

At the counter after you ordered and were about to pay, a man behind you reached over and set his money on the counter. “I got this,” he told the barista with a wink, and she nodded and headed off to make the drinks.

“No it’s okay, I can p–“ You began.

“Hey, just let me pay for it okay? As long as you promise to sit down with me. I gotta admit, your accent intrigues me.” He remarked.

You rolled your eyes with a grin. You thought about it for a moment, and maybe making a new friend wouldn’t hurt. “Alright, I suppose. I’m Y/N.”

The man extended his hand to you. “I’m Derek.” He said, a charming smile on his face.

You talked for him for longer than you should’ve. But he was a local, living in Los Angeles for a few months to pursue a career in acting. You were skeptic to tell him about your own job yourself, but he didn’t freak out one bit upon hearing that you were Queen’s stylist. You hated to admit how charming and kind he was, Derek could make you laugh. “Let me show you around the city, the sunset is beautiful.”

You just shook your head. “I really should be heading back, I got these coffees for them and they’ve got to be wondering where I am.”

“Then we could drop them off really quickly. You said you lived across the street? It’ll be no trouble.”

Derek said.

You took one look at him and felt your heart skip a bit. “Okay, I can’t say no to you.”

One the way to the hotel he told you about a big role in a movie he was up for, and Derek’s eyes lit up as he spoke. You smiled at him. You knocked on Freddie’s door and he swung it open with a surprised smile. “Y/N, we were starting to worry.”

You handed him the tray of coffees. “Sorry these might be cold. I got so caught up talking to Derek. Anyway, he’s going to show me around the city, so I’ll see you later?” You said beaming, glancing at Derek.

Freddie gave you a knowing look, and then grinned. “Oh okay, be careful, we’ll see you Y/N.” He quickly slammed the door, leaving you two alone.

After that, Derek showed you the sunset from his apartment building’s roof, and it was breathtaking. You sat there for an hour, looking up at the stars after the sun had set, the sky was so clear. You could talk to him for hours, and you don’t if you craved a new friend or if you had just been deprived of this interaction, but Derek really made you open up.

He took you to a semi-fancy restaurant that had an hour long wait, but Derek said his friend worked there so he was able to get you two in. The night went by in a blur, filled with laughs and smiles and anything that’d make you feel butterflies in your stomach. After that, you and Derek just talked at his apartment, where you actually spent some time venting about Roger and the annoying demands of your job, like working with high-profile designers. They were so snobby…

It was close to 11pm when Derek finally said goodbye, with a kiss on the cheek, and a crumpled napkin with his number scribbled across it. You stood outside your hotel room as he walked away, the smile never leaving your face. Your bit your lip excitedly as you walked inside, your smile quickly fading.

Roger turned his toward you as you walked in, and frowned. “Where’ve you been?” He said, and for a moment you thought he might be worried… But you soon brushed the thought off–That was impossible.

“Just out with a friend, that’s all.” You said, shuffling to your bed, trying to find your pajamas in your luggage.

Roger thought for a moment. “You went out with Fred? I bet he bought you all these clothes and everything.” It was meant as insult, you could tell by the tone of his voice. Freddie did buy you things from time to time, especially things you couldn’t afford on your salary, but you never asked him to. He always insisted.

You took in a deep breath in. “Actually, no. I met a man named Derek and he took me to see the city.” Roger scoffed, and shook his head. “What is it now?” You said, annoyed with his constant judgment.

“You can just say you slept together, there’s no shame in that. I’m not gonna judge you.” He said, amused. You felt mocked, and felt your cheeks turn red.

You turned around to face him, your cheeks still burning. “When I have sex with someone, I actually bother to get to know them first, unlike you. And for the record, I didn’t sleep with him. He took me to dinner and to see the city, as I said.” You spat at him. You picked up your pajamas and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you, not giving him a chance to torment you further. You looked at yourself in the mirror and let out a sad sigh.

Roger looked at the door you had slammed behind you, and then looked down at his feet, his hands clenched into fists. He didn’t mean to upset you, he never did. Roger hated the thought of this “Derek” making you laugh and smile. Most of all, he hated this feeling he wasn’t used to, the feeling of anger at the thought of you with someone else.

When you finally changed, brushed your teeth, and washed your face, you exited the bathroom, prepared to fight with Roger again. However, you were met with darkness and silence, except for the faint sound of him breathing. You softly and quietly walked over to your own bed, and laid there. You thought about today and your recent fight before falling asleep.

You didn’t dream tonight, instead it was more of a memory focusing on Roger. It was something you had nearly forgotten about, and you don’t know why it arose now of all times. It was your twentieth birthday, and all the boys plus a few other friends were all there. You opened a small box from Roger and Freddie, and inside sat a little golden bracelet, with a heart shaped locket. On one side was a picture of you and Roger from a few years ago at on New Years. He had been giving you a piggyback ride after your heels hurt your feet. The other was of you and Freddie with one of his cats.

“Roger, Fred, it’s so cute!” You exclaimed, looking up at them. The memory was blurry.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d like it at first, Freddie was the one who picked it out. I found the pictures though.” Roger said, smiling.

“I’ll always wear it, my two best friends!” You said, hugging him.

The brief memory faded away as you awoke, the golden sunshine peeking out from the cheap curtains onto your face. You felt in ache in your chest as you looked at the bracelet that still sat on your wrist. Even though Roger treated you like shit now, it reminded you of better and simpler times.

When you stood up, you took note of Roger’s absence, and you were thankful. You took a hot shower, letting the water run down as you tried to push the memory out of your head. You decided to skip breakfast, and took a cab to the venue where they were rehearsing since it appeared the boys left you behind.

You walked into the venue as they were practicing one of their songs. Freddie smiled and made eye contact with as you walked in. “Y/N!” He smiled. “We were waiting for you.”

“I know you’ll want to speak with me about your outfit for tonight Fred, but I promise, it is as extravagant as ever. Just keep practicing and I’ll show it to you afterward.”

“Alright, I suppose.” He sighed. You sat down in the front row, cheering and singing along to their songs, causing Freddie to laugh every once in awhile. Out of the corner of you could see Roger watching you, and glaring at you, but you pretended to not notice.

After a few songs, you snuck off, grabbed yourself some lunch and phoned Derek at a booth before heading back. You invited him to tonight’s show and he was ecstatic, and said he’d be there. Once you headed back, you finally agreed to show Freddie his outfit. As always he loved it. And soon, it was time to get ready for the show.

Roger put on the leather vest you gave him, plus the matching bands he always wore on his wrists. He tried not to smile as he admired the outfit, wishing you hadn’t known him so well. Once he stepped out, you turned toward him, concealing your smile with a scowl. You took the eyeliner and headed toward him. “Put this on, it goes with your outfit.” Roger took the eyeliner from you and only frowned. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. You frowned. “What?”

“I don’t really know how.”

You took the eyeliner back from him, and gestured for him to sit down. “Let me do it.” You leaned in close, marking around his eyes softly. You were oblivious to the fact the he was watching you as you intently focused on his makeup. You were also oblivious to the fact that his heart was beating out of his chest. Once you had finished, he ran his fingers through his golden hair, one of his tells. “You’re good to go, then.” You smiled, walking away to help Brian next.

As the show began, Derek stood behind you, watching the band play. “They’re really amazing.” He murmured. He had his arm wrapped around your waist, something Roger didn’t take note of until later in the show. Once Roger had noticed though, he gripped his drumsticks out of anger, playing more aggressively now, with more passion. Even you noticed the sudden change in his demeanor, and frowned, but thought nothing of it.

Once the show was over, Freddie came over to talk to you and Derek. “Did you enjoy it?”

“As always,” you smiled.

“It was amazing. We haven’t met formally yet, I’m Derek.” He said, extending the arm not wrapped around you to Freddie.

“Nice to meet the Derek that kept Y/N busy last night, I’m Freddie. Will you two be joining us at the party?” Freddie questioned.

You thought for a moment, as you usually didn’t party but tonight was different. “I suppose so, if that’s okay with you Derek?” You said looking up at him.

“Of course!”

*********

The party was wild, bodies everywhere, loud music, and the lingering smell of alcohol. Freddie had gone off to dance, and it didn’t take long for you and Derek to join him.

Roger watched from a distance as you stayed with Derek all night, your fingers intertwined with his. A different girl than earlier, a stunning brunette now, was chatting up a storm next to him, playing with his hair and flirting. Brian was sitting on the other side of him. “Don’t you think Y/N is getting close with that man too fast?” Roger commented, not paying any attention to the girl.

Brian scoffed. “As if you don’t sleep with every woman you meet? Lay off her Rog, she’s just having a bit of fun, that’s all.” Roger watched as you broke away from Derek and disappeared off to somewhere. Derek headed to the bar, and Roger decided to get up and follow him. Roger pulled up next to him, and although he knew it was a bad idea, he introduced himself.

“I’m Roger, the drummer. I saw you with Y/N, thought it’d be appropriate to say hello.” Roger said, trying to yell over the music. Derek gave him a fake smile.

“You’re the guy she’s been telling me about. You don’t like her do you?” Derek frowned.

Roger paused, and clenched his jaw. “Well actually I-”

He was interrupted by Derek. “Because, between you and me, I don’t like her myself. I’ve been looking for a bitch to launch my acting career, and well, she has somewhat of a platform? She’ll have to do.” Derek sighed, taking a sip of the drink the bartender had slid in front of him.

Roger froze, and that was the breaking point of his patience with Derek. At that moment, he was blinded by a five-course serving of rage that tasted bitter, yet surprisingly satisfying. He reached out. Roger went to punch him in the face. When his fist came in contact Derek fell to the ground wailing in pain, as he tried to shake the aching after taste, upon the taste buds of his hand. Much like coffee, its bitterness drew Roger in to take another sip knowing he would be more awake than minutes before. Roger tackled Derek and held him down so he could not fight back. “Don’t you ever talk about her like that!” Roger spat. As he drew his fist to punch Derek again, you came up out of nowhere. Roger froze and looked up at you, a look of horror upon your face. People around him were all watching.

“Roger! What the fuck are you doing? Get off of him!” You said, trying to drag Roger away. He stood up, and before he could say anything you yelled, “Stay away from me!” Roger looked at you, sorrow in his eyes.

You grabbed Derek’s hand, and helped him up, blood from his hands staining your favorite floral dress. Roger wanted to warn you about Derek, tell you about what a dick he was and how he was using you, but Roger feared it’d only make the situation worse. So he let you go.

At the hotel, you had gotten some ice on Derek’s face, repeated apologizing about Roger. “I don’t know what got into him. He’s so infuriating, I swear! I’m so sorry Derek, this night was supposed to be fun.”

Derek only let out a small laugh. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault. I was just explaining that he should treat you better, and then I started to tell him about how much fun we’ve had together already and then…” Derek let out sigh, and paused for a moment. “He punched me.”

You gave him a sad look as you both sat on your makeshift bed. “That’s very sweet of you Derek, I think I’ve been needing someone who cares like you do in my life.”

You both sat talking for a few hours, more laughing, and more lying from Derek. You were fooled, and you started to really fall for the man in front of you. You’re conversations were brought to a halt when Roger came back to the hotel, laughing with the brunette from the party. As he walked in and saw you two, he froze.

You broke eye contact, looking at the floor. “What the fuck is he doing here?” Roger gestured toward Derek, seething. “Get him out, now.”

“No!” You shouted back. “If you get to bring home every girl you meet, Derek can stay!”

“Y/N, I said get him out now!” Roger said, getting close. You opened your mouth to argue back, but Derek tugged your arm, facing you toward him.

“Hey, I’ll go, it’s fine.” Derek said, giving you a fake smile. “Call me tomorrow, alright?”

You only nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. Derek shoved past Roger to get to the door, not saying anything. Roger said nothing either, grinding his teeth to keep from doing so. “Roger, get out of here. I can’t even look at you.” You said, hot tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You let out a shaky breath, and pushed your hair behind your ear. “Why do you hate me?” You whispered.

Roger knew you just as much as you knew him. He knew your tells, and what you made you anxious. He knew what you tucking your hair meant. Roger was shocked at your words, and only hated himself for hurt you. So without saying another word, he guided the unnamed brunette out and followed her. For that, you were thankful.

You let yourself cry for a little bit, a mixture of anger and sorrow, but decided to move on. You couldn’t help but wonder why Roger hated you so much… You used to be best friends, and then everything just changed. You felt in aching in your chest as you thought of the friendship you once shared. You knew you couldn’t dwell on this for too long, and decided it was time for this long night to end. You laid down in your crappy bed, your back hurting from it last night, and finally drifted off to sleep.

Roger came back to the room a few hours later, careful not to wake you. He was alone now, ditching the brunette as soon as he left the room. Roger had only gone to a bar, had one drink… He sighed as he saw you sleeping peacefully on the floor, and just shook his head. He carefully and quietly lifted you up in his arms, praying you were just as heavy of a sleeper as you were back in college. Roger set you gently on the bed, covering you up in the blankets.

Roger only distanced himself from you because he was afraid. You were an amazing person with an amazing heart, kind to everyone you met. He didn’t want to break you. He knew once he caught feelings for you back in college that you’d feel the same, and that he’d make a stupid decision and ruin you. So, he did the only thing he knew to: he shut you out.

As he tucked you in bed, he saw the golden bracelet from your birthday all those years ago, shining in what little light was let into the room. He decided he was done lying, from you and to from himself.

Because the thing was, Roger didn’t hate you. Not one bit. In fact, he loved you.

#part 2?? lmk also i hate derek ahaha #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #queen imagine #queen #bohemian rhapsody #imagine #borhap #gwilym lee #brian may #freddie mercury #rami malek #joe mazzello #john deacon

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journeysintowebcomics · 5 years ago

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Girl Genius Liveblog #210

UPDATE 210: Time Shenanigans May Enter the Girl Genius Story

Last time Agatha had gotten a lead about who to talk with to solve the time bubble problem in Mechanisburg. To excuse herself and go read something pretty important, she asks where she’ll be staying, and is now being escorted there. Let’s continue.

So, the place where Agatha is staying?

Yeah, it’s the Master’s own home. Golly, cleaning that place must be a major nightmare. This is where his entire family stays, for safety reasons, meaning as long as Agatha is inside that building, she’ll be safe. This all only makes me assume later the safety of this place will be tested. I’m also a tad concerned this means the Master will hear about stuff it may not be convenient for him to hear, such as – possibly – the contents of the book, if it really is the one Margarelotta had.

A large family needs a large home, and the Master has a very large family, all of them are Colette’s siblings. Yeah, the yellow lady is named Colette, according to the dropdown menu here at the bottom of the page. The whole cadre of siblings had nothing better to do other than coming to gawk at Agatha, saying nonsense and being generally annoying, much to Colette’s chagrin. That’s the reason why she’s apologizing, she knew everyone would hound Agatha and friends for one reason or another. There doesn’t seem to be anything interesting here, other than how the Master is very old. I wonder how long he has been the Master of Paris? Could he be the founder?

Now that Agatha’s group are all in the room they’ll share, Violetta takes out the book Margarelotta had, asking Agatha if she was sure this was the one. Turns out that book is the same Moxana had given her like three years ago, so long ago I didn’t remember it at all. I suppose Agatha left this book behind when the Sturmvoraus family drugged her to plug Lucrezia into her head.

Oh, now that I remember kind of better. That’s the thing that had appeared out of a portal at the very start of this story, no? Does that mean the Foglios had planned all this in advance already? That’s years of work, more than a decade. If they had already decided most of these details, or at least the major plot points...it’s pretty impressive, really!

This book page seems to be full of interesting stuff, let’s see...this drawing was made of memory, meaning the person who wrote all this didn’t do it when this clank was right in front of them. The author remembers an armor, a very angry attitude...medusa hair? Curious choice for a clank, really. This is the Muse of Time, no mate given, from what I see.

‘Voice echoed through my own did not’. This could be meaningless, but for some reason, the thing about the voice brings Lucrezia to mind, given how her voice’s harmonics was such an important thing back then. I’m not sure Lucrezia wrote this book, though...she is a spark, but if this is a muse, then this is one of Van Rijn’s clanks, no? Did Lucrezia have much contact with Van Rijn’s clanks? It’s not impossible, but I don’t recall how that may be possible...although...perhaps if the clanks were at the Sturmvoraus’ home maybe she may have seen them, back when she was scheming with Tarvek’s father.

Nice of the writer of this book to note the odd hat, I was about to comment about that. After what happened with Gil’s revelation, those hats are important. It’s the same kind of hat those things have, you know, those that are creepy and cryptic.

Agatha theorizes Van Rijn didn’t build that one. If not him, then who? Is there more than one person in history building a set of clanks with very narrow yet powerful specialties? I don’t think so, honestly.

The next time Violetta or Zeetha sees Von Zinzer they’ll ask ‘what the hell?!’

It seems the information about the Muse of Time is from before the Storm King’s times. Well, its age must be really hard to pinpoint, what with...you know, it being the Muse of Time.

Yet it seems the information was added after Agatha received the book, so yup, there definitely are time shenanigans going on here. If, and it’s a very big IF, there are no shenanigans at all then there’s pretty much only one person who could have written this, I think: the Other in Anevka’s body. If it had been Tarvek, then the notes would have his handwriting and Agatha would be able to notice that, and if it had been the Other in Agatha’s body, then...Agatha would know? I think?

But that all is only if there were no time shenanigans related to writing those notes, and given this is the Muse of Time, well, I’m so certain there are time shenanigans.

This book is something Margarelotta stole, Tweedle spent so much effort to try to get back, and everyone even risked getting in trouble with the train monks, so there must be something very important about this book. Well, it’s information about very amazing clanks, including one that can do stuff with time, so it’s not too surprising everyone wants it so badly.

Or not, there’s something a little more concrete here. Agatha realizes she may find out what Margarelotta was looking for in the train monks’ fortress, and pinpoints something that does sound pretty intriguing:

Oh, great! Interesting. So it’s a tool the Muse of Time had? Hmmm...could it be Margarelotta was looking for that lantern so she could free Tarvek from Mechanisburg, so someone would go against Tweedle? It was remarked Margarelotta still had the emblem that showed she still was loyal to Tarvek. Whether she was truly loyal is still unknown, but it’s a possibility. And hey, this is a lead! To start the search, Agatha decides to go to the black market, to try to find the professor who went missing.

Wooster shall be taking them to the black market later, once the theater closes – which I suppose means late at night. With this, the plot will be stopping for a while! In the meantime, Agatha finds someone eavesdropping, it’s one of the students, hoping to join so he can get extra credit. Doesn’t seem like a bad person, maybe it’d be okay if he joins.

The guy’s name is Hoffman, and he can come along. Since Colette is asking why they’re going to the black market, Agatha comments the notebook she has is what the professor had been looking for, and Colette recognizes it as Tarvek’s notes, even wondering if Tweedle knows Agatha has them.

...well Tweedle sure is going to find out, then. I imagine Colette is going to tell her Agatha has Tarvek’s notes. Agatha may have told this to the wrong person.

Well, nothing to do but wait for the late night. For now, they’ll have to sit around and rest. Zeetha has to do something for a moment.

Aaaw, that’s pretty sweet! That’s the thing that was on Zeetha’s circlet, the one that imitated her facial expression. Always thought it was kind of a weird object, didn’t get the point of it given, well, it was like Zeetha was having a second face on her forehead. This here, though, it’s a pretty sweet thing to be doing with that thing. I like it.

Gil better never try to mess with it, though, that’d be unforgivable.

--without wanting to throw her into a cell so he can examine her head and try to get the Other out of there? Yeah, happens all the time.

Whatever Gil wants to say to Agatha, he can’t do it because like so many lovebirds in fiction – ever since I started this website the amount of stuff I read has increased a lot, haha – he can’t say a romantic thing in a smooth manner. Higgs, channeling the frustrations of many readers, demands Gil sits down and writes a letter instead of going in complicated tangents that’ll end in he not saying anything successfully. Nice. I don’t think there’ll be any results, but Higgs tried and that’s what matters.

Also, quite telling Higgs can slap Gil around like a ragdoll and not suffer any consequences from manhandling the head of an entire empire. Higgs has privileges in this empire, hah!

Alright, let’s end for now.

Next time: in six updates

#girl genius #girl genius liveblog #webcomics #liveblog #webcomic liveblog

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ghostbustermelanieking · 6 years ago

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praescitum chapter two

chapter one

casefile, season 10, season 11: pre 10x03: mulder and scully meet the weremonster. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: As Mulder and Scully adjust to their reassignment to the X-Files and working together in the wake of their separation, they find themselves investigating a small town and a ghost that apparently warns people of bad things to come.

---

two.

october, 2015

Skinner signs off on the Willoughby case, to Mulder's surprise; he'd expected more argument, but it's been a long time since they've done this and he suspects that their boss just wants to get them away from all the DOD attention. He and Scully leave two days after the closure of the Goldman case, and nearly a week since he'd gotten the original call from Deputy Jacobs of Willoughby.

Willoughby is about a ninety minute trip from DC; no sense in flying to somewhere that close. Scully drives. Mulder sits in the passenger seat and fiddles with the radio, tries to figure out how to connect his phone to the Bluetooth, offers tidbits on stories he's heard about this particular ghost. “I'm surprised we never ran into this ghost story back in the day,” Scully says dryly at one point. “Sounds exactly like the kind of cases we used to get all the time.”

“Sounds like it happened just a couple years too late,” Mulder says in the same dry tone, and then mentally winces. He has a lot less resentment for Agent Doggett now than he did fourteen years ago, but he and Scully have had a lot of pain and resentment over those lost years in the past, and the last thing he wants to do is bring that pain back. (He hasn't ever blamed her for those lost years, anyway, not really; how could he? Any resentment he had for her insisting he leave back in 2001 has long faded. They've both suffered enough.)

Scully hums absently in the back of her throat, not commenting on that. “So what's your theory, Mulder? What are you thinking?”

He shrugs a little, casually. “I don't know that I have one yet. I mean, it sounds like the ghost probably exists, seeing as how our colleagues investigated it all those years ago. They must've been called in for something.”

“It could've been a hoax of some sort,” Scully points out. “People capitalizing on a local legend to manipulate people, or… gain publicity…”

“I doubt we would've heard from law enforcement if it were some kind of hoax,” says Mulder. “Besides, how does a missing dog contribute to that theory? Deputy didn't say where the kid saw the dog, but he did mention that the kid was only six, remember? In my experience, kids that age can't lie very convincingly. And I doubt that kid was in an easily accessible place when he saw the ghost, one where he'd be susceptible to a hoax from an outside source. And how could the supposed trickster know about the dog unless they were the one who took it?”

“Who knows,” Scully says with a sigh. “I think we might be overthinking this, Mulder.”

“Oh, I dunno.” He smirks a little at her from the passenger seat. “A lot of simple things we've seen turned out to be more complicated than we expected. You never know.”

“I know about this one,” Scully says at length, halfway annoyed, but she's smiling a little. Just a little as she watches the road, and Mulder feels it in the pit of his chest.

“We'll see,” he says slowly, fiddling with the radio again. He's missed this. He's missed her.

Scully fully smirks and shakes her head. Static bubbles through the speakers as he flips through stations, and they drive on. Mulder thinks he may never want to leave this moment, just he and Scully in the car, driving off to investigate some great mystery. Sitting here now, it almost feels as if nothing has changed.

---

Willoughby is the kind of sleepy little country town that they've both seen a thousand times. A few main streets, lots of farms and suburban houses among the rolling green hills. They pass an old stone church next to a forest, surrounded by houses and small apartment buildings. Mulder leans closer to get a better look and spots a cemetery full of ancient, weathered tombstones. “This town is old, Scully,” he says delightedly. “Perfect setting for a ghost.”

“If the ghost is real.” Scully flips on her turn signal, coasting to a stop at a stop sign. “Which is doubtful.”

“Same old Scully,” Mulder says haughtily, and is relieved to hear her amused scoff from behind him. He watches quaint little Virginia houses flit by until they reach the downtown and the police station.

Inside, they find a receptionist sitting before a cluster of desks and police officers. “Can I help you?” she asks politely.

Scully flashes her shiny new badge. “Agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI, here to see Deputy Kenneth Jacobs.”

The receptionist raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Kenny?” she calls over her shoulder, a tad suspicious.

A bearded man in a uniform rounds a corner and waves a little at them. “Agents Mulder and Scully?”

Mulder nods. “That's what they said,” says the receptionist.

The man steps forward, reaching out to shake their hands. “Kenny Jacobs,” he says by way of introduction. “Glad you could make it—although I've gotta say, I don't remember you from 2002.”

“You're thinking of Agents Doggett and Reyes, the agents assigned to the unit at that time,” Scully says. Her tone is unreadable; Mulder scuffs his shoe against the floor and tries to ignore it.

“Oh, yeah. What happened to them?”

“I'm not sure about Agent Reyes, but last I heard, Agent Doggett is living in Florida. They left the Bureau years ago, but we have plenty of experience ourselves.” Scully offers Jacobs a polite smile.

“I’m Agent Mulder, we spoke on the phone,” says Mulder, reaching out and shaking his hand. “You said there'd been several more sightings since the original one you called me about?”

Deputy Jacobs motions them towards a desk with two chairs pulled up to it. “Yes, sir. Two more, to be exact.”

“We'd like to talk to the people who have seen… it,” Scully says a little awkwardly. “If that's all right. Would the sheriff mind if we talk to his son?”

“Joe? I mentioned that I called you, and he wasn't thrilled—he’s not a big believer in this stuff—but his son, Robbie, got all excited, convinced you all could find his dog. I tried to tell him not to get too excited, but he's all wound up, and Joe agreed to talk to you because of that. They'll be over as soon as Joe picks Robbie up from school.”

They both nod as they take a seat at the desk. “So, Deputy,” Mulder says, mostly out of curiosity. “Have you ever seen the ghost?”

“Can't say that I have,” Jacobs says almost automatically, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I’ve heard the stories all my life, but I've never seen him. I will say that people who claim to see him usually have events coinciding with it pretty soon after. My grandma once said she saw it the night before her cat passed away.”

“And what does this… specter look like?” Scully speaks stiffly, awkwardly. “Based on the stories?”

“It’s supposed to be a colonial man in a cloak with a lantern. People say it 'lights up the truth’ or whatever. Like I said, I've never seen it, but I really think there's some truth to the story. There's been sightings every now and then throughout my life, and in 2002, there were at least thirty sightings that ended in three people dead. The reason those other agents were called in.”

“And you don't think any of that could be the result of some sort of mania?” Scully asks. “A psychological response to bad luck? A follow-the-crowd mentality?”

“No, ma'am,” says Deputy Jacobs. “I'm inclined not to. There's an entire history of the Willoughby Specter… It's actually part of some book on folklore in Virginia, if you want to check it out.”

“I did a little research and went over the case from 2002, so I'm a little familiar with the phenomenon,” says Mulder.

Deputy Jacobs nods a little in response, his eyes shifting over their shoulders. “Hey, Joe, over here,” he calls out, waving at someone behind them. Mulder turns around to see a man wearing a sheriff's star walking in, holding the hand of a boy in a Spider-Man t-shirt.

“These the FBI agents?” the sheriff asks as they reach the desk. The kid is looking up at them shyly; Scully smiles, the genuine smile she usually gives kids, and waves a little, and he hides behind his father's leg.

“Yes, I'm Agent Mulder, and this is my partner, Agent Scully.” Mulder stands and shakes the man's hand. “Deputy Jacobs said you'd agreed to talk to us?”

“Yeah, let's get this over with. We can talk in my office.” The sheriff motions his son towards a door at the back of the room, and Mulder and Scully follow them into the room.

Inside, the sheriff scoops up his son and places him in his lap. “I’m Joe O’Connell, and this is my son, Robbie,” he says by way of introduction, patting Robbie's back.

“Hi,” Robbie says quietly.

“Hi, Robbie,” Scully says, and Mulder finds himself thinking of Goldman's kids behind glass panels, little girls with the face of Scully's dead sister and babies cradled in her arms. He swallows back the memories, forces himself to focus.

“So, Kenny mentioned he called you in, but he didn't spend a lot of time explaining why. Something to do with my dog and the Willoughby Specter?” Sheriff O’Connell's voice is full of a skepticality that Mulder finds more than familiar; not exactly unfriendly, but not exactly friendly, either.

“Yes, Deputy Jacobs mentioned that Robbie had seen the Willoughby Specter the night before your dog disappeared,” Mulder says, drumming his fingers on his knees.

“I did!” Robbie says excitedly, seeming to perk up at the mention of the ghost. “It was really cool.”

“Do you want to tell us about it, Robbie?” Scully asks gently.

Robbie looks up at his dad, who ruffles his hair and nods. “Go ahead, buddy, it's okay. Tell them the whole story.”

“Okay.” Robbie screws his eyes shut in concentration, before beginning to talk rapidly. “Okay, so cause it's gonna be Halloween at the end of this week, my mommy and I watched the Snoopy Halloween movie the night I saw the ghost. And it wasn't very scary at all. I like Scooby-Doo better. But anyways, we watched Snoopy Halloween, and then Mommy took me upstairs and took me to bed. She made Bear—that’s our dog!—stay downstairs cause he's not supposed to sleep in my room. She tucked me in and said goodnight and turned on my nightlight. And then I went to sleep.” Robbie folds his hands in his lap, serious as Mulder has ever seen a six-year-old, and continues. “I woke up a little later, and then I was looking at my nightlight. It's orange, like jack-o'-lanterns, so it was the right color for Halloween. But it went out! Mommy says the bulb burned out. But there was still a light, like a yellow one that was moving around a lot. It was coming from behind me.”

Entranced in the story, Mulder absently looks up at Sheriff O'Connell and sees that his eyes are wide with astonishment. Not quite belief, but at least astonishment. “You never told me all this, son,” he says. “About the light…”

“You never asked,” Robbie says simply, and Mulder has to hold back a knowing laugh. “Anyways, I saw the light from behind, and so I turned over, and that's when I saw him.”

“You saw the Specter?” Mulder asks. Robbie nods. “Was he scary?”

Robbie starts to nod again, but then changes his mind and shakes his head. “At first, he was. His eyes were really black, and he was wearing a black cape and hat, and his lantern was scary. Like the Headless Horseman! My teacher has a picture book of George Washington stories, and I saw the Headless Horseman, and it's really scary. He was on Scooby-Doo, too. The ghost looked like that, except he had his head. And I was scared at first, and I was gonna scream for Daddy—cause Daddy's a cop, and he's very brave, and I knew he could protect me—but then I kind of felt okay. My great-uncle Theo told me all about the ghost, and he says the ghost is nice. Like an angel! And I said, everyone says he looks scary, how is he an angel, and he said that angels from the Bible look scary, too—” Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder sees Scully purse her lips in a way that makes him think of nephilim and seraphim and her lost daughter. “—and I guess he was right, because the ghost made me feel real good, like an angel. Even though he looked scary. But he wasn't.” Robbie nods confidently.

Scully clears her throat awkwardly. “And… and what happened next, Robbie?”

Robbie's face twists in confusion. “I… I dunno. I think the ghost disappeared, then I fell asleep. And then Daddy woke me up asking if I'd seen Bear.” His lower lip juts out in a pout. “I miss Bear. The ghost is cool, but I wish he hadn't made Bear go away. Can you find Bear for me?”

Mulder blinks, taken aback; he probably should've expected this, but somehow, it had never crossed his mind. “Well, Robbie,” Scully says awkwardly, “we don't really…”

“Cause Uncle Kenny said you were like the Ghostbusters, or the Men In Black. I bet they could find my dog!” Robbie grins, kicking the side of his father's desk.

Sheriff O'Connell bounces his knee up and down and tickles his son's side, sending Robbie into wild giggles. “Hey, Rob? Why don't you go sit at Uncle Kenny's desk and play Angry Birds on my phone? You wanna do that, bud, so I can talk to the FBI agents?”

“Okay!” Robbie jumps down and grabs his father's phone off of his desk. He starts to leave before pausing, turning to address Mulder and Scully. “If you wanna find the ghost, and maybe my dog, you should really talk to Ryan.”

“Ryan?” asks Mulder. “Who's Ryan?”

“He's my babysitter. He sees the ghost every year! Usually when it's cold.” Robbie leans forward and whispers confidently to Scully, in a too-loud rasp, “He's the only one who sees it anymore. No one besides Ryan has seen it since before I was born! Except me. Just me and Ryan.” Robbie grins excitedly. “So he'd probably know. But I told him I saw the ghost, and he wasn't excited. He's the only one in town who doesn't think the ghost is awesome! It's so weird.” He turns around and runs out of the room, clutching the phone in his hand.

Scully turns to Sheriff O'Connell as the door slams behind Robbie. “So, Sheriff,” she says. “What do you make of all this?”

O’Connell rubs at his forehead contemplatively, maybe a little wearily. “I dunno, Agent. I really don't. I've never really believed in the ghost, like most people in this town anymore. The only people who do anymore are the old-timers, the superstitious, and kids; everyone else is sensible. I always thought Robbie would snap out of it, but that Ryan kid wasn't helping anything, filling his head with these stories. My boy doesn't lie, and when he does, he's not good at it, so I don't think he made up that story. I think it might have been a nightmare; the only things that match up are the burned-out lightbulb and the fact that our dog did disappear.” O'Connell grimaces, rubbing a hand over his stubbly face again. “Honestly, agents, I'm starting to think my dog might be dead, or holed up with some other family. He's been gone for a week now, and I know he knows how to get home. I wish Kenny hadn't called y'all in and made a big deal out of nothing.”

“I don't want to give you a false impression, Sheriff, so I'll be straight with you,” Mulder says. “We work on a unit that investigates paranormal phenomenon. That's largely why we're here. Deputy Jacobs mentioned that there'd been other sightings, and we're here to look into those as well.”

O’Connell blinks blearily at them. “I remember a little bit about your unit. Gotta say, I don't see the point in investigating an urban legend.”

“I have to say, I share your sentiment,” Scully says, and Mulder resists the temptation to roll his eyes.

“We just wanna dig a little further,” he says lightly. “Sheriff, can you tell me about this Ryan kid?”

Sheriff O'Connell clears his throat. “Ryan is Willoughby's local celebrity. He's got a tragic past for sure—his parents were murdered by his uncle back in 2002, and everyone around here knows it.”

“2002?” Mulder asks. “Was the crime in conjunction with the multiple Specter sightings?”

“Supposedly—it came up at the trial—but I don't believe a word of it. The uncle, Jared, used his widely known Specter obsession to try and get off. Should've pled guilty by reason of insanity. He's in prison now.”

“Could this Ryan be using his family's past with this alleged Specter for attention?” Scully asks. “How old is he?”

“He's fourteen, and I doubt it. He's supposedly been seeing the ghost since he was four or five. The story got out when his aunt took him to a psychiatrist. Annie Caruthers—nice lady. She's his primary guardian now, and probably the best turn out from that family. Anyway, as a child, Ryan reportedly had horrible nightmares every winter, and told her that he saw a ‘glowing man’. When the story got out on accident, everyone went wild. Said that the boy was being guarded by the ghost cause of what happened to his family. And Ryan insisted the story was true as he got older, so he's gradually gotten more and more famous. 'Cept the kid claims that the ghost is evil, which goes against every version of the legend around here. Pisses people off.” The sheriff has a knowing look on his face, his eyebrows raised. “I don't know that they think the ghost is protecting him anymore.”

“And he's your… babysitter?” Mulder asks.

“Not by my choice. My wife works with Annie, and Robbie was so excited that we hired the kid—loves ghost stories. He seems nice enough on the outside, but, you know. I've never liked the kid. He's good with Robbie, but he seems disrespectful. And between you and me, he's been visiting his Uncle Jared in prison lately. That's a bad influence if I've ever seen one.” O’Connell nods as if convicting the boy. “I told my wife I had a bad feeling about Ryan, so we fired him a couple weeks ago. Amicable enough. We sent our apologies to Annie. But then, my dog disappears and my son starts talking about seeing the Specter?” The sheriff leans closer to add quietly, “Between you and me, our door was standing wide open the morning Bear went missing, and my wife swears she locked everything. So unless Robbie has taken up sleepwalking, then someone unlocked the door from the outside and let our dog out. And Ryan never gave us back his key.”

---

“What do you make of this town, Scully?” Mulder asks as they leave the police station. Robbie waves merrily to them as they exit and Scully waves back, with the same sweetness she always has for kids. Mulder waves, too.

“I’m not sure,” says Scully. “It seems to me like the Willoughby Specter is such a well-known and worshipped phenomenon in this town, that everyone is obsessed with experiencing it.” She pauses decisively, pulling her hair back into a ponytail as they walk back to their car. “But then again, that theory of claiming sightings for attention and local fame really doesn't work in conjunction with the idea that this Ryan is the only one who's seen the ghost for fourteen years. It's possible that the kid is doing it for attention, but then again, why would others not capitalize off of that attention by also claiming sightings?” Scully pauses again, tightening her ponytail. “I don't think Robbie O’Connell is lying. Unless someone coached him—the sheriff being an unlikely candidate for that; I'd say Deputy Jacobs is a possibility, since he's clearly close to the boy, but I don't know what his motive would be… Anyway, there’s no way a six-year-old could concoct a story that complex.”

“Dana Scully,” Mulder says slowly, teasing, “are you saying that you believe in the Willoughby Specter?”

“I most certainly am not,” Scully says, bristling, but she's smiling again. “I'm simply going over the facts. Which aren't even facts, really—the only people we've talked to are Robbie, the sheriff, and the deputy. We'd need to talk to some other people before we make any conclusions.”

“Uh huh.” He makes a face at her.

“I still think the story is bogus,” Scully says defensively. “I just think that there must be something that these people think they're seeing. I don't know how to explain it, but I guarantee you, Mulder, that there is not a ghost haunting people before bad things happen to them.”

“Oh, sure, Scully. So what is your explanation for all of this?”

“I told you. I don't know.” She looks up at him with a certain defensiveness in her eyes. “But I'd say we should talk to the other witnesses and find out.”

Mulder shrugs a little, grins at her. “So we should.”

---

The other witnesses seem to play right into Scully's theory: that this ghost is not real. Maybe even that this is a case of herd mentality: someone besides this Ryan Caruthers claims to see the Specter and everyone else jumps on board. Either way, Mulder truly hates to admit it, but neither of the two people they speak to about seeing the ghost could be considered credible witnesses.

The first is a college student—kid by the name of Mark Johnson—who reminds both Mulder and Scully too much of the teenagers they'd run into on their second case together, or the stoners that had made appearances a couple times on cases they had in 1996 (one of which did involve a missing dog—a dog that unfortunately had belonged to Scully. Mulder hates that he can't remember its name). He speaks in a slow drawl, and stinks of weed so bad that Mulder either wants to laugh or flash his badge, just to freak the kid out. Scully can scarcely keep from rolling her eyes or conducting the entire interview with thick sarcasm; the conversation lasts all of five minutes before she's done.

The second is a girl—also college-aged, whose name is Emma Gibson—who admittedly seems more credible than the other witness, at first. But when she invites them into her self-proclaimed office, they see a paraphernalia of paranormal trinkets: posters of horror movies, a Ouija board on a shelf, the type of equipment Mulder’s seen on more than one paranormal investigation show, and a cluster of true ghost story books. This is the first clue that this witness is not quite reliable. The second is that her story is not very believable—it’s awkward and stilted, like she's coming up with it on the spot, and when she starts talking about the ghost physically dragging her into the woods past the old church and threatening to murder her entire family in a voice “kind of like Darth Vader,” Mulder is inclined to agree with Scully about the idea of follow-the-crowd mentality.

By the time they're finished with the interviews, it's late, already dark and chilly outside. Mulder takes Scully to one of the small-town diners they haven't frequented in years. There's a flurry of Halloween decorations taped to the big glass windows: paper jack-o'-lanterns and skeletons. There is a cartoonish ghost over their table, his oval mouth open in a ghastly black wail. Mulder taps it with his index finger. “I found the Willoughby Specter,” he says dryly, and Scully giggles.

“That's uncharacteristically cynical of you, Mulder,” she says as they sit. “Those last two witnesses get you down?”

“Just a little bit.” He plucks the menu out of its holder and examines it. “I still think Robbie O’Connell had to have seen something. I'm just not sure that the other two did.”

“That's for sure,” Scully agrees. A waitress in an apron comes by and they both order their drinks. As she moves on, Scully adds, “Although I'm becoming convinced that whatever Robbie O’Connell saw was not what he thought it was. Remember, the sheriff said he suspects this Ryan of letting out the dog as revenge for being fired? He had access to Robbie's room. He could've set up some sort of prank.”

“It sounds to me like this Ryan kid is getting treated unfairly,” says Mulder. “Besides, what kind of prank involves a disappearing man in a black cape and lantern coinciding with a burnt-out night light?”

Scully shrugs. “A complex one? It seems like people today can do anything with technology, Mulder. Maybe there was a projector or something.”

“Wow, we are getting old, Scully. You've started throwing around the 'kids these days’ phrase.” She shoots him an annoyed look across the table, and he shrugs right back. “Whatever the case, I think we can agree that Robbie isn't faking. But I guess the question is, what do we do now? Talk to this Ryan kid?”

“Maybe,” says Scully. “But what the hell would be our explanation? Why are we here, Mulder, for that matter? To find Robbie's missing dog? To arrest a kid for stealing the sheriff's dog? To prove the existence of this Specter?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. Likely the latter,” says Mulder. Because he still believes it's real. Of course he believes it's real.

“Except I doubt either of us have any idea how to prove its existence,” Scully says.

“Hey,” he says, shooting her a fake wounded look, and she smirks innocently.

The waitress reappears with their drinks to take their orders, and by the time she's left, their conversation has lost some considerable steam. Scully clears her throat, pulls out her phone to check it and immediately starts to type something into it. “Sorry, just heard from my mom,” she says.

“Is everyone okay?” Mulder asks. He hasn't seen Maggie in months, but he's had some concerns, based off of some comments Scully's made about her ability to get around the house.

“Yeah, she's fine. Just wanted to check in on me.” Scully's fingers fly across the screen at an impressive speed, and Mulder wants to make another joke about kids these days, but he doesn't. “She misses Bill; he's off in Germany on assignment, and she's been taking it hard. Says she misses seeing Matthew. He used to fly up a couple times a year before they left, about a year ago.” The reason goes unspoken: because the other grandchild she was close to was given up just before his first birthday. Mulder swallows awkwardly, looks down at the table.

“But we try to keep in touch,” Scully adds. “We have dinner a couple times a week. I'll probably call her tonight when we get back to the hotel.”

“I'm glad you two are still close,” Mulder offers. (She hadn't seen her mother a lot in the years before he could come back to the surface, and he'll always feel guilty for that.) Scully nods a little, laying her phone face down on the table. Mulder tries a different subject, a pathetic attempt at conversation. “You were really good with Robbie today,” he offers.

He means it as a compliment, but Scully is silent for a few seconds after—just enough time for Mulder to mentally berate himself for bringing up the one topic that has been off-limits for most of their time together. But he's surprised to see a smile spread over Scully's face before she answers. “He was a cute kid, wasn't he?” she says. “Sweet kid. Kind of reminded me a little of you, isn't that weird?”

Mulder is taken aback, but he realizes that Scully must not think of William as a little kid like Robbie anymore. William is fourteen, wherever he is, likely a sullen teenager like this Ryan they keep hearing about. Growing up without them. He gulps anxiously, says, “Is it the proclivity for ghost stories?”

“That must be it.” Scully is grinning at him across the table, and it's one of the more startling things he's seen. (But also one of the most beautiful: Scully's fucking thousand-watt smile.) And then she says something that truly shocks him to the core: “You know, he kind of reminded me of William. Or, you know… who William might've been eight years ago.”

She is acknowledging the trauma between them that they mention so unoften, the heavily avoided subject of their son. It seems so incredible, after years of avoiding the subject, of her getting furious every time he brought it up. This feels like dangerous territory. He takes a deep breath before answering, “Me too,” in a tentative sort of way, because he had thought of William. He couldn't help it.

The truth is this: If it'd been Robbie on his own, he probably would've had some slight flickerings, fleeting thoughts about who William might've been. But seeing Robbie and Scully together, even in their brief interactions, Robbie confiding in Scully specifically, made it worse. Made him hyper-aware of what he could've had, all he'd lost.

(Mulder daydreams sometimes about what it would be like to find William. It's impossible not to. This last case with Goldberg, all those kids in the hospital, he couldn't stop considering the possibilities. What it would mean to Scully, what it would mean to him. Intellectually, he knows they will never get a chance to raise him, or anything like that, but he thinks it'd be enough to know that he was okay. Their son.)

“It's hard not to imagine the person he could've been—the person he is right now,” Scully says softly. “It's hard to think about sometimes, but sometimes I can't help it.” She looks down at the table, her hand flat on the table next to her phone. “Is it the same for you?”

Mulder's eyes stray to her hand. He'd like nothing more than to reach across the table and take it, but he has no idea how she'll react. He held her hand in the car the other night, sitting outside the home she's made without him. He can remember an encounter in a diner not too long ago when he took her hand and she pulled away. He doesn't want to push it. Doesn't want to push her away. He keeps his hands in his lap.

“Yes,” he says, though, a peace offering. The verbal equivalent of taking her hand. “It is.”

Scully smiles wobbily at him across the table. Slides her hand back to curl around her mug. He's tempted to keep going—to ask what she imagines, if she'd like to discuss it more, if she thinks they'll ever see him again—but he doesn't know how. This is dangerous territory. His fingers twitch, like he is longing to reach out and take her hand, but he doesn't move.

---

After dinner, they go back to the local hotel, an old-fashioned inn that looks considerably better than the sad little motel that probably has bed bugs they passed on the way into town. Scully asks for two rooms at the front desk, and Mulder reminds himself that he shouldn't expect anything different. They're not together. They haven't shared a bed in two years.

(He can't help but feel as if he's stuck in the nineties again, awkward and madly in love with his untouchable partner. Except they're both older and smarter and have more history between them. They're married, they lived together for a decade, they have a son out there somewhere. And she loves him, too, or she did once. She told him that she'd always love him. She told him once that this would only be temporary, that she'd come home someday. But he doesn't know what to think now. He wants to believe she'll come home. He wants to believe, but it's hard to know what to believe in anymore.)

(Two hotel rooms. Just like the old days. At least they're side by side.)

Mulder offers to carry her bag, and Scully politely refuses, jabbing him in the side and teasing him a little, and the receptionist winks at them from underneath her jaunty witch’s hat, waves as they walk together to the stairs. Their room is on the third floor, and Mulder is lamenting the lack of an elevator. And then they're standing between the doors of their room, and Mulder remembers how, twenty years ago, he'd make excuses for them to keep working or offer to split a pizza or snacks from the vending machine, just because he wanted to keep hanging out with her. He thinks about doing it now, but what excuse does he have? There's nothing else to investigate.

Scully smiles brightly at him, and it all feels stilted suddenly, like they're putting on a show. He's seen her go to bed angry so many times in the last year or two of their relationship, and it feels impossible that she could be this happy to be with him, here on this dead-end case. “See you tomorrow?” she asks, and he can hardly believe it. If this is the only way he can have her back, for now, he'll take it. The chance to drive into the unknown with her and share small-town diner meals and see her in the morning.

“Bright and early,” he says, unlocking his room. Scully chuckles quietly, and he raises his eyebrows questioningly.

She turns a little red, but explains, “It's just that… that's what you said to me the first time we met. Just before I left. That you'd see me tomorrow, bright and early.”

“How do you remember this things?” he asks in near disbelief, and she chuckles again. He chuckles, too, touches her shoulder, briefly, in some small attempt at intimacy, and starts to turn towards his room—he still has no idea how Scully feels about the way he said goodbye last time, and he certainly doesn't want to push his boundaries. But she surprises him yet again tonight by rising on tiptoes and kissing his cheek this time. “Night, Mulder,” she says in a husky voice. And then she's disappearing into her room, leaving Mulder standing halfway in and halfway out of his doorway with a stunned expression on his face.

Later, he'll be able to hear her pattering around in her room, turning on the TV, calling her mother. The walls in this hotel must be thin as shit. But whatever the case, he finds it comforting: to know she's there and she's all right. It almost feels like being home.

---

Joe O'Connell has never been superstitious, and he's remained un-superstitious throughout all this Willoughby Specter bullshit, as irritating as it all is. (He's not mad at his son, of course. He's mad at that kid Ryan and his fucking ghost stories, at Kenny for making a big deal out of something that was probably a dream or Robbie's imagination, at those two kids who claimed that they also saw the ghost and were probably lying. He's mad at the whole goddamn mania. But he's not mad at Robbie.) He wishes the whole thing would just die down. He resents that the FBI agents, whatever their names are, are here to give his son false hope. He's ready to accept that Bear is gone and just tell Robbie that so they can move on with their lives. Maybe he'll get the boy another dog for Christmas.

But this is before Robbie wakes him up at the crack of dawn the morning after the FBI agents arrive, jumping on top of his stomach and whispering frantically, “Daddy, Daddy, I saw the ghost again!”

Beside him, Bonnie grunts out a dim protest as she turns over; Joe grabs his son and sets him down on the edge of the bed, groaning a little at the pain in his gut. “What happened, Rob?” he asks in a soft voice.

“I saw the ghost!” Robbie is wriggling with excitement, oblivious to his parents’ desire to keep sleeping. “He told me where Bear is! Daddy, you gotta go get him!”

Joe groans, his eyes slipping closed. It isn't that he doesn't believe his son, but it's four a.m. and he'd rather not go on a wild goose chase this early. “Robbie, buddy, I dunno…” he mutters sleepily, ready to tell him to go lie down, and he'll take care of it in a few hours.

“He said it was an abandoned apartment building on Church Street,” Robbie says. “He says someone took Bear there and locked him in.”

And that wakes Joe right up.

Because he knows for a fact that the Caruthers lived on Church Street in a two-apartment building when they were murdered in 2002, and he knows it was put on the market but never sold. And it sounds ridiculous, considering the kid's history, but it seems kind of fitting to him that two members of the Caruthers family would choose the same building to commit their crime.

---

Mulder gets a call from Sheriff O'Connell entirely too early in the morning. He's called to ask a favor—apparently Robbie had another dream about the ghost, telling him where the dog is: an abandoned apartment building on Church Street. “Far as I know,” says O’Connell, “there's only one abandoned apartment building on Church Street. And it's the building that Ryan Caruthers's parents were murdered in.”

Mulder blinks blearily, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “So you think…” he says slowly, not entirely awake yet and not completely following what the sheriff is saying.

“I know I said a lot of stuff about this ghost not being real, and I still think that, but…” The sheriff hesitates for a minute before finishing. “I really do think that little shit is involved,” he says. “Revenge for us firing him or something. And that'd be the perfect place to hide Bear if he took him, right? A building he knows is abandoned?”

“Bear?” Mulder asks in confusion.

“Bear,” says O’Connell. “The dog's name is Bear. I'd really appreciate it if you went and took a look.”

Mulder goes. Mostly because it's the best lead they have, and because he wants to know: are the claims legitimate? If the dog is there, than that means there is at least some truth to Robbie's story. It might even prove the existence of the Willoughby Specter, if the ghost just so happened to give Robbie the correct location. He goes, and he texts Scully several times to invite her along. She comes out eventually, her hair strangely wild and her demeanor familiarly sharp, blunted with the impact of being woken before seven o’clock. He pulls through a drive-through and gets them coffee as a peace offering, and her thanks is sincere, but her tone speaks volumes as to her perspective on the whole thing.

By the time they've reached the abandoned apartment building (Willoughby Woods Apartment Building) on Church Street (not entirely hard to find, Sheriff O'Connell had said; just look for the church), Scully has woken up a little more, looks a little less wild and angry. But her attitude towards the case itself does not seem to have improved. “We're out here chasing a dog, Mulder,” she says as they climb out of the car, shivering in the October chill. “Not a criminal. A dog. At six in the morning. ”

“What if it were that dog of yours, Quog?” Mulder asks, hoping he got the name right. He's somewhat annoyed with the case himself, at this point, but his annoyance is mixed with a genuine hope that they find something, some sort of evidence. That this isn't the pointless waste of time Scully said it was, that he's not foolish for believing the word of a six-year-old. Some hope that one of their first cases back isn't total and utter bullshit. “Don't you think that would be worth chasing?”

Scully shoots him a look. “His name was Queequeg,” she says, and Mulder grimaces. (He hadn't gotten the name right.) “And that's not the point, Mulder. How did the ghost tell Robbie where the dog supposedly is? How does that work?”

“I'll remind you that we had two ghosts tell us a lot of things, Christmas Eve of 1998.”

She makes a face at him, partly teasing, partly true malice. (He guesses the memories of the actual haunted house aren't exactly happy ones, although the morning that followed had gone much, much better.) “I'll remind you that whatever happened that night was not real. And this lead feels like a setup. It feels much too convenient.” They reach the front stoop of the apartment building, and Scully unlocks the dusty door with the key the on-duty officer at the police station had given them. It swings open, the hinges squeaking like the door in a haunted house.

Mulder flips on the flashlight and steps inside. “O’Connell said that the Caruthers's apartment was the one on the first floor,” he says, moving his beam down the dusty, decrepit hallway. There are two doors: one hanging half-open exposing the staircase, and another one with a brass 1 hanging upside down on the door. “Do you still think Ryan Caruthers is responsible? The sheriff suspected that he'd take the dog here.”

“I'm honestly not sure,” Scully says. They start together down the hall towards the apartment door. “I'm guessing you're hoping to find the dog here, though,” she adds. Maybe a little good-naturedly, maybe a little sympathetic.

Mulder throws her a thin, wry smile. He is hoping to find the dog, but he's certainly not looking for sympathy. Not on this subject. “You guessed right.”

The door to the apartment unlocks with the same key as the front door. Inside are bare, empty rooms, a kitchen catty-cornered off from a living room. A window towards the back is broken, a cluster of canned foods and an old blanket in a corner. “It looks like homeless people have been staying here,” Scully says, moving her flashlight across the shell of a home.

Looking down at his feet, standing on the threshold of the apartment, Mulder can see old bloodstains underneath the soles of his shoes and out into the hall, the wood turned pale from where someone tried to bleach it away. He almost shudders. The one thing he knew about home improvement for years, before he bought a house of his own and actually put effort into it, is this: bloodstains don't come up easily. This apartment looks haunted, and not by the Willoughby Specter. By the ghosts of a family torn apart right around the same time that his was. He grimaces, biting back another shudder.

He steps into the apartment himself, angling his flashlight down the hall off to the right. There’s something red-looking and bright on the walls; he jogs across the living room and into the hall to examine and sees jagged words spray-painted there. CURSED CAROTHERS!!! Caruthers is misspelled. “Looks like more than homeless people have been here, Scully,” he calls. He steps inside a large bedroom that must've belonged to the parents; there's more graffiti, some related to the ghost, some not. No dog.

The next room is sadder: painted baby-blue, a old crib on its side on the floor. It feels emptier, somehow. It absurdly makes Mulder want to cry, even though he knows the baby is the one who lived. He tries to stay focused: there's no dog, there, either.

He checks the bathroom and a room that must've been a study, and doesn't find the dog. He checks all the rooms again, even opening the closets, to no avail. Something of disgust is starting to build inside him, mostly aimed at himself. When he reenters the living room, he finds it empty, but Scully reappears a moment later, sticking her head through the front door. “I decided to run upstairs and check the other apartment,” she says, and Mulder is so relieved that she didn't have to see the abandoned nursery that he almost misses what she says next: “Dog's not up there. If he ever was here, he's gone now.” Her eyes are apologetic; there is definitely sympathy now.

Mulder sighs, shaking his head, some strange mix of disappointment and resentment clogging his throat. He probably should've expected something like this based on previous evidence, but a part of him had still hoped the ghost was real. But he supposes that this is the most obvious answer they'll get: it's not. It's a hoax of some sort, or a nightmare, or something, but it probably isn't involved in the disappearance of the dog. He feels foolish, sweat pooling under the wool collar of his coat. “I guess I'll go ahead and call Sheriff O'Connell,” he says. “Let him know we didn't find the dog, and that we're getting out of here. I'm pretty sure he'll agree that there's no reason for us to keep investigating.”

“We don't have to go home right now,” Scully offers half-heartedly. “We could… stay and talk to Ryan Caruthers if you want… We've only been here one night, surely there's still more to investigate...”

“No, Scully, we should go,” says Mulder, defeated. Whatever excitement he'd felt about this case initially is gone, replaced by a general feeling of dismay. The supernatural is less attainable, there is nothing to find in this little town, and his partner pities him. He flips off his flashlight and heads for the door. “You were right from the beginning: this case is a waste of time.”

#xf rewatch #xf fanfic #i wrote this

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pinkrocketimagines · 8 years ago

Text

British Puns and Greasy Hair: Part 2

Cole Sprouse X Reader X Tom Holland

SUMMARY : First day in set with fresh-face Tom and stone-cold Cole. Read about how Tom dilutes you in his terrible jokes while Cole finally confronts you.

A/N: Thank you for the overwhelming love and support ! If you wanna be in the taglist, just request :)

“No, Tom. It’s pronounced kra’sant”

“Quackson.”

“Kra’sant,”

“Quackson,”

“Okay, nevermind.” You give up your attempt in trying to get Tom to pronounce croissant.

“What?” he takes another bite of the delicious croissant, “Quackson.”

You burst into laughter at his pure childlike behaviour, as you take a bite of your own croissant, “Quackson, it is.”

You’ve just wound up giving Tom his first tour around the entire set and you’re now bonding over croissants in the small stall set for the cast members to grab a bite or two. Everybody loved Holland. He was really courteous and cheeky with his high-pitched british accent, constantly making everbody laugh, he even pulled a spiderman lift for one of the crew members!

“Don’t you have any shoots today?” he questions, taking the final bite off his quackson.

“I do, actually. But Mark gave me some time out since you needed a ‘tour’”

“Actually, I didn’t” he chuckles cheekily, wiping the crumbs off his face.

“What do you mean?”

“I came here the other day too,” he continues laughing,”I know everything,”

You squint your eyes in confusion,”Then what was all that ‘I’m so lost, help me’ about?”

“Ah, I was just bored. I don’t have any shoots until 3pm. Boredom, darling” he winks.

You roll your eyes. You can’t believe Tom just wasted half your day because he didn’t want to be alone when you had been hoping to get off shoot early today.

“You’re SO annoying,” you hit his arm as you head inside for your shoot,”I’m leaving”

“Hit a nerve there, darling” he loudly calls out as he watches you leave.

“Don’t call me darling, you quackson”.

“And CUT!” Mark loudly blurts,”Good shot, Lili and (Y/n)”

You smile in response at Mark and grab yourself a bottle of water. Throughout the shoot, you and Lili remained professional. The atmosphere was obviously a tad bit weird but you didn’t let it get to you.

“Hey (Y/n)” Lili suddenly approaches out of nowhere.

You almost choke on the water at her sudden approach. “Uhm, hey Lil’”

“Okay I’m just going to say it. I’m sorry for what happened, uh, you know what I mean,” she sighs, “(Y/n), you know that I, uh, we, would never do anything intentionally to hurt you, right?” she rubs your arm.

Her use of the word ‘we’ made your stomach sick.

Guess she and Cole are really one now.

“Lili, it’s completely-“ you pause at the sight of Cole abruptly walking towards the two of you.

Awkward.

You quickly free yourself from Lili’s grip, “I’m just going to,”

Not even a fraction of a second later, Cole grabs your hand again.

What’s with people grabbing my hand today?

Lili’s eyes widen at the sight of Cole holding your hand.

“(Y/n), please just hear us out. You can’t keep avoi-“

“TOM!”

“What?”

“TOM! OVER HERE!” you immediately call Tom the second you see him from a distance. Tom happily smiles and walks over to you. What a cutie.

You let go of Cole’s hand. “I’m not sure you guys have met yet. Tom, this is Lili. And that’s Cole,”

Tom smiles warmly at the two of them, “Betty and Jughead!” he quickly leans in for a small hug, Cole not looking comfortable at all.

“Aw, so” Lili is the first person to initiate the conversation, as always, “ How did you guys meet?” referring to you and Tom since you two look pretty close for someone who’ve just met!

“Oh, we don’t really-“

Tom quickly interrupts, “Aha! May I take this one, my darling?”

You roll your eyes. He continues, “I actually happened to save this Lil’ Miss I-pretend-I-can-park-so-well from her crippling fear of photographers this morning,”

You hit his arm, “Hey, why are you dissing my parking skills?”

“Oh, come on, you couldn’t eve-“

“Crippling fear of photographers, oh really?” Cole repeats Tom’s statement.

“That wasn’t what I,” you forgot what you were going for. Cole must’ve thought you were referring it to him since he’s a photographer himself.

“LILI! TOM!” one of the crew members call out, “YOU’RE UP NEXT!”

“Oh gosh, my first shot. Wish me luck,” Tom looks way too nervous for someone who’s just had a hit movie released.

You chuckle and stroke his arm lightly, “All the luck in the world to you, Quackson”

He snickers at your use of his famous nick-name,”Thanks, darling” he leaves with Lili.

English people and their use of darling words on a daily basis could be very misleading and dangerous.

Speaking of danger, with Lili and Tom gone, that leaves only you and Cole.

“Can we please talk?” Cole asks once again with a softer tone.

You try to avoid his gaze as you had been since this morning.

“(Y/n)…”

“Okay,”

You’re sitting at the edge of the patio overlooking the beautiful LA sunset. You’re used to watching the sun go down with Cole. It used to be one of your favourite things to do. You always felt serene and calm, but not this time. Right now, your heart is beating out of your chest. Cole is sitting right beside you. Usually, you would have a comfortable silence but this time, all you can feel is anticipation of what Cole might say- and you’re not sure you want to hear.

“I’m guilty,” Cole finally speaks out,”I can’t and won’t deny what I’ve done. There’s not a day when I don’t regret kissing Lili, (Y/n), please believe me when I say that-“

You turn away fom him,”Cole, you don’t have to do this. I forgive you, okay? Let’s just forget what happened and move on,”

“But that’s the problem, I CAN’T” Cole increases his tone, “I can’t move on, (Y/n). I can’t forget what happened. I can’t forgive myself for what I did to you. I can’t move on. I’ve been waking up every morning with the thought of you. I wonder how you’re doing, if you’re okay, if the paparazzi are bothering you too much, if you have any nightmares at 3am, I can’t get you out of my head, (Y/n). My stomach feels sick everytme I think of someone else doing everything I used to do,”

You don’t know if you heart is fluttering because you’ve finally heard his piece or if it’s breaking because you know you can’t trust him, let alone survive him, a second time.

“You’re my home, (Y/n)” his voice weakens as Cole wipes a tear from his eye.

Home.

You flashback to all the sunsets you chased with him and all the sunrise you woke up to, with him by your side. All the premieres he took you to, holding your hand tight making sure you were protected, all the nights he stayed up on the phone with you, all the songs he had sung for you at 3am even though he hated singing, all the Sunday brunches you had with his family, all the love he made you feel.

And then the hurt.

How he dismissed all the rumours about him and Lili which one of the crew member had been telling you. How he made you feel so bad about yourself for not trusting him. How he kissed Lili’s lips knowing how much it would hurt you, break you.

“You were my home too, Cole” you sob,”for a very long time”

“(Y/n), please don’t do this,” he tries to hold your hand but you resist.

“But you can’t be my home anymore” you quickly get up sobbing and rush to leave.

“I’ll wait for you, (Y/n).”

You pause for a second before running abruptly from him again.

It took everything in you not to run back to him and hug him with all the love in the world. It was probably one of the hardest things you had ever had to do. But you know better than to run back to someone who did something you would’ve never even thought of doing, without the slightest care in the world.

Cole is obviously very sorry, you can see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. But it’s going to take a lot more than just hollow words to win you back.

Although, right now, you’re not quite sure you want to be ‘won’.

“Blimey!” Tom gasps,”And here I thought the show was dark”

You had just told him about the thing between you, Cole and Lili since he wouldn’t stop pasturing you about it. It has only been few days since he joined the cast but it’s surprising how much information he has gotten out of you.

Right now, you’re standing outside your front yard. Tom had dropped you home, much to the dislike of Cole, since the shoot ended quite late today.

“Yeah, whatever” you roll your eyes.

“How are you holding up?”

“I mean, I’m getting used to it”

“Hmmm…okay. Thank you for sharing, I know I-”

You cut him off, “Tell me a fun fact about you,”

Tom goes into a deep thought, “Okay, here’s a fun fact about me, I can dance”

He immediately makes himself comfortable in the middle of the street and starts twirling like a ballerina.

You burst into loud giggles, “Tom! Stop that, my neighbours will see you, you mad person!”

Mama raised a bad boy. He starts singing like he’s in some kind of musical,

”Do you hear me I’m talking to you, across the water..” he grins and offers his hand FOR A DANCE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET AT 11PM.

“No way, I’m not-“ your attempt to avoid dancing with Tom is dismissed as he immediately takes hold of your hand, all the while, calmly singing, “..Under the open sky, oh my, baby I’m trying”

Tom, being the perfect facade of a hopeless romantic, twirls you around and around and makes you dance around the entire neighbourhood.

You’re no dancer. You don’t even think that that would qualify as dancing but you had the time of your life laughing and trying to run away , and failing each time, and dancing horrendously with Tom.

By the time you reach your front yard again, after all the dancing, you’re panting like hell! Clearly out of breath and terribly exhausted.

“How are you,” you pant,”still so active?”

“I’m Spiderman, darling, I have a lot of stamina,”

“You’re really annoying,” you blurt,” but that was really fun”

“Ah, you’ll get used to it. Anyways, I’ll get going now.” He moves forward for a hug but you resist, “No! don’t hug me, I’m sweaty.”

“Trust me, you’ve smelt worse” he pulls you in for quick hug.

You hit arm,” Can you be a little less annoying, Mr Quackson?”

“Only if you weren’t so beautiful even with all the sweat dripping down your face at 11pm” he answers while getting into his car.

You roll your eyes. “Quackson.”

You get into your house with the tiniest of the tiniest butterflies in your tummy. You haven’t felt that in a long time. And you’re not sure if that’s because he called you beautiful or because you have a kissing scene with him tomorrow.

Blimey.

A/N : I’m just going to ask the question you’ve been dreading - Team Cole or Team Tom?

General Taglist ~ @xbobaaa @riverdrew @dandelions-inthewind @ashleyykabob @bernaboredom @thevioletmarkey @punkrockandchemicalx @acidbabytears @ceruleanjones @riverdalemami @simbatastisc @caitsymichelle13 @allthelove-marz @butterybra @margauxthemuse @tcmhollnd @desicookie @calums-band-tee @pinkglitterycactus @laa-rose @moonlight53 @oceantostars @jasmineeee85

#cole sprouse #cole sprouse x reader #cole sprouse imagines #cole sprouse fanfic #cole sprouse imagine #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom Holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #riverdale #riverdale fanfic #lili reinhart

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darkwing-katy · 8 years ago

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Second Chance - Part Four

I will never be able to get over the responses I’ve been getting to this story. If I could, I would hug all of you for your comments, your messages, all of it. I’ve decided I’m gonna try to make Sundays update days, so I have enough time to work on each next chunk the way I really want to, and then so @sannvers has enough time to proofread them. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you like chunk four! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Title: Second Chance

Pairing: Eventual Gaston x Fem!Reader

Rating: T

Words: 6,405

Summary: You try to stop Gaston from shooting the Beast and falling to his death, but you arrive too late to save him. As you sit there, sobbing, the Enchantress overs you a second chance to save him.

Tagging: @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aioli @hobbithorse19 @leah5684 @princessbelgoof @captainskyline @theoncergames @geeky-girl-394 @were-allstoriesinthe-end084 @brooke-supernatural16 @certainasthesvn @jordyhaley @superlokidwholock @smilesnjh @prongspower @bitchingqueenoferebor @scarletdarkholme @hemmingbaes @bae-kage @areuslow @lovelylpevensie @uknwwhttheysayboutthecrzy1s @moonbeams-and-pie @17gnomes-in-a-trenchcoat @superwholockedrosx @panda-reads-stuff @ultimatetrashlord @elenawrit @the7thsilence @blackxthexbeast @rainwing-galaxy

Previous Chapter

“Rise and shine!” you sang, balancing a new silver tray in one hand as you opened the cell door. You were unusually perky this morning despite not sleeping well—no doubt due to the delicious fresh coffee you’d gotten from the kitchen. You’d thought about finding Belle, but decided to go ahead and make sure Gaston was alright after his first official night in the cell.

Okay, so maybe you were feeling a bit guilty about the fact that you were sleeping in a lush bed while he had only a cold stone floor. He may deserve it, but knowing that only made you feel a little better.

Which was why you had gotten up at sunrise to visit him. Yes, you definitely aren’t visiting him so early because you’re still crushing on him, the little voice in your head nagged. You ignored it.

Gaston was on the opposite side of the cell in almost the same position you’d left him in, with his head and back against the stone wall and his legs sticking straight out. The only differences were that his arms were crossed against his chest and his jacket had remained off, although you saw that he’d put his vest back on. The peaceful expression you’d seen yesterday was back, and you smiled to yourself at the sight.

At the sound of your voice, he stirred, opening his eyes. He tilted his head to look up at you, the smirk already on his lips. You entered the cell as he stretched his arms upwards, working out the stiffness with a slight wince. “Someone had a good night’s sleep,” he winked, “dreaming about me, no doubt.”

“You wish,” you replied, setting the tray down. I wish. “Brought you some food.”

“How thoughtful of you.” You rolled your eyes at the sarcastic remark and began to gather the dishes of yesterday on the other tray. “It’s nice to see that someone still cares.”

“I don’t know if I would go that far,” you muttered, knowing that it was a lie. Once you’d gotten everything together, you turned to leave.

“What, you’re not going to stay?”

You spun around, only a step away from the door, taking care not to drop anything. Do you want me to? “And why should I?” you asked, keeping your voice casual.

The smirk grew into a wolfish grin. “Because a man like me always enjoys the company of a beautiful woman like you.”

You closed your eyes and sighed. No wonder Belle got annoyed by him. If this is how every single conversation between him and her started, I have no clue how she didn’t just smack him upside that stupid head of his. When you opened your eyes, you forced a flirty smile onto your lips. “Unfortunately, I have better things to occupy my time with right now.” Like what? It hasn’t even been an hour since sunrise! What could you possibly have to do besides spend time with the man you’ve daydreamed about? your inner voice screamed at you.

“Such as?”

You stepped backwards onto the staircase. “Anything and everything that doesn’t include talking to you,” you said sweetly, kicking the door shut with your feet.

Gaston rolled his eyes. “You can’t fool me. You’ll be back.” You ignored him, instead continuing to take your leave. “Try not to miss me too much!”

“Don’t worry; I won’t!” you called back. You heard his laughter echo down the stairs after you.

Despite the fact that Belle had given you and Maurice a proper tour yesterday afternoon, you really only remembered the locations of four rooms (other than Gaston’s cell, of course): your bedroom, the grand ballroom, the dining area, and the library. The idea of returning to sleep held no appeal for you, nor did you feel hungry yet. You wanted to go back to the ballroom, but felt like that would be odd, to go there by yourself just to be there. That left the library.

You entered the room and were struck once more with awe at the sheer size of it. Beautifully carved shelves towered far above your head, holding rows upon rows of equally beautiful books. Candelabras of gold were scattered about, unlit but ready to assist anyone who wished to read in the darkness of night. Tables and desks were littered with books, opened and unopened. You let your hand trail against the top of a table. As your hand traced along the polished wood, it brushed up against a book. You inhaled deeply, allowing the scent of paper to fill your nostrils. You exhaled and grinned.

So many books to choose from!

“I see you’re also a book lover,” a deep voice came from above you.

You jumped, looking up to find the source of the voice. Prince Adam stood on one of the balconies, bathed completely in the gold sunlight. The sight reminded you of the golden Agathe.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He leaned against the balcony rail to better see you.

“It’s alright,” you replied, embarrassed that he’d made you jump. You wondered whether you needed to curtsy, but chose not to when you saw that Adam wore casual attire—a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and navy pants. He didn’t even have any shoes on. “I was just admiring your collection. There’s a lot to choose from here.”

He laughed, a deep, genuine laugh. “Yes, there is,” he agreed. “You’re up earlier than I expected anyone to be.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I could say the same about you.”

He laughed again. “Fair enough.” He stood back into his upright position, holding his arms out. “It’s been a while since I’ve felt the sunlight on my skin,” he admitted, “so I woke early to come here and watch the sunrise.”

You leaned against the nearest table. “How was it?”

He shrugged. “A little cold at first. I’ll have to get used to not having a thick layer of fur keeping me warm anymore.” He cocked his head to the side, his gaze now focused on the bannister. “But it was wonderful,” he said quietly.

You smiled at his sincerity. It must be so strange to be a beast for so long and then become human again. I can’t even imagine how he must feel right now. I wonder what I’d miss the most…

Adam clapped his hands together, pulling you out of your musing. “So! What are you looking to read on this fine morning?” He released his hands, indicating the library in an overly grand gesture. “I know where everything is, so if there’s something in particular you’d like, I can tell you where to find it.”

You thought for a moment, unsure of what you wanted to read. Adam must’ve picked up on your hesitation, because he spoke again:

“I know Belle is fond of Shakespeare. Would you like that?”

You snorted. “As long as it’s not that stupid Romeo and Juliet that she’s been obsessed with.”

Adam doubled over in laughter. “Oh, finally, someone with good taste,” he replied, his voice full of mirth. “Have you read it?”

You rolled your eyes and sat on the table. “No. She’s been trying to convince me to give it a chance, but it just doesn’t sound appealing. It’s a three-day squabble that ends with six people—including the main characters!—dead, all because of a supposed ‘love at first sight’.” You scoffed. “She cried the first time she finished it, you know?”

Adam grinned. “Why am I not surprised?”

You swung your legs back and forth. “We were both sitting on a hill, reading, and all of a sudden I hear her sniffling. The next thing I knew, she was crying and blubbering about the fact that both Romeo and Juliet were dead, and they’d been so close to having their happy ending.” Okay, maybe you were exaggerating a tiny bit; Belle hadn’t blubbered per se, but she had shed a few tears. “Talk about ridiculous. Who would just kill themselves because they thought their loved one was dead?”

The prince sat down, allowing his legs to dangle through the railing. “I agree wholeheartedly, but that’s funny, coming from you.”

You frowned at him. “Why?”

He cocked his head. “You convinced an enchantress to send you back in time to risk your life and save the man you loved after you watched him die.” You felt your face heart up. Well, when you put it that way… “Wouldn’t you say that’s a tad hypocritical of you?”

You pursed your lips. “Fine. Yes. You have a good point,” you muttered, turning your head so you wouldn’t have to look at him. You could still feel his eyes on the back of your head. “Where’s Belle, anyway?” you asked, hoping that he’d take the bait and allow the subject to change.

He did, although you sensed that he knew exactly what you were doing. “Still asleep, I believe.”

You nodded. There was a short pause between the two of you, neither of you knowing how to continue the conversation or if you even should. Before the silence could stretch out too long, you found yourself blurting, “Did she ever tell you how we met?”

“No,” Adam replied, a little too eagerly, you thought. He obviously didn’t know how to proceed in this situation, either. But you supposed that would happen to someone who’d been locked in his own castle for years with only servants to talk to.

You thought back to that day. It was easy to remember. “I’d just moved to Villenueve a few days before. I was on my own, and had mostly kept to myself while I settled in. But one day I’d had enough of staying indoors, so I went to town.” You found yourself mentally reliving that day, and an unconscious grin formed on your face. “I noticed this man in a tan jacket was not-so-secretly following after a woman in a blue dress. I wasn’t sure if she’d noticed him, so I just meandered up to her.” You moved your arms in an imitation of walking. “‘Bonjour!’” You chirped, giving a small wave to an imaginary Belle. “She looked at me with a smile, although I could tell that it was more out of politeness than anything else. I leaned in close enough to whisper, ‘I know that we’re complete strangers, but I felt inclined to tell you that there’s a man following you.’”

You sighed, an imitation of Belle’s reaction to your words. “She looked at me and whispered back, ‘For someone who considers himself a master hunter, he’s very obvious, isn’t he?’ And then the two of us started laughing, and we introduced ourselves and the rest is history.” You patted a closed book next to you. “I was so excited to find another girl who loves to read. My impression of Villenueve was that it was that the people were small-minded in regards to women’s roles, so Belle gave me an escape from that. It worked both ways, actually.” Your legs had stopped swinging at some point during your tale, and now you sat on the table, unmoving. “From that day on, I tried my best to be a buffer between her and Gaston. I really have no clue how successful I was, even now. He’s a persistent man who’s as stubborn as he is vain.” Your words reminded you of the fact that at this moment, the very man you were talking about lay trapped in a cell, and you felt the grin slip off your face.

Adam absorbed your words without interrupting, but now that you were done, he spoke. “I’m glad she had a friend like you to help—not that she needs help.” You glanced at the prince, who was leaning his head against the bannister. He was right about that. She was a fiercely independent woman, and she didn’t need you to help out with Gaston’s advances, but you also knew that she appreciated it nonetheless.

The silence between you two resumed, and you hopped off the table to begin your search for a good book.

Adam didn’t offer assistance, and you spared him another glance before turning to the nearest shelf. He seemed lost in thought, and you hoped he wasn’t thinking about Gaston being in the castle. It suddenly occurred to you that Gaston attempting to kill him could be construed as treason, and he could very easily demand death as punishment. You doubted that he would (or that Belle would even allow such a thing), but you found that a nasty little minnow of fear had begun to swim around in your stomach at the realization.

What if I saved him only for him to be put to death?

A familiar title caught your eye and you pulled the book out—Hamlet. You’d read it once before, but it had been a while. You pulled the book from its place, noticing that Romeo and Juliet was few books down. You shook your head. You’d found the Shakespeare section, it seemed.

“What does Belle like?” Adam suddenly asked. You took a few steps back in order to see him properly. “As in gifts. What would she like as a gift?” If you hadn’t known he was a prince, you wouldn’t have guessed it from the hesitant way he asked. It was cute, actually.

You pondered his question for a minute before the perfect answer came to you. “Paper and things to sketch with.”

Adam raised a questioning eyebrow.

“She likes to design inventions,” you explained. “I can’t tell you how many times I’d sit in her house, watching Maurice tinker with his music boxes, and Belle would be sitting across from me, a pen and paper in hand, drawing up her latest idea.”

Adam nodded in agreement. “Excellent.” He jumped to his feet. “I’m afraid I must take my leave, but stay as long as you like.” He smiled at you before climbing down the stairs that led up to the balcony.

“Bye!” you called after him. He gave you a wave, then was gone. You shook your head, amused. “I guarantee you that he’s going to get as much paper as he possibly can,” you said out loud. The books gave no response, but you smiled as if they had and found a chair to sit in.

Scene I. Elsinore. A Platform Before The Castle. FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO.

Bernardo: Who’s there?

Francisco: Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself!

You made yourself comfortable. It was going to be a good day.

“I knew you’d be back,” Gaston said smugly, shifting to see you better as you opened the door.

“Oh, shut up.” On the tray was more tea and water, as well as bread and a bowl of hot soup that you were trying very hard not to spill as you carried it into the cell. You carefully set the tray on the ground, then grabbed the small stool and pulled it so that you were across from Gaston but still able to lean against the wall. You attempted to find a comfortable position before finally deciding on crossing your legs and your arms. Once you were settled, you faced him.

He ignored you, immediately grabbing the bowl of soup and gulping it down. You wondered if he was actually that hungry or if he was doing it to make you uncomfortable on purpose. I’m honestly not sure which I’d prefer, you thought, frowning.

While he ate (still ignoring you), you studied him. His movements were as confident as always, but there was a slight stiffness that you saw whenever he moved his upper torso. Probably because of all the bruises. And sleeping on the floor. He shifted against the wall, brushing his left shoulder, and he grimaced into the bowl.

The guilt you’d felt that morning returned with a vengeance. Maybe I should bring him a blanket. Or a pillow. Or both. I’m the one responsible for him, right? Surely Adam wouldn’t object to that. You made a mental promise to find a simple pillow and bring it when you brought dinner.

Well, he obviously wasn’t going to say anything anytime soon. He’d finished the soup and was now tearing into the fresh loaf of bread. You reached into your apron and pulled out Hamlet, figuring that you could get a few pages read while he ate.

Hamlet: To be or not to be; that is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep; No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks—

“What are you doing?” You’d only gotten a few lines read when Gaston decided to speak. You were pretty certain that he’d waited to say anything on purpose just to annoy you.

You held up the book in response, not bothering with a verbal reply.

“Seriously? You’d rather read than enjoy my wonderful company?” He actually sounded offended, like you were being rude to him instead of it being the other way around.

You continued to ignore him, keeping your eyes on the page.

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, ‘tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub—

You heard Gaston moving, but forced yourself to move on to the next sentence, assuming that he was just stretching.

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come—

The sound of boots on the stone floor distracted you. You glanced up to see Gaston standing, somehow managing to radiate pomposity despite his injuries and having been in a cell for two days. A twinge of concern sounded in your mind, and you considered the idea that you were sitting away from the exit. It would be so easy for him to just run, you thought. He could slip through the door and be gone and there would be nothing I could do about it. Oh, you could try to stop him, and you would try, but you knew that in the end, he would win.

He rotated his shoulders, the grimace returning as he did so. There was a soft crack as his shoulders went up then down. You winced at the sound, which he noticed with an eyebrow raise and smirk. He took a step towards you, and your eyes inadvertently flicked to the door, betraying your concern. He paused, allowing himself to consider the door. The tension surged as you waited for him to try for escape.

He looked back at you, almost as if daring you to try and stop him. You tensed, ready to jump up, but to your confusion, he started chuckling. “Don’t worry. Even I know that escaping would not be in my best interests.” He turned and sauntered over to you, stopping to rest against the curved wall next to you. “Not that you’d be able to stop me, but you know that, don’t you?” He leaned down, and you could feel the heat from his body as it drew closer to yours. He still smelled of faint gunpowder and beer, but now you could smell sweat mixed in as well. He needs a bath. With a groan of frustration, you dropped your book into your lap and shoved his shoulders, pushing his face away from yours.

“Can you give me some space? I’m afraid your arrogance might rub off on me. And you stink.”

He allowed you to push him back, but only a little. He resumed his upright position, leaning on the wall, but now he turned to his right so that his full body was facing you. With you seated and him being so tall, you were suddenly very aware of the fact that his crotch was almost eye-level to you.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it, (Y/N), don’t you dare, don’t you DARE NO DON’T LOOK KEEP STARING AT THE PAGE JUST LOOK AT THE PAGE AND WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T THINK ABOUT IT

With great effort, you kept your eyes on the book, although your brain was too busy shouting at you to comprehend the words. In order to maintain the appearance that you were unbothered by Gaston’s posturing, you turned the page, despite not finishing Hamlet’s soliloquy.

Hamlet: No, not I; I never gave you aught.

Ophelia: My honour’d lord, you know right well you did; And, with them, words of so sweet breath composed As made the things more rich: their perfume lost

Gaston shifted, no doubt trying to get you to look at him. You clenched the edges of the book, hoping that it would help you focus. It didn’t. Don’t fall for it. Just keep reading, (Y/N). Oh, merde, this is harder than I thought it’d be. Maybe just a peek—NO DON’T GO THERE! NOT AN OPTION!

“Are you just going to read the whole time you’re here?”

You exhaled deeply, still fighting the urge to glance at him. “I was planning on it,” you replied.

Silence. Then, “What of LeFou?”

You blinked and looked at him, confused by his question. “What of LeFou?” you repeated.

“How is he?” Was that actual concern in Gaston’s eyes? You examined his face. He had schooled it into an unreadable expression, but you’d definitely seen something there.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since that night.”

“Oh.”

Was that guilt? Could the great Gaston actually be feeling remorse for his actions? You felt a little bubble of hope. Maybe spending time in here was good for him. Maybe he was actually thinking about what he’d done and how wrong it’d been. Maybe he was even realizing that his arrogance and selfishness was the reason he’d wound up locked in a cell.

Maybe he’s changing!

An idea formed in your head. You had no plans for that afternoon—it would be a perfect opportunity to ride into town and check on LeFou. Then you could let Gaston know that his oldest companion was okay!

You slammed the book shut and hopped up, nearly headbutting the man (well, that’s what he’d get for standing too close to you) in the process. “I have to go,” you said, trying to not seem too eager to leave.

Gaston didn’t move from his spot on the wall, although you saw that he looked disappointed at your sudden departure. Another flash of guilt hit you; the poor man was probably bored out of his mind here. You were the only form of social interaction that he received these days.

“Already? But we didn’t even have a full conversation!” he complained. “It’s been less than an hour! What am I supposed to do without your pleasant company to keep me entertained?”

Alright, the guilt was gone. Once again he’d made it all about him without seeming to realize how selfish he was being. And he was doing so well, you lamented.

He followed you to the door, though he didn’t make any movement to leave with you. With a sigh, you spun around and shoved the book at him. He left out a short “oof” at the unexpected action, his hands reaching up to grab it before it could fall to the floor. “Try reading,” you replied with a grin and a wink. You slipped through the door but didn’t close it yet.

“Well, that’s not my idea of entertainment,” he muttered, holding the book away from his body as if he expected it to bite him. He looked back at you. “Are you sure? Because I can think of a hundred things that would be more fun than reading a book.”

You shut the door in his face. “Sorry, Gaston. I don’t think your idea of fun and my idea of fun match up.” Well, that’s a blatant lie, the dirty voice in your head pointed out. You know you’d enjoy doing ‘things’ with him. You were really starting to hate that voice. You felt your ears turn pink and turned away before he could see the blush creeping up your face.

That’s right, (Y/N). Just walk away. Don’t think about things, and especially don’t think about the fact that his crotch was right next to you a few minutes ago. That’s a thing that you definitely don’t want to be thinking about.

“Oh, shut up,” you mumbled, staring at the ground while you walked, too encouraged by Gaston’s change in behavior to allow the voice to say anything further.

You had a mission to accomplish.

It was almost evening when you rode into town. You tied your horse up at Belle’s house. For a brief moment, you considered going inside and saying hi to Maurice, but ultimately chose not to. You needed to find LeFou. He was most likely to be at the tavern, where he and Gaston had spent most of their evenings.

You entered the tavern and scanned the crowd for the shorter man. You saw him sitting in the same corner you’d sat in less than a fortnight ago, back when the townspeople had been singing Gaston’s name over and over again. It feels like it’s been longer, you thought, making your way to the man. The closer you got, the more you realized that he was upset. He stared blankly at his full mug of ale, tuning out everything around him.

“LeFou?” you asked, stopping at the edge of the table.

He looked up at the sound of his name. When he saw you, he leaned back in confusion. “Yeah?”

“May I sit?”

He shrugged and leaned his head against the wall behind him. You grabbed the chair nearest him and sat in it. Neither of you said anything, and you realized you had no idea how to start a conversation with him. Should you mention Gaston? Should you ask how he’d been? Should you offer to buy him another drink?

Your eyes flicked to the full mug. Okay, maybe not a drink. Food? As you mulled, you took the time to study him. He looks so…tired. Faded yellow bruises were scattered on his face, and dark bags rested under his brown eyes. When was the last time he slept?

“What do you want, (Y/N)?” the portly man asked, scooting forwards and resting his head in his hands.

You blinked, caught off guard by his usage of your name. “You know my name?”

LeFou chuckled bitterly. “Of course I know your name. You’re Belle’s friend.” He finally lifted the mug and took a long drink. After he set the mug back down, he faced you, arms crossed over his chest. “What do you want?”

“I…uh…” You struggled to find a good excuse for talking to him. You couldn’t exactly blurt out that Gaston had been asking about him, now, could you? “I was just…”

You thought back to that fateful night. Suddenly, you knew what you needed to say. “I just wanted to thank you for telling Belle and me where Gaston was when we got to the castle. If you hadn’t told us, we’d have had to scour the place, and we probably would’ve been too late. So…thanks.”

“You’re welcome, I guess.” LeFou took another long drink.

You frowned. “You don’t seem too happy about that.”

He laughed sarcastically. “No, I’m overjoyed that I assisted you two in your epic quest to save the Beast,” he said, shaking his head. “But you didn’t save him.”

You froze. “Who?” you whispered, although you already knew his answer.

“Gaston.” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me, did you see him fall?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You tried to act nonchalant, but inside, you were frantic. How does he know about that? He couldn’t have seen it! So how—?

“I found his gun.” LeFou inhaled deeply and let out his breath in a shuddering sigh. You watched him, confused. “After the curse was lifted, I went looking for him. All I could find was his gun, broken into pieces. There was a stone bridge almost directly above me, and I knew. I knew he’d fallen, and no one, not even Gaston, could survive a fall like that.” He shuddered again, and you saw that his eyes were full of tears. “I couldn’t find his body, though. I don’t know what happened to it.” He looked up at the ceiling, no doubt trying to hide his tears from you. He sniffled and raised the mug to his lips once more.

You were struck with pity for this poor man who thought his best friend was dead. You had never once thought Belle dead during her absence, but you’d been fraught with fear for her. How much worse must it be for him? you wondered.

“LeFou, I’m…I’m so sorry,” you said in a soft voice. You placed your hand on his shoulder, certain he would shrug it off. He didn’t, instead accepting your attempt at comfort. When he faced you again, the tears were gone, although his eyes remained red.

“He hated you, you know.” LeFou’s voice wavered as he spoke.

Wait, what? “He did? Why?” You frowned.

He smiled weakly. “You were the girl who kept getting in the way of him and Belle.” You removed your hand from his shoulder as he shook his head. “Do you know how many times he’d be drunk and complaining that if it weren’t for you constantly getting in the way, he’d be married to Belle by now? ‘(Y/N) this, (Y/N) that. LeFou, I hate that woman!’”

You felt your cheeks warm at his words. “Oh. I didn’t know that,” you whispered. Does he still hate me? He certainly doesn’t act like it now…

“For a while there, I actually thought he secretly liked you—and you him.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. You closed your mouth, swallowed, then tried again. Fortunately, before you could say anything stupid and incriminating, LeFou continued.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

You shook your head, relieved by his easy dismissal of your apparently not-so-secret crush. “I guess not.”

The silence that followed was broken by a man, tall and thin and wearing a pink shirt under his tan vest. He set a fresh mug of ale in front of LeFou and gave him a sympathetic shoulder squeeze before walking away.

“Thanks, Stanley,” LeFou muttered, taking a final gulp of his first beer. You doubted that Stanley heard him, but when you spared a quick glance, you saw that Stanley was smiling sadly at LeFou. His eyes widened when he saw you watching him, and he turned around to join the other two men that he was always hanging around.

“(Y/N), can I ask you something?”

You turned back to LeFou. “Yes.”

“If Belle did something that bothered you in a moral way…would you still care for her?”

You frowned. “Can you elaborate?”

LeFou’s mournful dark eyes met yours, and he began his tale.

The sounds of your feet as they stomped down on the stairs were definitely loud enough to alert Gaston of your impending presence. You were so furious you barely noticed the ascent to the cell. Your hand yanked on the lever and you kicked open the door.

Gaston looked up from the book in his hands and grinned when he saw you. “Ahh, (Y/N), you’re back!” he began, but you cut him off.

“You absolute bastard!” you yelled.

His grin faded. “Somebody’s upset…”

“Oh, I’m a hell of a lot more than just upset, you egomaniac!” You stomped over to him. “You abandoned your best friend!”

Gaston rolled away from you and stood, holding up the book in protest. “What are you talking about?” he demanded, stepping away as you marched towards him.

“What are you talking about?” you mocked. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Gaston. That night when you riled up the whole town into a murderous rampage and blackmailed your ‘dearest companion’ into helping you? The same ‘dearest companion’ who constantly followed you around, giving you a boost whenever someone bruised your ego? The ‘dearest companion’ that you left lying under a damn piano?” You jabbed at him with your hand, but he used the book as a shield. Without thinking, you kicked at his shin. He glanced down, which gave you the opportunity you needed to knock the book out of his grasp.

“(Y/N), what are you—ow!” You’d managed to back him closer to the wall. You slammed your arm across his chest, pinning him in place. He winced as his sore shoulder hit the cold stone.

“What kind of a person just leaves their friend like that? What kind of selfish, stupid person can look their best friend in the eyes and see that they need help, then just leave them lying there and not give a damn?” You felt your fury radiating from every fiber of your being as you growled at him.

LeFou had told you everything—how he’d gone along with Gaston’s plan to murder Maurice but felt guilt over it, how he’d slowly realized that Gaston was getting worse and worse, how he’d been uncomfortable with Gaston’s actions but had supported him because “That’s what friends do, right?”. He’d admitted to being bothered by the treatment of Belle and Maurice but how Gaston had threatened him. After finishing his second mug of ale, he’d explained about the subsequent storming of the castle and the attack of the inanimate objects (whom you now knew to be the cursed servants). You’d felt yourself growing more and more upset at Gaston’s actions towards LeFou, despite this being the most you’d ever interacted with the shorter man. Then he’d told you about Gaston’s abandonment of the battle (and him) in favor of killing the Beast (LeFou’s voice had cracked when he told you how Gaston had simply told him, “It’s hero time,” before running off), and your anger had boiled over.

You’d jumped up from your seat and rushed out of the tavern, feeling nothing but a deep desire to confront Gaston as soon as possible. On the journey back to the castle, your anger had only grown as you thought over LeFou’s words.

“I—wait, are you talking about LeFou?”

“YES I AM TALKING ABOUT LEFOU—WHO ELSE WOULD I BE TALKING ABOUT?” Your voice had risen from a growl to a roar.

Gaston flinched at the sudden increase in volume. “I didn’t abandon him,” he tried to say.

“LIAR!”

“Okay, so what if I did?” he shouted back, lifting his hands up. “Why does it matter?”

“Oh, it matters a lot! I would never think of doing such a thing to Belle! I care about her too much! But you wouldn’t know what that’s like, would you? You only care about yourself!”

“That’s not true at all!”

“No, I guess it isn’t, because if you had an ounce of self-preservation, you’d have run away when the Beast let you go! But no, what did you do?” You dropped your arm and held your hands up, mimicking his defensive pose. “Instead of doing the smart thing, you decided that your pride just couldn’t take it, and you just had to shoot him!” You could picture that night easily, only this time, instead of being propelled by desperation to save Gaston, you saw it through raw anger. “So you shot him, not only once—no, the great Gaston had to make sure he didn’t lose. So you shot again, and not once did you realize that the ground beneath your feet was literally falling!”

Hot tears began to stream down your face at the memory. Gaston realized that you were done, if only to take a few gulps of air, and tried once more to calm you. “Aha, but I didn’t fall,” he said triumphantly. “I didn’t die.” He winked. “We all know I’m too pretty to die, anyway.”

You didn’t need any more air. No, you needed to knock that smirk off of his face. Air could come later.

“Oh, ho ho, is that what you think? Is that what you think?” You laughed scornfully. “Well, think again, Gaston. Because the only reason you’re alive now is because of me. If it hadn’t been for me, you would’ve fallen to your death!”

He rolled his eyes, which only added to your frustration. “Oh, please, I could’ve jumped to safety if you hadn’t barreled into me.”

His inability to comprehend just how close he’d been to dying snapped something deep inside of you. All of the hot rage you’d felt before froze into icy wrath. You took a step towards him, your eyes boring into his. A flicker of worry crossed his face, but then—

THOCK!

The feeling of your fist against his face felt good, wonderful, even. The expression on his face when he realized he’d just been punched was even better. He reached up to feel his cheek and winced as his fingers brushed against the already-swelling red splotch.

“If I hadn’t been there, or if I’d hesitated for even a fraction of a second, you would’ve died,” you hissed. “Believe me. I know.” The finality of your words struck something in him—you saw it in his green eyes. You allowed him to meet your glare just long enough to make him uncomfortable, and then you spun around and walked away, kicking the door shut without saying anything else.

You stalked past Belle and Adam (who was carrying several giant books) in a hallway on your way to your bedroom. They must have noticed that something was off, because Belle asked, “Is everything alright, (Y/N)?”

You ignored her, which probably confirmed that no, everything was not alright. She called your name again, and you heard Adam start to speak, but they both stopped (likely because they could sense that you were in no mood to talk right now). Then you were out of sight of them, and you reached the door of your bedroom. You shoved it open, kicked it shut, and jumped onto the bed, burying yourself in sobs and pillows.

Next Chapter

#second chance #gaston #gaston x reader #kate writes #beauty and the beast #batb #gaston imagine

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lonesome-dreamsss · 6 years ago

Text

Coffee is Always Fun When Mixed with a Monster.

Idfk anymore. This is like the only cute/fluffy thing I will ever write in my entire life....Okay so that's a lie, but I usually write sad ass shit because I'm Satan and that's cool. Anyway this some nice Irondad for you all because we stan Irondad in this household:))

Pls tell me if it's good and all that because I actually think this is kinda bad, but that's because I like to shame myself all the time:,)

Okay I'll stop talking because I'm annoying and you just wanna read this. Have fun friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was around 3am and Peter had just got back from patrol. There had been a few muggings and one attempted robbery. With his quick skills, Peter stopped them, although he had gotten hit a few too many times. He was sporting a large cut under his eye and multiple bruises were scattered across his cheek and neck. It wasn't really a problem due to his enhanced healing. All the injuries would most likely be gone by morning.

The one big problem was running on like 3 hours of sleep. He had school tomorrow and then would be going to Stark Industries to hang out with Tony. It would be a long day, that's for sure.

He slipped off his suit and slid into bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow he was out like a light.

Peter was awoken to the sound of his alarm blaring in his ear. He groaned and rolled out of bed. May was in the kitchen rushing to make pancakes. "Oh hey sleepyhead." She stopped working for a moment and pressed a kiss to Peter's head.

"...hi." His voice was thick with sleep.

"Go get dressed. The pancakes will be done by the time you finish." She smiled at him and turned back to the stove.

"Mmm, okay." He stumbled back into his room and threw on some clean clothes. He brushed his teeth and hair, then walked back into the kitchen.

The pancakes were on a plate and May was packing her bag for work. "Alright Pete, I'll see you later yea?"

"Yea, I'm going to Mr. Stark’s after school for a bit." He shoved a pancake in his mouth.

"I know, he told me. Have fun, love you kid." She pressed another kiss to his head.

"Love you too!" He called to her as she walked to door, she gave him a smile and then she was gone. He gulped down the rest of the pancakes and rushed out the door so he would make it to school on time. Sadly the teen didn’t make it on time. His first period teacher wasn’t really surprised though. It’s not like he wasn’t late everyday. He had gotten detention more times than he can count, but he wasn’t really bothered by it. It was only for about 30 minutes after school on every other Tuesday. He didn’t go to Stark Industries on Tuesday’s and that’s what really mattered. He would never miss a day with Tony. Ever. They always had fun together whether it be because they were working on their suits or just because they were watching movies and talking while eating pizza. It felt like he had a dad again and it was a great feeling.

The day went by fast. Nothing really happened except for a comment or two from Flash whenever they passed each other in the hallway. Peter had learned to ignore it over time. The things Flash said wouldn’t matter in the future and plus Peter rather it be him getting bullied and not anyone else. He could take it, someone else might not be able to. No one Peter knew outside of school knew about Flash. So May, Tony, and the other Avengers. Ned and MJ told him he should tell Tony, but if he did Flash would be dead and there was nothing that anyone could do about it. He had a worse feeling about Natasha if she found out. She would torture Flash and then kill him. Nat would make it more painful then Tony or anyone else could. He was going to keep it on the down low for as long as he could.

Pretty soon the last bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. Peter gathered his belongings and made his way to his locker with Ned. They talked about his internship because Ned could never seem to get enough of it. He always seemed amazed that Peter knew The Tony Stark. The same look of excitement would cross his features whenever the billionaire's name was mentioned.

He knew most people didn’t believe him about his internship because Stark Industries only has college students as interns and because why would anyone want Peter Parker as their intern? At least that’s what Flash has said in the past. Although everyone at SI always reminded him how well loved he was so Flash was definitely wrong about no one wanting him as an intern or friend.

Peter shook his head and slung his backpack. He waved goodbye to his friend and then walked to the front of the building. As usual Happy was waiting for him with that grouchy look on his face. Despite the look on his face Peter knew that the older man had grown to like him. They had to spent a lot of time together due to Happy being his driver to and from the tower so they had become sort of friends. The older man would deny that fact that he actually liked Peter. Everyone knew he was lying, but they didn’t question him. “Hey, Happy.” He greeted his driver and that’s when he realized he sounded tired.

“How much sleep did you get last night?” Happy glanced at the teen from the corner of his eye.

“Uh...like 3 hours, I think.” He replied sheepishly.

“Kid, I know you look up to Tony and all, but I’m begging you, please don’t pick up his terrible sleeping habits.” Peter snorted at that.

“Ok, ok. I won’t.” That man just sighed and shook his head.

They arrived at the tower a little while later. Peter grabbed his backpack and thanked Happy. He got out of the car and made his way inside the glass building. The receptionist, whose name was Susan, looked up with a smile and greeted him before telling him that Tony was in his lab. The teen nodded and gave her a smile before heading to the elevator. When he stepped in the elevator Friday spoke up. “Hello, Peter. Mr. Stark is in his lab.”

“Hey, Friday! Thanks!”

“You sound tired.” The A.I. could always read him like a book.

“I am, but I’ll be fine. I’ll just steal some of Mr. Stark’s coffee.” A nice cup of coffee would definitely wake him up. It usually always did. If not he would find something else to help wake him up. Friday didn’t answer, but if she was human he would guess she would roll her eyes.

The elevator ride didn’t last long. Peter stepped out of the machine and walked towards the lab doors. He swung them open and threw his backpack on the ground. Tony was messing with a piece of his suit near the back of the room. “Hey, Mr. Stark.” The older man looked up and smiled.

“Hey kid. How’s it going?”

“Good. Do you have any coffee by any chance?” Peter smiled, sweetly

“Actually I do. It’s over by the mini fridge. Do I want to ask why you need it?” Tony looked at the kid, his kid.

“No, you don’t.” He practically ran to the mini fridge. He took the coffee pot and dumped a way to large amount of the black liquid into one of the cups. He drank about half of it within a minute and made his way back to his mentor. The billionaire just shook his head with a smile.

After a few hours of working and joking around the two men decided to ignore the suits for a little while. Peter’s tiredness was starting to come back. If he was being honest the coffee didn’t really do much. He had to drink about 4 cups just to feel slightly less tired. That would be the downside of being bit by a radioactive spider, no medicine or coffee worked unless he took a huge amount of it. He decided to check the fridge and see if there was anything that might be able to help get rid of his tiredness.

When he opened the fridge door he spotted a monster energy drink. An idea popped into his head. With a smile on his face he grabbed the monster and grabbed his cup of coffee. “Hey, Mr. Stark, how much energy do you think I would get if I mixed my coffee with this monster?”

“Pete, I thought you were smarter than that.” Tony looked at the coffee and monster in Peter’s arms.

“I am smart!” The teen mocked a hurt expression. “This is a great idea. How dare you shame it.”

“Are you trying to give yourself a heart attack?”

“No, but nothing else works. My spider weirdness makes it so difficult to not be tired unless I sleep for like five years.” This earned an eye roll from Peter’s mentor.

“Kid, we both know that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Maybe if you got more than 3 hours of sleep everyday this wouldn’t be an issue.” Peter took a turn rolling his eyes.

“Funny coming from you Mr. Stark. You’re the king of not sleeping for like 3 days straight.”

“Watch it kid. I’ll strap you down in your bed and make you sleep.” They both laughed at that. “Okay fine. I’ll let you drink that, but you can’t tell May about it. Got it?”

“Deal.” After they shook hands, Peter popped open the monster and dumped it into his coffee. He had a satisfied look on his face as he watched the drinks mix in the cup. He waited a moment or two before taking a tiny sip. His eyes lit up in delight. “This is actually really good.”

“You better savor that because after that cup I am never letting you mix those again.” Peter snickered and started to take larger gulps of the mixture.

The boy finished his drink and within minutes he was practically jumping off the walls. Tony had really started to regret letting Peter drink that stupid drink. He was talking a mile a minute about absolutely everything he could think of and the billionaire was getting a headache.

Even after 4 hours of working, talking, and messing around the kid was still bounding with energy. It was Friday, so that made is slightly better. At least that meant Peter could stay up and wait for the energy to wear off. Even if it was Friday, May would still be beyond mad at them both for letting this occur.

May Parker is one to not be messed with. His aunt is almost as terrifying as Natasha when she’s mad. She would not hold back. At all. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t a tad bit scared.

One thing Tony Stark would never do again was let Peter Parker drink a coffee and a monster. He had said that many times over the course of the evening causing Peter to snort each time. It was always interesting and eccentric hanging out with IronMan, but the teen wouldn’t have it any other way.

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