#why does my metal illness make me keep all these fucking paper bags why do i still keep every fucking lettee envelope

[kjclfaller]

kay so cleaning is depressing actually I want to get rid of everything oh my god why is there so much stuff and why is everything so big

[alexandermanes]

ghost whisperer - rnm fic

hey so here’s the ghost malex au/human au fic  wrote but didn’t post on halloween week bc i was unmotivated

hope you like it :)

ao3

Chapter One - Ghosts

“First, you need a location”, declared the man, Tom, also known as MythCatcher on Youtube

Michael nodded then furiously scribbled down in his scrawny handwriting “Location”

“Then, you need to do research- Research is a very important part of paranormal investigation. You need to fact-check myths, learn about history of the place you’re looking for poltergeists”, he informs Michael via the small screen of his phone, “Learn about the deceased’s, their name, their story”

He stops the video to write “Research” on the notebook, underneath “Location”, obviously.

“After that: planning. What kind of gear are you planning on taking? Camera? Infrared night vision goggles? An Ouija board to facilitate communication? What kind of questions will you ask, with or without the board? What time are you going? What time are you going to visiting the haunting site? What are the alleged time of the apparition’s sighting?”

Those are too many points, Michael observes and writes “Planning” as a third bullet point in his “How to ghost hunt” list. Tom (MythCatcher) doesn’t appreciate the term “ghost hunter”, he thinks it’s demeaning since people don’t take ghosts seriously. The paranormal, though, that they fear and believe in. Idiot, he muttered as he pressed play on the video again. He does not care about Tom’s sensitivities.

Michael isn’t delusional, he knows most paranormal investigators are as genuine as his will to admit when Max’s right, which is non-existent. But, amongst the sea of “myth catchers”, Tom is the one that makes the most sensible points, despite the fact that he earns money by making Youtube videos in his 40s and advertises for “high-end ghost hunting gear”. Needless to say, he takes Tom’s points with a grain of salt.

         “Once you have a list of equipment to take with you and a scripted way to approach the site, the hows and when, then you’re ready for the next step: Communication”, Tom states, “Now, this is a crucial step. To communicate with the paranormal, you must be respectful”

Michael isn’t sure what constitutes as being respectful amongst investigators of the paranormal but invading their space, often the site where they died in, and demanding their participation in whatever nonsensical conversation they have planned doesn’t seem like very cordial behavior.

“No mocking, no inviting dangerous entities to that space, address them by name and be polite. Also you must be protected, always be straightforward about the kind of entity you allow to be in your vicinity. If there’s any funny business going on, send it away immediately. Bring your salt with you. ParanormalActivityStore has a ten percent discount if you use my code for a personalized-“, he is interrupted by Michael closing the app

“That’s enough dead brain cells for a single afternoon”, he reminds himself., after that he scribbles “Communication” as a final bullet point in his list.

Michael Sanders isn’t sure when his obsession with ghosts started, although he doesn’t appreciate his interest and curiosity being labeled and an obsession, thank you very much, despite what everyone else has voiced in the past; that’s why he keeps it to himself these days. No, in fact, he actually knows when this journey began, he can pinpoint it.

See, Michael is a man of rational thinking and little faith, a man of science and not religion which is why he believes in ghosts. Every night for a year he sees his mom, not in dreams, and with no previous history of mental illness, not in delusions. Every night religiously for a year his mom has visited him. When it started he believed himself to be dreaming but that wasn’t the case. She never says much, kneels by his bedside, cradles his face with one hand, caresses his cheek and smiles at him, teary-eyed and whispers. “Manes Residence”, those words haunt him but with a foreign intent. Though it’s a balm to his soul seeing his mother smile at him even when her eyes are so woeful, even proffering such ominous words.

It is a mystery to him as to why, ten years after her death, a brain aneurysm that took her unexpectedly from his arms, she began to visit him during the night and why she whispers those words. He has exhausted every method he’s ever heard of: Ouija boards, calling out to her, lucid dreaming, leaving candles and objects for her to communicate through, he even considered hiring a psychic but that somehow seemed too extreme. He tried praying and still prays at any given time during the day but that doesn’t seem to have been successful. At first he assumed he wasn’t doing it correctly, but then again, at the ripe age of eleven years old, in one of the foster homes he inhabited lived a family of religious fanatics, so he doubts he’s doing prayers incorrectly. Especially when hesitating or stuttering during prayers resulted in punishment. This situation is a big enigma to him and it pesters him on a daily basis. He needs answers. If this was any ordinary mystery he wouldn’t have bothered this much but he has bone-deep certainty that this, whatever it is, is very important.  So keeps trying to contact his mom. He tries unrelentingly.

-

Until one day. He makes his way to the Crashdown, Isobel and Max by his side. After a long day of school (he was thankful it was his senior year), they all decided they needed a well-deserved milkshake with a side portion of french-fries. As they entered the diner and the small bell rang overhead, they noticed an unusual amount of patrons for a Thursday afternoon. Oh, well, he thought. They sauntered towards the counter and waited in line, a single person in front of them, a truly serendipitous event. In the indistinct chatter he picks up two words: Manes Residence.

“Sorry?”, he says loudly, turning towards the person who emitted them

Rosa Ortecho asses him with an unimpressed, and frankly disgusted, expression and continues talking to Liz, disregarding him as if he were a vexing fly.

“So anyways. Lydia told me that now the house is haunted. Sargent Psycho took off with hs ten kids or whatever to nowhere land during the nightly hours. Not a soul saw them ever again”, she points out, “dude murdered his wife after she tried to leave him, buried her than grabbed his five sons and fucked off”

“It’s just a rumor, Rosa!”, Liz replied, laughing purely out of amusement and disbelief

“So this Manes House”, Michael chimed in, “where is it?”

“Michael, stop barging in in people’s conversation”, Max reprehended him, an honest to God blush creeping in

“I’m sorry”, Michael looked from Liz to Rosa, “He isn’t usually this rude”

Michael gave him an eye-roll that screamed Fuck off, Max. Rosa just mimicked him while Liz smiled, a bright and toothy smile.

“It used to be Master-Sargent’s Jesse Manes residence, he lived there with his wife and four sons. Then one day they disappeared off of the map and the house was put up for sale. No one ever saw them since, I think, the fourth of July fair last year”, she informed him, “The house was never sold, probably because of rumors that it is haunted. I can give you the address, me and Rosa used to be best friends with one of his kids, Alex”

“Yeah, right up until the moment the left and just like poof, never called or texted”, Rosa supplied

“He probably just didn’t find the time or-“, Liz tried to explain

“For a year, Liz?”, she replied with a very irritated tone, “Either he is ignoring us, completely forgot us or is dead”

Liz gave her a good-natured eye-roll and simply told her she was being dramatic.

“Can you give me an address?”, Michael asked suddenly feeling anxious

Liz acquiesced then ripped a sheet of paper from her notepad and wrote the address.

“You’re one weird little dude”, Rosa told him, though Michael completely disregarded her

He thanked Liz and almost forgot about the shake and fries, the original reason for his appearance at the Crashdown. As they waited, Max and Isobel engaged in conversation but Michael was far too distracted to hear any of their words, instead, his mind raced, making plans about when to visit the residence. Something akin to energy traveled through his veins, similar to electricity, his heart sped-up, he felt restless and suddenly very aware of his surroundings. The movement of brown paper bags being set on the counter snapped him out of his gaze. He immediately took one, knowing they order essentially the same dish, and strode to the door.

“Michael!”, Isobel called out, drawing heads to her, “where are you going?”

“Sorry. Forgot I had something to do at- um, the junkyard. Talk later”, he immediately turned his back on his friends and exited the diner.

He scrambled for his keys inside his pocket, growing more frustrated by the second, until the skin-warm metal found his finger tips and at last, picked up his keys. He unlocked his baby blue beat-up truck and tossed his food on the passenger seat, subsequently starting the engine. He felt possessed, moving by this ominous force, an urgent feeling, but regardless of his feelings amongst other things, he was hell-bent on finding the Manes residence at that very instant.    

[sugar-petals]

Underground Tattoo Artist Yoongi

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Warnings: Smut, Yoongi’s sexy voice, fingering, hands/gloves kink, coarse language, protected sex, excessive pouting, tats kink (guess for which body parts), Irezumi, breast-sucking, PIV, handcuffs, D/s, Safeword: Spearmint, kissing, Yoongi being beautiful inside out Words: 2.2k

A/N: JK is a side character as is Hobi. Dedicated to my fellow Yoongi enthusiasts who’ve been with me on this journey for so long. @sugandcream @yoongiscookie @yaseminflames and a new friend, @seesaws-wife . 

Min Yoongi, born in Daegu, now Seoul-based at Genius Studio.

Seems to elicit a polarized response among the people who know him

Or think they do

Regulars, however, value him past how his name is thrown around on the streets

Yoongi is a knowledgeable artist with ten years of experience

His role model is the infamous Jun Cha

Like him Yoongi draws a lot of inspiration from mythology for sleeves mostly

He works hard

But stays humble knowing there are some true cracks out there who can surpass him with ease, those who run more imposing studios with a lot of creative staff

Plus he’s too aware that his time on this planet is limited even if tattoos give the illusion of longevity, even immortality in some strange kind of way

That’s why he likes motives centered all around death and morning

Yoongi knows what loss is like

He himself carries a skull on his right arm, tattooed by Jungkook

His younger, edgy assistant who works in the adjacent room

The studio is less lively nowadays but still doing times better compared to its modest beginnings. Yoongi keeps up the quality.

Probably the only guy around who’s not involved in criminal activities for sheer moral reasons even if big cash could be involved

The drug dealers would make his parlor even sleazier than it already is

At least in terms of reputation and target audience

Hygiene-wise, he won’t half-ass things. And that is his number one forte

Everything sanitized

From machines to needles to markers to aprons to razors to ointment applicators

And of course: The Hands

Yoongi is the cleanest bitch

He takes things seriously and plays by the rules

That’s exactly why he doesn’t fuck clients or gives out his treasured number

Which he’s asked for so so often, particularly by regulars

He’s not as sure as those who tell him he’s so attractive and ask him on dates

Yoongi thinks he’s so-so, just the tattoos make him look cooler 

And maybe the fact that he’s a patient and subdued guy by virtue of his profession

Clients appreciate that

Jungkook thinks they might be a bit disrespectful hitting on him so blatantly

But they arrive on time and pay rampant sums for completed sleeves says Yoongi 

Who schedules some pretty loaded people here and there to rake in the dinero

Clean bitch, rich bitch

He’s that good, but does he realize it?

It is true that a lot of visitors very much over-compliment his rugged, morbid look

Men and women alike

He thinks way too much about it. But what can he do, he’s forever an artist

What he’s confident in is creating solid, mistake-free pieces

That last

He specializes in creating couple tattoos 

The ones that people don’t wanna get rid of when they break up

Yes. He’s that good

Usually working with a lot of diluted ink styles for gray wash, detailed geometrics like JK often does, fine line, portraits with 3D elements

But also realistic nature themes and smaller polygons

The latter being what you schedule an appointment for.

It’s the sternum

The face of goddess Artemis with a crescent in fine lines

A friend of yours got a nice lettering tattoo here last May and recommended you

So you thought okay it’s a small piece why not, that seems fun, a change in looks is very welcome and you love Artemis’ story, it really means a lot

You wait for almost one and a half hours with a funny guy called Hoseok in a worn-out room who tells you the wildest things about his endless, already fading tattoos and where he got them and why and how

Then he comes around with his pouty pout and black clothes, converse, messy hair that shades the eyes

Min Yoongi who just finished a large Celtic design on a leg

Perched in a small corner with countless prints and drawings on the surrounding walls you discuss and plan at length, do the paperwork

You have to control yourself peering at the makeshift sketch you brought and not him in his low-cut tank top looking very, very appealing

Then, after paying, you get your breasts taped, cleaned. He’s fast and economical with it, the wipes are refreshing. His hands are apt in their tight matte black gloves

Yoongi makes sure you’re comfortable on the bench, hydrated, does the shaving, cleans again, applies the stencil, prepares some ointment and water to dip into

The first lines are rough but he encourages you

“Concentrate on my voice. Hurts less”

“Oh, what?”

Well he’s the expert, gotta roll with it, ten years of experience won’t lie right

And indeed

His slowed speech and deep, raspy timbre is soothing the pain a bit

That bedroom gaze of yours speaks volumes in return

You’re pretty certain he notices it, just his bangs are in the way. And he’s stern

Yoongi explains everything about needles and inks to you when he switches them

Shading the finished outlines and coloring flies past quickly and you really don’t want it to end, his fingers are so nice to observe at work

Not because it lessens the sting, but how he guides the machine so smoothly

After removing excess color and applying foam, the motif is revealed 

Artemis gazes with pride, confidence, and a watchful eye from between your breasts

He removes the taping with extra prudence, you pull on your shirt 

Almost finished

You agree to have him take a picture before he applies the ointment and bandaging

As a last instruction, he gives you tips for protection and care, the no-go things. Unsurprisingly to you, on the paper... he writes down his private number with a question mark after it without words. Figured so.

You didn’t need to hit on him. Yoongi already knows. JK always teases that he’s notoriously bad at reading people. But he’s not entirely oblivious like some amateur

Not when he’s being looked at like that, it’s a no-brainer 

The truth is JK is a guy who hoards baby lotion, sucks at making tribal designs, and is afraid of the new microwave in the studio kitchen

Clearly, his judgment can’t be trusted

The appointment finishes quite ill at ease but you manage to ask if he is busy next week with one eye on the phone number. The handwriting is very striking as you expected from a talented hand like that

His answer is everything after Thursday is good and that you should check out the studio’s Instagram by tomorrow or so

You go home holding so tightly onto the paper, you even forget your new tattoo thinking about him and that messy hair, his tank top

The next day you see the photo he took on Insta with a professional caption

Done by @tats_minyoongi at Genius Studio. Stay tuned for Tuesday Walk-In Day small motives only no tribal designs please | Email: agust@aol.com

But it’s tagged with an ominous but polite “#anytime” 

Savvy. Fucking Yoongi for the weekend it is huh

That got you feeling bold as Artemis

You text him that you really loved coming to him

So why not

Come on him

Smug emoji

Horny emoji

He answers you might like his place and suggests Saturday around 6, contraception provided, bring the handcuffs if you have some, please take care of the tattoo until then as he explained

A short pause...

Shy emoji

He’s an awkward cupcake but he knows the game and that counts

“Bring the handcuffs if you have some”

Accurate guess. It’s an artist thing

You turn up with take-out in a bag at his suburb flat, house No. 23

Which is as artsy, orderly, and dim-lit as you thought it would be, way below his means because Yoongi doesn’t mess around and loses his focus in life

The neat freak paradoxically looks more destroyed than ever even if he’s in his bathrobe at the doorstep with damp hair, fresh out of a warm shower. His breath puffs out in clouds because it’s chilly outside. November does bring out the lovers.

There couldn’t be anything sexier than such a view

Yoongi asks how you feel about the tattoo, is everything okay, are you alright

Half-healed, a bit of fallout, you look at it very often you retort. He did a good job

He’s blushy when you say it makes you think about him

So that Yoongi won’t get cold you quickly close the door behind you with one hand tangled up at his neck. Ready to pull him into a kiss

Those pouty lips. They’re just ideal. He tastes like spearmint

Which you set as safeword for this lovely evening

The food finds a place on the dark kitchen counter to wait for better days

Because you wanna peel Yoongi out of his robe and make those handcuffs go click clack on the metal frame of his bed and put a condom on him

One and a half hours waiting time? No need, not today

But he says you’re first and that he bought what you like. 

Surprise surprise, an actual wrapped present

You thought that could only get cringey because it’s something generic

No, no. It’s a new box of gloves. What level of customer service is he on

Extra matte, extra fitted. They snap around his lithe wrists in no time

The feeling on your skin is... so tingly

The feeling between your legs when he reaches down... even better

While his mouth works on your breasts separately

Carefully avoiding the tattoo but sneaking a peek at it while catching a breath

You love having eye contact now. A deep hazel glimmer. All yours.

The bathrobe comes off before you think your stamina is running out

To reveal his beautiful adorned body with modern, vibrant Irezumi. Scale-heavy Koi fish and flowers, poufy clouds, auspicious birds, branches.

And as the centerpiece on his back, his Chinese zodiac sign he says

A gorgeous red-orange rooster before an ascending sun. What a coincidence!

Elsewhere another cock is rising indeed

AND IT’S INKED, TOO

FUCKING MIN YOONGI

“Okay to go on?”

“Oh yes”

And you decide to ditch the cuffs for now, that was a bad idea

You want those hands on your body when he’s inside of you

And oh boy does he slip in easy. Wow, wow. His girth is good. Really veiny. The length fits, feels just right. Now Yoongi’s face goes all shy emoji 

Hot

Bless. He’s not a 7.5 in monster. Madam La Cervix is gonna thank ya later

Plus he can’t take his hands off your clit

With those damn squeaky gloves still on. Someone tasted blood

You love watching his inked chest rise and fall under a pretty heavy breath

Tattoo artists don’t do the track in their free time to get 30 laps a day together

They make art 

Which you enjoy seeing on his skin. Yoongi’s perfect eye candy and he can slide so well into you, too

The food gets cold, you wanna relish bouncing and gyrating on him instead

Feel his hands do their luscious work like a hot mess

Make you cum on that tatted dick hard 

Because in No. 23 the house walls are thick enough so the people from No. 25 and 21 won’t be bothered with the noise

Make him fill that condom good with gritted teeth

And your ears with his deep yearning moans

With them sweat drops covering his chest

It looks like there’s dew on the flowers and birds, the branches.

Life isn’t so full of loss and thinking of yourself as so-so when a lady climaxes on you 

He realizes that and is relieved having written down his number even if that’s very much against the rules

That orgasm has you in one hell of a mood afterwards

He cleans up both of you with wipes that leave a really refreshing feeling

Tattoo equipment works well in the bedroom it seems

You microwave that food fast because you wanna return to the sheets so bad

Flavored rice and vegetables with spare seasoning, no onions or garlic cause you want good kisses, and yep, spearmint is not an option 

Waiting until it’s not so hot anymore is a chance to calm down eventually

Yoongi is super hungry now and loves how you feed him 

You huddle up and he makes sure twice that your tattoo is properly covered.

Digging in you feel the urge to trace his chest with your fingers

Sleep comes after he told you the story behind his tattoos, where he learned his craft in Daegu and his first client ever, Hoseok. How the death of his mother inspired him to create a legacy. She raised her own Koi fish, dabbled in classic mythology, made portraits. Some of them, Yoongi keeps in his flat. Her art is just stunning 

Under each skin in the studio but especially his own does it live on

You know it’s what makes him so beautiful to others and you. That’s the secret

It’s easy to sleep next to him understanding that

He looks less wrecked than when he first opened the door

The next morning Yoongi types in a second ‘appointment’ with you into his Android

You say Tuesday afternoon is convenient, same take-out?

He says yes, and the gloves will be safely stored until then. Then hands over an expensive lotion for your chest to apply two times a day, super balmy with rosemary and Castor oil. You reply thanks but didn’t he give you some proper cream yesterday? Oh, that one was different? This is just the cherry on top then, alright. 

He smiles goodbye on the snowy porch with a muttered “Anytime” that leaves you giddy in your coat.

Min Yoongi

Oh well

He’s a clean bitch

From start to finish.

Masterlist

[fandom-wars-imagine-blog]

How it would be if after confessing their feelings and being rejected by Black Hat or White Hat, S/O starts suffering Hanahaki disease and no matter what it’s only becoming worse and worse?

(Oh man, first angsty ask for me.

Wish me luck.

I hope you like it ^^’ 

In my version of the disease, when the person does the surgery to remove the flowers, they feel nothing at all after it. They will not lose their memory about their loved one, but they will not feel love for them or for another person ever again, in fact, they’ll feel nothing, no joy, no sadness, no anger, nothing.)

Black Hat: 

You were already expecting your love for Black Hat to be one-sided. Even when you told him, he scolded you for feeling such gross and useless thing. You can’t defeat heroes or sell massive amounts of gadgets for villains with such feeling called “love”. Of course you would be rejected, foolish human. Go feel that freaky way with someone else, or better, don’t feel it at all. 

After all, you are simply his employee, a person that is Flug’s assistant, you are in a lower level than Flug - not that is hard to be, but - and Black Hat is a powerful eldritch maybe as older as the universe itself, a demanding being how cannot feel love or any compassion at all. What were your heart and soul thinking?

You are not sad, you are not dying and crying your eyes out because the person you still have a crush on rejected you, you just feel….strange. You can’t forget him, he keeps that place in your mind that still somehow having hope occupied. But at the same time, you have the notion that no means no and your boss will never like you the same way you do, so you just have to…forget about it, this is just momentary winds.

Well, at least you thought you were not dying for it…

Some days later, you started to feel a nuisance in your lungs and heart, nothing to be worried about, just a little annoyed, so you just convinced yourself that it would stop…until you cough up a withered peony’s petal.  Black Hat’s favorite flower, for what you could tell until now.

Yes, a petal, a petal just came out of your body.

At first you thought it was “normal”, Dementia does every type of shit you can think about, she could have just made you eat a dead flower in your sleep, however, more petals made their way out of your body through a cough attack. They are way more than just from one flower! Your lungs feel tired and the nuisance increases to real pain, something to be concerned about.

What the fuck is happening??

After this episode, you surfed on the internet to try to find what could be the reason behind this mysterious flower petals coming out through your throat and found something very interesting but very dangerous for what you read: Hanahaki disease.

It can be caught when someone loves another, it starts small with little nuisances in your lungs and small petals coming out your body through your mouth. Then the petals start growing into full bloomed flowers, occupying the space in your lungs for air and being coughed entirely with your blood. In the end, the flowers start being too many, developing into full bouquets and it only stops when the victims die suffocating in their own blood and internal mortal garden. It can only be cured if the person the victim loves love them too in the same strong passion.

…Oh man, you are so fucked, aren’t you?

There’s another way to stop this ill madness, doing the surgery, but that would make you completely empty, not feeling any type of emotion whatsoever, for him or for any other person. You would be just a human shell and you’re planning to die from your own unrequited love than leaving emotionless for the rest of your life.

But seems that destiny has other plans…

One day, you were working with Flug, planning and drawing some blueprints, when a cough attack made its way to your throat. Your head was rounded by “Oh no, not now” and you spun on your chair to not mess up the papers. Sooner than later, two whole dead peonies escaped your mouth together with drops of blood that came after. You made hold of your lungs, trying to control your inner torture with no avail, and all of the sudden, you remembered.

Flug stills in the lab.

You looked at him, taking the impressive note that even with that bag in his head, you could understand how shocked he was. Your lungs ached and you felt that every plump of your blood was like a spine right in your heart, but that didn’t stop your body from expelling another flower. This time, Flug came to help you, holding your hair and back. Another dead flower was on the floor and you finally stopped, leaning against the back of the chair.

You breathed heavily, the foul taste of blood and rotten flowers stayed on your mouth, you didn’t deserve this…

Flug sat next to you, he was clearly disturbed by what he saw. His leg didn’t stop moving and his fingers moved frenetically against each other.

“That’s Hanahaki disease, right?”

“…It is.”

For such a curious and researcher person like Flug, he didn’t demonstrate any fascination or enthusiasm for what he saw in front of him. Instead, he looked unsettled, worried even. And now that you think about, for a person that knows what’s this disease is about, you would be perturbed if you saw someone coughing flowers too.

He asked if you already told the person you love about your feelings. Just to think about Black Hat made your heart tighten, like his clawed hands clasping at your organ and squeeze it until all the blood is out of your ventricles. Another fit of coughing arises, but nothing came out this time, just the faint taste of metal in your mouth. You hoarse voice and hot breaths didn’t help at all this situation.

“Yes, but he doesn’t like me the same way. It was expected of our boss anyway.”

You laughed sadly at Flug who didn’t make a single noise, just looked at you emotionless. Why are you laughing? Don’t you understand that you are dying?? Why didn’t you told him sooner?! What if one day is too late and he finds your lifeless body on the floor surrounded by bloody flowers?? Do you want to die so pathetically for Black Hat when he wouldn’t do the same for you? Do you want to die at all?

Flug stood up and exited the lab, leaving you alone with the deadly butterflies in your stomach.

On the next day, you already woke up with the gentle screams of anger from your boss at your room’s door. “GET YOUR ASS OUT OF BED AND COME TO MY OFFICE NOW” yelled him.

Ish, this is going to be a good day.

You got your “ass out of bed” like he demanded and dressed up, going to his office right away. When you arrived, he seemed calmer, at least enough to not make your ears ring every time he spoke. To your surprise, or not, he talked about the flowers episode that happened to you and Flug.

“The doctor told me there’s a surgery you could do to cure that “hanaki” disease and I want you to do it right away. The last thing I need right now is my employees dying.“

The office went cooler at his words, the dark shadows engulfed the light air, making it heavy and almost unbreathable. Your stomach tied itself in anguish and you could swear the stem of one of the peonies just grown 5 meters (16′ 5″ ft) and winded itself around your trachea. You tried to resonate with him, but he only scolded you for such an idiotic decision. Die for love? This world is for the strong, the ones that would double-cross their own mother to have what they want, not for the weak and fragile porcelain dolls like you. And if you want to die so badly, why do you still here?

It crossed your mind two possible options: you could have a slow and painful death by drowning in your own blood by stupid flowers if you refuse the surgery, or you could have a slow and painful death by the hands of your boss while he strangles you and breaks your pharynx with those daggers he calls claws if you run out of the office. So you did what seemed a better option right now.

Run.

But your plan was short-lived, as Flug was right behind the doors. Before you could even react, you feel a sharp pain on the side of your neck and fall limp on the wooden floor, losing conscience. Flug cleans the remains of the tranquilizer with his lab coat, putting the syringe inside of one of the pockets.

You woke up on a hospital bed, feeling no longer the ache and squeezing in your chest, in fact, you felt no flowers at all inside you anymore. It looks like the surgery went well and you don’t have Hanahaki disease anymore. However, you don’t feel relieved. You don’t feel joy. You don’t feel at all. 

You knew what the surgery could bring, yet they made you do it without your consent. You could no longer be happy for playing with 5.0.5, you could no longer feel sad for hearing your father crying through the phone, you no longer feel angry with Dementia for breaking up your picture frame or even feel afraid when Black Hat threatens you to cut your head off. You will no longer be able of feeling. But you are not sad about it, actually, you are…indifferent about it.

At least…you don’t feel the painful butterflies in your stomach anymore.

Now Black Hat? Lord Black Hat is very happy with the side effect this surgery brings. Having such a cold being, even more than himself, as an employee? Can you imagine the millions of possibilities he has now with you? He can demand everything he wants from you without you expecting something in exchange. He can experiment on you, give you every kind of power his powerful brain thinks of, mold you in his very shape. He can have a real decent employee who doesn’t let him tearing his skin off in desperation for how every being in this nasty planet is extremely stupid and incompetent. Heck, he can even have you being as evil as him! A heartless villain destroying the buildings of concrete and the insignificant lives of every enemy who even dares to talk back. Oh yes, so many good, great possibilities…

Who knew that having someone falling in love with you could actually have their advantages.

White Hat: 

You know Mister White Hat since you were a teenage girl wanting to be a famous hero, like the ones you see on the sticker albums! You wanted to do much to help people in distress, to save the day and in the end, have all those reporters’ cameras pointed at you while everyone in the background screams your name in full lungs! You even trained your fabulous signature! 

And your homemade suit had more glitter than the backpack of a 9-year-old with an obsession in rainbow unicorns…

You parents did not fully agree with your…wanted future. Is not that they didn’t want you to follow your dream, is that…you couldn’t even save the neighbor’s cat without breaking your arm while climbing on the tree, imagine trying to save a whole crowd of people of some structure in flames. No, out of question.

You, in fact, didn’t born to be a superhero, but no one could take that crazy idea out of your head. Even when your parents tried to resonate with you and maybe convince you to think about another possible to accomplish dream, it seemed that your love for them decreased a little more, and they didn’t want that, oh no, not all. So, they saw themselves stuck in the corner with a way too ambitious child and a worried sickness that increased everytime the sun raised. Unless…

White Hat never took requests to try to convince a teenager in not taking the hero’s path, it surprised him how two parents in that city, where basically everyone would die to their child be a hero, wanted theirs to give up on their dream. In fact, White hat never took care of any human in whatever circumstance you can think about, with Slug and Clemencia the things in the mansion get even more ridiculous, so trusting a teenager in his hands was something completely new.

White Hat could have declined, saying that there was no need of convincing you otherwise of being a hero, but how could he say no? The desperate look in your parents’ faces was already enough, and more than that, your father was a soldier, a man who would give his own life to his country. White Hat would never deny a favor to him because not all heroes use capes, y'know.

However, White Hat wouldn’t try to convince you to not be a hero, but encourage and train you to follow that dream and seize it with nails and teeth. What an idiotic thing, not wanting their child to be the savior of many in this city of crime. After all, everyone can be a hero if they work hard enough! It’s not like the rule doesn’t apply to you!

Oh, how wrong he was.

My goodness, how can you be such a disgrace?? Now he understands why your parents didn’t want this for you! How can a person hurt themselves so badly just climbing on a single lamp street?? No, correction: how can a person hurt themselves so badly with anything??

There are clumsy heroes for sure, but they overcame their difficulties with lots of training. Now you? You are a lost cause! He never saw something like this! One thing is training to overcome that clumsiness, which is possible, and another thing is BEING LAZY TO TRAIN AND INSTEAD TAKE PHOTOS IN THE MIRROR!

Maybe there was the possibility of making you a hero’s assistant, as not even them can do everything at the same time in their lives when they are saving the world. But that is out of the question, one week in the lab and you almost blew it up. 

He never saw Slug so angry, ish.

One day, White Hat was stressing out about what to do with you. His plan to train you to be a great hero got down the bar and he didn’t as requested by your parents convinced you giving up on that dream. What was he going to tell them? That maybe he just made that dream even stronger and now you are completely impossible to endure? Oh heavens…

But then…turning around the corner…there were you, talking with another hero, helping them with their problem. And rather well, he must say! He wouldn’t have said better than you did!

Sometimes even heroes have their problems, sometimes they need some advice about what to do in certain occasions or they are not just so sure that this is their path, so White Hat decided to give them a help, to talk with them for a while and possibly uncover a solution to every situation. They just have to call and make an appointment. But it seems you have stolen his job without his knowledge! What a puck you are!

But…maybe he has found the solution to his own problem.

Within a short time, he convinced and showed you that you could be a hero in a different manner than you rather expected, but it was surely better than going to kill yourself slowly in the streets.

Soon, you learned that heroism is not about fame and celebrities, is about helping others and give the best of you every day. What a childish teenager you were, with your head always in the clouds. Not all heroes hear capes and you find your own way to be a hero to others without all the mess. You are now a heroes’ counselor, the best job you could have asked for in your whole 25 years of life.

Your parents are so proud of you, as is mister White Hat, even if you have to ear it every day to know. 

But you crush was starting to bloom stronger than ever, you couldn’t deny your feelings anymore for your own counselor and friend for the last 8 years. You heart swoll and you felt the urge to puke your own organs everytime you saw him, something was there and you knew it. Now you just had to…cross your fingers and tell him. 

But things don’t go the way we want…and it seems he doesn’t feel the same for you. It hurt as hell even if he tried to be as gently as he could with the news, like he was ripping out your soul from your chest. However, you swole it up like a big adult and smiled your pain, telling him it was okay.

You feet very disappointed and sad with the whole thing, stupid that those feeling appeared to you and you fell right into their evil spell. White’s an eldritch, he can’t feel love even if he wanted. You were just…a big and naive child again.

Then it came…a Black-eyed Susan’s petal out of your mouth while coughing. 

Hanahaki disease. You know about its existence, but never thought you would have it on a single moment in your entire life. But things come when you less expect, don’t they? And now, even if your life’s walls had succumbed around you, you’re going to take it like a hero’s shield and die drowning in the pain of your own love.

You don’t want anyone to see your miserable state, especially White Hat, so you lie and tell that you need a little vacation from your hard work, that even who helps others with their problems need to solve their own too. Everyone agrees and respects your decision because who wouldn’t need a vacation every once in a while?

In that way, begins your isolation from the world, waiting for your sweet death come and lull you to sleep rather harshly. Most of your days you spend in your bed, looking at the ceiling while dreaming wake about the beautiful family you could have created. 

The illness gets worse day by day, you feel like ripping your lungs out and your throat is very hoarse, like someone is scratching it mercilessly. Soon enough you are expelling full Black-eyed Susans through your own mouth. They come bloodied but so beautiful in their mortal ability. You don’t want those flowers to just die on your house’s floor, so you have a great idea about what to do with them.  

Giving a gift expressing your eternal love and gratefulness, you clean the flowers and give a whole bouquet to White Hat. You should have seen him, how his eye shone seeing such a gift. Everyone remembers him to ask for help but no one ever offers him something with gratitude for it. So you decide to give him the best of the gifts you can give now, the flowers that will be your death, the ones that came from your aching heart for his unrequited love. He seemed so happy at seeing you, he accepted the flowers with great joy, saying that it was not necessary, but you know that the joy he will always feel is not the same joy that you feel while you are alive. But you took it, holding it tight in your memory. 

Without coughing a single time, or even taking off that smile on your face, you exited the mansion, going to the mortuary that would be your home sweet home.  

It was a surprise when your neighbors found you dead in your own bed. It seems that you died suffocating in your own sleep. Bloodied flowers were all over the room and a whole bouquet seemed to be doing its way out, covering your whole mouth. Possibly the cause of death.

White Hat got shocked at the news. You? Dead? But…how?? It pits him how you died in such cruel conditions. He can’t imagine dying while suffocating in his own blood. 

Seems like you had some type of unknown disease that made flowers grow in your insides. How? How’s that even possible for a human?? He knows that some diseases can be really cruel but…flowers…such an ironic way to die. 

You died for something called “Hanahaki disease”. It was the first time  White Hat had ever heard of something so dangerous yet so outstanding, but when we heard the cures…everything became so clear.

You died because of him, because of your love not being the same love that White feels for you, a friendly, pure love. He knows that it’s not his fault that he doesn’t feel the same, he’s an eldritch after all, such feelings can’t be acquired for him, but why didn’t you take the surgery? Why did you let yourself die in his loose fictional grasp? He can’t help it, he feels that it’s his fault, that he should have known in the first place. He could have helped you or at least be there for you. 

The whole city is mourning. They lost a great figure recently, a figured who help them as a friend and as a hero themselves, showing that not even the strongest people are exempt from problems. They hope that someone like you will rise again and you will be watching all your cared people from above, protecting them with your angelic wings. 

White Hat took care of everything in your funeral, as he himself was the one who lost more. He lost more than a friend, a person who he saw growing as a person and that helped the others grow too, despite their difficulties and all strings holding them down. You are now happy, you are with your precious parent who will surely hold you in golden tears. 

No flowers are allowed on your tombstone or in your grave. No way White Hat is going to let your death cause haunt you in your eternal, peaceful sleep. 

Every six months, White goes to the cemetery visit you, putting one of his belongings near your tombstone. Who had guessed that after your death, he would finally love you too.  

- mod sheep

[thepaperpanda]

I'm Into You || Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky is so in love with you. The problem is that you don't know about this fact yet...

Warnings: none expect a lot of fluffiness and Bucky being a sweet dork

Words: 2516

Authors: Cass & Beast

Bucky was looking at his metal arm that was glistening with raindrops.

He was sitting at the balcony of his room at the Avengers Tower.

It was raining but he didn't care about getting wet. It was one of these days when he was completely lost in the thoughts that were running through his head.

"Y/N... Ah, Y/N." Bucky mumbled under his breath and ran hand through his already wet bangs.

Truth was that Bucky, the former Winter Soldier, was so in love with you. Yet, he had never found a courage to speak his mind aloud.

"Y/N, hi. I was thinking that... No.. It doesn't sound good..." He rubbed his beard. "Y/N. Would you mind me asking you to a.... Fuck." He sighed deeply, hiding face in palms.

When he heard a knocking on his door, he went to open them.

You smiled at him standing in front of him but suddenly your smile faded away when you saw how wet he was.

"Bucky?! What happened? Have you been sitting at the balcony again? You will get sick one day."

You entered his room and started to look for a fresh towel. When you found one, you walked to him and put it simply on his head. "I know that you and Stevie are both after this Super Soldier Serum or something like this but you two still need to take care of your health." You sighed as you were gently wiping his hair.

Bucky pulled towel out of your hands and quickly wiped his hair.

"No.. I mean yeah. I was at the balcony. I like rain. It helps to focus. It helps to realize a lot of things..." He paused and giggled shortly after. "Am I the only one who has an impression that I keep on talking without sense?"

He looked at you but quickly turned head away as he realized that he was wearing an old checkered shirt and frayed jeans. "But. Why did you come here? I mean, do you need something?"

You looked at him and shrugged. "You missed your breakfast, Bucky. I and Steve got pretty worried about you. He asked me to check upon you."

You took another tower and started to wipe his metal arm.

"How do you feel? Everything's okay? I hope you won't get sick.." You sighed sadly.

He shook his head slightly.

"I am used to being outside when it's raining. And well, I am ill-tempered." Bucky smiled proudly and briefly rubbed over his beard. "I am fine. I will eat dinner. Not hungry at the moment."

Silence crawled between two of you. After few longer moments Bucky realized he was staring at you. He had been blinking few times before he dropped a statement. "You look beautiful in that green shirt, Y/N. It suits you."

You giggled and nodded. "Yes, you are so "ill-tempered" that a few months ago you fainted at the gym with a fever of 40℃. Bruce had to put you into a bathtub filled with ice. I spend three weeks taking care of you." You looked at him with smile.

Then, you looked down at your shirt. "Oh... Thanks, Buck... I hate that shirt. I got it from Sam for Christmas. I wear it only so he can think it was a good gift." You shrugged.

He gave a nod. "I see."

Bucky swallowed hardly as he sat down on his couch. "Y/N... Listen. I have a business to you..."

Bucky wanted to bite his own tongue after saying these words but it was already too late.

You blinked and gave a nod. "Okay... What is it, Buck?" You asked and sat next to him on the couch.

"Would you mind me asking you for a...."

But Bucky wasn't able to finish his sentence.

The door to his room was opened suddenly by Sam. "There you are, Barnes!" Man rolled his eyes as he stepped in. "Your boyfriend's looking after you. You were about to go on a mission together, y'know, mate? Fury ordered this so no offence!" Sam put his hands up in the air but a mischievous grin didn't leave his lips for a second.

You looked at both men. "Okay, so! I won't bother you, Bucky. Dry yourself and get ready. We will talk when you will be back. Sam? During breakfast you said you wanna talk, right? So... let's go and oh! Bucky!" You said and then smiled at him, "Good luck on your mission and be careful there. Please." After these words, you left Bucky's room.

As soon as door were closed again, Bucky laid down on his bed, he took a pillow and screamed loudly into its material.

He was so frustrated now, he was almost sure that Sam has wanted to ask you for a date.

Bucky was laying like this for about five minutes and then he got up.

He quickly got dressed, putting on dark cargo pants and black combat boots, dark pullover and a bulletproof vest on top of it. He put his hair into a ponytail and then left his room.

When Bucky left the room, you also were getting ready downstairs.

"Look, Buck! I am going on a mission with Sam! I can't wait!" You jumped happily, already wearing your uniform.

You smiled at Steve. "Take care of Bucky, Steve. I want him to come back in one piece." Then you looked at Sam. "I hope you will take care of me too." You giggled.

Bucky smiled politely but as he was passing Sam by, he threw other man a cold glance.

When Bucky noticed you were busy by talking to Steve, he pinned Sam to the wall of the corridor.

"Try to get too close to her and I will rip your fucking wings out of that ridiculous suit, you get it, Wilson?" Bucky hissed, leaning down to Sam.

"Hey, hey, hey... What the hell got into you, Barnes." Sam growled. "As far as we both know, she isn't your property or anything. This isn't your old, war times, pal. Girls won't jump into your arms just because of your pretty face. First come, first served." He muttered and pushed Bucky away then walked to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. "Okay, enough talking, it's time to go and take down those bad guys, am I right, Y/N?" Sam asked, grinning.

You looked at him and nodded. "Let's go! See you later, guys!" You waved at Bucky and Steve and then left with Sam.

Steve looked at his friend. "Everything's fine, pal?"

Bucky hit the nearest wall with his metal fist. "Fucking yes, Steven. Go on or we will be late again." Bucky growled loudly, pushing Steve aside as he walked to the car.

He got into and looked at Steve. "You're going or not?"

This was a tough mission even to Bucky.

He was in Europe with Steve and alongside him, Bucky was fighting with some new gang that was terrorizing few of largest European capital cities.

But he couldn't focus on his duties at all. Especially during long, lonely nights, when his thoughts were drifting to you.

You sighed softly after a long day of fighting bad guys.

You sat on your bed and nuzzled to the pillow, thinking about Bucky.

Sam was really nice and funny but sometimes too annoying.

Weirdly, your thoughts were drifting to Bucky, you were missing him so much.

You closed your eyes and tried to catch some sleep, you couldn't wait till next evening, when you was about to see Bucky again.

Steve and Bucky got out of the car at the driveway of Avengers Tower.

Both of men were tired after last few days.

Steve was grabbing some papers from the trunk and Bucky was packing his knives to the bag, when he saw with the corner of the eye that Sam's car parked on the opposite side of the driveway.

Bucky, however, pretended to be busy with packing.

You were sitting on the couch in common living room.

You hissed quietly as Sam was stroking your leg that was bandaged. "I told you to be careful. Cap was right, you never listen, Y/N." Sam sighed.

You giggled. "You know me. I try to do whatever I can. Even if I will get hurt. Just now I will have a problem... How I will be walking? Bruce said I can't walk too much because of the injury."

Sam smiled and gently rubbed your cheek. "Hey, I can take care of you." He said and hugged you tight.

You nuzzled to him. "Thanks. You are a great friends, Sam."

It was the moment when Bucky stepped into the room with Steve.

As Bucky saw you next to Sam, his face changed, reddening with a rage that was building in him.

"Hi, Y/N, Sam." Steve nodded with a smile, he passed his friend and joined two of you on the couch. "How was it? Oh, Y/N! I knew you'll come back hurt. As always. Our oaf!" He smiled at you, ruffling your hair.

Bucky was taking deep breaths, he was trying to calm himself down.

"C'mere, Buck, join us!" Steve winked at Bucky.

You giggled when Steve ruffles your hair. "Yup! That's me, Cap. Come on Bucky, join us." You smiled at him.

"Yea, join us Barnes." Sam said and then pulled you onto his laps, you didn't protest. "Look, now there's enough of space for all four of us." He said hugging you softly.

"How was your mission? Did everything go fine? Because like you can see, our mission wasn't great in 100%." You joked, pointing on your leg.

Bucky was staying in the same place without a move, soundlessly. He was only clenching his metal hand in fist from time to time.

"Thanks. I will stay." He grunted through clenched teeth. "Our mission went amazingly well. We've wiped three entire towns off the bastards." Man said, improving his bangs nervously.

You looked at Bucky. "Bucky... Is everything fine? You make me worried. Come on, join us. I missed you so much and I would like to hear more." You asked and give him the sweetest smile ever.

It was enough to trigger Bucky.

"FUCKING NO! I won't be sitting next to the fucker that still tries to steal my beloved woman! I FUCKING LOVE YA, Y/N!" Bucky yelled loudly, almost breaking down. "This fucker always has to be around you! He does it with premeditation! But if you like him so much to be sitting on his laps, I fuck this shit. Imma out of this!" Bucky screamed as he dropped his bag on the floor, then he turned around and left the room cursing under his breath.

All three of you blinked surprised at Bucky's outburst.

Tony walked into the room and looked at Sam and you. "Fuck! So you wanna tell me that I have just really lost 500$? Because you got her before Barnes did?"

Sam sighed heavily and shook his head.

You looked at him with a frown. "Seriously Sam? You are the worst! Friday! Tell me where Bucky Barnes is."

"Mr. Barnes is outside, Miss." Robotic voice answered.

"Great. Stave? Would you be so kind? I can't walk." You asked looking at your friend.

Steve only nodded and then picked you up, he slowly walked outside with you.

Bucky was sitting at the stairs in front of Avengers Tower.

He was lazily playing with the lock of his dark brown hair.

Bucky let himself to shade few tears while thinking of you and Sam.

"Buck? I brought you someone. I think you two should talk." Steve said softly and sat you down next to Bucky.

You looked at him and sighed. "Bucky... Hey. Talk to me... Listen. Sam... I really had no idea he was trying to do something. I thought he is just friendly." You explained and gently touched his hand. "Please, don't be mad at me."

Bucky thrusted your hand down off his shoulder. "Don't. Just don't. You should go back to you bestie. He'll be missing ya."

Bucky shifted aside a bit, to be out of your range. "I am not good enough. I know this, okay? Don't worry, I won't be trying ever again."

You rolled your eyes and moved closer to him. "Bucky. I don't care about Sam now. Right now, I care only about you."

You sighed and grabbed his hand. "Bucky, listen. No one said you are not good enough. You are more than that. Look at me, Bucky." You put your hand to his cheek.

Bucky sighed and turned his head toward you. His big, blue eyes were looking deeply into yours, his lips was slightly opened.

"Hey there, handsome." You said quietly, stroking his cheek. "Bucky. Sam isn't more than just a friend. Really, that's all. You are the one that I care the most. You are the one that I think about whole time." You squeezed his hand with your other palm.

Bucky smiled gently and finally found a courage. He leant down to you taking your face in his hands, then he simply kissed your lips.

You purred quietly into the kiss and kissed him back. You smiled softly at him after the kiss. "Bucky? Before our mission... you have wanted to ask me something?"

Bucky nodded. "Yes, Y/N." He giggled as he looked around. "Okay, I don't see Sam around, so... Would you mind me asking you for a dinner? We can eat something tasty, dance a bit... I mean, I know a nice place... If you wouldn't mind me asking you..."

You smiled and nodded. "That sounds almost perfect, Buck... But I need to say no..." You said sadly and looked away.

He stiffened. "W.. What... Why? Did I do something wrong?" Bucky asked with sadness in his voice.

You looked at him. "I would walk with you if there was no dancing." You moved your injured leg. "I can't dance with this leg." You said and laughed.

Bucky shrugged. "Yes. I didn't think of it. Imma sorry. Maybe next time then." He raised corners of his mouth in sad smile.

You took his hand and kissed it. "How about a nice dinner and marathon of an old movies in your room, hmm? We will see where it will lead." You said with mischievous grin.

He blinked and looked at you. Within second he got what you meant and grinned back at you. "I am just afraid Sam won't be able to sleep that evening. And I'll make sure of it." He kissed your cheek briefly and laid his head on your shoulder.

You laughed and stroked his hair. "We both will make sure of it and... Tony has just won 500$." You giggled and nuzzeld to him.

Bucky took a hold of your palm and giggled in a deep voice of his. "Haha, that's good, if it'll be like this, he'll be able to open a fund named "via Sam the loser", hahaha!" Bucky chuckled softly. "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too, Bucky."

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[seven-oomen]

Bound by honor | Chapter one

A long time ago, the gods blessed a union

And from their blessing, a child was created

I gave you up to protect you, but those I trusted

Betrayed you

Yet you found purpose, you found love

My son, I’m so proud of you

May 29 1970

She looked down at the bundle in her arms, smiling as her son cooed up at her. Warmth coursed through her, knowing he would be loved. He would have a home, he would be safe. He didn’t deserve to be locked away on Themyscira as she had been, he didn’t deserve to be hidden from everything wonderful the world had to offer. He deserved to have a normal life, a life filled with love and warmth and everything good in this world.

Nearly everything she couldn’t give him right now. Of course, she loved him, more than life itself but he would never be safe if he stayed with her. She didn’t have any help, no friends to help raise him. And due to his human heritage, he would grow much more quickly than she had. Her mother, while very capable, had no experience with a nearly human child.

They couldn’t keep him hidden forever.

So she brought him to New York, to the home of SHIELD director Howard Stark and his wife Maria. They were childless and needed an heir. Maria wanted a child to love and cherish but couldn’t have them. She could give them what they needed and she could give her son a family.

And so she did. She handed her child to Maria Stark and a pack of letters addressed to her son to Howard. One letter for each major birthday.

She looked into Maria’s eyes, her gaze quickly flicking to Howard, “Promise me you’ll protect him with your lives.”

“You have our word,” Howard said.

“We’ll protect him until our last breath,” Maria added.

“Thank you,” She smiled, pressing a kiss to her son’s head.

“You are loved, Tony…” She whispered into his soft black curls, walking out of the door without looking back. She smiled at the butler on her way out.

*

May 29 1999

Just one little wire right there and he would be-

“Tony.”

He startled, almost dropping his soldering iron on top of the project he was working on, he quickly put it back on its holder. He turned. “Haven’t you ever learned to knock, Obi?”

Obediah laughed. “So what are you working on, my boy? A new weapon?”

He grabbed the nearest pieces of paper and started layering them over his project. “Oh just a little thing, it’s not important…”

Obediah stared at him, his eyes flickering to the project. The elder man sighed. “Your papers are on fire.”

“Shit!” Tony turned back to his project, the heat of the soldering iron had ignited one of the papers. “Shit, shit. Extinguisher!”

Dum-E whirred in excitement and wheeled over, extinguisher in his claw. The bot, in his excitement, squeezed the handle a little too hard, spreading foam not just over the project, but Tony and Obediah as well. Tony gasped as the cold foam soaked through his shirt. He turned around, eyes wide, he stared at Obediah. “Obi, I-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Obediah cut him off, “Pack your bags, I arranged for a plane to Wakanda. We leave in an hour.”

Wait, what? Leaving to Wakanda, that third world African nation that never bothered with any foreigners? Why would they go there? It didn’t make any sense to him. “What, why?”

“You have an arrangement with the royal family…” Obi tried to wipe the foam of his jacket, the stain only spread by his efforts. He growled, “Don’t screw it up.”

“Screw what up? What are you not telling me?” He just didn’t understand, there was no reason for the Wakandan royal family to specifically request him. Certainly not for an arrangement, which usually meant an arrangement for marriage. But that couldn’t be it, right?

He felt his heart constrict, his breathing stuttered. No. He couldn’t get married, least of all to a stranger. He couldn’t-

He hadn’t even heard Obediah leave, or felt Butterfingers’ claw bumping against him until the bot beeped. He startled, looking at his bot wide-eyed. One hand on his chest in an attempt to control his racing heart. The room spun around him, the walls constricting. No no no no…

“Sir?” JARVIS’s voice pulled him right back to the present.

“Yes?” He looked up, staring at the wall opposite him. Breathe in, breathe out. Keep breathing, Tony. “Yes, what’s up JARVIS?”

“You’re having a panic attack, Sir. I believe it would be beneficial to your health if we practiced some breathing exercises.”

He glared at the PDA that was stuffed into the pocket of his jeans. “I’m trying… It’s not helping, the walls are still closing in on me. I can’t breathe.”

“Easy sir, breathe in and out, you don’t know why you’re visiting Wakanda. It might just be that, a visit.”

He appreciated what the AI was trying to do, he really did. But he doubted that his arrangement was merely a visit. It didn’t feel like it. “I doubt it, Obi knows something I don’t,” He sighed and rested his head in his hands, “What am I going to do JARVIS?”

“Show them your best, Sir. I have no doubt that the Wakandan royals will appreciate you for who you are if you stay true to yourself.”

“Maybe,” Tony muttered, he stood up from his seat and carefully cleaned up his workshop with the aid of Butterfingers and U, poor Dum-E had been banished to his corner of shame for the time being and left to shower and pack his bags.

He prepared as best he could, because how the fuck did one prepare themselves for something like this. There was no directive, nowhere he could turn to. There wasn’t anyone he could ask about this kind of thing, not even his Aunt Peggy. He doubted there was anything she could do, no matter how badly she would want to shield and protect him. So he took a deep breath, grabbed his suitcase and dutifully rolled out to the limo outside where Obi was waiting for him.

“So glad that you managed to join me, Tony. I expect nothing but the best from you, understood?” Obi gave him a warm, friendly smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Tony didn’t think too much of it, Obediah’s smiles rarely reached his eyes if he were honest.

“Yes, sir. May I ask who it is that I have an arrangement with?”

Obi studied him for a minute before sighing deeply. “The crown prince, T’Challa. He’s a good man, an honest warrior who needs a partner in the years to come.”

He considered that answer for a minute, that didn’t make much sense. So why did the Wakandans want Tony then? They didn’t have much use for him, they were a third world country and he doubted they wanted him for his money or technology. Although he supposed that could be the case. “So what do they want with me then?”

Obediah chuckled, “You have a gift my boy, something that makes you very special. Your father knew that and so does the king of Wakanda. This match has been decades in the making.”

“Why?”

“Do you know what a carrier is, Tony?”

The silence in the driving car was deafening for a moment. Tony finally shook his head no. He hadn’t heard of them, hadn’t even read of them in all of his books or the Internet. Which was odd, but perhaps they were just extraordinarily rare and not a lot of information was available about them.

“They’re an extraordinary genetic occurrence, only one in five hundred and sixty-four million men, or approximately seven men planet-wide, have the gene. It enables them to conceive, carry and birth children naturally without requiring the presence of a woman. They only need the genetic sample of another biological male.” Obediah explained.

Dread started to fill him, the wheels in his head turning as he started to realize just why the Wakandan royal family wanted this arrangement. “I’m one of them, aren’t I?”

He slowly closed his eyes as Obi nodded, “Then why didn’t I ever realize it?”

“Carriers generally don’t, unless they fall pregnant. You, however, you got sick at a very young age and your parents had your genetic code tested. They feared your DNA was… unstable. They wanted to make sure it wasn’t and as a result, they discovered your carrier gene.”

It only attracted more questions than it answered. Why would his parents think such a thing? Was there more to his conception than they let on? Perhaps he was a test tube baby or created by experimental science… “Why would they think such a thing?”

“Your mother had difficulty conceiving, they tried everything including fertilization treatment. They were worried that such techniques, that they had an ill effect on you. Better to be safe and have it researched than to be sorry.”

He frowned but dropped the issue. It still didn’t make much sense to him, but he doubted he could get more out of Obediah at this moment. His mentor seemed guarded and closed off, more so than usual. He didn’t want to push his luck.

Tony was almost grateful when they finally arrived at JFK airport where the private jet was waiting for them, the silence in the car had been most uncomfortable and at least the jet offered some in-flight entertainment that would keep his mind occupied.

The flight went smoothly, they made a short fuel stop in Amsterdam about halfway through the flight and that forced him to make some interactions with Obediah. But for the most part, his mentor left him to his own devices. Thank god for small miracles. Tony merely listened to his music, watched some movies and texted Rhodey and Pepper whenever Obediah wasn’t looking in his direction. He couldn’t believe what was happening to him now.

He knew what his friends would say; Tony you’re an adult. Simply say no, walk away. You’re twenty-nine for fuck's sake. But it wasn’t that simple. Was it? If he said no, walked away, he’d be having an international scandal on his hands and Stark Industries couldn’t have that kind of publicity right now. Not that he personally cared about that all that much, but Obi did. And it was best not to piss Obi off in any kind of way. He knew that much.

Landing in Wakanda was… well, it was something alright. He’d been expecting a dirt road and some huts, instead, they arrived in a technologically advanced country where futuristic metallic skyscrapers stood in stark contrast to the mountain ranges and jungle in the distance.

As if nature and technology had somehow found the perfect balance and had come together. He watched in awe as some sort of reflective forcefield was lowered for their jet, two technologically advanced planes flew in beside them. In America, his technology was the best there was. But out here, he realized how much he had to learn and how much of a caveman he actually was when it came to technology.

He stared in awe during the landing procedures, dutifully followed the spear-carrying women through customs and unapologetically looked around as Obediah and himself were led to the Wakandan Palace.

Two great metal panther statues donned the entrance like they were actually guarding the palace itself. It was imposing and intimidating to walk underneath the massive forms.

They were led into a wide open room where a throne and several seats stood on a slightly elevated platform, the room was mostly composed of a strange metal, a giant glass wall, and a glass floor. Guards stood at several of the entrances and the room was decorated with stone wall sculptures and beautiful tapestries with some kind of African looking art on them. He guessed they were Wakandan, but he was no expert in African art so he couldn’t know for certain. Not yet, anyway.

Obi walked ahead, making himself comfortable on one of the seats without waiting for an invitation. It seemed improper to do so, especially after he saw one of the warrior women visibly sneer at Obediah’s actions. So he remained standing and patiently waited until three figures emerged from an entrance to the left.

They seemed to glide as they approached, their movements graceful and fluid. Every step taken was deliberate, powerful and yet there seemed to be a softness to their approach. It made him feel calm, collected when the King took a seat upon his throne, his wife sitting down on his left-hand side and his son sitting down on his right-hand side. Tony remained standing, awkwardly shuffling on his feet as he occasionally snuck a glance at the young crown prince.

He seemed to be in his late teens, early twenties with short black hair and a regal but open air about him. Every movement he made was well calculated and almost a little… well, cat-like. He didn’t have a better description for it. He caught the young man’s eye, frowning at the curious stare he received in return. It almost seemed like the young prince didn’t seem too happy with Tony’s arrival either.

“Your majesty-” Obediah was almost immediately silenced by the king’s raised hand.

When Tony looked over at the king, the man was staring at him. “You must be Anthony… please, have a seat. Make yourself at home.”

Reluctantly, he did so, taking a seat near the prince without thinking too much about it. “Thank you for your hospitality, sire. And I love what you have done with the place,” He gestured to the room around him.

You may call me T’Chaka,” The king smiled, clearly amused at his attitude. Miracles hadn’t seized to exist it seemed, “It is good to finally meet you. Now I am sure you-”

“If I may, your majesty,” Obediah had risen from his seat, “We didn’t come here to idly chit-chat.”

The Queen merely raised an eyebrow and turned to her husband, speaking in a language Tony couldn’t understand. Most likely it was Wakandan. The King and Queen exchanged some words, some of it sounded heated and short, but that could just be the way their language was spoken.

“Then state your business, Mr. Stane. Our business is with Mr. Stark.”

Obediah smiled in such a way that the hairs on the back of Tony’s neck stood up. He hated that smile with a burning passion. “I’m afraid Mr. Stark’s business is my own, as his trusted adviser and right-hand man-”

“He is a legal adult and perfectly capable of making his own decisions.” The prince had gotten up as well, “I’m sure that if he wants to do business, he’ll let us know on his own terms.”

“With all respect-”

“You’re right, I am,” Tony interjected, knowing that Obediah would flay him for it later on. But right now it was the only way to diffuse a slowly declining situation. “And I am honored that you invited me to Wakanda, I realize outsiders like myself aren’t welcome in your great nation. But I have to decline any offer-”

“Shut your mouth!” Obediah hissed at him, grabbing him by the arm, he felt fingers dig into his flesh, bruises forming under Obediah’s grip. “You will honor your father’s agreement, boy.”

Several spears were pointed towards Obediah before Tony could react, he startled at the sudden display, eyes wide as he stared around the room. His heart raced in his chest and he felt his breathing pick up.

“Release him and leave us, we wish to speak to Mr. Stark on his own.” The Queen stared Obediah down without fear, and dare he say it, contempt.

Which was odd…

Why would they strike a deal with Obediah if they couldn’t stand him, was it purely to get Tony to Wakanda? To hear what he wanted out of the arrangement that he wasn’t even aware of existed? Most curious.

“The Queen has spoken, you will leave.” One of the warrior women came up behind Obediah and placed a spear point near his back, silently threatening him to get his ass moving.

Obediah didn’t say anything in return, he merely nodded and gave Tony an incredibly stern glance as he made his way off the platform and out of the throne room.

Once he was gone, the Royals turned towards Tony.

“I’m very sorry for this display, Mr.Stark, I hope that you’ll still consider our offer despite the less than ideal circumstances.” The king spoke.

“I- I didn’t even know there was an arrangement, or an offer until I was dragged here. So whatever it is that you’re asking of me, and I do have an idea, I can’t consider something that I don’t know.” Tony said after careful deliberation.

The queen sent him a sympathetic look, “We are offering our son’s hand in marriage, personal access to our technological history, which will be just for your eyes and protection against those who would seek to harm you, Anthony.”

“And what would you ask in return?” He had a feeling he knew, Obediah wouldn’t have told him he was a carrier unless it was absolutely necessary. Obi had a tendency to leave him out of important loops like that.

T’Chaka paused, glancing over at his son. T’Challa merely nodded in return. The king set his gaze back on Tony. “What we ask of you in return is a lot and we realize this-”

The Queen interjected, “An heir for our son. That is what we ask.”

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[marvelmando]

let there be light - pt. 2

summary: y/n has been living with tony stark since she was three, after a lab accident killed her parents, and left her with the ability to create and manipulate light. since then, she battles as an avenger, and eventually, as a babysitter for a certain new hero. she doesn’t mind it though, because she’s always wanted to live a normal teenage life… and possibly also because peter’s cute.

contains: swearing, angst, fluff

notes: what the actual fuck the last chapter literally blew up i don’t think i can say thank you enough????? i appreciate every single message, reply, note, and reblog, and im sorry if i don’t respond, or upload frequently. i just had major back surgery and im now back at school so im literally drowning in make-up work. but ill try my very very best!!! also: please send me an ask if you’d like to be in my taglist! if you only reply i can’t promise i will see it :) but thank you all sososososo much!!

part 1

For the following two months, Tony you prepare to go undercover at Midtown School of Science and Technology as yourself, Y/N Stark.

Now, you weren’t really the biological child of Tony’s, but his adoptive daughter. For reasons you didn’t know, you’d been sent to live with Tony when you were three, after an accident had killed your parents. Or, at least, you pretended not to know. The real reasons were strictly confidential, and only a handful of people knew besides Tony, Nick Fury, Phil Coulson, and the highest ranks in government.

Keeping secrets was second nature to you by now, which made you ideal for an undercover mission. Also, Natasha had taught you a few things after your heroic debut in the Battle of New York, wherein after you became a full-fledged Avenger despite only being 11 years old.

The world had not yet known that Tony Stark had a daughter, whether biological or not, which made you unsure. However, Tony made the point that you were going to grow up into an adult one day, and he hoped that you would keep his surname. Of course, as a slightly anxiety-ridden girl, you worried that would cause a lot of unwanted attention towards you. But Tony was right. Besides, what other surname could you use?

Now, you weren’t really going undercover at Midtown. You didn’t have a fake name or a fake backstory, like you usually would. You were just... you. But you were going undercover to Peter, as Artemis. You would watch over him, guide him as a fellow superhero by night, and a friendly girl by day.

Luckily, and not surprisingly, Tony had already thought ahead.

Now that he didn’t have much to worry about Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, he put most of his effort into this spider kid. Sometimes you wouldn’t see Tony for days, as he holed himself away in his workshop, only briefly scampering to the kitchen for water and food.

You were concerned about Tony. You knew about his nightmares, and vaguely about something called Thanos, but every time you tried to confront him, Tony would shut you down.

“Hey, Kiddo, ready for your first day of school?” A brown paper bag plopped on the counter in front of you.

Looking up, you saw Tony across from you, sporting a tight smile. The corner of your lips twitched as you snatched the bag. “Ready as ever.”

Tony drove you to school in his Audi R8, obviously the most conservative car he owned. The drive was long and silent, as you mulled over everything that could possibly go wrong.

As if he could hear your thoughts, Tony awkwardly reached over the console and patted your hand, which was rested on your knee. “You’re gonna do fine, Light-bulb. After all, you are a Stark.”

This made you smile genuinely, as you thanked him with your eyes. For the past twelve years you’ve lived with Tony, as much as he was caring, you never felt like you belonged there. As much as you had the last name, you weren’t sure that you could be a Stark.

Pulling into the school, you could see heads turning as you passed, through the tinted windows. You instinctively shrunk in your seat, feeling as if bugs were crawling over your skin.

The car in front of you, a silver convertible, honked its horn twice, as a lanky figure dodged it as he crossed the street. Almost immediately, you recognized the boy as Peter. He hurried up the stairs of the school, and you had Tony stop the car.

You stumbled out of the car, giving Tony a quick goodbye. You barely noticed the whispers and the glances as you hurried your pace to catch up with the boy.

“Peter!” You whisper-yelled, although you weren’t sure why. It’s not like you were trying to keep your interactions a secret.

After months of doing research on his powers, you knew he had heightened senses. However, if he heard you, he didn’t act like it. You figured he hadn’t, due to the earbuds in his ears, and the loud chattering of the students.

You pushed your way through the crowd, watching as Peter slipped in the front doors. You kept him in your sight, weaving through the conglomerates of social groups clogging up the hallways.

At one point, something had tugged on your hair, hard. Apparently, one of the students had a drone of some sort, and was struggling to control the thing. It got caught in your hair as you passed, and the boy holding the control squeaked as the drone continued to malfunction. Trying not to break the device, you took hold of it.

You untangled your strands from the metal, and handed it back to the kid. He was younger than you, skinny, with dark skin and glasses too large for his face. He took his drone with shaky hands, and pushed his glasses back up his nose. He stuttered out an apology, and you gave him a warm smile.

“Try fixing the circuit board, one of the motor hinges is loose.” You said as you walked away from him. The kid’s jaw dropped. You laughed to yourself.

Once again looking for a sign of the curly-haired boy, you made your way down the hall. You noticed a group of cheerleaders, who had suddenly taken an interest in you. They whispered among themselves, looking you up and down as you passed. You gripped the strap of your backpack tighter.

You almost hadn’t seen it, but there Peter was, at a locker behind the cheerleaders.

“Peter!” You sighed in relief, and hurried towards him. “Thank god I found you, I almost—” 

You stopped shortly when you noticed the larger boy across from Peter, mouth open mid-sentence, and holding a small Lego figure. “Is that Emperor Palpatine?”

Both boys’ eyes widened.

“Um, hey, Y/N, ri—right? What—uh, what are you doing here?” Peter laughed awkwardly, folding his arms. “And—you know who Emperor Palpatine is?”

You shrugged, clutching your backpack. “I’ve got a lot of time on my hands. But um, yeah, I kind of go here now?”

The chubby boy looked back and forth between you and Peter, obviously confused.

“Oh! Um, Y/N this is Ned, my best friend. Ned, this is Y/N—”

“Hi,” You held your hand out so he could shake it. He seemed hesitant, still perplexed at how you and Peter knew each other. “I, um, work for Tony Stark. That’s how we know each other.”

“Right!” Peter cried, realizing now what your angle was. “The internship.”

Ned seemed satisfied at this answer, the shy expression from earlier gone and replaced with a bright grin. “Well, you like Star Wars! Right? Because I got this sick Death Star Lego set, and it has 3,803 pieces!”

“That’s insane!”

“Wow, that sounds rad.” You chuckled, and you heard the group of cheerleaders snicker, as one of them didn’t even attempt to hide their distaste as the said, “so lame”. You looked down at your feet, hiding your face as you tried to contain your embarrassment.

“I know right! So I was wondering if you wanted to build it tonight?” The three of you began to walk down the halls, and you walked beside Peter, Ned on his other side. “You can come too, Y/N!”

Before you could respond, Peter stepped in. “No, I can’t tonight, I’ve got the Stark—”

“Stark internship. Always about that internship.” Peter scratched his neck. “What about you, then, Y/N, or do you have the internship too?”

“No, um, I’m free tonight.” You smiled across at Ned. You were looking forward to go home so you could read or work of Spider-Man’s AI system, but you reminded yourself that this was good—normal. Hanging out with other teens after school. Right?

Peter shot you a look but you avoided his gaze.

The two friends began to discuss jobs, but you watched your feet, clutching your class schedule from your pocket.

While Ned talked on about the Death Star, Peter’s focus drifted. His footsteps faltered, and his eyes pinched in the corners so it looked like they were smiling. Curious as to what caught Peter’s attention, you followed his gaze.

Whoever this girl was, she was beautiful. Her skin was tan and smooth, and even though she was only in a sweater and a skirt, she still managed to look like a model. Her lips were full and her eyes were warm, and you couldn't help but shiver. You looked down at yourself, noting the dull skin color and frizzy hair, paired with jeans and your old band t-shirt, and wondered if anyone would ever look at you like that.

Glancing at your schedule with a heavy heart and an aching feeling behind your nose, you realized that class started in just five minutes and you still had no idea where you were going.

“Hey, um, do either of you have AP Physics with Mrs. Warren?” You asked.

Ned nodded. “Yeah, Peter does. He could take you there.”

Peter smiled to himself, although it appeared as though he wasn’t even listening to you. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

At that moment, a sharp ringing noise sounded. You cringed at the horrible sound. “That’s the warning bell.” Ned told you.

“I’m gonna be late, shit.” You glanced up at Peter. You grabbed his clothed arm gently, drawing him out of his trance. Looking down at you, you took in the warmth of his dark eyes. “You ready?”

He nodded, head turning to catch the pretty, dark-skinned girl disappear behind a wall of lockers.

As it turned out, you shared all of your classes with Peter Parker. You were grateful to have someone you knew in all of your classes, but you were annoyed at the great probability that Tony had meddled in your scheduling. You had to remind yourself, however, that you were not just here for the hell of it, but you were actually supposed to be “babysitting” the new hero.

But as much as you tried to tell yourself that this was only a mission, you couldn’t help but feel like this was going to turn into something much more.

At the moment, Peter sat next to you with his head buried in the screen of his laptop, as he diligently watched a video of Spider-Man stopping a car from smashing into the side of a bus. You rolled your eyes at his lack of subtly. How did everyone not know his secret by now?

“Okay, so how do we calculate linear acceleration between points A and B?” The teacher pointed to the board, and then to a kid that sat in the row in front of you. “Flash.”

“It’s the product of sine of the angle and gravity divided by mass.” He answered confidently. You snickered, knowing he got it wrong.

“Nope.” Mrs. Warren said. “Peter. You still with us?”

Peter’s head snapped up, only taking a second to look at the board before answering. “Uh, yeah, yeah.” He shut his laptop carefully. “Uh... Mass cancels out, so it’s just gravity times sine.”

Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you were impressed at how easily Peter managed to get everything correct, despite the distractions.

The teacher also seemed impressed, but not surprised. “Right. See, Flash, being the fastest isn’t always the best if you are wrong.”

As the class snickered, Flash turned in his seat to Peter and whispered, “You’re dead.”

You narrowed your eyes at the boy. You wanted to reach over and smack him upside the head, but you promised to behave. For some reason, Peter had been glancing back at the clock hanging up on the wall every couple of minutes.

The next period, Peter had used the opportunity to mix some of his web fluid right in the middle of class. You were close to screaming at that point. This kid was definitely going to get caught. You made sure to warn him with a harsh whisper whenever the chemistry teacher neared.

After that was lunch. You sat across Ned and Peter, and glanced down the nearly empty table, save for the girl immersed in a book a couple of seats down. Digging into your school-bought lunch, you noticed Peter’s glazed over eyes as his head rested on his propped up arm.

You turned, realizing he was staring at the same pretty girl from earlier, who stood on a ladder, hanging up a paper sign that had “Homecoming Is Almost Here! Are You Ready” in painted cursive. You turned back around, stabbing your steamed broccoli angrily with your fork. 

You weren’t sure why exactly you were mad, you barely knew Peter. Perhaps it was the adoring and endearing look in Peter’s expression that made your stomach twist itself into knots.

“Did Liz get a new top?” Peter said absentmindedly. You glanced up, but he was still transfixed on the girl, Liz. Even her name was beautiful.

No. We’ve seen that before, but never with that skirt.” Ned answered.

“We should probably stop staring before it gets creepy.” Peter mentioned, but it seemed like he wasn’t planning on stopping any time soon.

“Too late.” The girl a couple of seats piped up, startling you. You faintly noticed a purple section in her ponytail. “You guys are losers.” She turned back to her novel.

“And absolutely ludicrous.” You quipped, and met eyes with the girl, who gave you a small, amused smirk in return.

“Well, then why do you sit with us?” Ned pointed out.

“Because I don’t have any friends.” The girl responded, effectively ending the conversation.

Somehow, Tony managed to get you into the Academic Decathlon team with little dispute, which is where you went next.

You sat on the sidelines, observing the team, as Liz quizzed them. The members were funny and eccentric, and you liked most of them, except for Flash, who was on the team somehow.

You watched Peter as he talked to the team’s sponsor, Mr. Harrington. “Peter, it’s Nationals. Is there no way you can take one weekend off?”

“I can’t go to Washington because if Mr. Stark needs me, I have to make sure I’m here.” Peter said, clearly exasperated. You watched him intently, wanting to say something about how Tony would most likely not call on him for another mission again anytime soon, but feared his response in case he grew suspicious.

“You’ve never even been in the same room as Tony Stark.” Flash shouted.

“Wait, what’s happening?” One girl asked.

“Peter’s not going to Washington.” Said another girl, lying on the floor on her stomach next to them.

Cries of protest came from Peter’s teammates, as one kid, who you knew was Abraham, dinged the bell to ask, “Why not?”

“Really?” Liz asked, genuinely concerned but too sweetly for your liking. “Right before Nationals?”

“He already quit marching band and robotics club.” The girl from lunch, Michelle, Peter told you, mentioned. As heads turned to look curiously at her, she simply shrugged. “I’m not obsessed with him; I’m just very observant.”

“Flash, you’re in for Peter.” Liz announced.

“Oof, I don’t know.” Flash said. “I gotta check my calendar first. I got a hot date with Artemis coming up.”

Before you could stop yourself, you snorted loudly. “As if.” You scoffed, before realizing what you had said. Everyone looked at you, and you hid your face behind your hair again.

The rest of the school day, Peter grew increasingly restless. By the time the final bell rung, Peter shot out of his seat and bolted for the door.

You could have easily caught up to him if you were allowed to use your powers, and you were practically itching to release the contained energy. But you couldn’t, so you didn’t.

“Peter!” You called out to him, crashing through the doors after him. You saw him jump the extremely tall fence, and cursed at him silently.

Knowing already what you needed to do, you met Happy in the car waiting for you the next street down.

“Happy, take me home, and make it quick. I gotta change.”

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[i-also-miss-our-talks]

IHOP and the Enigma (Connor Murphy x Reader)

Asked by Anonymous: Can I please get a Connor x Reader where the reader is basically Belle and Connor is the Beast. Thank you

Bro tbh I have no idea what I just fucking wrote. I think I started to work with your request, but it slowly veered away from it and I’m so so so sorry about that. Even though this took me forever to write, I honestly hate how it came out and I will most likely redo it in the future.

WC: 2,751

Warnings: Swearing, Mention of attempted suicide, Shitty writing, Jared Kleinman

Masterlist

Again, sorry for the horrible writing. I really should not post this. I am not proud of how this turned out at all. Please don’t send me messages about how random it is and how I can’t stick to one plot line.

Because I know that already.

Also I haven’t slept in like 24 hours so give me a break.

Connor Murphy was an enigma.

By definition, an enigma is a person or thing that is mysterious, puzzling, or difficult to understand.

So, yeah. Connor Murphy was an enigma. And everyone at school avoided him like any other enigma in their lives. Including the area underneath the left side of the football fields bleachers. That’s where Connor went to smoke. No one dared to venture near that side, fearful of what the “School Shooter” might do if he found out.

You, of course, weren’t fearful. You were rather curious. Curious if Connor Murphy actually smoked there or if it was just a myth. Curious about what he would do if he found someone in his area. Curious as to how enigmatic this enigma really was.

Therefore, you conducted an experiment. In all honesty, you just didn’t want to sit through another boring history lecture. So instead, you decided to put your curiousness at ease.

You sat under the bleachers, pulled out your phone, and scrolled through some apps while you waited for Connor.

“Hey!”

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait too long.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” Connor asked as he walked under the bleachers. He stuffed an unlit joint back into his hoodie pocket.

You look up at him. “I was just doing an experiment.”

“An experiment? That’s a poor ass excuse. What are you actually doing here? Trying to find out some creepy shit about me so I’ll freak out?” Connor accused, his temper growing by the second.

You shook your head, putting your hands up. “No! I swear it was just for an experiment! I’ll be on my way!” You spring up and start to walk away until you feel a tug on your backpack.

“Nope. No fucking way are you leaving just yet,” Connor snarled. He harshly pulled you back against one of the metal poles. Your head slammed against the metal but you weren’t worried about the pain. You were more frightened by what Connor was doing. “You’re gonna help me show people that I’m not to be fucking messed with. So as of now, you’re my slave.”

You opened your mouth in protest, but quickly shut it when Connor glared at you with eyes full of darkness. Wordlessly, you nod.

Connor smirked slightly before letting you go, pulling his joint back out of his pocket. He grabbed a piece of paper and handed it to you. “Write down your number. I’ll text you whenever I need you for something.”

Again, you nodded and obeyed. Your shaking hand made it difficult to write the numbers cleanly, but you managed. You handed the paper back to him and gripped your backpack straps.

Connor stuffed the paper in his pocket and lit his joint. “Now get your ass out of here before people see you with the School Shooter.”

So you ran back to class. What did you get yourself into?

During lunch, you got your first text.

From Connor: Y/N this better be your fucking number

You rolled your eyes and went outside to eat, as always. You sat against a tree away from everyone else and took out your lunch.

To Connor: It is. Chill.

From Connor: where the fuck are you

To Connor: Outside eating lunch. Why does it matter?

You put your phone away and start eating your sandwich. Just as you were about to take your first bite, someone sat down next to you. So much for away from everyone else. You sigh and look next to you, surprised to see the enigma himself. “What are you doing here?”

Connor shrugged. “Figured if you’re my slave, I should at least fucking try to get to know you,” he said, taking his bag off his shoulder.

You nodded and ate silently. But Connor just sat against the tree, staring off into the distance.

“Don’t you have a lunch?” you asked, slightly concerned by how calm he was.

Connor shook his head. “Nope.”

“Do you want some of mine?”

His head whipped towards you. “What?”

“Do you want some of my lunch?” you repeat, holding out your apple towards him.

“Why the fuck would you share your shitty lunch with me?”

You shrug. “Why not?” Connor stared at the apple for a few seconds before grabbing it cautiously. “It’s just an apple, Connor. It’s not gonna bite.”

Connor rolled his eyes and mumbled incoherently before taking a bite of the apple. When he was finished, he threw the core as far as he could into the grassy field ahead of them.

“Connor, what the hell? Why didn’t you just throw it out?” you question, packing up the rest of your lunch.

“It’s an apple. It’ll decompose. Just give it some time,” he said, standing up and putting his bag back on. “Plus, that’s where the shitty soccer team practices so hopefully they’ll slip on it,” Connor mumbled before walking back into the school.

Even though the bell rang, indicating lunch was over, you kept rooted in your spot.

What kind of fucking enigma was Connor Murphy?

It was a few months since that day and that enigma still called you his slave. You did multiple things for him, including doing his homework, buying him more nail polish, and once you even had to pick up some weed from his dealer for him.

From Connor: tomorrow get me some coffee

“Ugh!” you cry out, flopping onto your stomach on your bed. It was currently 11:47 at night, just when you were about to fall asleep, when Connor Murphy gave you another job as his slave.

To Connor: Fine. What kind?

From Connor: dark roast with two creams

To Connor: Really? You don’t want any of the fancy stuff? I think the Pumpkin Spice Latte is back in season.

From Connor: im not drinking that shit

To Connor: Alright. Dark Roast it is.

You turned off your phone and rolled onto your back. You closed your eyes, ready to go to sleep.

From Connor: ill give you money at school tomorrow

“That asshat!” you yelled into your pillow before replying.

To Connor: Okay.

From Connor: okay

To Connor: Don’t start with that Fault In Our Stars shit. I beg of you.

From Connor: damn i didnt mean it like that fuck

You smiled a little bit.

To Connor: You okay, Connor? It seems like you’re just trying to make conversation.

From Connor: im fucking perfect

To Connor: You don’t seem fine. Send me your address. I’m gonna pick you up. We’re going to IHOP.

You got dressed in some jeans and an old T-Shirt and headed downstairs where your mom was still watching TV. “Hey, Mom? One of my…friends isn’t feeling well so I’m gonna take him out to IHOP,” you said.

Your mom muted the TV and looked up at you. “At midnight? On a school night? I don’t think so, Y/N.”

You bit your lip. “Mom…he’s attempted suicide before.” The memory of the assembly from years ago flashed through your mind. The first time Connor tried to kill himself. You didn’t know him then (if you even knew him now) but you did learn a bit about it and what signs to watch out for.

Her eyes widened. “Oh…yes…yes that’s fine. Just keep me updated, okay?”

You nodded and kissed her cheek. “Thanks!” You grabbed your keys, pulling out your phone when Connor texted you his address.

You sat down across from the enigma at the booth. There were a handful of other people in the restaurant, but you and Connor asked to be sat away from them. So they gave you a back corner booth.

After ordering your food, you decided to start the conversation. “So…you’re getting waffles?”

Great conversation starter.

Connor nodded, pulling his hair back into a messy bun. “Yeah. Waffles are pretty fucking good.”

You shrug. “I prefer pancakes, myself.”

Connor smirked. “What’s the difference?”

“Nothing except that pancakes are the best.”

“What proof do you have?”

“I have the proof of everyone here!”

Connor let out a laugh. Whoa. “Oh yeah? How do you know if they prefer shitty pancakes over the almighty waffles?”

You smiled brightly. “I’ll just ask them!” You grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen out of your pocket (magic!). You quickly made a T-Chart on the napkin and walked around, asking everyone there if they preferred pancakes or waffles. Connor laughed as he watched you walk around all the half asleep patrons, trying to pry an answer out of them.

You walked back to the table and showed Connor your results. “So we’ve got five for pancakes, five for waffles, and two that are allergic to eggs.”

Connor smiled, whoa part two, and crossed his arms. “So you still don’t have any proof?”

You shook your head. “I guess not.” Your food then came out. The waitress set the plates down and started to walk away. “Wait!” you said. “Do you prefer pancakes or waffles?”

The waitress thought for a moment. “I’d say pancakes.”

“YES!” you yelled, pumping your fists in the air. “PANCAKES RULE!”

Connor laughed. “Now you’re gonna get our asses kicked out of here for yelling so fucking loud.”

You laughed and began to eat.

The drive back home was much more enjoyable than the drive to the restaurant. You two couldn’t stop talking. And it wasn’t just awkward conversations, either. It was laughing and debating and truly enjoying each others company.

You pulled into Connors driveway and turned off the car. “Well, I guess we’re here,” you sighed, turning to face him.

Connor nodded and looked at you. “Yeah. Guess we are.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I, uh, thanks…for that, I guess. It…it really helped? I don’t fucking know how you knew I wasn’t feeling well but somehow you fucking did so yeah.”

You don’t know how it happened. Maybe it was from all the sugar you just had. Maybe it was because it was 2:32 in the morning. Maybe it was because you were the only person who saw this side of Connor so you felt like you could do anything. But whatever the reasoning, with a sudden bolt of confidence, you did it. You reached out, grabbed the collar of Connors shirt with your hands, and slammed your lips against his.

Teeth clacked, noses bumped, eyes closed too tight. It was a horrible kiss as kisses go. But it felt so right. At least, you thought it did.

Connor gripped your shoulders and detached his lips from yours. “What the actual fuck, Y/N?”

You blushed deeply and avoided his eyes. “I’m sorry! It-it-it just felt like what I w-w-was supposed to do! I-I won’t d-do it again I pr-“ You were cut off by Connor once again. He kissed you, properly this time.

Sighing contently, you loosened your grip on his collar and reached a hand up to his hair. Carefully, you took out his ponytail holder and let his hair fall around you two. You giggled against his lips as his hair tickled your nose.

Connor smiled and let go of your shoulders. He tangled one hand in your hair and put the other one on your waist. He gently squeezed your waist, causing you to let out a small moan. Connor took this opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You two made out for a few more minutes until you both forced yourselves apart. Your backs slammed against the car seats, both of you panting.

“Whoa,” you mumbled, running your fingers over your swollen lips.

Connor ran a hand through his hair. He licked his lips and took a deep breath. “So…what now?”

You shrug. “I…I don’t know,” you mumbled. “Does this count as Stockholm Syndrome?”

Connor laughed. Like, really laughed. Like, threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut tight laughed. “I have no fucking clue!”

You laughed along with him. Wow. That just happened. You made out with the enigma of the school.

And boy, oh boy, were you happy about it.

The next day, not even five hours later, you pulled into the Murphy’s driveway. Clutching his coffee, you walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, Connor appeared, his hair tangled in knots and bags the size of carry-ons. But seeing you, his face lit up just a bit.

“Hey,” Connor said and leaned down to peck your lips.

You smiled and returned the kiss. “Hey. Ready to go?”

Connor nodded. “Yeah. Just let me grab my shit.” He took his coffee before walking into the other room. A few moments later, he returned and grabbed the keys out of your hands. “Let’s go.”

You nodded and followed him to the car. Normally, Connor would drive to school while he’s still in a somewhat decent mood, and you would chill in the passenger seat, not daring to say a word. But today, you took a risk. You grabbed his free hand and intertwined your fingers. From the corner of your eye, you could’ve sworn you saw Connors mouth turn up in a slight smile.

When you got to school, Connor parked in the back of the lot and quickly turned off the car. He faced you and squeezed your hand. “Y/N, I don’t want you as my fucking slave. I want you as my S/O. Okay?”

You smiled brightly. “Okay.”

“Don’t start with that Fault In Our Stars shit.”

You giggled and got out of the car, grabbed his hand, and walked into school with your enigma. Of course, having spent the past few months as his slave, you knew Connor’s class was before yours. “I guess I’ll see you at lunch?”

Connor nodded. “Yeah. See you then.” He leaned down to give you a quick kiss before letting go of your hand and walking into his class. You smiled and began your trek to the other side of the school.

That is, until Jared Kleinman came along.

“So you’re dating the school shooter, huh? Tell me, how’s the freak in bed?” Jared smirked, walking beside you.

You frowned. “He’s not a freak, Jared. Fuck off.”

“See, this is what happens when he threatens you. He’s probably holding your family hostage so you’ll agree to date him, huh Y/N?” Jared nudged you.

“Shut up, Kleinman! Leave me the fuck alone!” You started a quicker pace towards your class.

Jared, of course, didn’t leave you alone. Cause why would he? “You’re not actually saying you like that stoner, are you?”

“Actually, I’m saying I fucking love him, alright? Connor’s changed, Jared. Maybe you could learn something from him,” you spat before stomping into your class. You quickly took your seat and laid your head in your arms.

Soon enough, lunch came. You ran out to the tree and smiled when you say Connor. “Hey!”

Connor turned and smiled at you. “Hey.” He wrapped an arm around you as you two sat down. He pressed a small kiss to your temple. “I guess if we’re dating we should actually go on a fucking date, right?”

You shrugged. “Yeah kinda. We can just go to IHOP again, though,” you said, handing him your apple from your lunch.

Connor nods. “Yeah, but we should do other things too.”

“To be honest,” you say, smiling at him, “if it’s with you, I’d do anything, Connor.”

The long haired boy laughed. “Oh man, this is so Stockholm Syndrome.”

[treefrogie84]

Normal Day

This week’s WWM Flash Ficlet prompt was:

Today is like any normal day. Except you keep seeing the same stranger at random times and every where you see them, little things begin to change.

I’m barely scooting in under the wire, but all my editing time got eaten this week.

AO3

Cas doesn’t think about it too hard when there’s a stranger in his usual seat on the bus. It’s late July and all the college kids are moving back to town, some changeover can be expected in his morning commute. But he’s also uncaffeinated, so it’s not worth fussing over. Cas claims a seat closer to the back, plugs his headphones in, and goes back to ignoring his fellow passengers.

Or he tries to. The stranger stares at him the entire ride from his apartment complex to campus. It would feel creepy if Cas wasn’t also contending with a hangover washing over him as the bus moves. Briefly, he wonders if he’s coming down sick, a single beer with a burger and fries shouldn’t give him a hangover, and even if it did… He woke up this morning feeling fine. But then, his hand is aching, throbbing in time with the pounding in his head. Maybe he had more to drink than he remembers, or finally accepted his downstairs neighbor’s invitation to come relax.

There’s a flash when the bus pulls up to his stop, sunlight glinting off of a windshield, that briefly dazzles him. The fabric on the seat where the stranger sat is different when he glances at it, trying to get his eyes to refocus, wood instead of garish blue. But then it looks normal after his eyes flick away for a moment.

He thinks about it as he stands in line at the campus coffee shop before deciding that he must have seen it wrong. It must have been a trick of the light stabbing into an ill prepared set of eyes. Cas didn’t even see the stranger get off the bus to leave the seat empty. At least he’s feeling better now that he’s off the bus, less like he’s going to spend the day curled around a trash can at his desk.

They’ve crammed all five of the Art History and Archeology department’s grad students in a single giant room on the top floor of the building. It’s unbelievably hot in the room, but by this point in the summer, Cas has figured out the best way for him to be productive: into the office as early as possible to work on his own research and writing, then a break for lunch and the summer session class he’s TA’ing for, and he ends his day hiding in the cool stacks of the library’s basement either grading papers for summer session or working again on his stuff.

Or at least, that’s how his days normally go. Today, nothing goes as planned.

Cas glances out the staircase window on his way up to the office, catches another glint of sunlight and movement across the quad. He knows it’s the stranger from the bus, but he has no idea how he knows that. Just a dead certainty. The headache and nausea slam back into him, dropping him to his knees. He blinks and the floor he could have sworn was worn linoleum is suddenly dull and scratched wood.

Cas tightens his hands, fingertips dragging against exposed and splintered wood. He watches as blood wells up around a splinter that’s dug into the heel of his hand. The pain hasn’t hit him yet, but he’s guessing it will soon.

Grabbing his bag, he carefully climbs back down the narrow stair case. He’s seeing or imagining things, or maybe he’s having a stroke. In any case, he should probably stay out of the heat today. Much better to stay in the coffee shop, surrounded by people, just in case.

His hand won’t stop bleeding. He hadn’t even been able to find the splinter in all the blood to pull it out. Cas wraps yet another napkin around it, adding the used one to the growing trash in front of him. Frowning at the bloody pile, he looks up just in time to see the stranger from the bus this morning drop into the chair across from him.

“Cas, you gotta listen to me.”

Closer, there’s something familiar about the face across from him, green eyes staring at him from beneath sun-bleached hair. Cas knows this face, but distantly, like someone he went to elementary school with. “How do you know my name?”

“What? Cas, it’s me. Dean.” Green eyes flicker over him, landing on his napkin wrapped hand. “Let me see your hand, Cas.”

“I don’t even know you. No.”

Dean shifts in his chair, leaning forward, elbows on the table. The air kinda sparks around him, the chair he’s sitting in flickering from wood to metal and back. “Cas, it’s me. You’ve gotta have noticed that something isn’t right with this.”

“What I’ve noticed is that looking at you gives me a headache and I don’t know why. You’ve been stalking me for some reason, and things aren’t right when you’re around.” He pushes his uninjured hand through his hair before flipping his laptop shut. “On the other hand, you’re cute, I feel like crap, and I don’t want to work today, so I’ll give you a chance. Why?”

Dean looks taken aback, “You think I’m cute, but…” Cutting himself off, he snags Cas’s coffee and takes a drink. “Whatever. Just trust me, man. Let me see your hand.”

Cautiously, Cas loosens the napkin around his hand before extending it across the table. There is zero reason to trust this guy, regardless of how familiar he seems, but he does. Trusts him enough to let him fuss over an injury at any rate. Because this also feels familiar, like they’ve done this dance before.

Dean glances up, a sudden grin, before focusing back on Cas’s palm. The moment he touches Cas, the sparkles around him intensify and so does Cas’s headache. Dean holds on to his hand, gripping it tightly. “I don’t know what you’re seeing, Cas, but ignore it. You gotta ignore it for just a little longer.”

Cas slams his eyes shut as the flashing starts to overwhelm him, “Dean, I… whatever you’re doing, it’s making it worse.”

He feels Dean lean to the side, do something with his free hand, before shifting his grip on Cas’s hand. “Hold on. This is going to hurt.” A pause, and whispered, so quiet Cas isn’t sure he heard it correctly, “I’m sorry.”

Fire. His hand is on fire and why the fuck did he ever trust a stranger and it hurts and he can’t even open his eyes, it hurts so bad…

Slowly, the pain recedes and with it, the headache. Cas isn’t certain what exactly has happened, but he feels better now than he has all day.

Gingerly, he opens his eyes, meeting Dean’s concerned face from across the table in… the bunker’s kitchen. He’s in the kitchen, not a campus coffee shop. What? “Dean, what is going on?”

Dean looks sheepish, “You, uh, got a splinter off of one of the boxes in storage. I’m not sure what you were seeing, but you were definitely seeing something that’s not here.” He reaches over to the counter, grabs a spare towel and sets to wiping away the remaining blood. There’s a pair of tweezers, some paper towels, and a flask of holy water set to the side. “Nothing I did was making an impact. So…”

Cas looks at his hand, still damp with holy water and inflamed, “So you played along, yanked it out, and doused me with holy water?”

Dean shrugs, “If it can make you hallucinate, probably should use holy water to clear any infection anyway.” He stands, pushing away from the table. “Stay here, I’ll be right back with the first aid kit.”

Cas nods, staring blankly at the table between them. Did he really…

He’s still staring when Dean returns.

“Cas, you with me?”

Cas shakes himself back to awareness, “Yes. Apologies. I was…” He trails off.

“No worries, man.” Dean sits next to him this time, carefully pulling the injured hand towards him. “These kind of things always fuck me up for a day or so. You’ve been out for less than twenty minutes.”

Shaken, Cas watches Dean work, checking carefully to make sure no parts of the splinter remain before applying neosporin and bandaging it. “For the record, Cas, I think you’re cute too.”

Cas brings his head up so quickly, he nearly slams his forehead into Dean’s jaw. “What? I… Crap, you heard that?”

Dean grins at him, chuckling. “Yeah.” Leaning forward, he softly kisses Cas’s cheek. “How about we get this put away and then go out for real coffee? You can tell me all about how you want me to pick you up at a coffee shop or on the bus.”

Cas can feel his face burning, but he nods anyway. “You can tell me about how you want to pick up an art history grad student.”

Dean’s laughter carries throughout the bunker.