#first time tagging for dc let's go

[misery-has-no-company-now]

Jason (gesturing to Alfred): Look at what you all did! You made Mom upset!

Dick: Oh no, Mom, please don’t cry! We’re sorry!

Duke: Yeah Mom, we're really sorry! Please don’t be upset.

Tim: I’m sorry Mom :(

Cass: Sorry Mom :(

Damian: Please forgive us, Mother.

Steph: Moooommm I'm sorryyyyy!

Alfred (almost losing his composure and beyond confusion): I DON’T REMEMBER GIVING BIRTH TO ANY OF YOU!

[rmbunnie]

I like Batman. I like Batman as a character. I like Bruce Wayne. But it is very unserious when people act like Jason Todd, or maybe Damian, the robins as a whole, or any one writer, or any specific story arc, is singlehandedly corrupting Bruce’s character into an severe and inflexible colleague and distant, emotionally-unavailable father. Because even if he hadn't consistently been a questionable, loving yet unhealthy AT BEST father figure in the majority of his appearances since the early 80s (and I do mean to Dick, to Cass (actually shaping her into his image in Batgirl 2000 at the cost of her social development and autonomy ISNT good,) a BAD mentor to Steph, not even getting into Helena, like truly it’s not all about Jason?) The first well-written book that comes to mind where his morality is at its worst imo? That’s Wonder Woman: Hiketeia. No robins, no batfamily, just Bruce putting aside Wonder Woman’s input and the context of the situation and chasing down a girl who killed the men responsible for trafficking, assaulting, and killing her baby sister, to the point where it ends with her jumping off a cliff.

And the thing is I still like reading him in Hiketeia, because he fills the role he needs to fill in that story well, his actions align with his wordview even if it’s taken to the extreme in an uncharitable way, and he keeps my attention. I just think it’s goofy how some of us on here look at the guy who’s big character trait is being a hard-to-know, stubborn, and condescending control freak who puts other people's emotions on the wayside in favor of his mission prolifically, and go “all he did was LOVE TOO MUCH! His mean kids and associates and teammates are PUNISHING HIM for LOVING with his BIG BIG HEART and it’s tainting the narrative!” And you could say “well Hiketeia doesn't count, Greg Rucka is just a hater!” (though I certainly wouldn’t.) But when the issue is Damian entertaining the idea of leaving the family business, and before that it’s Red Hood stepping on toes, and then, wait, before that it’s Green Arrow and Wonder Woman, and then Huntress, and then oh wait we can’t think about the weird patch with Nightwing where their relationship was super rocky, and then Jason but before he died, and of course the Green Lanterns are basically treated like punching bags for him to do something awesome then- Like maybe if it’s a consistent pattern spanning what, 20, 30 years now? The issue isn’t Damian or Red Hood alone, or PKJ or Greg Rucka or Judd Winick or Marv Wolfman + George Perez or even Jim Starlin being a hater, but your blorbo just having extremely well-documented character flaws?

[hoarderfan]

The city hadn’t really changed since they left. Yeah, there were obviously some new shops, and the different buildings had some modernization done. But the essence of the city? Absolutely the same.

For a moment Kitty just stood there. Taking it all in. The noise, the people, the smog filling the air.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed this shithole.

She felt Johnny intertwine their fingers, and she looked to her side where he stood with Shadow wrapped around his neck like a scarf. She gave his hand a squeeze and a tight smile, which he reciprocated. They could do this. They still had each other. No matter how hard that man had tried to separate them.

-----

They had planned their trip before they left. It would have been almost impossible to know where to start otherwise. Fortunately, the Realms has plenty of resources to help those looking for closure. It wasn’t always possible for ghosts to find the kind of closure needed, but those of the Realms would (almost) never try to deprive death-originating ghosts of ways to come to terms with their demise. Which meant Kitty and Johnny easily got access to the archives of homicide records.

And there among rows and rows of filling cabinets, they found it.

Records of the murder of:

Johnny I.N. Felix

and

Kristy Ivgene - Kitty

Killer: Leroy Ivgene

Status: Avenged – Leroy Ivgene has been removed from all realms of existence.

Avenger: Jason Peter Todd – Jason Todd Wayne – Red Hood.

-Residency: Crime Ally […] (Park Row), Gotham.

--Other known locations: Gotham City, NJ […].

Kitty stared at the paper and then reread it. The status update was something she never anticipated seeing. But the thing that stuck out to her the most was the name of their avenger.

“… the kid… it’s Jay Jay! It’s gotta be him!”

“Hah, knew that little shit would be alright”

Even though he said that Kitty could see how relieved he was at seeing the kid’s name. They had wondered sometimes what had happened to Jay after their deaths, but they hadn’t been able to check on him. And later, they hadn’t dared.

“Wait. Since when was he a Wayne?”

-----

So… they knew where to start looking at least. But finding someone in a big city like Gotham was going to take a while. They should have some sort of resonance with Jay given that he avenged them, but ghost fuckery weren’t always that simple and straightforward.

They both agreed that the best place to start looking was Crime Alley. Which came with a big helping of death trauma. Yay…

But the thought of seeing their little Jay again was enough to fight past the slight hesitation.

Their little tour of the city had them seeing both familiar and foreign sights. The drug deals happing down small alleys? Familiar. People skulking down the street? Familiar. Street kids laughing while playing? Sadly, a bit foreign to them. It’s not that it never happened before, but it had been rare.  Something had clearly changed in Crime alley. Something good.

A young man taking a cigarette break while leaning against the wall. Familiar.

It was so familiar that they almost floated right past him without a thought, when they felt a light tug at their cores. They both whipped their heads back around so fast that a regular human would have snapped their own neck.

The man was broad and muscular, and even though he seemed casual his demeanor showed sense of confident resilience that showed he weren’t to be messed with. He had blue eyes and black hair with a white streak at the front. Scars marred his face, with one of them forming a ‘J’.

“It’s him” she whispered.

Johnny didn’t say anything. But he was starring at the kid, the man, with the same intensity as her.

What were they supposed to do now? They hadn’t planned this far ahead. Somehow it didn’t feel like enough to just see him. This man had avenged them!

She looked over towards Johnny, and when he averted his eyes from Jay and met hers, she knew he agreed. They had to talk to him, to thank him, to tell him they were doing okay for a couple of dead people, and then they were going to hug the living daylight out of him.

Now they just had to figure out how to do that without freaking him out too much.

When Jay finished his cigarette and started walking away, they just followed him from a distance.

Did they have to do that while invisible, intangible and unable to be heard? No. But they did it anyway.

Although from the way Jay seemed to tense slightly, it might not have been enough.

Jay headed towards a small alley, and as soon as they followed, they heard Jay rumble out “I know you’re there. Come out while I’m feeling nice.”

She didn’t even think as she let the invisibility drop. The hand Jay had hovering near his gun twitched, but he didn’t make any move to grab it. His eyes widened and she knew he had recognized her. She didn’t know if Johnny had made himself visible, too focused on Jay to check, but she assumed he had.

Jay didn’t move. He just stared at them for a while.

“If this is some kind of trick,” Jay managed to get out through gritted teeth, “I will personally make your lives a living hell”.

Kitty snorted.

Johnny seemed to find it equally amusing since he replied with, “Good luck kid. There ain’t much living about us anymore”.

Jay didn’t laugh. The only indication that he heard Johnny was the slight pursing of his lips.

Ancients, she wanted to know what ran through his head as he went back to staring at them. She took the time to stare right back. She was running her eyes over him, taking the sight of him in. He had grown, that’s for sure, but looking at him like this, all the small bits that made up their Jay shone through. She weren’t a mushy feely type, otherwise she wouldn’t have survived the streets and her family as long as she had, but just seeing him alive made her tear up.

Crying ecto felt different than regular tears. The tears somehow felt heavy on her skin, and it made her emotions run wild in her core.

“Can I hug you Jay Jay?”

He still seemed off-kilter, but he gave a slow and hesitant nod.

She zoomed towards him and threw her arms around him. Jay made a small sound at the impact, but after letting her cling to him for a bit, he wrapped his arms around her in a gentle but firm hug. She heard herself thank him again and again, and at some point, Johnny seemed to have joined the hug. Even Shadow ended up curled around them. She babbled on about how happy she was to see him, and about how proud she was of him and anything else that crossed her mind.

But then she noticed something.

She pulled back from the hug without removing her hands from Jay’s sides, which meant she accidentally broke the hold Johnny had on them. She ignored his tiny protests.

Something was wrong.

Jay looked fine. But now that she had gotten close to him and touched him, she could feel something emanating from him. She had been so focused on the feeling seeing him again had brought, that she hadn’t thought about it at first. Now she couldn’t ignore it any longer. Because it wasn’t a feeling she was meant to sense in a human. It was ghostly in nature. And it was rotten.

She raised her hands to cradle his face. Her concern must have shown on her face, because Jay scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.

…Shit. They had to get their kid to Phantom.

Gothamites Never Really Rest

Small warning in this: very light swearing, light mentions of deaths, and tw light touching on the subject of abuse, like very light. But still an fyi.

Danny was used to his main Rogues (Boxy, Ember, Skulker, etc etc, you know those guys) showing up randomly and at odd hours, causing some chaos around town due to their own boredom or just wanting some fun (the more deadly ones were rare to show up and his main Rogues do at least respect him enough to give him the rest of the day off when they sense a ‘big bad’ fight), he fights them, wins, before he send them back to the portal. Then they rinse and repeat this for the next day.

So as he really wasn’t expecting, especially since he had just sent his ghostly quota for the day back to the portal a few hours ago (Boxy of course, and Youngblood (dressed as a Firefighter this time, though the ending for their fight actually ended on a good note. YB had been asking Danny about space, Danny kinda hoped YB will be an Astronaut next time cause that would be fun)), Johnny 13 (and Shadow) to phase into his room as he was heading to bed.

Honestly (he groaned when he realized who it was, dealing with Johnny, Kitty (and Shadow) during a ‘break up’ or ‘lovers spat’ always was a pain) he was expecting Johnny to just start attacking but before Danny could demanded to know what he was doing in his room Johnny hesitatingly asked if they could talk.

Keep reading

[rizzanon]

?

m.list | prev | next

“I want every perimeter of this warehouse locked down—now. No one gets in or out unless I authorize it. Is that clear?”

“Double the guard on every exit. Sweep the surrounding area. I don’t care if you have to go block by block—make sure none of those bastards slip through.”

“Commissioner! There’s someone here.”

.

.

.

“Quickly, get some paramedics down here. No one touches Batgirl’s mask—is that understood?”

.

.

.

“Get the paramedics to stabilize her, but that’s it—nothing more. No one treats her except Dr Leslie Thompkins.”

.

.

.

“What of the drug dealers?”

“We managed to catch most of them, sir. They were distracted by Batgirl’s appearance—probably trying to figure out what to do with her when she showed up and foiled their dealings tonight. But… a few managed to escape in the chaos.”

“Damnit. Notify the precinct to put out an APB. I want every available unit on this. We’re not letting this operation slip through the cracks.”

.

.

.

“I don’t care who’s out there or how far they think they’ve gotten. We’re shutting this operation once and for all. If Batgirl risked her life for this, we owe her this much.”

“Sir…”

“What?”

.

.

.

“I’m sorry, Commissioner…. Batgirl… she’s dead.”

.

.

.

“What. Happened.”

“Bruce, please calm down—“

“Where is my daughter?”

“Bruce—“

“Leslie. Where. Is. My. Daughter.”

“I—I’m sorry, Bruce. I tried everything—“

“Where is she? I need to see her. Now.”

.

.

.

Where did it go wrong?

How did it come to this?

Bruce swore—swore—he’d never let what happened to Jason happen again. Not to any of them. He’d built walls, created rules, pushed himself to the breaking point to ensure it. All of it was to stop this—this—from happening.

So why… why was he staring at your lifeless body now? Why was the weight of his failure suffocating him all over again? Why had he failed you, just like he failed Jason?

His fists clenched at his sides as he took a shaky step forward. His breath hitched, and for the first time in a long time, the weight of helplessness settled heavily on his chest.

“God…damnit…” he choked, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief. “Open your eyes. Please.”

The room was too quiet. Too still. The sterile hum of the machines was a cruel mockery of life.

Bruce dropped to his knees beside the bed, his gloved hand trembling as he reached for yours. It felt so small, so cold.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he whispered, his voice trembling, the words breaking apart with every syllable. “I promised—I promised I’d protect you. And I couldn’t even do that.”

He bowed his head, his forehead brushing against your hand as his grip tightened. “I’m sorry. I failed you.”

so… 🫣

have this while i continue working on chapter 3 and 4 🥰

taglist (open): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 @dazed-lavender @eclecticfurylady @wizzerreblogs @marsmabe @daddysfangirls-dc @hoeinthehouse @beeweensblog @ilxandra @agent-nobody-knows @thethingwiththefeathers @mochiivqi @pix-stuff @narration-ator @nebulousmoon3990 @delias-stuff @froggy-voidd @jjsmeowthie @kore-of-the-underworld @nen-nyy @juthesillylesbain @vikkus-main @emilylouise123 @blueiones @horror-lover-69 @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wassupbroski55555 @reallyromealone @plsfckmedxddy @sea-glasses @203moonysello @luvly-writer @dovey-quacks2332 @love-theangel @hotdinosankles @vebbiewuzhere @animegirlfromvietnam @estreiiuh @simply-lovely78 @twismare @ssak-i @g4bbi3xx @buddee @alor-thes | ask to be added <3 (idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓)

[rin-may-1103]

The Master Post.

Please actually read this, I can't keep up with all the comments. 🥲

Tag List? Yes, there is a tag list. If you'd like to be ADDED, please leave a comment on the Stories Linked Post or the Tag List Post. If the tags aren't working for some reason, you can either Follow this post by clicking the bell (or the three dots) or follow the Story's Linked Post the same way. I'll update both Relevant Posts when there is a New Part.

Yes, I have an Ao3. It's under the same user name, just with (_) instead of (-). Most of my works are locked due to personal preference, so you'll need an account if you want to read most of them.

I hope y'all keep enjoying the stories as much as I enjoy writing them.

(currently dealing with life, so posts are going to be very, very slow, sorry.)

Stories and Summaries:

The Wrong Robin Au (DP x DC):

Tim Drake saw Danny do a quadruple somersault, which resulted in him believing Danny was the first Robin for years. He still figured out Bruce but thinks Dick is in the dark. Now with the second Robin dead, and Batman quickly reaching the end of his sanity, Tim takes it upon himself to get Robin to come back. Danny is very confused when this random kid tries to blackmail him into becoming Robin.

Badger Day Au (DP x DC):

Danny is stuck in a Groundhog Day kinda situation and he would like to be let out now, please. The league is very worried.

Delilah's language (DP x DC):

Bruce Wayne approaches the Fentons because Damian is a big fan of Danny for his work in the conservation of the purpleback gorilla. So now Danny is going to the birthday of this random kid so he can teach him gorilla sign language so he can talk to the purple-back gorilla as well.

Just a Bite (DP x DC):

Danny's homeless on the streets of Gotham, when he gets a terrible idea from some passerby. Three weeks after living with the Waynes, they still haven't noticed he's not supposed to be there.

72 hours (DP x DC):

During a battle with the rest of the league, John Constantine is accidentally sent into the palace of Pariah Dark, Tyrant of the Dead, and Bane of the Living. Danny just wanted to have a simple spa day.

Biggest Regret (DP x DC):

Danny Had been optimistic when he created The Email. Three days, that's what he gave himself. Three days to fix or get out of whatever problem he was dealing with and open his laptop to restart the timer. Three days. Past him had thought that If he ever got caught they'd just kill him; it's what they said they would do this whole time, so why wouldn't he think otherwise? It's been more than three days, and at this point, he's just glad someone could fulfill his last wish.

The Disappointment (DP x DC):

Ra's has stated his disapproval of one of the twins, now Talia is rushing to get them out of there and to Bruce to be safe. Danny has other ideas.

Black Retrievers and Golden Cats (DP x DC):

He remembered how it took two hours for his mind to catch up to what he had done, two hours for him to realize he had just killed his brother. It took another two days to realize his brother was never coming back, that the pits had not worked. Damian stared at the camera footage infront of him, his family's voices buzzing with theories and analyzing everything they could. He remembered his brother's bright carefree smile just minutes before Damian had killed him. So, why? Why was he seeing it again?

College Rivalry with the Genius Toddler in the First Row. (DP X DC):

Tim doesn't understand how he's losing at university to a toddler. Danny's not having a great time, but it's fine because now he can terrorize Red Robin.

The Willpower of Space (DP X DC):

A faulty green lantern ring wakes from it's accidental eon long sleep due to how powerful Danny's willpower is. It decides that Danny is a worthy wielder and grants Danny the ability to use it. There's just one problem; Danny keeps dying. and the ring doesn't understand what's going on. Oa is very concerned.

The Weeping Boy Au (DP X DC):

Opening a portal to a dimension between dimensions always leads to some sort of accident; for instance, Danny's death. It just so happens that at the exact moment the portal opened, his earth and another had overlapped, leaving his death to loop repeatedly in the other for as long as the portal stayed. This wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that Danny just accidentally turned the portal off and is now in the other dimension instead of the zone. (The Batfamily, who have been watching this kid die over and over again, are very concerned.)

The Eyes of Death Au (DP X DC):

In an attempt to prevent a cult from causing problems, Danny accidentally convinces the Justice League and Co. that he's possessing himself. Damian is not happy that his boyfriend is apparently the new June Moone.

Aspiring escape artist (DP X DC):

The new foster kid might be a little more traumatized than the other kids they usually take in for a while, but it's not like they can't handle it. That is, until Danny started sneaking out, past the bat-grade security system, without getting caught and without using his powers.

Through Your Eyes (DP X DC):

Sometimes, soulmates randomly switch bodies. It doesn't always happen; in fact, it's actually more common to not switch. Danny hadn't really thought he'd ever switch, doubly so after his accident. So you can imagine his surprise when not only does he switch, but he switches with Damian Wayne, aka Robin.

Cabin 18 and the Missing Kids (DP X DC):

Vlad is planning something, unfortunately, Danny's stuck at camp and can't sneak away. But maybe that's ok, because what's this about missing kids? And who does his roommates think they are fooling with their 'normal' kid acts? They're obviously vigilantes. And hey, maybe Danny might actually get a break for once, it's not like his parents can't defend themselves.

Turn back the Frozen Sands of Time (DP X DC):

Danny wakes up in his nine-year-old body; no memories of how he got here or why. All he knows is he needs to stick to the timeline, figure out what happened, and fix it. So, why did his mother just merc his grandfather, and why are there a group of vigilantes (who, for all intents and purposes, shouldn't exist as a team yet) yelling at her and his brother?

Perks of Being Half Dead (DP X SPN):

It was too dangerous for Danny to go back; he doubted it would ever be safe again, not after what they did to him. But it wasn't as if he had a choice at the moment anyway; the likelihood of his getting home from this new dimension was looking slim to none. And now he's being mistaken for some hunter's kid, what the hell, Clockwork?

[mcrdvcks]

sparks fly (pt.2) ༉‧₊˚.

chapter summary: You were Bucky's neighbor while he was a congressman and staying in New York. When Valentina announces them as the New Avengers, Bucky and the team go with him to pack up his apartment. But then you show up, calling him "James." word count: 13.9k+ (26.3k+ in total) pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader notes: thank you to Thunderbolts* for reviving my bucky obsession. this is my first time writing for him, and i have a feeling my characterization is a little off, but just roll with it. also, i realized like halfway through writing that bucky as a congressman most likely lived in DC not NYC, so... let's just assume he also had a nice place in new york, okay? there are 2 parts to this oneshot, thanks to tumblr's word limit warnings/tags: the Thunderbolts are a happy family, fluff, like so much fluff, neighbor!reader, jessica jones, matt murdock, mentions of wilson fisk, references to season 3 of jessica jones, slight violence, slight angst, allusions to mental health struggles (depression and slight ptsd), slowwww burnnnn, protective!thunderbolts, this is part 2 - go read part 1

part 1

You were perched on one of the stools in the common area, scrolling idly through your phone, when the elevator chimed softly. Glancing up, you watched as two men stepped out, dressed casually—clearly comfortable here despite it being their first visit.

Bucky appeared almost instantly from the hallway, breaking into a rare, warm smile. “Sam.”

Sam grinned broadly, stepping forward to hug him briefly. “Good to see you, Buck.”

Bucky nodded, stepping back slightly. “Glad you could finally stop by.”

Sam looked around, impressed. “Place looks nice—bigger than I remember.”

Joaquín lingered nearby, smiling warmly at Bucky. “Hey, man. Been a while.”

“Joaquín,” Bucky greeted easily, shaking his hand. “Glad you came.”

Yelena and Ava stood near the kitchen, observing quietly. Alexei hovered curiously behind them, eyes bright with excitement. “Captain America!” Alexei boomed suddenly, making Sam turn in surprise. “It is honor to finally meet!”

Sam raised an amused eyebrow, shaking Alexei’s hand firmly. “Alexei, right?”

Alexei beamed proudly. “Correct! Red Guardian—at your service.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Relax, Alexei.”

Sam chuckled lightly, extending a hand toward Yelena. “Sam Wilson.”

She shook his hand briefly, expression guarded but polite. “Yelena Belova.”

Bucky turned slightly, catching sight of you lingering quietly by the counter. “Oh—Sam, Joaquín. This is Y/N. She lives here too.”

You stepped forward, offering a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you both.”

Sam shook your hand warmly. “Pleasure’s mine, Y/N.”

Joaquín smiled brightly, nodding. “Hey—nice to meet another normal person around here.”

You laughed softly. “Normal might be stretching it, but thanks.”

He chuckled, clearly at ease. “Trust me, compared to these guys, we're practically civilians.”

You smiled warmly. “Fair enough.”

John entered quietly, standing somewhat apart from the group, clearly hesitant. Sam’s gaze found him quickly, expression sobering slightly. “John.”

John gave a brief, cautious nod. “Sam.”

The tension was palpable. You glanced at Bucky, who was watching closely, clearly prepared to intervene if needed. Ava moved subtly nearer to John, arms crossed protectively. After a moment, Sam softened, offering John a small nod. “Good to see you doing better.”

John’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Bucky exhaled quietly, visibly relieved. He glanced at Sam again. “Let me give you two a quick tour.”

Joaquín turned to you, gesturing casually around. “So, what's it like living here?”

You smiled easily. “Honestly? It’s chaos, but it grows on you.”

He laughed. “I can imagine. At least you got some good tech around here, right?”

You grinned. “Definitely. The engineering lab they set up is incredible. State-of-the-art everything.”

Joaquín’s eyes lit up. “Seriously? I'd love to see that.”

You nodded enthusiastically. “I can show you.”

“Great,” Joaquín said eagerly. “Lead the way.”

As you walked toward the hallway, Bucky’s eyes lingered briefly on your retreating figures. Sam noticed his friend’s slightly tightened expression, raising an amused eyebrow. “Buck?”

Bucky glanced quickly away, feigning indifference. “What?”

Sam smirked knowingly. “Nothing. Just observing.”

Bucky sighed, gesturing down the hall. “Let’s just start the damn tour.”

Sam chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he followed. “Whatever you say.”

---

You led Joaquín into the lab, flipping the lights on as you stepped inside. “Wow,” Joaquín breathed, clearly impressed. “This is nice.”

“It’s pretty amazing,” you agreed, moving to the nearest workstation. “Not that anyone else here uses it much, but it’s great for me.”

He examined a few tools thoughtfully, smiling. “So, you’re an engineer? That’s gotta come in handy around here.”

“More than you'd think,” you said with a laugh. “Last week I resurrected a toaster, and now I’m officially Alexei’s hero.”

He grinned broadly. “I can believe that. You know, before I got wrapped up in all this, I was working on aircraft maintenance. Engineering’s kinda my thing too.”

Your expression brightened. “No kidding? Civilian or military?”

“Military,” he replied, leaning comfortably against the counter. “Air Force. Spent a lot of time with jets and tech. Now it’s mostly wings and drones.”

“That’s impressive,” you admitted, genuinely intrigued. “I’ve never worked on anything airborne. Mostly household electronics and some experimental stuff here and there.”

Joaquín tilted his head curiously. “Experimental? Sounds intriguing.”

You laughed quietly. “Less glamorous than it sounds. Usually just prototypes that don’t get funded.”

He shrugged lightly. “Still impressive. Honestly, it’s just nice to meet someone who gets it. Most people’s eyes glaze over when I start talking about aviation.”

“Oh, trust me, I get that,” you said dryly. “One mention of circuit diagrams and half the team finds an excuse to run.”

Joaquín chuckled. “Exactly.”

The lab door opened quietly behind you, and you turned slightly to see Bucky standing there, expression neutral. “Hey,” he said evenly, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Showing off the lab?”

You nodded brightly. “Yeah, Joaquín’s an engineer too. Aircraft tech.”

Joaquín smiled warmly. “Yeah. But your setup here puts my workshop to shame.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “Glad you like it.” A brief silence stretched slightly, Bucky’s gaze lingering thoughtfully between you both.

“Well,” Joaquín said easily, breaking the tension, “I should probably see where Sam wandered off to. Thanks for the tour, Y/N.”

“Anytime,” you said genuinely, smiling at him. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Joaquín said warmly, nodding politely at Bucky as he left.

Bucky lingered quietly near the door, eyes softening once you were alone. “You two get along well.”

You nodded, oblivious to his cautious tone. “Yeah, he's nice. It’s refreshing to talk to someone who understands tech.”

Bucky nodded slowly, stepping closer. “Right.”

You finally caught the subtle shift in his expression, raising your eyebrows curiously. “Something wrong?”

He hesitated, then sighed softly, shaking his head. “No. It’s nothing.”

“James,” you said gently, smiling softly, “you’re a terrible liar.”

His lips twitched faintly, reluctantly amused. “It’s just—I’m glad you’re comfortable here.”

“Of course I am,” you reassured quietly, gently touching his arm. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

He relaxed slightly under your touch, the tension leaving his shoulders. “Yeah. Just didn’t expect to feel so... territorial.”

You laughed softly, eyes warm. “Territorial?”

He rolled his eyes, smiling sheepishly. “Forget it.”

“No way,” you teased lightly, nudging him gently. “You’re jealous.”

He scoffed quietly, though his eyes softened with quiet affection. “Maybe a little cautious.”

“Relax, James,” you murmured softly. “I promise I won’t abandon you for someone else who likes circuit diagrams.”

He smiled faintly, shaking his head. “Thanks. Real reassuring.”

You laughed softly, leaning lightly against him. “Come on. Let’s go find the others before Alexei tries recruiting Sam into his toast cult.”

Bucky chuckled quietly, tension finally easing fully. “We should hurry, then. Sam’s terrible at saying no.”

You smiled warmly, gently guiding him out of the lab. “Lucky you’ve got me around, then.”

He glanced sideways at you, expression softening again. “Yeah. Lucky me.”

---

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, sketching some circuit diagrams on your tablet when the lights suddenly flickered, dimmed, and then went dark. A second later, the backup power kicked in with soft emergency lighting. "What the hell?" Bucky muttered from the kitchen, already setting down his glass.

You sighed, setting your tablet aside. "Probably a power surge again."

Before you could move, a muffled pounding echoed down the hall, followed by Alexei’s voice booming loudly through the walls. "We are trapped! Someone save us!"

You exchanged a quick glance with Bucky, both instantly recognizing the voice. Bucky groaned quietly. "The elevator."

You grabbed your phone, hurrying down the hall with Bucky close behind. Ava and Yelena were already standing outside the stalled elevator doors, both looking equally unimpressed. "You two okay in there?" Ava asked calmly, arms crossed.

John’s annoyed voice came through clearly. "We’re fine, just stuck. Alexei is—"

"I am perfectly calm!" Alexei interrupted frantically. "No panic. Red Guardian does not panic."

Yelena rolled her eyes, clearly amused. "Sure sounds like panic."

"You are hearing wrong," Alexei said stubbornly. "I am calm. But maybe hurry. Very calm, though."

John sighed deeply, clearly losing patience. "Just get us out, please."

Ava exchanged an amused glance with Yelena, smirking faintly. "Tempting to leave them in there, honestly. Might finally get some peace and quiet."

"Do not even joke!" Alexei shouted, banging the elevator doors again. "Yelena, let us out right now!"

Yelena raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. "And if I don’t?"

Alexei paused, voice stern and overly dramatic. "Then you are grounded."

She sighed deeply, pressing her forehead into her hand. "I'm not a child, dad."

You laughed softly, glancing at Bucky. "I better fix this before Alexei actually has a meltdown."

"Please do," Bucky said dryly, shaking his head. "I don't wanna be the one explaining to Valentina why our elevator is destroyed from the inside."

You smiled softly, already moving toward the stairs. "I'll reset the panel manually. Give me five minutes."

"I'll go with you," Bucky offered instantly, falling into step beside you.

You didn’t protest, quietly appreciating the company as you both descended the stairwell to the maintenance panel in the basement. Once there, you quickly knelt in front of the box, pulling your small screwdriver from your back pocket and opening the casing.

Bucky watched quietly from just behind you, arms crossed comfortably. "You sure you got this?"

You smirked faintly, eyes still on the wiring. "Not my first rodeo, Barnes."

He chuckled softly, amusement coloring his voice. "Never doubted you, doll."

Your hands froze briefly at the unexpected nickname, warmth flooding your cheeks. You silently thanked the dim lighting for hiding your reaction as you quickly refocused, finishing the reset. A soft hum filled the room as the power returned fully, bright lights flickering on overhead. You stood slowly, brushing your hands off casually. "All fixed."

Bucky nodded, clearly impressed. "Nice work."

The two of you headed back up the stairs just in time to see Alexei practically tumble out of the now-functioning elevator, dramatically gasping for air. "Freedom!" Alexei declared loudly, embracing a very annoyed John, who quickly shrugged him off.

"Personal space, man," John muttered irritably, shaking his head and quickly escaping down the hall.

Alexei beamed at you, placing a grateful hand on your shoulder. "Y/N, you are savior. I owe you life debt."

You laughed gently, shaking your head. "No need for life debts. Just try not to break the elevator again."

"No promises," Ava said dryly, smirking faintly as she walked off, Yelena trailing after her with an amused expression.

Alexei sighed dramatically, clearly offended. "One small elevator issue, and suddenly everyone is critic."

Bucky smiled faintly, glancing sideways at you as the others dispersed. "Thanks again, doll."

You flushed slightly once more, ducking your head a little, but managed a soft smile. "Anytime." If Bucky noticed your reaction, he didn’t show it, simply lingering quietly beside you as the hallway slowly emptied, leaving you both comfortably alone.

---

You hadn’t meant to overhear Ava and Yelena’s conversation, but while going to the kitchen at midnight for water, you heard them talking by the windows.

“I don’t know,” Ava sighed softly. “I guess I just haven’t celebrated since…you know.”

“Since your dad died?” Yelena offered quietly.

“Yeah,” Ava said quietly. “After everything happened with my powers, SHIELD never exactly prioritized cake and candles.”

You paused in the doorway, your chest tightening slightly. Silently, you stepped back down the hall, deciding your thirst could wait.

---

“So why exactly did you have me dig up old SHIELD records?” Jessica asked dryly over the phone.

“Because I knew you could,” you replied cheerfully, mixing the cake batter. “And because you secretly love being helpful.”

“I secretly love getting paid,” Jessica retorted. “But you’re lucky I like you.”

You smiled softly, holding the phone to your shoulder. “Thanks, Jess. Seriously.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jessica sighed. “You better save me a slice.”

“Promise,” you laughed. “Bye, Jess.”

As you hung up and set the phone aside, Bob quietly entered the kitchen. He looked distracted, eyes a bit distant. “Hey, Bob,” you said warmly. “Want to help?”

Bob blinked, startled out of his thoughts. “Oh—sure. What are we making?”

“Chocolate blood-orange cake for Ava’s birthday,” you replied, pushing a bowl toward him. “Can you brown the butter?”

“Uh,” Bob hesitated slightly, staring at the bowl. “I’ve never done that before.”

“It’s easy,” you reassured gently, smiling. “Just melt it slow and stir it till it gets golden. Think you can handle that?”

Bob nodded slowly, picking up the bowl and heading to the stove. “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you worked quietly side by side for a few moments before you glanced at him carefully. “Everything okay, Bob?”

He hesitated before speaking softly. “You know, I’ve actually never celebrated a birthday before, either.”

Your hands stilled briefly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Never really had the chance, I guess.”

Your heart squeezed gently at his quiet confession. You casually continued mixing batter, speaking lightly. “Well, what kind of cake would you want, if you ever did celebrate?”

Bob’s face brightened slightly, thoughtful. “I’ve always wanted to try carrot cake. It sounds weird, putting vegetables in dessert.”

You laughed gently, warmth filling your chest. “Carrot cake’s amazing. Maybe we can make one sometime.”

Bob glanced up shyly, smiling softly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You nodded gently, smiling back at him. “Deal.”

---

A couple of hours later, the cake was finished and sitting on the counter. You were carefully arranging a few candles when Yelena wandered into the kitchen. “What’s this?” she asked curiously, eyeing the cake.

“It’s for Ava,” you explained softly, voice quiet. “Her birthday is today.”

Yelena blinked, clearly startled. “How did you know that?”

“I overheard,” you admitted sheepishly. “And I… might’ve got a friend to confirm.”

Yelena stared for a moment, expression softening slowly. “She’s gonna love this.”

“I hope so,” you murmured quietly.

Just then, Bucky stepped in, pausing briefly to glance between you both. “Something going on?”

“It’s Ava’s birthday,” Yelena supplied helpfully. “Y/N made a cake.”

Bucky’s expression softened noticeably, eyes lingering warmly on you. “That was thoughtful.”

You smiled softly, warmth spreading through you at his quiet praise. “She deserves it.”

John appeared in the doorway, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Did I hear someone mention cake?”

Yelena smirked lightly. “You always hear cake.”

Alexei lumbered loudly into the room behind John. “Cake? What is occasion?”

“It’s Ava’s birthday,” you explained again, smiling at Alexei’s immediate enthusiasm.

“Birthday!” Alexei declared dramatically. “Where is Ava? We must sing!”

“No,” Ava said immediately, standing in the doorway with a startled look. “Absolutely no singing.”

Alexei deflated slightly, looking crestfallen. “But it’s tradition.”

“No singing,” Ava repeated firmly, though a faint smile tugged at her lips as she saw the cake. “Did you make this?”

You smiled gently, nodding. “Chocolate blood-orange. Hope you like it.”

Ava stared for a quiet moment, clearly touched. “I—I haven’t had a birthday cake since… well, ever, really.”

“Then it’s overdue,” Bucky murmured softly, giving her a warm nod.

Bob stepped forward shyly, offering Ava a plate and fork. “Happy birthday, Ava.”

She smiled softly, accepting the plate gently. “Thanks, Bob.”

“Alright,” John interrupted gruffly. “Enough feelings, let’s eat cake.”

Yelena smirked dryly, cutting slices quickly. “Patience was never your strength, Walker.”

You handed Bucky a piece, your fingers brushing his briefly. His gaze softened noticeably as he smiled gently down at you. “You’re amazing, sweetheart,” he murmured softly.

Your cheeks warmed, but you smiled brightly back. “Thanks, James.”

Alexei suddenly raised his slice high. “To Ava, may her powers never explode building!” Everyone paused, staring blankly. “What?” Alexei frowned defensively. “Is sincere wish.”

Ava laughed quietly, shaking her head. “I’ll take it.”

You smiled warmly, quietly stepping closer to Bucky, who casually leaned into your side. Your eyes met briefly, sharing a quiet, gentle understanding. As laughter and conversation filled the kitchen, Ava caught your eye from across the room, her smile softly grateful. You simply nodded gently in return.

---

You sat quietly on the sidelines, legs crossed comfortably beneath you as you carefully adjusted the wiring inside the small drone you'd been tinkering with all morning. Your fingers moved methodically, gently tightening screws and reconnecting circuits, oblivious to the occasional shouts and scuffles from the team's sparring session across the gym.

Yelena swiftly dodged a strike from Ava, spinning gracefully out of reach. "You're getting sloppy, Ghost."

Ava smirked beneath her breath, phasing out briefly to appear suddenly behind Yelena. "Says you."

John leaned against the wall, arms crossed, observing closely. "They're holding back."

Alexei chuckled heartily, stretching loudly beside him. "Is good practice. Builds character."

"You say that about everything," John muttered dryly.

Bob hovered uncertainly nearby, clearly hesitant to jump into the sparring circle. Bucky, quietly observing the team from the opposite side of the gym, caught his eye and nodded reassuringly. "You’ve got this, Bob. Just take it slow."

Bob nodded gratefully, stepping in to face Ava, who quickly softened her stance slightly, giving him a friendly, encouraging nod. You glanced up briefly, smiling at the subtle support within the group. It was comforting—watching them grow closer, slowly learning to trust and rely on one another.

Turning your attention back to the drone, you didn't notice at first when Ava swept Bob off balance, sending him stumbling toward the sidelines—directly toward you. "Watch it!" John shouted sharply.

You looked up just in time to see Bob's startled face as he tried desperately to regain his footing. Quickly, you scooted backward, narrowly avoiding collision. He crashed onto the mat in front of you, looking thoroughly embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, Y/N," Bob stammered quickly, scrambling upright. "You okay?"

You gave him a reassuring smile. "No worries—didn't even touch me."

Bucky was already beside you, concern clear in his eyes. "You okay, doll?"

Your breath caught briefly at the nickname, cheeks warming slightly despite your best effort to remain calm. You nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Bucky studied your face closely, clearly making sure you meant it, before offering Bob a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Let's maybe keep the collisions to a minimum?"

Bob chuckled weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, definitely."

As the team resumed training, Bucky lingered a moment longer beside you, casually glancing down at the drone still in your hands. "How's it coming along?"

You relaxed visibly, appreciating the return to safer ground. "Almost fixed. Just some minor tweaks left."

He nodded approvingly. "Nice work."

You smiled softly, glancing up to meet his gentle eyes. "Thanks, James."

Bucky held your gaze for a quiet moment, lips curving slightly. "Always, doll." As he stepped back toward the sparring mats, your heartbeat slowly returned to normal. You quietly resumed your repairs, fingers steadier now despite the lingering warmth in your chest.

---

The street fair was bustling, music drifting lazily through the air mixed with the hum of excited voices. Alexei led the charge, loudly exclaiming his amazement at every food stand and carnival game they passed. “You see this?” Alexei shouted gleefully, pointing to a funnel cake stall. “They fry cake here!”

“Yes, Alexei,” Yelena replied dryly, glancing at you with mild exasperation. “It’s a fair. They fry everything.”

You laughed softly, bumping her shoulder gently. “He’s just having fun.”

John grimaced, “I’m not eating that shit.”

Alexei gasped, in something similar to betrayal. "Walker! Fried cake is delicacy!"

"It's just batter and oil," John muttered. "No thanks."

Bob eyed the funnel cake curiously. "I wanna try some."

Alexei immediately brightened again, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. "Bob understands culture."

Ava glanced at Yelena. "How many sugar crashes do you think we'll have to deal with later?"

Yelena sighed dramatically. "Too many."

You laughed quietly, bumping lightly into Bucky’s shoulder as you walked. "Enjoying yourself, James?"

He smiled faintly, hands tucked into his pockets. "Honestly? Yeah. Reminds me a bit of Coney Island in the 40s."

"That where you and Steve went?" you asked gently, eyes softening as you glanced at him.

He nodded, a nostalgic grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah. Steve was always trying to win prizes—never succeeded, though. Skinny punk couldn't hit a target to save his life."

You chuckled softly, nudging him again. "And you?"

He gave a modest shrug, eyes sparkling faintly. "I might've won a few times."

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow teasingly. "You planning to show off those sharpshooter skills tonight?"

He smirked playfully. "Maybe."

Just then, Alexei pointed dramatically toward a colorful booth filled with stuffed animals. "Look, they have shooting games! Barnes, test your skills!"

Yelena rolled her eyes. "Alexei, it's rigged."

"Nonsense," Alexei declared confidently. "Barnes is assassin! He cannot miss."

Bucky sighed lightly, glancing sideways at you. "Looks like I don't have a choice now."

You laughed softly, gently nudging him forward. "Go on, then."

He stepped up to the booth, taking the air rifle the attendant handed him and aiming casually at the small targets.

Alexei crowded close, practically vibrating with excitement. "Shoot the little ducks, Barnes!"

"Thanks for the tip," Bucky muttered dryly. You watched quietly, smiling softly as Bucky effortlessly hit each target. Alexei cheered loudly, clapping him roughly on the back.

"Impressive!" Alexei exclaimed proudly. "Pick prize!"

Bucky turned, eyes catching yours as he pointed casually to a small stuffed bear. "That one." The attendant handed it over, and Bucky held it out toward you, lips twitching slightly. "Here you go, doll."

You felt your cheeks warm faintly as you accepted the bear, trying to ignore your quickening pulse. "Thanks, James."

He shrugged lightly, smiling softly at you. "Anytime."

Yelena raised an eyebrow knowingly, catching Ava’s amused glance. "Interesting," Ava murmured quietly, smirking slightly.

"Very," Yelena agreed dryly.

John rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "You two gonna stand there all night?"

You laughed softly, stepping closer beside Bucky. "Guess we better catch up."

Bucky smiled faintly, gently guiding you forward with a hand lightly placed at your lower back. "Wouldn't want them to leave us behind."

"No," you murmured playfully, hugging the bear gently. "Definitely not."

---

Once awake, you slowly sat up in bed, before putting your feet down on the floor. “Shit!” You yelped, your socked feet now soaking wet. You furrowed your brows, squinting at the floor in curiosity. You tapped your foot against the floor as water splashed. “Oh no,” you muttered, immediately scrambling upright. Quickly moving out into the hall, you found the rest of the team already emerging from their rooms, similarly confused and irritated.

"What the hell happened?" John groaned, glaring down at the inch of water covering the entire floor.

“Did someone leave bathtub running?” Alexei demanded loudly. “Was it you, Walker?”

John scowled, clearly offended. "No, Alexei, I didn’t flood the damn tower."

Yelena sighed dramatically, glancing around the drenched hallway. "Great start to the day."

"Looks like a pipe burst," you assessed quickly, already looking around. "We need to shut off the main valve."

Bob glanced at you uncertainly. "Do you know how?"

"Yeah," you replied, nodding firmly. "I just need to reach the access panel up there." You pointed upward to a panel high above your heads, near the ceiling.

"Do we have a ladder?" Ava asked calmly.

"No," Bucky said, frowning slightly. "Why would we have a ladder?"

"Everyone should have a ladder," you said matter-of-factly, mildly frustrated. "Emergencies happen, James."

Bucky shook his head, clearly suppressing a smile at your indignation. "Noted."

"Alright," you sighed heavily, glancing around the group. "Someone has to lift me."

Alexei immediately stepped forward, grinning broadly. "I will lift Y/N—very strong shoulders!"

"Yeah, and you're also a walking earthquake," Yelena said flatly. "You'll drop her."

Alexei deflated slightly. "Unfair accusation."

Bucky sighed softly, stepping closer to you. "I'll lift you."

You glanced at him, biting your lip. "You sure?"

He raised an eyebrow lightly. "I think I can handle it, doll."

Your cheeks warmed slightly at the casual nickname, but you quickly nodded. "Okay. Just, um… stand still."

He chuckled lightly, kneeling down so you could carefully climb onto his shoulders. "Hold on tight," he murmured, gently gripping your thighs to steady you as he stood up smoothly. Your pulse quickened as you balanced carefully on his shoulders, gripping the panel above your head. "You good?" Bucky asked, glancing upward.

"Yep," you said quickly, clearing your throat. "Just keep steady."

"Don't worry," he reassured quietly. "Not gonna drop you."

"Better not," you muttered teasingly, focusing your attention on the panel as you carefully pried it open.

"How long will this take?" John called impatiently from the doorway.

"Not long," you replied firmly, carefully reaching inside. "Just need a minute."

You paused briefly, glancing down at Bucky beneath you. "Can you shift just a little to the left?"

He moved slightly, carefully holding you steady. "Better?"

"Yeah," you murmured softly, fingers quickly adjusting the valve. "Almost got it." After a moment, you heard the quiet hiss as water flow finally stopped. "Done!"

Bucky carefully knelt down again, letting you gently climb off his shoulders. "Nice work," he said quietly, lips tugging into a faint smile.

You laughed lightly, smoothing your clothes. "Team effort."

Bob glanced around the still-flooded hallway. "So, what now?"

Ava sighed softly, crossing her arms. "Now we mop."

Alexei groaned dramatically, shaking his head. "I am not made for mopping."

"Too bad," Yelena said dryly, handing him a mop she'd retrieved from the closet. "Everyone cleans."

You glanced at Bucky, smiling softly. "Thanks for the lift."

"Anytime, sweetheart," he replied casually, already grabbing towels to help clean.

Your heart skipped slightly at the nickname, but you quickly turned away to hide your warm cheeks. "Let’s go," you called firmly, grabbing a mop. "The sooner we clean, the sooner we dry off."

Alexei grumbled quietly under his breath, reluctantly accepting his fate. "Life was simpler in Russia. Less mopping."

John rolled his eyes, already working. "Cry me a river."

"Ha!" Alexei pointed triumphantly. "Good joke."

You shook your head lightly, glancing over your shoulder to see Bucky already watching you quietly, his lips curved into a small, private smile. You smiled back gently before quickly focusing again on the task at hand, ignoring the lingering warmth in your cheeks.

---

You adjusted the front of your outfit, smoothing down your clothes as you stepped into the living room. Yelena glanced up from her phone, arching an eyebrow. "You look nice," she commented mildly. "Special occasion?"

"Um," you hesitated, fiddling with the strap of your bag. "Something like that."

Bucky walked into the room, eyes immediately landing on you and widening just a bit before he masked his reaction. "Hey," he said softly, stepping closer. "Going somewhere?"

"Oh, yeah," you said quickly, heart speeding up slightly under his careful gaze. "I—uh, I've got a date."

Bucky's expression shifted slightly, becoming harder to read. "A date?"

"No—wait," you said quickly, eyes widening as you realized your slip-up. "No, not a date date—it's Jessica. I'm going out with Jessica."

Yelena raised her eyebrows further, clearly entertained. "Jessica, your friend the private investigator?"

"Yeah," you sighed, already feeling your cheeks burn. "Just a friend. Totally just friends. I mean, my friend Jessica. She helped me find out when Ava's birthday was, so I promised I'd take her out somewhere nice."

Bucky tilted his head, clearly still processing. "Right, so... not a date."

You shook your head emphatically. "Nope. Just dinner with Jessica—as a thank you. Completely platonic."

"Sounds fun," Yelena said dryly, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

You shot her a quick glare before turning back to Bucky. "She wanted a fancy restaurant, so I just—got a little dressed up."

"You look good," Bucky murmured softly, lips quirking slightly. "She'll appreciate it."

"Right," you said weakly, smoothing down your clothes again. "Anyway, I should probably go."

Bucky nodded, stepping back slightly. "Have a good time, doll."

Your heart skipped slightly at the nickname, and you offered him a small smile. "Thanks, James."

As soon as you were out of the room, Yelena glanced pointedly at Bucky, eyebrows raised. "What?" Bucky muttered, moving toward the kitchen.

"Nothing," Yelena replied lightly, lips twitching into a smirk. "Just enjoying the show."

Bucky shot her a glare. "There's no show."

"If you say so," Yelena hummed, clearly unconvinced.

Bucky sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Mind your business, Yelena."

She shrugged casually, returning to her phone. "Whatever you say, Barnes."

---

Jessica was already at the table when you got there, in her normal leather jacket, jeans, and combat boots. You raised an eyebrow as you sat down. “I’m shocked they even let you in.”

Jessica shrugged carelessly. "I told them my date was fancy enough for both of us."

You rolled your eyes, picking up the menu. "Charming. You know, you could've at least pretended to try."

"Not really my style," Jessica muttered, flipping casually through the menu. She frowned, scanning the pages. "Where the hell are the burgers?"

You glanced up, blinking. "Jess, did you even read the menu before you made me book this place?"

"I skimmed it," she said defensively, eyes narrowing at the fancy script. "They seriously don't have burgers?"

The waiter approached, smiling politely. "Have we decided, ladies?"

"Yeah," Jessica said flatly, slapping her menu shut. "I'll take a burger. Medium rare. Fries too."

The waiter stared blankly at her. You smiled apologetically. "Sorry—she hasn't read the menu. Could you give us another minute?" He nodded politely, retreating.

Jessica scowled. "Why don't they have burgers? What kind of restaurant is this?"

"The kind where people don't wear combat boots," you teased lightly. "Why exactly did you pick this place?"

Jessica ignored your question, her eyes suddenly narrowing as she spotted someone over your shoulder. "Shit. Hold that thought. I gotta take care of something."

"Jess?" You raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "What's going on?"

She stood quickly, eyes locked across the restaurant. "You think I actually wanted a fancy dinner date? I'm working."

You groaned, laughing softly. "Of course you are. I should've known better."

"Stay put," Jessica said firmly. "I'll be right back."

You leaned back, sighing dramatically as she walked off. "Yeah, sure. I'll just sit here alone like a weirdo."

---

Jessica returned after fifteen minutes, sliding casually back into her chair. "All good?" you asked dryly, sipping your drink.

"Yeah, got what I needed," she replied, grinning faintly. "Turns out fancy restaurants attract fancy assholes."

"You couldn't have warned me?" You sighed, setting your glass down. "We could've just grabbed pizza."

Jessica shrugged lightly. "Figured you deserved something classy. But now I'm bored. Let’s go to a bar."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You're hopeless."

Jessica smirked, standing quickly. "Come on, princess. Time to slum it with the peasants."

You rolled your eyes affectionately, grabbing your purse. "You're lucky I love you."

Jessica snorted, guiding you toward the exit. "Yeah, yeah."

---

The bar Jessica chose was predictably dim, loud, and comfortably familiar. She gestured toward a booth in the back, already heading to the counter. "Sit. I'll get us drinks."

You slid into the booth, sighing in relief as you sank into the worn leather. A few minutes later, Jessica slid two beers onto the table, dropping heavily onto the seat opposite you.

"Cheers," she said dryly, lifting her glass. "To your terrible taste in men."

You scoffed, clicking your glass against hers. "Shut up."

Jessica smirked knowingly. "Seriously though, how's living with America's favorite metal-armed politician?"

"James isn't a politician anymore," you muttered, avoiding her eyes. "And it's... fine."

Jessica snorted, taking a swig of her beer. "Fine? That's it?"

You shrugged, picking at the label of your bottle. "What do you want me to say? It's not like anything's happening."

"Uh-huh," Jessica said flatly, giving you a knowing look. "You're a shitty liar, you know that, right?"

"I am not," you protested weakly. "Seriously, Jess, nothing's going on."

She rolled her eyes. "Right, because moving in with your hot, former congressman neighbor and living with the Avengers is totally normal."

You groaned softly. "It's just temporary."

Jessica raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Temporary, like how you told me letting me crash on your couch was temporary?"

"That was different," you said defensively, pointing your beer bottle at her. "You were a very stubborn squatter."

Jessica smirked, unbothered. "Yeah, but Barnes is probably way easier to live with."

"He's..." You hesitated, sipping your beer again. "He's actually really nice."

"Nice?" Jessica repeated skeptically. "We're calling the Winter Soldier nice now?"

"Jessica," you warned softly. "Don't start."

She shrugged, leaning back casually. "Just seems interesting, that's all. Pretty convenient he just happened to have room in a fucking skyscraper for you."

"It's a tower," you corrected mildly. "And it was just luck. Fisk bought our building."

"Right," Jessica drawled, watching you closely. "So, it's totally innocent."

"Yes," you insisted firmly. "Completely innocent."

Jessica stared at you a long moment, narrowing her eyes slightly. "You're blushing."

"I am not," you protested weakly, pressing your cool hands against your heated cheeks. "It's just warm in here."

"Uh-huh," Jessica said dryly, taking another long drink. "Just don't come crying to me when your heart gets stomped."

"You're so encouraging," you muttered sarcastically.

"It's what I'm here for," Jessica retorted lightly, finishing her beer. She glanced at your half-empty bottle. "You good?"

You sighed, leaning your chin on your hand. "Yeah, fine."

Jessica chuckled quietly, flagging down a waitress. "Two more."

---

After three beers, your cheeks were flushed and your voice was noticeably louder. Jessica, still perfectly sober, watched you carefully with a mildly amused expression.

"And you know what else?" you said, jabbing your finger at the table dramatically. "He calls me doll, Jess. Doll! Who even does that?"

Jessica raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Barnes does, apparently."

"And sweetheart," you continued, leaning in conspiratorially. "He calls me sweetheart, too. And you know what I do?"

"What?" Jessica asked patiently, lips twitching.

"Nothing!" you exclaimed, slumping back in your seat dramatically. "I just stand there like an idiot. Every. Single. Time."

Jessica snorted softly. "Sounds like you got it bad."

You sighed heavily, resting your head on your folded arms. "I'm doomed, Jess. Totally doomed."

"Relax, drama queen," Jessica said dryly. "You could always just tell him."

You lifted your head, staring at her as if she'd grown another head. "Tell him? Are you insane?"

Jessica shrugged lightly. "Maybe. But at least you'd know."

"And risk everything?" you groaned dramatically, burying your face again. "No way. I'd rather suffer in silence."

"Clearly," Jessica muttered, signaling for the waitress again. "Maybe lay off the beer, though. You're spilling your guts more than usual."

You waved her off dismissively. "I'm fine. I'm great."

"You're wasted," Jessica corrected bluntly.

"No," you argued stubbornly, pushing yourself upright. "I'm just—relaxed."

Jessica snorted, shaking her head. "Whatever you say."

"I just don't get it," you mumbled, tracing circles on the table. "He's so sweet and caring, and he has no right looking that good all the time."

Jessica sighed deeply. "Jesus Christ."

"And his eyes," you continued dreamily. "Did I tell you about his eyes?"

"Multiple times," Jessica muttered dryly. "Blue and soulful, got it."

"Exactly," you said emphatically, pointing at her again. "So unfair."

Jessica rolled her eyes affectionately. "Maybe next time I'll just leave you at home."

"You wouldn't dare," you gasped dramatically.

"Watch me," Jessica said flatly. "But seriously—you're pathetic."

"I know," you groaned softly. "But he's so perfect."

Jessica raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I highly doubt that."

"Well, he's perfect for me," you corrected, smiling faintly. "He fixes stuff, Jess. Like, actual household things. And he carried all my boxes. And—and he makes sure I eat when I'm working. Do you have any idea how sweet that is?"

Jessica's expression softened just slightly. "Yeah. Sounds like he's decent."

"More than decent," you mumbled sleepily. "He's James."

Jessica sighed quietly, nudging you gently. "Okay, princess. Time to go."

"No," you protested weakly. "I'm comfy."

"You're gonna regret this tomorrow," Jessica muttered, carefully pulling you to your feet.

You stumbled slightly, clutching onto her jacket. "Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"You're my best friend," you murmured softly. "You know that, right?"

Jessica rolled her eyes affectionately, guiding you toward the door. "Yeah, I know. Love you too, dumbass."

You sighed contentedly, leaning heavily on her shoulder. "Good."

---

When you finally reached the tower, Jessica practically dragged you into the elevator. You leaned heavily against the wall, eyes half-closed. Jessica took your phone, quickly texting Bucky before pocketing it again. You hummed sleepily, eyes fluttering shut. "You okay there, lightweight?" Jessica teased lightly.

"M'fine," you mumbled, yawning. "Just tired."

"Clearly," Jessica muttered dryly.

The elevator doors opened, revealing Bucky waiting quietly in the lobby. His eyes softened immediately as he took in your sleepy form. "You alright, doll?" he asked softly, stepping forward.

You smiled lazily, eyes half-open. "Hi, James."

"Hey," he replied gently, lips tugging into a small smile. He glanced at Jessica. "Is she okay?"

Jessica nodded casually. "Yeah, she’s fine. Just drunk."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "How drunk?"

Jessica shrugged lightly. "Phase three."

Bucky looked at her, mildly confused. "Phase three?"

"She has phases," Jessica explained dryly. "Phase one—chatty, talks way too much about things no one asked about. Phase two—lovey, tells you how amazing you are, how much she loves and appreciates you. Phase three—sleepy." Jessica glanced back at you pointedly. "You're lucky; phase two was over before we got here."

You hummed softly, blinking slowly. "Love you, Jess."

Jessica sighed affectionately, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Love you too, dumbass."

Bucky smiled faintly, clearly amused. "Thanks for getting her home safe."

Jessica shrugged lightly. "No big deal. But she's your problem now."

You leaned against Bucky’s side, head resting against his shoulder sleepily. "James?"

"Yeah, doll?" he murmured softly.

"I'm really tired," you mumbled into his sleeve.

He chuckled quietly, carefully wrapping an arm around your shoulders to steady you. "Let's get you upstairs."

Jessica watched quietly, raising an eyebrow as the elevator doors closed. "Take care of her, Barnes."

Bucky glanced at her, nodding sincerely. "Always."

The elevator ride was quiet, your breathing even and slow. When the doors opened, Bucky gently guided you down the hall to your room. "Need help getting undressed?" he asked quietly, opening your door.

You stumbled lightly into the room, making your way clumsily toward your bed. Without hesitation, you fell face-first onto the mattress, sighing dramatically. "Fuck the dress," you muttered, voice muffled by your pillow.

Bucky laughed softly, moving to carefully pull your shoes off and set them aside. He grabbed a blanket, gently laying it over you. "Night, sweetheart," he whispered softly.

You hummed quietly, already drifting. "G’night, James." He paused briefly at your door, watching quietly for a moment before turning off the lights and gently closing it behind him.

---

You sat at the kitchen island the next morning, your hoodie pulled over your head as you sat hunched over.

Bucky walked in, pausing briefly to take in your slumped figure. He suppressed a smile. "Mornin’, doll. How you feeling?"

"Like shit," you muttered, forehead pressed firmly against your palm. "I used to handle way more than three beers in college. Apparently, having a real job ruined me."

Bucky chuckled softly, gently placing a glass of water and two ibuprofen tablets in front of you. "Drink this. It'll help."

"Thanks, James," you sighed weakly, downing the pills with a grimace. "I'm pathetic."

"Only a little," Yelena chimed in dryly, entering the kitchen and pouring herself coffee. "But we still love you."

"Thanks, Lena," you mumbled sarcastically. "Very comforting."

Alexei suddenly burst into the room, slamming a giant pickle jar onto the counter in front of you, making you flinch at the sound. "Here, Y/N!" Alexei declared proudly. "Drink pickle juice! Is best Russian remedy for hangover."

You stared blankly at the massive jar. "Uh—thanks, Alexei, but I think I'll pass."

"Drink," Alexei insisted, unscrewing the lid and pushing it closer. "Will fix headache immediately."

Yelena raised an eyebrow skeptically. "That’s disgusting."

"Is not disgusting," Alexei protested indignantly. "Is traditional Russian medicine."

"You also told us vodka was traditional medicine," Yelena pointed out, sipping her coffee. "Not everything Russian is healthy."

Bucky watched the exchange with mild amusement. "He's not wrong, though. Pickle juice does help."

You shot him a skeptical look. "Whose side are you on?"

"I'm neutral," Bucky replied, smiling softly. "Just stating facts."

Alexei nudged the jar toward you again. "Drink, Y/N. You feel better."

You grimaced, gently pushing it away. "Really appreciate it, Alexei, but I’ll stick to water."

Alexei sighed heavily, shaking his head. "Americans. No respect for tradition."

Yelena smirked lightly. "At least we have taste buds."

Alexei scoffed dramatically, lifting the jar and taking a large gulp of pickle juice himself, then smacked his lips loudly. "Delicious."

You groaned softly, leaning your head against your folded arms. "That's it, I'm going back to bed."

Bucky gently squeezed your shoulder, voice warm and quiet. "Good call, doll. Get some rest."

Your heart fluttered softly, but you nodded slowly, pulling your hoodie tighter. "Thanks, James."

"Anytime," he murmured softly as you shuffled out, carefully avoiding Alexei’s pickle jar.

---

There were no records of Bob’s birthday anywhere—you even had Jessica check. So, you decided that any day was better than nothing and started making a carrot cake. You stood in the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder at the recipe on your tablet. Muttering softly to yourself, you scanned the ingredients.

"Okay... flour, sugar, carrots..." you paused, frowning. "Nutmeg. Where’s the nutmeg?" You opened several cabinets, groaning softly when you saw the tiny jar on the top shelf, clearly out of your reach. "Really?" you muttered, standing on your tiptoes. You reached upward, stretching as far as you could, your shirt riding up slightly as you leaned.

Before you could climb onto the counter, a firm, gentle hand landed lightly on your hip, steadying you. Your breath caught slightly, heart skipping. "Careful, doll," Bucky murmured softly behind you. "Let me get it."

You slowly lowered back onto your heels, pulse racing as his warmth lingered at your side. "Thanks, James."

He reached easily over your head, grabbing the spice jar. As he moved to hand it to you, his gaze caught briefly on your exposed side, brows furrowing slightly as he noticed the faint, jagged scar. He went quiet, eyes serious. "What's that from?"

Your heart skipped again, this time anxiously. You quickly pulled your shirt down, cheeks warming slightly. "Oh, just an old scar. No big deal."

Bucky's eyes narrowed slightly, concern deepening. "Doesn't look like 'no big deal.' What happened?"

You hesitated, setting the jar down carefully on the counter. "It's... complicated."

He stepped closer, voice gentle and low. "I’ve got time."

You sighed softly, avoiding his eyes as you stirred the batter slowly. "A few years ago, Jessica had a sister. Trish. She wasn't... well."

Bucky watched you carefully, staying silent to let you continue.

"One night, Trish snapped," you murmured softly. "She thought she was doing something good, but she attacked me. She stabbed me."

Bucky stilled completely, tension radiating softly from him. "Jesus."

You shrugged weakly, eyes still down. "Jess stopped her before it got worse. Trish is locked up now, but the scar... it stuck around."

He exhaled slowly, clearly processing. After a quiet moment, he carefully rested his hand on your shoulder, gently turning you toward him.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice rough with concern.

You nodded, forcing a faint smile. "It was years ago. I’m okay, James. Really."

He studied your face carefully, thumb brushing gently along your shoulder. "You ever want to talk about it more, I'm here."

Your heart warmed softly, and you gently touched his hand, squeezing lightly. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

He nodded slowly, pulling his hand back but staying close. "You know," he murmured lightly, smiling faintly, "you don't have to keep everything bottled up."

You chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Says you."

He smirked, shaking his head. "Fair point. Still applies to you."

You smiled softly, sighing quietly. "Maybe someday."

He nodded gently, expression softening again. "I'll wait."

Your chest tightened gently, warmth spreading through you. "Thanks, James."

"Anytime, doll," he murmured quietly, stepping back slowly. "Need help finishing this cake?"

You relaxed visibly, grateful for the shift in topic. "Absolutely. Can you grate carrots without losing fingers?"

He chuckled quietly, already moving toward the carrots. "Think I'll manage." You smiled softly, the quiet comfort of his presence easing the tension still lingering inside you.

---

A couple of hours later, you placed the freshly frosted carrot cake on the kitchen counter, carefully arranging a small group of candles on top. You stepped back, examining your handiwork.

"Looks great," Bucky said gently from behind you, smiling warmly. "Bob’s gonna love it."

You smiled softly, nudging his side lightly with your elbow. "Couldn't have done it without you, James."

Alexei barreled into the kitchen, eyes immediately lighting up at the sight. "Cake is ready! Time for birthday celebration!"

"Is it really his birthday?" John asked skeptically, leaning against the fridge.

"No records," you admitted with a shrug. "So today seemed as good as any."

Ava raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Works for me."

Yelena carefully placed paper plates on the counter, glancing at the cake appreciatively. "Nice work, Y/N."

"Thanks, Yelena," you replied warmly.

Bob stepped hesitantly into the kitchen, eyes widening when he saw the cake and candles. "What's all this?"

Alexei threw an enthusiastic arm around Bob’s shoulders, pulling him forward. "Happy Birthday, Bob! Today, you become man!"

Bob chuckled nervously, blushing faintly. "But—it’s not really my birthday."

"We know," Ava said calmly, offering a small smile. "But it doesn't matter. We're celebrating anyway."

Bob’s expression softened, clearly touched. "Wow. I've never had a birthday party before."

"Well," you said gently, lighting the candles carefully. "You do now."

Bob swallowed, smiling shyly. "Thank you."

Bucky stepped forward, gently clapping Bob on the back. "Alright, make a wish."

Bob hesitated briefly, glancing around at the team gathered around him—faces soft and supportive. Finally, he leaned in, blowing out the candles quickly. Everyone broke into cheers—Alexei loudest of all, clapping enthusiastically.

"What did you wish for?" Alexei demanded brightly.

Bob laughed softly, shaking his head. "Can’t tell you, Alexei. Then it won't come true."

Alexei frowned, clearly unconvinced. "Superstition."

Yelena sighed dryly. "Leave him alone."

You sliced the cake carefully, handing Bob the first piece. "Here you go. Hope you like it."

Bob took a bite, eyes immediately lighting up. "This is amazing, Y/N."

You smiled, relieved. "Good."

Bucky took a bite, nodding appreciatively. "She makes a mean cake."

You nudged him lightly. "You helped."

He chuckled softly, eyes warm. "Barely."

"Still counts," you insisted gently, taking your own slice.

Alexei eagerly shoved half the piece of cake into his mouth at once, crumbs dropping onto the counter. "Delicious! Y/N, you are baking genius!"

"Slow down," John muttered, eyeing Alexei warily. "You're making a mess."

Alexei waved dismissively. "Birthday celebrations demand mess."

You laughed softly, glancing around at the group—relaxed, smiling, sharing cake. Quietly, your heart warmed. After finishing his slice, Bob smiled shyly, clearing his throat softly. "Thanks, everyone. I mean it. This was really nice."

"You're welcome," you replied warmly, gently touching his arm. "You deserve it, Bob."

He flushed faintly, clearly touched. "Thanks, Y/N."

As everyone chatted, slowly drifting toward the living room, Bucky lingered by your side, quietly gathering the dirty dishes.

"You did a good thing," he murmured softly, voice gentle.

You smiled softly, heart fluttering at his praise. "Bob deserves good things."

Bucky's eyes softened further, meeting yours quietly. "So do you, doll."

You glanced down, cheeks warming slightly. "Thanks, James."

"Anytime," he said gently, brushing your arm lightly with his metal fingers as he moved past. "Come on—let's join the others before Alexei breaks into birthday karaoke."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "God forbid." Bucky chuckled quietly, staying close beside you as you walked toward the living room, warmth settling softly in your chest.

---

Bucky stood quietly by the large windows in the tower's common area, eyes fixed on the city skyline. Sam leaned casually against the nearby wall, arms crossed as he watched him carefully. "You know this whole 'New Avengers' thing is messed up, right?" Sam finally said, breaking the silence.

Bucky sighed heavily, nodding slowly. "Yeah. Trust me, I'm not comfortable with it either."

Sam shifted slightly, eyes narrowed. "So why go along with it? Valentina can't control everything."

Bucky shook his head, his gaze hardening. "Right now, Sam, she pretty much can. Believe me, if I saw another way out, I'd take it."

Sam sighed, pushing himself away from the wall. "Still doesn't sit right with me, man."

Bucky turned to face him, expression weary. "Doesn't sit right with me either. But the minute there's an opening, we'll figure something out."

"Better be soon," Sam warned softly, raising an eyebrow. "Because you know she won't stop at this."

"I know," Bucky muttered. "I know."

Before either of them could speak again, you passed quietly through the room, glancing briefly in their direction. Bucky’s posture immediately relaxed, a soft smile forming instinctively as he called out gently, "Hey, doll. You need anything?"

Your cheeks warmed slightly, but you smiled back softly. "No, I'm good, James. Just heading upstairs."

"Alright," he said warmly. "Let me know."

As you left, Sam stared at Bucky, eyebrows raised incredulously. "Doll? Really?"

Bucky shot him a look, mildly annoyed. "What?"

Sam chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Come on, Buck. You seriously haven't made a move yet?"

Bucky’s jaw tightened slightly. "It's complicated."

"No, it's really not," Sam countered, amused. "Dude, I've seen you flirt with my sister. You're not shy."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "This is different."

"How?" Sam asked, clearly entertained.

Bucky glanced toward the empty hallway, expression softening considerably. "Because this matters."

Sam raised his eyebrows knowingly. "Then maybe you should do something about it."

Bucky sighed heavily, shaking his head slightly. "Yeah. Maybe."

Sam chuckled, lightly clapping Bucky on the shoulder as he passed. "Better do it soon, Barnes. Before someone else beats you to it."

Bucky watched him leave, letting out a long breath before muttering quietly to himself, "Yeah. I know."

---

It was late evening, the common room lights turned low, the city beyond the windows glittering quietly. Most of the team had already retreated to their rooms, leaving the space comfortably silent. You padded softly into the room, carrying a small plate with a slice of leftover carrot cake, glancing up when you spotted Bucky sitting quietly on the couch, his eyes distant.

"Hey," you said softly, settling comfortably next to him, knees brushing lightly. "Didn't realize anyone else was still awake."

Bucky’s gaze softened instantly as he turned to you. "Couldn't sleep. Too much on my mind."

You nodded, taking a small bite of your cake. Without thinking, you offered him the next bite—something that had become routine over the past weeks. He leaned forward easily, accepting the forkful without hesitation.

"Thanks, doll," he murmured, swallowing and smiling faintly.

The familiar nickname fluttered warmly in your chest. You nudged his knee gently with your own. "You're welcome, James."

He studied you for a moment, his expression turning curious. "Why do you always call me that?"

You raised an eyebrow, smiling softly. "James?"

He nodded, shifting slightly so he faced you better. "Yeah. Everyone else calls me Bucky."

You paused thoughtfully, glancing down at your plate with a faint, embarrassed smile. "Oh. Um, it's a bit embarrassing."

Bucky tilted his head, intrigued now. "Now you gotta tell me."

You laughed softly, leaning back against the cushions as you met his gentle eyes. "Well, when I found out I was getting a new neighbor—" you sighed playfully, shaking your head, "Jessica might've, you know, looked into you a little."

Bucky raised an amused eyebrow. "Looked into me?"

"Yeah," you admitted sheepishly, smiling. "She said your real name was James. So when I finally met you in the hallway, it just sort of... came out. After that, it felt weird to switch to Bucky."

He chuckled quietly, eyes crinkling warmly. "So, your friend stalked me."

"Investigated," you corrected teasingly. "She prefers that term."

"Right," he said dryly, lips tugging into a smile. "And all this time, you never thought to switch to Bucky?"

You shrugged lightly, bumping his shoulder gently with your own. "I like James better. It feels... real, you know?"

His gaze softened noticeably, voice dropping slightly. "Yeah. I know."

You held his gaze for a long moment, neither of you looking away. The silence was comfortable but charged, something shifting gently in the quiet between you. You hesitated, feeling your pulse quicken slightly.

"You okay?" you asked softly, breaking the silence.

Bucky exhaled slowly, leaning closer just slightly, his knee pressing gently against yours. "Better now."

You smiled softly, cheeks warming as you carefully looked away, setting your empty plate down on the table. "You're sweet."

He nudged your shoulder gently, voice quiet. "Don’t let the others hear you say that."

You laughed quietly, nudging him back. "Secret's safe with me."

"Good," he murmured, voice warm and gentle, lingering comfortably beside you. "Wouldn't want them getting ideas."

You glanced at him again, smile faint but sincere. "Oh, I think they already have plenty of ideas, James."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head lightly. "Yeah, probably."

You leaned slightly closer, voice quiet but playful. "Is it really so bad?"

His gaze softened again, a quiet intensity flickering briefly in his eyes. "No," he admitted gently. "Not at all." Your smile grew warmer as you settled comfortably against him, both of you content to let the quiet stretch easily between you, the warmth of his presence finally enough for now.

---

Early morning sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows, warming your shoulders as you quietly stirred your coffee. A bowl of cereal sat half-forgotten in front of you as your eyes lingered absently on the countertop. Just down the hall, faintly, you heard the familiar upbeat tune drifting into the kitchen.

"It's Patsy! It's Patsy! I really wanna be your friend..."

You froze for a second, breath catching as the cheerful song tugged uncomfortably at the edges of your memories. You shook your head slightly, trying to refocus on your coffee as your pulse quickened slightly.

Just then, you felt Bucky’s presence enter the kitchen. You didn’t look up, but you felt his quiet gaze settle on you. A moment later, you heard him step toward the living room.

"Hey, Alexei?" Bucky's voice carried gently but firmly down the hall. "Maybe try something else. Have you ever seen The Office?"

Alexei let out a thoughtful hum, clearly intrigued. "Is it funny?"

"Yeah," Bucky answered calmly. "I think you'll like it." You heard the channel change, the familiar jingle quickly replaced with a new, more welcome sound—the opening notes of a different, much lighter comedy.

You exhaled softly, shoulders easing as you stared down at your coffee mug again. Bucky quietly reentered the kitchen, pausing just long enough to pour himself a cup of coffee before sliding onto the stool beside you. He didn’t say anything, giving you the space you needed, but he stayed close, his presence quietly reassuring.

Slowly, you reached over, silently slipping your hand into his—finding his metal one—and gently squeezing his fingers.

Bucky went still for a second, looking down at your joined hands before his fingers gently curled around yours in response, his thumb softly brushing against your knuckles.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

---

You had already left for work when Bucky walked into the kitchen. The rest of the team was already there, and when they saw him they suddenly went silent. Bucky stopped abruptly, coffee cup halfway to his mouth, eyes narrowing slightly. "What?" he asked cautiously, looking around at the team's carefully neutral expressions.

"Nothing," John said quickly, looking away a bit too casually. "Just having breakfast."

Ava silently studied her cereal, avoiding eye contact. Alexei grinned a little too widely, nodding enthusiastically.

"Yes, breakfast," Alexei echoed cheerfully, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "Very delicious."

Bucky stared at them for a long moment, clearly unconvinced. "You're all acting weird."

Bob shifted uncomfortably, glancing around. "Uh, nope. Just... eating breakfast. Like John said."

Yelena finally sighed loudly, throwing down her spoon in frustration. "Oh, for God's sake, I'm tired of your bullshit, Bucky."

He blinked at her in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Yelena crossed her arms, glaring at him. "You know how many times I've wanted to lock the two of you on the balcony and have you fend for yourselves? Watching you dance around each other is physically painful."

Bucky stared at her, eyes widening slightly. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb," John muttered, clearly losing patience. "We've all seen it."

Bob nodded quickly, looking relieved someone finally said it. "It's true. You and Y/N—it's obvious."

Alexei slammed his palm on the table dramatically. "Painfully obvious!"

Bucky sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Guys, seriously—"

"No," Yelena cut him off sharply. "Stop avoiding this. You like her. She likes you. Do something about it before I lose my mind."

Bucky narrowed his eyes slightly. "And this is your business because…?"

"Because we're all tired of watching you stare longingly like a sad puppy," Ava said dryly.

John nodded in agreement, leaning back comfortably. "Honestly, it's starting to get pathetic."

Bucky raised his eyebrows, looking slightly offended. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Yelena shot back flatly. "Someone had to say it."

Bob smiled gently, offering an encouraging look. "We just want you both to be happy."

Alexei nodded enthusiastically again. "Exactly. Y/N is perfect for you—smart, pretty, excellent baker. You must not waste this opportunity, Barnes!"

Bucky exhaled sharply, clearly flustered. "I'm not—I'm not wasting anything."

Yelena raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Then why haven't you made a move?"

Bucky hesitated, sighing quietly. "It's complicated."

Ava rolled her eyes softly. "Not that complicated."

Alexei gestured dramatically. "You take Y/N to nice dinner. You confess deep feelings. You kiss—very romantic."

Bucky groaned, shaking his head slightly. "You’re oversimplifying."

"No," Yelena said firmly, eyes narrowing. "You're overcomplicating. Do you like her or not?"

He paused, voice softening reluctantly. "Yeah. Of course I do."

"Then do something about it," John said pointedly. "We’ve been suffering through this long enough."

Bucky sighed again, looking at each of them carefully. "Fine. I'll figure it out. Happy?"

Yelena gave him a satisfied nod. "Yes. And if you don't, I swear I’ll lock you both on the balcony. I'm not kidding."

Alexei beamed proudly. "See? My methods always effective."

Bucky shot Alexei a dry look. "Yeah, subtle as always."

Alexei shrugged happily, unbothered. "Subtlety overrated."

Bucky shook his head lightly, finally sipping his coffee. "Just keep your noses out of it, okay?"

Yelena smirked faintly. "Only if you finally do something."

He sighed deeply, rolling his eyes slightly. "Noted."

"Good," she replied lightly, returning calmly to her cereal. "Glad we had this talk."

Bucky glanced around the room once more, exhaling tiredly. "Yeah. Great talk."

---

Later that evening, you stepped into the gym area, glancing around uncertainly. Yelena stood near the mats, adjusting a sleek, black wristband. “You’re sure you need me for this?” you asked skeptically, setting your bag down.

“Relax,” Yelena said smoothly, smiling innocently. “I just need to test some new tech on someone who isn’t… super.”

“Thanks,” you muttered dryly. “Love being the baseline.”

Across the room, you noticed Ava and John lounging on benches, trying way too hard to look casual. Alexei leaned against the wall, pretending to stretch.

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why is everyone here?”

John shrugged, suddenly fascinated by his shoes. “Just hanging out.”

“Right,” you said, clearly unconvinced.

Bucky entered just then, stopping abruptly when he saw you. His eyes flickered quickly to Yelena, clearly suspicious. “What’s going on?”

Yelena waved him off dismissively. “Testing my wristband on a non-superhuman.”

Bucky glanced back at you, visibly concerned. “Is that safe?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “Relax, James. It’s just a wristband. Worst case, it buzzes.” Bucky didn’t look convinced but leaned back against the wall beside Ava, eyes tracking you carefully.

“Ready?” Yelena asked, arching an eyebrow at you.

You nodded hesitantly. “I guess.”

Yelena moved easily into a fighting stance. You mimicked her—far less gracefully—raising your hands awkwardly. “Just… go easy on me?”

Yelena smiled, feigning innocence. “Always.”

She tapped the wristband, and a soft glow lit along her fingertips. You barely had a moment to register it before she moved forward. Her punch was deliberately slow; you raised your arms instinctively to block—but then something happened. The wristband emitted a faint pulse, and suddenly Yelena’s fist moved much faster. “Whoa!” you yelped, stumbling back.

Yelena pulled her punch instantly, concern flickering in her eyes. “You good?”

You nodded quickly. “Fine. Just… unexpected.”

“You’re doing great,” Ava said encouragingly, biting back a smirk. Bucky’s eyes narrowed further, suspicion deepening.

You resumed your stance again, carefully watching Yelena. She moved forward again, slower this time. You braced yourself, prepared—but once again, the wristband pulsed unexpectedly. You ducked awkwardly, losing your footing completely.

Before you hit the ground, strong arms caught you firmly, steadying you against a broad chest. Your breath hitched sharply as you looked up into Bucky’s concerned face.

“You okay, doll?” he murmured softly, voice low enough only you could hear.

Your cheeks flushed hotly, heart suddenly racing. “Yeah,” you whispered breathlessly. “I’m—I’m good.”

Neither of you moved for a long moment, eyes locked, entirely too close. You felt your pulse hammering in your chest, certain he could feel it too.

Nearby, Yelena cleared her throat deliberately. Bucky blinked, finally helping you back onto your feet. He didn’t step back immediately, lingering just a little too close. “Maybe call it quits for today?”

Yelena smirked faintly, clearly satisfied. “Yeah, probably a good idea.”

You glanced down awkwardly, cheeks still burning. “Thanks for the save, James.”

His eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Anytime.”

You turned away quickly, grabbing your things. As you walked toward the exit, you caught Ava shooting Yelena a pointed look, clearly suppressing laughter. “Subtle,” you heard Bucky mutter dryly behind you, making your face burn even hotter.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Yelena replied innocently, already removing the wristband. You shook your head, fighting back a shy smile as you quickly slipped out of the gym.

---

The team, other than Bob, had gone out on a simple arms deal, leaving the Watchtower to you and Bob tonight. You taught him how to make tiramisu before settling on the couch showing him Modern Family.

"Phil's my favorite," Bob admitted shyly, smiling warmly. "He's just so... earnest."

You chuckled softly. "Yeah, he's got that charming dad energy."

Bob's smile brightened. "Exactly."

Your phone buzzed suddenly on the table, Jessica’s name lighting up the screen. You reached for it casually, answering without really looking. "Hey Jess—"

"Are they gone?" Jessica cut in sharply, voice tense.

You frowned, instantly alert. "The team? Yeah, they're out on an arms deal—wait, how do you even know—"

"It’s a set-up," Jessica interrupted quickly. "There’s no arms deal. Fisk arranged it."

You sat up abruptly, heart pounding. "Fisk?"

"He has cops on the way to the tower right now," Jessica said urgently. "They're coming for you. He knows you have that hard drive. He knows you've seen the files."

Your throat tightened. "Wait, Jess—"

"Get out, Y/N," Jessica hissed. "Right now—"

The line abruptly cut out, the room plunging suddenly into total darkness. "Bob," you whispered sharply, panic rising, "power's out."

Bob sat forward quickly, clearly alert. "What's going on?"

"We're in trouble," you whispered urgently, standing quickly. "Fisk's men are coming here. We have to get out."

Bob followed you immediately, eyes wide but determined. "Okay—what do we do?"

"We need to signal the team," you said quickly, moving carefully toward the windows. "Or Jessica—someone." Before you reached the window, you heard a heavy thud from the stairwell. Footsteps echoed loudly, many footsteps, moving quickly.

"They're already here," Bob breathed nervously.

You grabbed his arm tightly. "We need to move. Now."

Quietly, you both hurried toward the hallway, staying close to the walls. Voices sounded from behind, harsh and commanding. "Find the engineer," one barked. "Fisk wants her dealt with."

Bob glanced at you nervously, his voice shaking slightly. "Y/N—"

You squeezed his arm reassuringly. "We got this."

Together, you moved swiftly down the hall, heading toward the emergency stairwell. Suddenly, the door slammed open, two officers appearing with flashlights blazing. "There!" one shouted sharply.

You stumbled back, heart racing. Bob stepped quickly in front of you, blocking their line of sight. "Get behind me," Bob whispered urgently.

The officers approached, weapons raised. "Move aside, kid."

Bob stood firm, hands trembling slightly at his sides. "Leave her alone."

The officer laughed cruelly, stepping forward aggressively. "Or what?"

Bob’s eyes flickered uncertainly, glancing back at you. You nodded slightly, heart pounding, offering him silent reassurance. Bob swallowed, turning back slowly. "Or this," he whispered softly.

Suddenly, a powerful surge of energy erupted from his hands, throwing the officers backward violently. They crashed into the far wall, sliding limply to the ground. You stared, stunned. "Bob—holy shit."

Bob stared down at his shaking hands, eyes wide. "I—I haven't done that since—"

You grabbed his arm gently, pulling him forward. "We have to go."

You moved quickly toward the stairs again, pulse racing in your ears. Footsteps echoed behind you, more officers quickly closing in. "Keep moving!" you whispered sharply.

Gunfire erupted suddenly, bullets narrowly missing as you both scrambled toward cover. You ducked behind the corner wall, breath ragged. Bob pressed close beside you, panic clear on his face. "What now?" he gasped quietly.

You exhaled sharply, mind racing. "We gotta fight."

Bob swallowed nervously, nodding firmly. "Okay."

You both moved out simultaneously, Bob’s powers surging forward again, throwing several officers down the hallway. You grabbed a metal pipe that had been knocked loose, swinging desperately at the nearest attacker. You felt a sharp, painful blow graze your temple, warmth trickling down your cheek. You stumbled back slightly, vision briefly swimming.

"Y/N!" Bob shouted, rushing to your side.

"I'm okay," you gasped, steadying yourself. "Keep going!"

---

Outside, across the city at the docks, the team stood impatiently by empty shipping containers. Yelena narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"This is too easy," she muttered sharply.

Bucky's phone rang sharply, Jessica’s name on the screen.

"Jessica?" Bucky asked cautiously, answering quickly.

"Hey dumbass," Jessica snapped urgently, "it's a goddamn setup. Fisk sent you out there as a distraction. He's got cops hitting the tower. Y/N's in trouble."

Bucky’s expression shifted instantly, panic flaring. "Shit." He spun toward the team, voice harsh. "We have to go—now. It's a setup."

Yelena swore sharply, already sprinting back toward the car. "Move!"

---

At the tower, you and Bob had retreated deeper into the building, ducking into the main conference room. You leaned heavily against the door, breathing ragged. Blood dripped slowly from your temple, staining your collar. Bob watched you anxiously. "You're hurt."

You waved him off weakly, wincing slightly. "It's fine. Just—"

The door shuddered violently, officers pounding loudly. You jumped back, heart hammering. "Y/N," Bob whispered softly, voice shaking. "I'm sorry."

You stared at him gently, stepping closer. "Don't be. You were amazing."

The door splintered abruptly, officers spilling aggressively into the room. You raised the pipe weakly, stepping protectively in front of Bob. "Leave him alone," you hissed sharply. "He's not part of this."

"Fisk only wants you," one officer sneered cruelly, raising his weapon. Suddenly, a series of heavy thuds sounded from the hall, punctuated by muffled shouts and crashes. The officer turned sharply, gun wavering uncertainly.

You smiled faintly, relief flooding you.

"What the—" he muttered uncertainly. The door burst open again, a figure moving swiftly in the darkness, metal arm catching the faint moonlight. Officers crumpled swiftly, dropping heavily to the ground.

Bucky stepped forward quickly, eyes wild with concern. "Y/N?"

You exhaled shakily, stumbling forward. "James."

He caught you instantly, arms tightening protectively. "You're bleeding."

"I'm okay," you whispered weakly, gripping his arm. "Bob—"

"I'm fine," Bob assured quickly, voice shaking slightly. "Thanks for coming."

Yelena stepped swiftly through the door, kicking one of the downed officers sharply. "Suki. Fisk really went all out."

Bucky's grip tightened around you, voice rough with tension. "We're getting you both out of here."

You leaned heavily into him, relief overwhelming you. "Thank you."

He gently touched your bloodied temple, eyes dark with worry. "Always, doll."

You smiled faintly, heart easing at his quiet reassurance. Alexei and Ava quickly cleared the hallway, making sure the threat was gone. John stood quietly by the doorway, nodding firmly. "All clear," John said evenly.

Bucky carefully guided you toward the hall, arm secure around your waist. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

You nodded slowly, leaning heavily into his reassuring warmth. "Yeah. Okay."

He pressed gently closer, voice quiet and fiercely protective. "You're safe now. I promise."

You exhaled softly, relief finally easing the tight knot in your chest. "I know, James."

Bob followed closely behind, eyes wide but calm. "Thank you all."

Yelena smiled gently, nudging him warmly. "You did good, Bob."

Alexei clapped him heartily on the back. "Yes! Bob is hero tonight."

Bob smiled shyly, flushing slightly. "Thanks."

Bucky kept you close, refusing to let go even as you stepped into the elevator. You leaned softly into him, finally safe.

---

You sat quietly on the edge of your bed, trying to stay perfectly still while Bucky gently cleaned the cut on your temple. His touch was careful, almost hesitant, as though afraid he'd hurt you more. "Sorry," he murmured softly when you winced slightly. His eyes softened further. "I'm almost done."

"It's fine," you said quietly, offering a faint smile. "I'm tougher than I look."

He chuckled softly, carefully applying a small bandage over the wound. "Believe me, I know."

He sat back slightly, his eyes still assessing your face for any further injury. He paused, reaching out to gently brush his thumb over your bruised cheekbone. His jaw tightened slightly, a flash of anger flickering in his gaze. "I should've been here," he muttered quietly, clearly frustrated. "I should've known something wasn't right."

You reached up, lightly taking his hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. "James, it's not your fault. Fisk knew exactly what he was doing."

He exhaled heavily, turning his hand to intertwine your fingers gently. "Maybe. But it won't happen again. Not on my watch."

Your heart fluttered quietly at the conviction in his voice. You gently squeezed his hand again. "I know." He sat beside you quietly, the silence comfortably warm. You glanced toward the closed bedroom door, thinking briefly of Bob. "Bob was amazing tonight," you murmured softly. "He really stepped up."

Bucky smiled faintly, nodding. "Yeah, he did. He's tougher than any of us gave him credit for."

You chuckled gently. "Guess we both surprised you tonight, huh?"

His eyes softened noticeably, his thumb gently brushing along your knuckles. "You've been surprising me since the day we met."

Your cheeks warmed slightly, and you looked down, smiling softly. "That's a good thing, right?"

He chuckled quietly, nudging your shoulder lightly with his own. "Definitely a good thing."

The silence settled again, comfortable and gentle. You hesitated briefly before softly breaking it again. "When Jessica called me, I was so scared," you admitted quietly, glancing up at him slowly. "Not just for me, but for Bob too. Fisk doesn't care who gets hurt as long as he gets what he wants."

Bucky's grip tightened slightly around your hand, voice rough and protective. "We'll handle Fisk. He won't touch you again."

"I trust you," you whispered softly, holding his gaze firmly. "I trust you with everything, James."

His eyes widened slightly, a brief flash of vulnerability crossing his face. Carefully, he raised his free hand, cupping your cheek gently. "I promise," he murmured firmly. "I won't let you down."

You smiled warmly, leaning slightly into his touch. "You haven't yet."

His thumb brushed softly over your skin, gaze lingering gently on your face. Slowly, he leaned closer, his forehead lightly resting against yours. Your breath hitched quietly, heart suddenly pounding. "James?" you whispered softly.

"Yeah?" he murmured, voice rough and low.

Your pulse hammered in your chest, nerves and anticipation mingling warmly. "Are you going to kiss me, or do I have to do it first?"

He smiled faintly, lips brushing gently against yours. "Don't rush me, doll. I'm getting there."

You chuckled softly, warmth flooding your chest. "Sorry. Please continue."

He laughed softly against your lips, finally closing the distance fully. The kiss was gentle but firm, his metal hand carefully cupping your cheek, his other hand tightly intertwined with yours.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, lips still just inches from yours. "I've been wanting to do that for way too long."

You smiled warmly, heart racing softly. "Me too."

He kissed you again, softer this time, lingering gently. When he finally drew back, he rested his forehead lightly against yours once more, exhaling softly. "You should get some rest," he murmured gently, voice full of warmth. "You've had a hell of a night."

"Stay," you whispered softly, heart fluttering nervously. "Please?"

His eyes softened gently, fingers squeezing yours reassuringly. "Of course, sweetheart."

You shifted further onto the bed, and he carefully moved beside you, pulling you gently against his chest. You sighed softly, relaxing fully against him, feeling safer than you had in days. "Goodnight, James," you murmured quietly, eyes fluttering closed.

He pressed a soft kiss against your forehead, voice warm and protective. "Goodnight, doll." You drifted easily to sleep, secure and peaceful, his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.

---

The next morning, you woke slowly, blinking softly in the bright sunlight streaming through your windows. Bucky’s steady breathing was warm against your hair, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. You shifted slightly, turning carefully to face him, your movement waking him gently.

"Morning," you murmured softly, smiling shyly.

He blinked slowly, lips curving gently into a sleepy smile. "Morning, sweetheart. Sleep okay?"

"Better than I have in weeks," you admitted quietly, snuggling gently against his chest.

"Good," he murmured softly, holding you closer. "Me too."

A sudden loud knock sounded sharply on your door, startling you both. "Hey!" Yelena called loudly from the hallway. "We have breakfast. You two done making googly eyes yet?"

Bucky groaned softly, dropping his forehead lightly against your shoulder. "I’m gonna kill her."

You laughed softly, gently kissing his cheek. "It's fine. She means well."

He raised his head, smirking faintly. "She’s a menace."

"You adore her," you teased lightly, nudging him gently.

"Don’t tell her that," he muttered dryly, reluctantly sitting up.

You smiled softly, reaching out to gently take his hand again. "Thank you. For staying."

His gaze softened warmly, fingers gently squeezing yours. "Always."

Another knock sounded impatiently. "If you two aren't out in five minutes, Alexei will eat all the waffles!"

Bucky sighed heavily, shaking his head as he stood, gently tugging you up with him. "Duty calls."

You chuckled lightly, leaning comfortably against him as you walked toward the door. "It's never boring, at least."

He smiled gently, glancing down at you fondly. "Definitely not."

You both stepped out into the hallway, met immediately by Yelena’s amused gaze. "Finally," she drawled dryly, smirking faintly. "We thought you’d never emerge."

"You're hilarious," Bucky muttered sarcastically, gently guiding you past her.

She raised an eyebrow knowingly, falling into step beside you. "Glad you finally took my advice, Barnes."

He rolled his eyes slightly, voice flat. "Yeah, thanks, Yelena. Couldn’t have done it without you."

"You're welcome," she replied smugly, clearly pleased.

You laughed softly, gently squeezing his hand reassuringly. "Come on. Let's get waffles before Alexei actually eats them all."

Bucky chuckled softly, relaxing further as the three of you stepped into the lively kitchen. Alexei greeted you enthusiastically, mouth already stuffed full of waffles. "Y/N! Barnes!" Alexei boomed cheerfully, crumbs flying. "Waffles today—excellent cooking from Bob!"

Bob smiled shyly from the stove. "Morning."

"Morning," you replied warmly, moving closer to him. "You okay?"

He nodded gently, offering a faint smile. "Better now."

"Good," you murmured softly, nudging him gently. "Thanks for breakfast."

He flushed slightly, ducking his head. "Least I could do."

Bucky stepped beside you again, his hand gently resting at the small of your back. "How you holding up, Bob?"

Bob smiled shyly, clearly grateful. "Pretty good, actually. Thanks."

Alexei loudly interrupted again, waving a waffle around dramatically. "Bob is a true warrior! We must celebrate properly."

John sighed tiredly from his spot at the counter, sipping his coffee. "It's eight in the morning, Alexei. Give it a rest."

Alexei scoffed indignantly. "Never too early for celebration."

Yelena rolled her eyes softly, sliding gracefully onto a stool. "It's definitely too early for you."

You laughed quietly, leaning warmly into Bucky’s side as the team bantered playfully around you. Bucky gently squeezed your waist, voice soft and warm. "You okay?"

You nodded gently, smiling up at him. "Perfect."

He smiled faintly, eyes softening warmly as he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. "Good."

Around you, the lively kitchen buzzed happily, warm sunlight pouring gently through the windows. For the first time in a long time, everything felt safe, comfortable, and perfectly right.

Until the elevator dinged.

You glanced toward it, eyebrows furrowing slightly as the doors slid open. Jessica stepped out, scanning the room sharply until her gaze landed firmly on you. Her eyes immediately narrowed, her shoulders visibly relaxing as she stalked quickly forward.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N," Jessica snapped, ignoring everyone else entirely. "You couldn’t answer your phone? I've been calling you for hours."

You winced slightly. "I'm sorry, Jess. It was… a long night."

Jessica’s eyes narrowed even further as she took in the bandage on your temple. "Clearly. Are you okay?"

"I’m okay," you said quickly. "Just a bit bruised."

Bucky stepped slightly closer, hand still resting protectively on your lower back. Jessica’s gaze instantly flickered toward him, expression shifting into something sharply assessing. "You let her get hurt?" Jessica asked coldly, eyes locked on Bucky.

He frowned slightly, jaw tightening. "We got back as fast as we could."

Jessica stared him down. "Not fast enough."

"Jess," you cut in gently, touching her arm softly. "They saved me—and Bob. Fisk caught us off guard, not them."

Jessica’s expression eased a fraction, eyes flickering to you again. "Bob?"

Bob waved awkwardly from behind Alexei. "Hi."

Jessica blinked once, clearly unimpressed. "Him?"

"He’s tougher than he looks," you assured gently. "He had my back."

Bob smiled shyly, straightening slightly. "I did my best."

Jessica exhaled sharply, clearly still irritated. "Fine."

Yelena leaned casually against the counter, smirking faintly. "You must be Jessica. We've heard so much."

Jessica’s eyes flickered toward Yelena, unimpressed. "Funny. I haven't heard anything about you."

Yelena’s smile widened slightly. "Yelena. Nice to finally meet you."

Jessica hummed dryly, eyes narrowing again. "You're the one who thought it was a good idea to let Y/N spar with your weird glow-stick bracelet?"

Yelena shrugged innocently. "It was a controlled environment."

Jessica scoffed. "Sure it was."

Alexei stepped forward, grinning broadly. "Jessica! Y/N’s fierce detective friend. Welcome!"

Jessica stared blankly at him. "Who’s this?"

"Alexei Shostakov, Red Guardian—pleasure to meet you!" he said cheerfully, offering his hand.

Jessica ignored the handshake entirely, turning back toward you. "You sure you want to stay here?"

You laughed softly, gently nudging Jessica’s arm. "I’m fine, Jess. Promise."

Jessica sighed heavily, clearly still annoyed. "Yeah, well, next time maybe text or something. I thought you died." Bucky tensed slightly beside you. Jessica instantly caught it, eyes narrowing at him again. "Relax, Barnes. If she was dead, you'd know."

"Appreciate the reassurance," Bucky muttered dryly.

Jessica shrugged lightly, finally relaxing slightly. "You’re welcome."

You smiled warmly, nudging her again gently. "Thanks for checking up on me."

Jessica rolled her eyes softly, finally softening fully. "Always."

She paused briefly, glancing pointedly at Bucky’s hand still gently resting against your back. Her gaze snapped sharply up to meet yours, one eyebrow arching in silent question. Your cheeks warmed slightly, but you held her gaze calmly. "We’ll talk about it later."

Jessica hummed dryly, eyes flickering briefly to Bucky. "We definitely will."

Bucky cleared his throat slightly, clearly uncomfortable. "Coffee?"

Jessica stared flatly at him. "You offering?"

Bucky sighed lightly. "Seems polite."

She continued her staring before replying, “you wouldn’t happen to have whiskey? Or bourbon?”

Bucky blinked once. “It’s eight in the morning.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Exactly.”

Alexei brightened immediately, waving his hand enthusiastically. “We have bourbon! Come, Jessica, we celebrate your bravery!”

Jessica eyed Alexei skeptically. “Celebrate?”

“Your successful rescue mission!” Alexei announced loudly, grabbing the bottle from the cabinet. “And also your magnificent arrival. Very dramatic. We drink to your courage!”

Jessica glanced at you flatly. “This guy serious?”

You laughed softly, shrugging lightly. “He’s always serious.”

Jessica sighed deeply, but accepted the glass Alexei eagerly poured. “Fine. But only because I just spent all night thinking you were dead.”

“Thanks, Jess,” you murmured softly, leaning against Bucky’s shoulder gently.

Bob smiled shyly at Jessica, still lingering nervously by the stove. “Would you like a waffle?”

Jessica blinked at him, expression unreadable. “You cooked?”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Sort of a tradition after... stressful situations.”

Jessica hesitated briefly before nodding slowly. “Sure. I like traditions.”

Bob smiled brightly, quickly handing her a plate. “Hope you like it.”

Jessica took a bite, eyebrows raising slightly in surprise. “Not bad.”

Bob flushed slightly, clearly pleased. “Thanks.”

John eyed Jessica cautiously, arms folded. “So you’re the private investigator?”

Jessica glanced at him dryly. “And you’re the disgraced ex-Captain America?”

John’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Walker’s fine.”

She shrugged lightly. “Jones.”

Ava smirked faintly from beside Yelena. “You have a way with people.”

Jessica shot Ava a flat look. “So do you, Ghost.”

Ava raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed. “You’ve done your homework.”

Jessica hummed quietly, sipping her bourbon again. “Comes with the territory.”

Alexei clapped Jessica heartily on the back, making her cough slightly. “You are impressive woman, Jones. Private detective, rescuer, fighter—like Y/N. She fixes everything!”

Jessica glanced at you dryly. “Yeah, she’s annoyingly competent.”

You smiled softly, gently squeezing Bucky’s hand, voice warm and teasing. “You love me.”

Jessica sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Unfortunately.”

Bucky chuckled quietly, relaxing further beside you. “Glad we agree.”

Jessica eyed him sharply, feigning annoyance. “Careful, Barnes. You’re not off my shit-list yet.”

“Duly noted,” Bucky murmured dryly.

Yelena smirked again, clearly amused. “I think I like you, Jessica.”

Jessica shot her a mild glare. “Please don’t.”

Alexei beamed proudly, raising his glass cheerfully. “A toast! To new friendships, surviving Fisk’s men, and waffles!”

Jessica sighed heavily, but raised her glass resignedly. “Sure. To waffles.”

You laughed softly, raising your own coffee mug gently. “To waffles.”

Bucky smiled faintly, gently squeezing your waist. “To waffles.”

The rest of the team echoed the toast warmly, Alexei cheerfully pouring another round of bourbon despite Jessica’s mild protests. Jessica leaned closer, voice low as she glanced meaningfully between you and Bucky. “Seriously, details. You’re telling me everything later.”

You smiled shyly, leaning further into Bucky’s warmth. “Promise.”

She hummed quietly, finally softening again as she took another sip. “Good.”

[yoditopascal]

Sweetest Pie

summary: The Worst Logan isn’t so bad after all. (logan/wolverine x fem black reader)

content warning: Wade is your best friend that’s a warning all on its own, some angst (like literally the tiniest bit) cussing, mutual pining, making out, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, dirty talking? (I’m so bad at writing it lmaoo), creampie, actual pie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it fellas), dacryphilia, post DP&W, breaking the bed, scent kink, overstimulation, he technically sniffs your underwear??, Deadpool being Deadpool, MINORS DNI

a/n: The Sweetest Pie by Megan the Stallion is playing in the background while y’all fuck, that’s all.

tag list: @allmyn1ghts @figsnpassionfruits @dragonqueen89 @shebby-the-webby

Ducking down out of the way, Wade just barely makes it out of the line of fire as a glass mug hits the wall behind him, shattering on impact.

“You wanna run that by me again bub?”

“That was my favorite mug!”

“Repeat what you fucking said!” He snarls, hand balled into tight fists, it’s taking everything in his power not to maul the idiot with his claws….again

“All I said was you're more pent up than a nun doing squats in a cucumber field!” Wade said looking back at the wall, there was already a dent forming, one of many that had been popping up since the older mutant had decided to move in with him.

It's been 3 months since Logan started living with Wade and Blind Al and he’s about fucking had it. Laura had moved out after the first month, needing her own space, but she still frequently visited, he honestly was tempted to join her but figured she wouldn’t want her old man around all the time cramping her style.

Logan could feel a headache coming on as he pinched the bridge of his nose as Wade spoke again.

“You, my little honey badger, are lacking in the hanky panky department and no amount of self loving in the bathroom mirror at midnight is gonna fix that.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” He asked, sometimes he felt like instead of forming actual sentences Wade just put a bunch of random shit together so he could hear himself speak.

“Oh my gooood you’re so old, I’m talking about sex grandpa, you know, fucking? The horizontal hula? Bumping uglies? Filling the cream donut?”

“Stop.” Logan said with a look of disgust.

“I can smell your sexual frustration from here.” Wade groaned. “You need to spend a little less time brooding around the house like you're a DC character, and maybe spend a little more time doing hot yoga.” He was as he holds up a finger and boops Logan on the nose.

Logan swats his hand away but Wade continues paying no mind to his attitude as he points toward the front door.

“It just so happens that I know a great friend o’ mine who’d have absolutely no problems taming the beast for you bub and oh look at that, she happens to live right across the hall.” He said with a wink

“Don’t bring her into this.” Logan said, waving him off as he went to sit on the couch. Unfortunately Wade knew exactly how he felt about you, having figured it out during their whole ordeal with his variants, Paradox and Cassandra and the bastard had yet to let him live it down.

“Come on Wolvie you can cut the sexual tension you two have with a knife, it’s so thick!” He groans again, throwing himself on the couch beside him dramatically. “It might even be thicker than ours!” Wade said as he leans on Logan’s shoulder fluttering his scarred eyes at him. He shrugs him off, turning the tv on hoping the sound of whatever was on would drown him out but Wade just kept going.

“Stop being a pussy and talk to her!”

“Oh like how you talked to Vanessa?” He snapped back, his anger reaching its limit.

“First of all, we’re a working progress right now and second of all, ouch! Who hurt you?”

Growing tired of Wade and his endless jabbering Logan stood going to grab his jacket from the closet so he could leave.

“Where are you huffing and puffing off too big bad wolf?”

“Anywhere but here.” He said slamming the door shut behind him.

After a few drinks at Sister Margaret's and time to cool his head, Logan returns home to get some chores out of the way. He was far over due to wash his stuff and his hero costume was really starting to fuck with his nose, so, shoving a few handfuls of quarters from Al’s disco dust fund jar into his pockets,he loaded up his hamper and heads down to the laundry room in the basement.

Upon entering he almost immediately bumps into you. You were kicking the dryer when he found you, pissed because it ate your quarters, not paying attention to your surroundings at all.

Digging around in his pockets he bumps his shoulder to yours to get your attention. Startled you nearly jumped out of your skin as he held a hand up in surrender, not meaning to scare you.

“Sorry, just thought I’d offer up some of mine.” He said, pulling a handful of change from his back pocket.

“Oh. that’s ok, I’m-” you start but are stopped when he grabs your hands with one of his and unceremoniously dumps the change into your palms.

“I wasn’t suggesting, take 'em I got more than enough.”

With a silent nod you thank him as he shrugs you off with a “Don’t mention it.”

Logan starts to load up his laundry into the washer next to yours, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you toss your wet clothes into the dryer. You don’t notice as a piece of yellow fabric falls to the floor between you, Logan turns his head to say something, at first not realizing what it was, until it dawns on him that, holy shit, it's a pair of your underwear…and they had Wolverine on them.

They were boxer briefs, nothing inherently sexy about them, but the scent they gave off, clean laundry soap mixed with the smell of your core had Logan reeling.

A small smirk crawled across his face as he started to imagine you wearing them around your house, nothing else adorning your body except for an oversized tee shirt that looked eerily like one of his own, he thought it was cute. Turning his head back to finish his task he kept loading his clothes not showing interest in the underwear to keep from making things awkward. One thing he couldn't deny was your scent. The scent of your core that lingered on the fabric was making his head swim, it was utterly intoxicating, this definitely didn't help with growing his frustration.

After he loaded the washer he pulled a flask from his pocket taking a shot of liquor inside to compose himself as he realized you still hadn’t noticed you dropped them. “You uh dropped something sweetheart.” he nodded towards them. Horrified, you snatch them up and throw them in the dryer.

“Oh god I-I’m sorry! I-“ you start to stutter, at a complete loss for words you slam the dryer lid close and grab your basket ready to leave and hide away in your apartment for the rest of your life until Logan stops you with a strong hand that engulfs your wrist.

“No I-uh I get it. He was your hero right?”

“Yeah he was… but so are you!” You started but quickly press a fist to your forehead in frustration.

“Sorry I don’t want you to feel like you're obligated to live up to him or anything, you’re your own person! I just-“ you were interrupted by Logan closing the distance between you. In your frustration a few of your locs had slipped from your ponytail and were hanging in your face. Logan reached towards you moving one from your face tucking it behind your ear, his bright hazel eyes scanning you carefully taking in your features with a smirk.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” He said, your scent was sending his sensing into overdrive, he could smell your sweat mixed with the soap you used with the spicy aroma of your arousal starting to peek through.

You look down to the ground still slightly embarrassed but mostly warm from the close proximity before you feel a finger lift your chin causing your gaze to meet Logan’s once more. “S-sorry I ramble when I’m nervous.” It came out almost as a whisper, causing Logan to chuckle. It was an annoying habit you had picked up from your best friend Wade over the years he noticed. The intensity of his stare was starting to send your stomach into knots but not in a bad way.

The sound of the laundry room door opening and closing as another tenant enters quickly separates them. Silently the pair looked away from each other as the tenant loaded up his belongings in the open washer. He quickly spared a passing glance between the two of you who awkwardly tried to stare at anything but each other before shrugging his shoulders and leaving.

An awkward silence blanket over the two of you as you shuffle your feet before you scooped up your basket again.

“Listen Logan-“

“Darlin I-“

You both started at the same time. A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest causing your cheeks to feel warm. You smiled down at your feet and tucked another stray loc behind your ear before Logan spoke again.

“You first.”

“I was just gonna ask, did you maybe wanna come over for dinner tonight?”

Logan thought of a million different reasons why he shouldn’t. As if you could see the hesitation across his face you spoke up again.

“Before you say no, I got booze. Something a bit stronger than what I normally drink but it’s right up your alley. It was a gift from Wade.”

Of course it was from Wade.

“I’m also making pie.”

Well shit.

He let out a small sigh, looking down at your big pleading doe eyes before he shrugged; “Sure,why not.” Afterall how could he say no to you when you looked like that?

He could almost imagine Wade fist pumping the air in excitement at the aspect of the two spending alone time together, the blubbering idiot.

You flashed Logan another bright smile before heading to leave, you paused in the doorway for millisecond, before asking “See you at 7?”

“It’s a date doll.”

Seven o’clock rolled around much too quickly for either of them. Logan was busy fussing with his hair in the mirror trying to get the tufts of hair that usually stick up to lay down when Wade walked into the bathroom unceremoniously.

“Don’t you look positively ravishing tonight, got a hot date peanut?”

“Fuck off.” He growls, giving up with his hair and going to throw on a flannel over his wife beater.

“Wait, you do! Holy dick cheese Batman it’s finally happening!” Wade squealed excitedly

“What the hell are you even doing in here?” Logan asked in the doorway of the bathroom observing Wade, he was dressed in a tee shirt and a pair of hello kitty pajama pants and slippers, Logan rolled his eyes before heading to the kitchen to grab a beer.

“Had to take a shit, thanks for asking, but don’t change the subject!” Wade said following him into the kitchen “Who’s the lucky gal?” He asked leaning on the island, his head propped dreamily on his fist. “Or guy we don’t judge here. Wait wait wait! It's not who I think it is, is it?”

Logan didn’t say anything as he guzzled down his drink pre-gaming for the night, turning to grab another from the fridge before plopping down on the couch behind him.

At his silence Wade kicked his feet and clapped his hands excitedly, swinging around in his seat to look at Logan. Mary Puppins barked from her spot on the couch beside him.

“Fuck the Bachelorette and Love Island! The producers are going to make a killing outta this!” He paced excitedly flopping down beside him struggling to keep his composure. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?! We are gonna make millions, no fuck that billions off your sex tape alone! I mean you two love birds are going to blossom in internal passion as the stars align with the future of the virgin Mary!” He said hugging Logan from the side.

Confused as fuck he shrugs Wade off him with a frown as he stands to his feet looking at his roommate with a raised brow. Downing the last of his beer he puts the empty bottle on the counter and heads for the door not wanting to be late.

“Oooh don’t forget to wear a condom, peanut! Remember wrap it before you tap it, before you attack her wrap your whacker! And if you’re not gonna sack it, come home and-!“

Logan slams the door shut before Wade could finish anymore of his bullshit.

He raised his hand to knock at your door but hesitated for a moment. Memories of the you from his timeline flooded his brain for a brief moment and he lowered his hand. He had really fucked you over royally in his own timeline and then you had died before he had a chance to fix that. Was he even worth your time in this one?

He shook the thoughts from his head and squared his shoulders, this was his second chance, a chance to fix all the shit he messed up before and he’d be damned if he was gonna waste this opportunity.

Just as he raised his hand to knock again you tore the door open with wide eyes.

“Logan hi!”

“Hey- you ok kid? You look outta breathe.” He questioned looking you up and down in concern while also unabashedly checking you out.

“Y-yeah I’m sorry I was about to come over and ask Wade if I could borrow something but I-it’s fine come on in!” you said ushering him in before the door behind you both.

The inside of your apartment is cute. The layout is much the same as his own place that he shares with Wade and Blind Al but yours just felt a little more homey to him.

Movie posters and works of art decorated your walls, there was a bookcase in the living room full of all kinds of books and knick knacks that you had collected over the years. On a table by the tv was a record player with a decent sized stack of vinyls. The whole place just screamed you.

“Dinner’s just about ready!” You said drawing his attention back to you. You had changed clothes since he last saw you in the laundry room, your outfit hugging your soft curves in all the right places.

“I was comin’ over to see if Wade had some ice cream for the pie, but I guess we could go without it.” You said leading him into the dining room with a smile, you’re always smiling at him, he noticed. “I hope you like blueberry!”

Logan never thought he'd see the day where someone would cook a nice meal for him let alone the variant of someone he treated so callously before.

He winced internally trying not to think about that. He was here now, not in his old shitty universe where you were gone, but in a new one, one where he had friends, a daughter, a family. It was a chance to start over.

“Sounds great darlin, I’m starving.”

Once you sit down for dinner Logan immediately tucks in, he could smell what you were cooking hours ago from across the hall and damn if it wasn’t the best thing he ever put in his stomach.

The two of you made light conversation as you ate, you poured yourself a glass of wine while Logan had the hard stuff, single malt scotch on the rocks. It had been a gift from Wade after one of his missions, an expensive one at that, and Logan savored every drop of it.

After a few more drinks the pair cleared their empty plates, wrapping up the leftovers of their meal up in portions so Logan could take some home with him. You were pulling the pie from the oven when you heard the telltale sound of running water, looking over you see Logan, rolling up his sleeves with a dish towel draped over his shoulder as he started to do the dishes.

You bite your lip to physically keep from moaning and embarrassing yourself on the spot, domesticity looked damn good on him.

His nose twitched as he smelled your arousal spike for a second, thinking it better to keep that to himself he shifted on his feet as he dried a dish and put it on the rack.

“You don’t have to-“ You started pulling off your oven mitts. They were Star Wars themed, nerdy like the rest of your apartment.

God you were such a geek! You thought flustered, while shoving them onto the counter behind you.

“Nah you cooked, it’s the least I could do.” He said not moving from his spot at the sink

“Logan.” You said firmly placing a hand on your hip. “You’re a guest.”

“And you cooked.” He reiterated,cocking an eyebrow your way. “I’m not budging on this darlin.”

You sigh defeatedly as you grab the towel from his shoulder. “Fine, at least let me help.”

The two of you do the dishes in silence, him washing and you drying, your fingers brushing against each other every so often.

“Dinner was great.” Logan said awkwardly trying to break the stifling silence that enveloped you.

“Good I’m glad you liked it.” You smiled down at your hands timidly, refusing to let him see you cheesing as hard as you were.

“Sorry for not being better company, I know you’re more used to people talkin’ your ear off.”

Wade begrudgingly crosses his mind.

"I'm just uh not so good with people. Makes me anxious.” He admitted, it took a lot for him to come out and say it but he was comfortable with you, he trusted you.

“I get it, I’m the same way that’s why I’m always around Wade. He usually does all the talking for me.” You say fondly thinking back to all the times Wade had been your emotional support extrovert.

Logan honestly had no idea how you put up with him.

“Besides I think your company’s just fine Logan, I like having you around.”

I like being around you too, he wanted to say but he couldn’t get it out. Instead he settled for brushing his shoulder against yours, a small smile dancing across his features as you smiled back up at him.

Flicking the water from your hand as you both finished up, you dry your hands on another rag before offer it up to Logan, his fingers brushing against yours for the umpteenth time that night.

When you look up he’s staring at you, his eyes taking in your features again, flickering between your face and your mouth. You can’t quite place what the emotion is behind his eyes but it makes your belly feel warm and your chest flutters.

Maybe it’s the alcohol you both had, though you know for a fact it takes a whole hell of a lot more than what you had to get you both drunk, but you could have sworn he was getting closer to you.

You start to back up just as he moves to close the distance between you. Chest to chest, or more like chest to sternum as he was almost a whole foot taller than you, Logan starts to lean down sniffing you as your back hits the counter behind you.

“Your heart’s racing.” He says

You had almost completely forgotten about his heightened senses. You were so nervous this whole evening, hoping that everything would go right, could he hear you this whole time? Oh god could he smell you?

“You smell good too.” He says moving to stroke your face with the back of his hand, confirming your fears. You clench your legs together tightly, hoping to at least dampen the smell of how wet you were becoming, causing him to chuckle.

“No use hiding it doll, I can smell you from a mile away.” He said leaning down so that his face is closer to yours.

“Logan…” you whisper. His eyes never leaving your mouth.

“Hm?”

“T-the pie…” You stuttered nervously as your own eyes drifted down to his mouth. You worked so hard on the pie you didn’t know if you’d hate it more if it went to waste or if he moved away from you at that moment.

You wanted more than anything for him to stay where he was, caging you in at the counter like a frightened little mouse.

“It can wait sweetheart.” He said, finally claiming your lips as his own.

He pulls back for a moment to look at you, dipping to place a gentle peck on your lips, as if he’s asking if this is ok.

You wrap your arms around him, dragging his mouth back down to yours, he moves his hands to the back of your thighs hoisting you up onto the counter behind you, grinding himself into you as the kiss deepens.

Logan hesitates in the kiss for a moment, pulling himself away from you as if he realizes something. When you try to lean back in and kiss him again he stops you, holding you at arm’s length searching your eyes for something, anything he could use to make you hate him in this timeline like you undoubtedly did in his old one but he found nothing but adoration.

“You-“ he starts to speak, his voice a little shaky “You don’t want this sweetheart, I’m not a good man.”

I’m not your hero, he meant to say.

You place a hand on his cheek rubbing softly at his mutton chops with your thumb.

“Please stop telling me what I fucking want.” You say leaning back in to peck at his lips. “I want you, not a hero, or this timeline’s Logan, or any other Logan out there, just you. You’re not the Worst Logan, you're just you and I want all of you.” You finish while leaning up into him, waiting for his response.

Raising an eyebrow and at a complete loss for words, having rarely heard you cuss, Logan smirks before leaning back down to meet you the rest of the way recapturing your lips with a “Yes ma’am.”

His right hand comes up to cup your jaw, gently running the pad of his thumb over the skin before running his hand up to weave his finger through your locs.

You hop off the counter, grabbing him by his flannel your mouth reconnects with his as you lead him into your bedroom, he kicks the door shut behind him.

You start to kiss down his jaw before Logan stops you with a growl. He picks you up and tosses you onto the bed before his lips reconnect with yours.

His hands find their way under your clothes to paw at you, as you free him from the confines of his flannel. Tossing it behind him, it hits your iPod dock causing music to start playing but neither of you care, too enraptured in each other to even notice. Logan pulls away from your mouth only long enough to pull your shirt over your head, his hands trailing down to pull down your pants and underwear next.

He grabs you by your hips dragging you to the edge of the bed, as he kneels down in front of you, eye level with your hot core.

You throw your head back with a moan at the first drag of his tongue. Your legs finding their way around his shoulders as he drags his nose and tongue up and down teasing you.

He presses his mouth against your clit, sucking on it before pulling away and flicking it with his tongue, drawing circles and nipping at it with his teeth.

Watching you through dark lashes, he drags his hand down your body bringing it to his mouth, he licks his finger, bringing it to your wet cunt as he slowly begins to move it in and out of you, curling it against your gummy walls searching until he finds the right spot. You let out a strangled half-sob as he leans back down pressing his mouth against your clit again, sucking and flicking at the hard nub.

“Shit,” you rasp out, reaching out for him. He knew you were getting close, he could tell from the way you pulsed around him as he added another finger.

Tears brimmed your eyes as you felt your orgasm building. “Please, right there!” You choked, eyes closing as you threw your head back.

“So fucking wet for me already and I barely touched you.” Logan chuckles. You stifled a noise as your impending orgasm builds in your gut.

“I-I’m gonna-!” You start to cry out but are cut off by a sob.

“I gotcha darlin, I’m right here.” He mumbles into your pussy as he reaches his free hand out to hold your hips open for him, your hands frantically bury themselves in his hair, desperate for something to hang on to. He carries on lapping at you as you squirm talking you through your orgasm as he rubbed his nose to your clit, drawing it out of you as his fingers continue to fuck in and out of you.

“That’s it sweetheart.” He sighs as he keeps fucking you on his fingers, his intensity increasing as he latches himself back onto your clit devouring you like a man starved, you come almost instantly. It’s when he looks up at you, hazel eyes dark and hungry, that you finally lose it, your second orgasm of the night ripping through like a freight train.

Standing back to his feet Logan licks your residue from his lips and fingers, chin glistening with your slick.

You sit up immediately grabbing at his belt, fingers rushed and fumbling with the buckle, he replaces your hands quickly unbuckling it before pulling the hem of his shirt up over his head.

Reaching behind you, you free your chest from your bra, just as he kicks his pants off. Logan pushes you backwards, your back hitting the soft mattress beneath you as he stalks over towards you on his hands and knees.

He inhales deeply through his nose taking in your scent, the aroma of you mixed with your arousal is intoxicating and is driving him absolutely feral, with a wet kiss he bites down hard where your neck and shoulder meet, where your scent’s the strongest, nearly drawing blood, before he’s back on you, covering your mouth with his own kissing you viciously as if you’d fade away from existence if he let you go.

He laps at the spot he had previously bitten you as he slowly pulls away, soothing the skin there. The mark was already gone, thanks to your healing factor, but god you could still feel it and you secretly ached that he’d do it again.

You soon feel the head of his cock running along your folds, it’s thick, and hot to the touch as he runs it along your slick hole. Then without warning he’s pushing into you, sheathing himself inside of you with a single thrust.

Logan threw his head back with a loud groan. He promised himself he’d go slow with you, take his take opening you up for him but fuck if this didn’t feel right, good it felt oh so good.

“Fuck” he grunts out into your mouth as he drops his head down to drag you into a hard smoldering kiss swallowing your moans as he sinks in fully.

He lets you adjust for a few moments before he pulls back and thrusts into you instinctively, repeating the harsh action as he begins to slowly pick up his pace. If you had been completely human, the force of his thrusts would’ve surely shattered your pelvis or at least threw them out of alignment.

Reaching up to grab onto the headboard of your bed to anchor himself Logan locks in fully, gripping the wood bar in a death grip as he pushes into you. You reach up too, grabbing a handful of sheets by your head with one hand and his hips with the other, desperate for something to anchor yourself with as Logan’s brutal pace has you reeling.

“L-Logan!” you cry out, body shaking from the force of his thrusts. His cock sinking deeper and deeper as he angles your legs over his shoulders, hitting that sweet spot inside of you repeatedly making your legs tremble in unadulterated pleasure.

An audible crack is heard from where Logan is still holding onto your headboard but you both could careless, your heads completely clouded over with lust.

Just when you were starting to think it was all too much, his thumb finds your clit again and starts to rub fierce quick little circles.

“Gimme one more darlin.” His voice is strained and rough, as he leans down to your neck inhaling your scent again as he licks up to your neck nipping at your jaw and neck as he pulls away.

You scrambled to get away, pushing at his chest as the over sensitivity was proving to be too much.

Logan lets go of the headboard and grabs both your hands with his much larger one, locking them firmly to his chest right over his rapidly beating heart.

“Don’t try and run from me kid, you wanted this remember?” He chuckled darkly, picking up his pace even more if that were possible.

Tears stream steadily down your cheeks as your barreling toward your next orgasm, it’s here, with your hair fanned out around your head, cheeks puffy and tear stained while you pant desperately trying to get away and keep up with him at the same time , that he thinks this is the most beautiful he’s ever seen you.

“Come on my dick, baby.”

Your body completely locks up at his words, your back arching off the bed as you scream, your orgasm wrecking through you as you clench around him like a vice. Logan drops your legs, yanking you up into a messy kiss as he takes you through it.

“Good fucking girl.” He grunts against your lips, he gives you a few moments to come down from your high, burying his face into your neck before he resumes his punishing pace.

You think you’re at your limit as fat tears fall from your eyes, never have you ever felt this good, this full before, it’s far too much for you.

Just as you were about to tap out, he grunts into your neck, his hands move to grip your ass bringing it up to meet his thrusts.

“Fuck, tell me where?” He growls out. He wraps an arm around your back bringing you chest to chest as he fucks you on his lap, the new angle making him hit that sweet spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

At first you don’t quite understand what he’s asking, your brain too foggy to comprehend much of anything right now, but as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, nearly drawing blood again, you finally understood, he was close and so were you again.

“Inside, please I wanna feel you.” You whimpered as he pounds into you. He groans at your request and picks up the pace rutting up into you desperately like an animal. His hammering is deep and unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it feels too good to make him stop, you’ll definitely have a hard time walking in the morning.

With one last harsh flick of his thumb to your clit you’re coming hard on his dick, clenching around him as your body quivers uncontrollably, almost blacking out for a moment.

He growls as his hips stutter against your own, as he cums into you, the force of his final thrust knocking you both bad down onto the mattress. Logan thrusts a few more times, pumping his load as deep inside of you as he could, claiming your mouth once again in a deep searing kiss.

You run your hands through his hair as he nearly drops himself on you, his forearms supporting the weight of his adamantium skeleton. He’s still buried inside you as you're peppering his face and neck with light kisses.

It’s quiet for a moment before he lifts himself up, pulling himself from inside you with a grunt. He pushes stray locs from your face as he kisses your forehead and flops over onto the other side of the bed dragging you with him.

At the weight of his adamantium bones dropping down onto the already crack and barely hanging on frame your bed frame finally gives out dropping your mattress to the floor with a loud thud, startling the both of you.

“I can’t believe that just happened.” You panted too shocked and tired to move from your spot on his chest.

“Sorry baby, I’ll get you a new one.” Logan laughs lightly as he pulls you to his chest.

A comfortable silence fills the room as the two of you lay on the floor, your breathing starting to return to normal. Leaning down to inhale your scent again Logan’s met with the pleasant tang of you covered in him and pulls you tighter snuggling you into him.

“You still with me?” The rough edge of his voice brings you back to your senses.

You smiled up at him from his chest with a big dopey smile, eyes completely dazed as you answered with an “mm-hm.” Too fucked out to fully speak properly. You laid back down on his chest, eyes closed as you shiver, he runs a hand up and down your spine as you start to drift off.

He chuckles at your response or lack thereof and pulls your sheets over the both of you. The temperature in the room had started to come down dramatically as your sweat covered bodies cooled in the night.

Just as Logan was about to close his eyes and join you in what was hopefully a peaceful night’s rest for the first time in years, your bedroom door bursts open revealing Wade, still clad in his hello kitty pajamas helping himself to a piece of the pie you had left out.

“Jesus Wade!” You yell eyes practically bulging out of your head as you scramble to grip the sheets to your chest.

“What the fuck asshole?!” Logan growled trying his best to shield you from view with his arms. His hazel eyes were seething with anger.

“My sweet virgin eyes!” Wade said, covering his eyes but still peeking through them through a gap in his fingers with a smirk as he chewed loudly. “You two sounded like an indoor jungle gym but instead of a shit ton of kids it's just you two.” He laughs shoving the rest of the slice into his mouth as he moves to sit on the edge of the broken bed on the floor, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “You, young lady, have some pipes on you. Could hear you practically singing about the Wolverine.~” he teases with a tsk.

“And you sir!” He points to Logan who growls at him as he swats his hand outta his face. “Where do I even begin?” He tsked again as he shook his head “You really had some pent up frustration didn’t you, you slut? Did you break her? I know she has a healing factor too but good god man have some restraint!” he leans back on her broken bed as he spreads himself out on the end.

“And her poor bed! I hope you're planning on replacing it, bee tee dubs.” Wade rolls over onto his side propping himself up on his elbow at the couple’s feet. “Did he even use a condom?” He whispered to you loudly before adding “Nice tits by the way.” as he winked at Logan. “I don’t think creampie was the type of pie she had in mind when she invited you over for dinner, old man.”

“Who knew Wolverine was a cuddler?”

You roll your eyes at Wade’s antics completely used to him over the years of knowing him but Logan on the other hand had clearly had enough. Ripping the sheets from himself you watch as Logan comically chases Wade out of the room, buck ass naked.

Slamming your bedroom door shut Logan turns the lock with a grunt, finally returning to your side he pulls you back to his chest and flings the sheets over you.

“He’s not so bad, y'know when you get used to him.” You shrug with your eyes closed as you snuggle into his chest. Adrenaline, now dying down, sleep had started to wrap you in its dreamy embrace and it was hard to keep your eyes open.

“That little cockroach is gonna be the death of me.”

You laugh at him one last time before finally drifting off. Your soft snores were the last thing Logan heard as he too snuggled into your warmth and drifted off.

Who knew the Wolverine was such a cuddler.

[icarusignite]

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys (p.1)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Civilian! GN! Reader

Summary: In a city where kindness is fleeting and warmth feels like a myth, a reclusive vigilante crosses paths with another ghost orbiting the same darkness. What begins as cautious companionship spirals into something tender, fragile, and terrifying. But when fear drives him away, and violence drags you to the edge of death, Jason Todd is forced to confront the one truth he’s always run from: some things, once lost, can’t be stitched back together. And some things are worth bleeding for.

Warnings: Stabbing, mentions of blood and injuries, Jason is kind of a jerk in the beginning, but forgive him for it, he's got attachment issues lol. Hurt/comfort, angst. slowburn. YEARNING, lots of yearning, my boy is a yearner

Word Count:  8.5k 

A/N: I am not a medical professional lol so I can't say how accurate this is lol, but just go with it for the angst vibes. This is super self-indulgent lol, I wanted the kind of fic that causes you physical pain so here we are. This was getting a bit too long so I'll post the second part later, lemme know if yall wanna be tagged. 

This is my first time writing for DC or the batboys, but the brainrot is real. This is technically a part of a bigger Jason long fic I'm working on but I just really needed to get this scene out lol

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

You were friends, weren't you?

You'd like to think so. It made it easier to explain away the ache in your chest every time he left without a word. Or the warmth that bloomed beneath your ribs when he showed up, battered and brooding, yet somehow still seeking you out.

But then again, did vigilantes even have friends?

Arms folded loosely across your chest, you leaned against the doorframe of your cramped kitchen, watching him from across the dimly lit room. Your apartment was small, embarrassingly so, and the light above flickered in that way you kept meaning to fix. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and cheap chamomile tea, curling around your ankles like smoke.

He sat at your wobbly kitchen table with his boots carelessly propped on the worn wood, the laces still muddy from whatever hell he'd clawed his way out of tonight. His brow was furrowed, teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he wound a fresh bandage around the gash on his arm. A grimace tugged at his mouth as he worked, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

His mask lay discarded beside the pile of bloodied tissues, a splash of crimson on your table that felt far too symbolic. You hated how used to the sight you'd become. It no longer made your stomach turn the way it once did. Now, it just sat there, like a guest you hadn't invited but didn't dare ask to leave.

You wanted to help. You always did, but in the careful months since he'd tumbled, quite literally, into your life, you'd learned not to offer unless he asked. Red Hood—or Red as you had fondly dubbed him because you still didn't know his actual name—was a man built of walls and wreckage, of hairline fractures hidden behind sardonic grins and barbed quips.

He didn't like prying. So neither did you.

You still remembered the first time you'd met him. Your life had been steady, if not dull, up until then. A slow existence filled with microwaved meals, cracked book spines, and long, lingering silences. Then, as if fate had grown bored with your monotony, he had crashed into it. One minute, you were walking home from work. The next, you were the sole witness to something that had no business existing in your version of reality. Guns, masks, blood. Gotham in all its gritty glory.

You were stubborn enough to get involved. He was—well you didn't quite know why he let you get involved. 

You told yourself it was just curiosity. Maybe it was. But even now, as he sat there in your kitchen like he belonged, you weren't sure what tethered him to you. The case you'd helped him with had ended days ago. Loose ends tied. Threats neutralized. And yet he hadn't stopped coming.

That first time he'd stumbled through your bedroom window with a bullet wound, all adrenaline and snarled curses, you'd expected him to leave as quickly as he came. But he hadn't. He'd let you stitch him up. Said nothing when you offered him a drink, or when you laid out an old quilt on the couch. You hadn't known his name then, and still didn't. But you knew his face. You knew his eyes. You knew the way his shoulders stiffened before a storm of emotion, and the subtle quirk of his mouth when he found something amusing but didn't want to admit it.

He reminded you of a stray cat, too proud to ask for affection, but too lonely to stay away from the warmth you offered. So you gave it. 

Quietly. Patiently. Repeatedly.

You'd begun to anticipate him in all the little ways you shouldn't have. Setting out a second mug when you brewed tea in the middle of the night, because somehow, without fail, he would appear just as the steam began to curl from your chipped porcelain cup. Leaving the bathroom light on, knowing he preferred patching himself up under its dim, humming glow. Folding the throw blanket on the couch just the way he liked—creased at the corners, but not tucked in. He hated feeling confined.

You kept extra ramen in your pantry. Started buying that brand of granola bars he always grumbled about but never left untouched. And now, here he was again in your space, holding his pain in the same way you held your thoughts. 

Tight, hidden, private.

You watched him from the doorway and wondered if he saw you the way you saw him. If he noticed the weight of his presence, or how your world tilted subtly every time he stepped into it. If maybe, just maybe, he was coming back not because he had nowhere else to go, but because you were here.

No, that was stupid. You were a lot of things, but you weren't stupid. The city had no room for the foolishly naive. 

But were you friends?

You wanted to ask him, but you didn't. You were afraid of what the answer might be. Hope was a delicate thing, and in a city like Gotham, it never lasted long.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. Sometimes, when the silence stretched long and unbothered between you, you found yourself playing a strange little game in your mind. You tried to guess his name.

It had started as a harmless, idle curiosity, but it had grown into something you clung to when his presence lingered long after he'd gone. The guessing had become a comfort of sorts, as though naming him might make him more real. Less myth. Less mystery.

He didn't look like a Robert. You imagined a Robert might wear boat shoes and a pressed polo, maybe even a handlebar mustache if he was particularly insufferable. A Simon would have round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and a fondness for spreadsheets. Anthony? No, far too smug. He'd be the kind of man who winked at waitresses and thought himself charming. Luke maybe, if he had more of a boyish softness to his features, but Red? No, he had an edge carved into him, all angles and tribulations.

Occasionally, when he sat slouched like this, the flickering bulb overhead casting harsh shadows over his jawline, you'd swear you had seen him before.

Not like this, with blood seeping slowly through bandages and a half-gloved hand trembling ever so slightly from the adrenaline still wearing off. But somewhere, in the back of your mind, there was an echo. A fading image of a photograph you might've once seen in a crumpled newspaper. Something about a billionaire's dead son. An obituary that featured a smiling young boy with bright eyes and a future that might have been written in gold leaf and marble.

You'd dismissed it as fast as it came. You never paid attention to socialite tragedies. The world of gala dresses and legacies was so far removed from yours that it barely felt real. Besides, that boy was dead, buried in some manicured graveyard you'd never be allowed into. And this boy was sitting in your kitchen bleeding all over your table.

Alive.

Though, perhaps not for long, if he kept living like this. He had the same regard for his own life that you had for the cracked mugs in your sink. Tolerated, but barely.

You watched him fumble again with the blood-slick bandages, the crimson staining through like watercolours blooming on canvas. He was trying to wrap his shoulder one-handed, which clearly wasn't working. The angle was wrong, and the effort was shaky.

You bit your lip and told yourself not to interfere.

He never asked nor expected your help, and that unspoken boundary hovered between you like a landmine, one you dared not disturb. And yet, eventually, you couldn't take it anymore.

You crossed the kitchen with slow, deliberate steps, like approaching a wild thing that might flee at the first sudden movement. He stiffened, the line of his back going rigid as you rounded the table, but he didn't look up. Didn't flinch. Didn't utter something sharp and dismissive, like you half expected him to.

You took it as a good sign.

Without a word, you pulled out the chair opposite him and sat. For a heartbeat, the room felt breathless. He tracked your movement with the wary precision of a soldier, but he didn't stop you. When your fingers reached for his arm, he tensed beneath your touch, muscles coiled like a drawn bowstring, but he didn't pull away.

That was enough.

You worked in silence, your touch careful and clinical. You unwound the soaked bandages and tossed them aside, grabbing the rubbing alcohol and clean gauze. You murmured apologies when he hissed at the sting, but you didn't stop. If he could live through getting stabbed and shot at, you figured he could endure a little antiseptic.

His skin was warm beneath your fingertips—fever-warm, maybe—but sturdy. He was littered with half-healed wounds and fading bruises, scattered across the landscape of him like constellations only he could decipher. There was a story written in each of them, and you hated that you wanted to read them. To know the ugly details. To understand.

You tamped the impulse down. This wasn't about curiosity. It was about care.

Your gaze lingered longer than it should have. At the sharp ridge of his collarbone. The sinew of muscle taut beneath tattered fabric. The way his calloused hands tightened into fists when the pain surged, but never once tried to stop you.

You should probably get him some lotion for Christmas. The thought rose unbidden, absurd, but somehow entirely fitting. "For your dry, murdery hands," the label might read.

If this... whatever this was... even lasted until then.

When you were done, you gave his arm a light pat. It was gentle, like punctuation at the end of a sentence you didn't know how to finish. Then you stood, discarding the bloodied tissues, and scrubbing your hands clean. You moved on autopilot, draining the tea that had long gone cold and replacing it with a fresh cup—extra honey, just the way you'd learned he liked it, even if he never said it aloud.

Then, because you were helpless against the urge to say something, you leaned one hip against the table and smirked faintly.

"Careful, Red," you drawled, "if you keep getting hurt like this, I might start to think you have a thing for my first aid skills."

He didn't answer right away, but his lip twitched. It was a breath of a reaction, but it was there, and for someone like him, that was practically a sonnet.

You sipped your tea, letting the warmth sit on your tongue before you spoke again. He hadn't touched his yet, staring down at the swirling amber surface like it held answers he hadn't figured out how to ask for.

"You're less chatty than usual," you remarked casually. "And I say that knowing full well you're already a man of, like, four words max."

Nothing. Not even a smirk this time.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were brooding. Which, y'know... shocker."

Still nothing. No anger, just quiet. It was oddly unlike him. 

"You don't have to tell me, of course," you amended quickly, not wanting to come off as nosy. "Whatever it is. I just—you're carrying it like it's made of concrete."

You pressed your lips together for a moment, then tried to fill the space again, your tone lightening, the way you knew he preferred it when things got too close to raw.

"I mean, if this is about the tea, I can make it again. Stronger. Less... 'grandma's house' and more 'man on the run.' I just figured you liked honey, seeing as you keep finishing the jar and pretending it was like that when you found it."

That earned you a tiny huff, maybe a laugh, maybe a scoff. You were not sure which, but it was something.

Emboldened, you tilted your head and gave him a crooked smile. "Or maybe you're just disappointed I haven't guessed your name yet. I'm running out of options, you know. I've gone through the entire cast of Friends at this point."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"No, really," you continue, warming to your own ramble. "Ross? Too whiny. Chandler? Too annoying. Joey? ...Well, I could see it, but you'd have to say 'how you doin' at least once to convince me."

When he didn't respond, you wondered if you'd made a mistake with the reference. Did vigilantes have time to watch sitcoms? Maybe you could convince him to partake in a marathon with you. 

You let the inevitable silence stretch for a beat, then wrinkled your nose and glanced at him over the rim of your mug.

"So, just for my own peace of mind,  you are housebroken, right?"

Your guest didn't look up, but his head tilted curiously. One eyebrow quirked the tiniest bit, the closest thing to a response you were likely to get when he was in one of his moods.

You gestured broadly toward the red helmet on the table, the scuff of his boot across the wood grain, and the faint trail of dried blood from the kitchen. "I mean, it's starting to feel like you live here, Red. And if that's the case, I should start charging you rent. Or at the very least, make you take out the trash once in a while."

No response. 

"Because I don't just let any emotionally constipated vigilante bleed all over my apartment. I have standards too."

A twist. Barely there, but his mouth moved, almost betraying a smile. You held onto that like it was gold.

"I'm just saying," you went on, folding your arms dramatically, "if you're gonna keep showing up here at three a.m. looking like you got in a fight with a deli slicer, you could at least pretend to be a little more domesticated. I don't know, maybe wipe your feet at the entrance? Use the actual door? Bring flowers?"

His voice, when it finally came, was roughened by fatigue. "You want flowers?"

You blinked at him, caught off guard. "Okay, well now it's weird because you asked. If you actually show up with flowers, I'm going to assume there's a bomb in them."

He let out a quiet huff. Not quite a laugh, but close enough.

"And don't even think about roses," you added, waving a finger. "Too cliché. You're more of a—I don't know—carnivorous plant guy. Like a spooky Venus flytrap. 'Cause nothing says housewarming present like a plant that eats things."

His eyes finally lifted to meet yours. They were unreadable, but the heaviness behind them seemed to ease, just a little.

"You done?" he demanded, gruff but not annoyed. More like he was indulging you.

You were not, and the next words spilled out in an involuntary confession. 

"Sometimes I think about how strange this all is. You. Me. This. Whatever this is." You gesture loosely between you. "You're out there dancing with death on a nightly basis, and I'm here pretending tea can fix bullet wounds."

You don't mean for the smile that followed to be so sad, but it was.

"I guess I'm just glad you come back. That's all."

For a moment, he was utterly still, the kind of stillness that lived in the eye of a storm. His response came frayed like it was coming through a static radio.

"Why?"

It knocked the air from your lungs. It wasn't quite an invitation. Not quite a wall. A wound, maybe.

You wanted to ask what was bothering him. Wanted to reach across the table and touch his hand, just for a second, to tell him without words that he was not alone. That he didn't have to be.

Jason hadn't meant for the question to sound like an accusation.

"Why?"

It slipped out sharper than he intended, but it had tumbled off his tongue before he could stop it. And now he sat there, watching you across the table, your hands wrapped around that chipped mug like it was the most natural thing in the world to sit across from someone like him and say:

"I guess I'm just glad you come back. That's all."

Something in his chest tightened. An ache, deep and reflexive, like a muscle spasming around an old injury. You had said it so simply, like it was obvious, like it wasn't a concept that felt foreign when he tried to believe it.

Glad? To see him?

It couldn't be real. No one was glad to see him. Not really. Not anymore. And the way you'd looked at him when you said it made his defences flare up like an allergic reaction.

He had to ask. Why.

Why would you be glad to see someone like him? Someone who showed up at your window uninvited. Someone who never told you his real name. Someone who brought death on his heels and stayed too long.

Your lack of response only made it worse. You looked at him like he was the one not making sense. 

Of course, you were glad he came back.

He hated how fast the words came after that, how he couldn't stop himself from lashing out.

"You shouldn't be."

He said it like a truth he needed you to believe, even if he didn't. Said it hard, like if he drove the words deep enough, they'd take root and push you away before he got used to the idea of you staying. Because he was growing too attached. That much was certain.

It had started creeping in quietly, like a burglar. He hadn't even realized how bad it had gotten until he caught himself during a patrol, slipping off to some rooftop, hand digging into the inner pocket of his jacket for the burner phone you had the number for.

For emergencies. That was all it was meant for. That was the excuse he told himself when he'd scrawled the number down and pressed it into your hand.

You never used it. You never called or even texted. You let him keep his secrets, and that should have made it easier to let go. It didn't. And he'd found himself checking that phone anyway, half in agony, half in hope. 

He still had it. Weeks past the point when he should've tossed it and gotten a new number, like he always did. But he kept this one. Maybe one day, you'd need him. Maybe one day, you'd use it. Part of him hated how much he wanted you to.

He stared at your tea across from him now. You never asked if he wanted any. You just knew.

And that wasn't all.

The second mug you always left out on the counter after midnight. The way you started keeping extra bandages under the sink. That one faded hoodie you folded up and left on the back of the couch after he complained—once—about the cold. The cabinet with the snacks you didn't like but kept stocked anyway.

You made space for him without asking anything in return, without ever pushing.

It made his skin itch. It felt like walking into a dream that would crumble the second he touched it. Too temporary. Too good. Too false. Like one of those illusions, fate gave people like him, just long enough to feel warm before it was ripped away again.

Because nothing good stayed. Not for someone like him. Not in Gotham.

But somehow, impossibly, you kept leaving the light on, and he kept coming back.

You tilted your head slightly now, watching him from across the table, your lips pressed into a gentle smile. There was no fear in your eyes. No judgment. Just the quiet patience of someone waiting for a wounded animal to decide whether it wanted to be held or bite.

Jason Todd only knew how to bite, even when he didn't mean it. Especially when he didn't mean it.

Before either of you could speak again, he stood, the legs of his chair scraping sharply against the floor. The untouched tea on the table wobbled in its cup but didn't spill. Not yet. It waited, just like you did.

"Don't," he snapped suddenly, dangerous in the way a wounded beast growled before it struck. "Don't look at me like that."

You blinked, startled, rising instinctively from your chair like you could fix it before the moment broke entirely.

"Like what?" 

"Like I matter." The words were bitten off. "Like this means something."

He didn't mean to say it, but it was already happening, and he couldn't stop himself. The vulnerability curled in his gut like something shameful. Something that had to be punished before it grew too loud.

"I'm not some stray you can keep feeding and expect it not to bite your hand." He stepped back from the table like your kindness was something venomous. "You think leaving out tea and wrapping up my arm makes this normal? Makes me safe?"

You flinched imperceptibly, but Jason saw it.  You always wore your heart on your sleeve, letting your emotions bloom too brightly across your face. It made you easy to read, and he knew when his words hit home, when the warmth drained from your expression, replaced by sheer hurt. He felt it, sharp and sudden in his chest like a splinter lodging deep into scar tissue.

But he kept going. He had to.

"I don't need your pity. I don't want to be your goddamn charity case. This—whatever the hell this is—you don't owe me shit."

"Red—" you started, but he cut you off.

"You think this makes you a good person? Taking in the stray? Letting me bleed on your damn floor so you can feel better about yourself?" He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "I'm not your project. I'm not here so you can collect your brownie points for being the kind one. You're not getting anything out of this, so why the hell do you keep doing it?"

Your breath caught, but you didn't move. You didn't yell back. You didn't tell him he was wrong. You just stood there, with that same stubborn gentleness in your eyes, and it drove him mad.

"Jesus," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, pacing now. "You need to stop. Stop caring. Just stop."

"I never did it for something in return," you whispered.

"Well, maybe you should have."

The silence after that was suffocating, and Jason stilled. His chest heaved. He couldn't look at you. If he did, he might stay. If he did, he might say something tender, something real. And then he'd ruin you.

You inhaled shakily. "You think I'm doing this for points? That I'm keeping score?"

"You should be," he hissed. "Because all I've done is take. All I do is take. You keep giving and I keep showing up like some parasite, and for what?"

"Because I care," you said finally, too tired to hide the yearning in your voice. 

"You shouldn't. I'm not one of the good ones. You think you're doing something noble, letting me in, playing Florence Nightingale. But I'm not who you think I am, and the sooner you stop pretending otherwise, the better."

He stared at you, waiting for you to yell. To scream. To say anything that would prove him right, would make walking away easier.

But you didn't.

You just stood there, hands limp at your sides, lips parted like you wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. And God, your eyes looked so betrayed, like you were trying to understand where everything had gone wrong. Like you had failed some test you didn't know you were taking.

Jason hated the sight of your heart breaking in real-time and knowing he had done it.

You swallowed thickly. "I didn't ask for any of this. I just... I just wanted you to be okay."

Jason's breath hitched.

You weren't crying, but your voice shook like it might come to that if he pushed one word further.

"I've been careful," you added, quieter now as if the room itself might judge you for the confession. "I never ask you to stay. Never asked for anything at all. You're the one who keeps coming back. How am I to blame for that?"

Jason looked away. The guilt hit like a bullet, right where it could do the most damage.

"You should've," he returned flatly. "You should've asked for more. That way you'd see exactly how little I have to give."

He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted to tell you that you were the only good thing in his life that hadn't asked anything of him. 

Instead, he said, "You should've slammed the door on me the first time I showed up. That was your mistake."

You didn't have the heart to point out that he hadn't used the door. You didn't follow him either. Didn't plead, didn't reach for his hand or beg him to stay. That hurt worse than anything else.

He was right.

You were too kind. Too kind to call him out on his bullshit. Too kind to tell him to go to hell. Too kind to stop him when he stepped toward the window and opened it, cold air spilling in like water from a broken pipe.

And in your generosity, Jason realized the worst part.

You still would've left the light on for him.

Even now.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as the window slid shut, sealing in silence and sealing out the sound of his retreating steps.

A sinkhole opened in the pit of your stomach, swallowing the remnants of warmth that had once lived in the corners of the space, and it left you hollow, like a house with the doors blown off. His departure felt too much like a goodbye. Too much like a half-finished letter, the ink smudged, the signature missing. The last page of a story ripped clean from the spine.

You stood there for a while as if the air might stitch him back into the room if you stayed motionless enough. As if the chair he’d occupied might creak under phantom weight. But nothing moved. Nothing stirred.

You doubted he’d ever show himself in front of you again, and even if he did—somewhere, out there beneath Gotham’s godless sky—you wouldn’t know where to look. Not that you would, of course. You weren’t foolish enough to chase after someone who didn’t want to be found. If he didn’t want to see you anymore, you would not burden him with your presence. You would not be a nuisance. 

When the tears finally came, they gouged hot trails down your cheeks. You bit your lip to keep from making a sound, unwilling to fill the void he’d left behind with your grief. At least you had your answer now. You and him were not friends. Maybe vigilantes didn’t have friends. Or maybe he just didn’t want to be yours.

And oh, how that simple truth ached more than any goodbye ever could.

It had been three weeks since the boy you had grown attached to cleaved himself from your life, not that you were counting, of course. You would never be so pitiful as to tally the days in his absence, to chart the sunrises without him like some widow mourning a love that had never been named.

And yet…

The calendar pages turned with a slow, dragging inevitability. The hollow ache in your chest had become something familiar. Manageable. You were slowly adjusting to the shape your life had taken before he’d ever crashed into your world.

Still, there were nights when the wind howled a little too loud and the tea kettle hissed just before three a.m., and you found yourself setting out an extra mug. You never filled it—not always. But sometimes, on the worst nights, you did. You'd place it gently beside your own, the steam rising between them like the ghost of a conversation.

Come morning, it would sit there untouched. Cold. Filmed over. Forgotten by everyone except you. You couldn’t blame yourself for hoping.

Tonight was another late shift at work. The kind that stretched you thin until your bones ached with exhaustion and your thoughts blurred into fog. The headache had bloomed sometime after midnight and now throbbed relentlessly behind your temples. You pulled your cardigan around yourself as you stepped out into the Gotham streets, rain slanting in bitter sheets from a sky as grey as mourning.

Of course tonight, of all nights, you’d forgotten your umbrella.

Your shoes squelched with every step, the water soaking through the soles and into your socks. Streetlights flickered overhead, some sputtering, others long since dead. You kept your eyes down, focused on the familiar path home, on putting one foot in front of the other, but even so, you felt that prickle on the back of your neck, the kind you couldn’t shake off, no matter how tightly you wrapped your arms around yourself. The streets were too empty. 

You tightened your grip on your keys, slotting them between your fingers like jagged little weapons. You were half a block from safety. Just a little farther.

And then hands. Cold, foreign, and wrong. Fingers like iron gripped your arm and yanked you sideways into the yawning dark of a nearby alley.

A gasp tore from your throat, but you didn’t scream. Instinct moved faster than thought. You lashed out with your keys, catching your attacker across the face—or somewhere, you weren’t sure, but the sharp hiss of pain told you it had landed. You tried to twist away, but the alley wall met your back, and your heart hammered like a trapped bird in your ribcage.

It wasn’t a mugging. He didn’t reach for your bag. He didn’t demand anything. He just came at you with precision, with intention.

And then… he was gone, like a shadow pulled back into the deeper dark, vanishing as swiftly as he’d come. You stood there stunned, breath ragged, mind catching up with what had just happened. It wasn’t until the adrenaline began to fade that you felt it.

The pain.

Hot, sharp, deep. A burning throb in your side, just beneath your ribs. You reached down with trembling fingers and they came away slick and red. It was difficult to see the exact shade of carmine that marred your hands in the dark, but the heat of it told you all you needed to know. It clung between your fingers in syrupy ropes, and beneath it all, the pain bloomed sharp and insistent, flaring like a cruel reminder every time you breathed.

You’d been stabbed.

A hollow, almost hysterical laugh escaped your lips, grating the back of your throat. You’d been fucking stabbed. Of course, you had. Tonight was already a monument to misery. Why not crown it with something poetic?

You weren’t sure what the weapon had been—a knife, a shard of metal, something small and quick—but whatever it was, your attacker had taken it with him. You weren't a medic, but even you knew that you weren’t supposed to take the weapon out of the wound. Not if you wanted to avoid bleeding out like a gutted street urchin.

There was nothing left in you now. Only the blood, warm and gushing, and the panic rising in your throat as your body betrayed you with a wave of nausea so fierce it made your vision blur. The heat in your side was unbearable. Blinding until even that faded, replaced by a strange, iciness that spread from the wound outward, curling beneath your skin, settling into your bones.

So very cold.

Your knees buckled beneath you, and you collapsed sideways against the grime-caked alley wall, cheek scraping brick as you slid down into a crumpled heap. Your breath came in shallow gasps, as though your lungs were filling with broken glass. You pressed your hands harder against the wound, but it was futile. The blood seeped past your fingers, indifferent to your desperation.

Time lost meaning. Minutes blurred into hours, or maybe hours into seconds. You couldn’t tell. You sat slumped over yourself, trying to remember how to breathe properly, how to think, how to gather even an ounce of strength to get back up.

Eventually, with twitching fingers, slick with your own blood, you fumbled in your pocket for your phone. The screen flickered to life, glowing too bright against the dark. You’d smeared the glass red, ruined it, probably.

You didn’t care.

Your thumb hovered over your contacts. And then… faltered. Another laugh bubbled out of you, fraying at the edges.

Who were you going to call?

Your coworkers? You only ever spoke to them in clipped pleasantries, trading shift schedules and dead smiles. Your manager? God, she’d be annoyed more than anything. You could already hear her, full of barely-veiled condescension.

How dare you get yourself stabbed when we’re at our busiest? Do you know how difficult it will be to find someone to replace you on such short notice? Honestly, it’s selfish. You clearly don’t care about the team’s success.

Your laughter splintered, turning into a strangled sob, and your shoulders shook violently from the effort of it.

It’s not like you had any friends.

And even if you did, what could they do now? Friends were for sunny mornings and warm café booths, for midday walks and shared sandwiches in the park. What sort of friend could help you now?

No one was coming.

You sank deeper into the concrete, the phone slipping from your fingers, the bloodied screen flickering like a dying star.

The cold crept in intimately, then. Not just the cold of the night, but the one that nestled in your marrow.

This was it. This was how you'd go. Alone, and irrelevant. In that moment, all you wanted—more than comfort or help—was for someone to notice you were gone.

Your fingers quivered as you scrolled through your contacts again, the names blurring before your eyes, all of them meaningless, until one, in particular, made your thumb falter.

His.

You stared at the entry. The number he’d given you with all the solemnity of a last resort. For emergencies only. The implication had been clear. You had never used it.  

Yet here you were. Bleeding out alone. Surely this counted. What constituted a greater emergency than your slow descent into death? You should call him. He owed you that much, after the countless nights you’d nursed his wounds, brewed tea for his unravelling nerves, offered wordless comfort when he couldn't meet your eyes.

You hesitated.

He was the one who had left. He’d made it clear that your concern was unwanted, that your presence was a burden, a kindness too foreign for him to accept. Who were you to claw back into his life now, demanding something from a man who had nothing to give?

Besides, he had probably thrown the phone away already. Changed numbers. Burned the whole thing and permanently severed all connection to you.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed down the lump forming there.

You had helped him expecting nothing in return, and if your care had ever truly been selfless, then you couldn’t call him now. You wouldn’t dishonour whatever shred of dignity remained by asking for something he never offered.

He told you not to rely on him, and you were nothing if not obedient. Even in death.

But would he even know that you'd died?

Would he hear about the nameless person found lifeless in some forgotten alleyway? Or would you be just another unclaimed cadaver, swiftly removed with nothing but a toe tag to mark your end?

The thought struck harder than the pain in your ribs. 

No. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t right.

You were no one—yes. An inconsequential creature tucked into the shadows of a city that never slept, but you were not nothing. You had existed. You had loved. You had helped. And whatever little sliver of self-worth burned in your chest would not let you die like this, like some discarded scrap on the edge of the world. You wanted to at least have the dignity of dying in your own home. 

With a choked cry, you forced your blood-slicked palm against the wall, fingers scrambling for purchase. Your legs screamed in protest, and your vision went white with pain, but you pushed, staggering to your feet like a marionette with half its strings cut. Your body bent nearly double, every breath a dagger in your ribs, but you moved. You moved because you had to. Because you refused to die here in this piss-stained alley, where the rats would be your only mourners and your story would end in tragic comedy.

Step by agonizing step, you dragged yourself toward your apartment building, each footfall a prayer, each gasp a rebellion.

You were not going to die out here. You refused to.

By the time you reached the entrance to your building, your body was little more than a shuddering husk, hollowed out by blood loss and sheer willpower. The stairs loomed before you like a joke, an unscalable mountain for someone with no air left in their lungs. You cursed the building for not having a damned elevator, cursed yourself for choosing this place, this street, this life. But then you remembered, with no small measure of desperation, that your apartment was on the first floor. Just one flight. Just a few steps.

You could do this. 

Each stair was its own Everest. Your hands gripped the banister like it was the only thing tethering you to this world, your knees buckling with every upward shuffle. By the time you reached your door, your vision had gone obsidian around the edges, the hallway swimming before your eyes like you were underwater.

Your fingers fumbled at the keyring, sticky with blood. You dropped it once. Then again. The keys jangled to the floor in a wet scatter, and you nearly screamed in frustration. It took everything in you to bend down and retrieve them, the movement setting off a white-hot flare in your side. When at last you managed to force the key into the lock and shove the door open, it felt like winning some futile, cruel battle.

The moment you crossed the threshold, your legs gave out. You caught yourself clumsily on the edge of the doorway, panting. There was a trail of red already soaking into your welcome mat, smearing across the floor where your shoes dragged in rainwater and the city’s muck.

You thought of what a mess it would be in the morning. Not your pain. Not your fear. The mess.

Of course. Always worried about the inconvenience.

Your bed beckoned, soft and warm in memory, but you knew better. The thought of dying there, of ruining the sheets, staining the mattress, and leaving some poor cleanup crew to find you sprawled like a ghost in a coffin of cotton, made your stomach turn.

No, you couldn't do that to them. You couldn't be a burden, even in death.

So you turned instead toward the bathroom, dragging your feet unsteadily. The mirror reflected something ghastly as you passed, but you didn’t look long enough to register it. The bathtub was where you would go. Easy to clean. Contained. Not that you had plans to die, not really. Just a precaution.

You collapsed inside it, the porcelain biting cold against your rain-soaked clothes. You had meant to only sit on the edge, to open the cabinet, maybe fish out the old first-aid kit, the one you’d used on him more times than you could count. But that thought was as distant now as the stars. You couldn’t move anymore. Couldn’t lift your arm, couldn’t reach the faucet, couldn’t even curl properly into yourself.

The chill was everywhere, gnawing its way into your bones. Your side throbbed, your hands were numb, and your clothes clung to you like a second, sopping skin. The bathroom ceiling blurred above you, a dull white light flickering in and out of focus.

Maybe if you could just turn the shower on, and run the hot water, it'd warm you. Even that was beyond you, and your eyes slid shut.

Just five minutes, you told yourself.

You’d rest for five minutes and then you’d wake up. You’d patch yourself up, and you’d clean up the mess. 

Jason Todd stood outside your apartment door, a greasy pizza box balanced in one hand, the old burner phone cradled in the other. He hated how long he stood there, staring at your door like some coward at confession, trying to summon the nerve to knock. The light overhead flickered erratically, buzzing like it, too, was mocking him for coming back with his tail between his legs.

He didn’t do apologies. Not well. Not in words. Nonetheless, this was the closest thing he could offer. A peace offering. Your favourite pizza and an irrational hope tucked in his chest that maybe you hadn’t stopped waiting for him.

He told himself it was just a coincidence when his patrols started curving past your building more often than necessary. Gotham was dangerous, after all. Plenty of reasons to keep an eye on your neighbourhood.

That didn’t explain why he always ended up outside your window. Why he paused there, hidden in the shadows with his helmet in hand, unable to resist the pull of light spilling through your curtains. Why he’d squint through the fogged-up glass, watching the shape of you as you went about your night, a ghost in your own home.

Sometimes you’d sit at the little table by the kitchen window, two mugs set down instead of one. One of them always remained untouched, placed directly in front of the empty seat he used to occupy like muscle memory. And god, those were the worst nights, the ones where he caught you staring at that vacant spot, eyes glazed with thought, fingers wrapped around your own mug for warmth that never quite reached your face.

It gutted him in ways he didn’t want to examine. Routine was memory. Memory was grief.

You’d left the light on most nights, like you always did. Once he’d seen you crack open the window just a sliver, as if you were expecting someone to come climbing through. He hadn’t moved from the fire escape that time, just sat there like a coward in the dark, watching you wait.

You hadn’t closed it again until dawn.

Here he was now, standing at your door like a man with something to offer, when all he’d ever done was take.

It had been three weeks, not that he was counting. Three weeks since he’d stormed out, spitting venom at the only person who'd offered him a lifeline. He’d told himself he was doing you a favour by leaving. Sparing you. Protecting you. But all it had done was leave him bitter, clawing at the emptiness where your laughter used to sit.

So he’d come back. He was even doing it your way this time. No rooftop skulking, no slipping through your window like a thief in the night. He’d wiped his boots on the doormat like you always nagged him to, grumbling under his breath about manners even as he indulged your rituals.

It was then that he saw it.

The mat was wet, and not just from rain. It was stained with something thicker than water. His brows furrowed. He crouched down, pressed his fingers against it, and brought them up to the light. 

Blood.

A chill knifed down his spine. The pizza box slid forgotten to the floor, and the burner was shoved back into his pocket with numb fingers as he stepped forward. He reached for the door and froze. It was ajar, just enough to be wrong.

Jason’s jaw clenched as he pushed it open, inch by inch, his muscles tense. The air inside was still, but not in the comforting, quiet way. It was stale, coated in something metallic.

The hallway beyond the threshold told him everything he needed to know, and nothing he wanted to. There were smears. Streaks of blood that dragged in uneven trails across the walls and floor like someone had been pulling themselves, struggling to crawl. It didn’t take a detective to know it hadn’t happened more than a few hours ago. It was still wet in places.

“No,” he muttered under his breath.

He followed the trail, dread festering like rot in his gut, stifling in its certainty. The apartment bore the signs of someone trying—and failing—to get to safety. A chair half-toppled in the living room. A phone on the floor with bloodied fingerprints on the cracked screen. The bathroom door half-open, swinging slightly on its hinges.

Inside, Jason’s boots crunched over scattered pill bottles, cotton pads, and disinfectants. The cabinet had been ransacked, the sink stained, and the floor a battlefield of debris. However, it was the bathtub that rooted him in place.

The shower curtain had been torn from its hooks on one side, hanging askew like a shroud, and there at the edge was a hand.

Unmoving, and painted the same devastating hue as his discarded helmet.

“No, no, no—”

Jason surged forward. His fingers trembled as he grabbed the edge of the curtain and yanked it back. His heart stopped. 

There you were, curled up like a broken doll. Blood had seeped through your clothes, and pooled beneath you in a slick that had long gone cold. Your face was too pale. Your lips were tinged with blue. You looked like you'd been dying alone.

And he hadn’t been here. He’d left you.

“Shit—” The curse ripped out of him as he dropped to his knees beside the tub. “Shit. No, no, no. Stay with me. Don’t you dare fucking do this.”

His eyes raked over your body in a frenzied scan, finally landing on the crimson bloom beneath your ribs, still seeping sluggishly into the sodden fabric of your shirt.

“I’ve got you,” he rasped, yanking his jacket off and pressing it hard against your side. “Just—fuck—open your damn eyes. Please. I can’t—just stay with me.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t cry out. You didn’t even stir.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he pleaded again, trying to keep pressure on the wound while reaching up to cradle your face. His fingers brushed over your cold cheek, the dampness of it jarring. “Shit, you’re freezing.”

Your skin had the waxy hue of someone far too close to death.

“Don’t do this.” His voice cracked around your name. “Don’t you fucking do this to me.”

He ran his thumb across your temple, trying to coax warmth back into your skin. “You’re not allowed to go out like this.”

He wanted to rage, to tear apart every alley in Gotham until he'd found the bastard who’d done this to you and buried him in pieces, but he couldn’t leave you. Not again.

“I shouldn’t have left,” he whispered, forehead pressed against yours. “I was trying to keep you safe, you stupid, stupid—all I did was get you hurt.”

The blood kept leaking through the fabric under his hand. He tried not to look at it. Tried to focus on the flutter of your breath instead, shallow and shaky as it was.

“You stayed up for me. Every night,” he continued hoarsely. “Kept the light on like a goddamn lighthouse. You set out mugs for a ghost, and I—I let you.”

He swallowed hard, jaw tight. “I thought if I stayed away, you’d move on. Forget me. Be safe.”

He brushed back the damp strands of hair plastered to your forehead and nearly flinched at the chill of your skin. “But you didn’t forget. And now look at you.”

Another shallow breath rattled from you. Not enough. Never enough.

Jason let out a bitter laugh. Half relief, half devastation.

“You always patched me up without question. Let me bleed on your couch like it was normal. Told me to stop tracking blood in like it was mud, like I was just some dumb, messy roommate. You made me think I could be something other than this.”

He gripped your jaw gently, coaxing your face toward his, needing even your closed eyes on him. He had seen worse wounds. He’d inflicted worse wounds. But never before had his hands shaken like this, not even when pulling bullets out of his own flesh. Not even when bleeding in the dark with only adrenaline and resentment keeping him alive.

You weren’t moving, and that terrified him more than anything else.

He hadn’t wanted to look. Had clung to the jacket pressed against your side like it might reverse the damage, like he could will the blood to retreat into your body, but the pressure wasn’t enough. He had to see it, to know what he was dealing with.

"Sorry...I’m gonna lift your shirt now. I need to—I need to fix this.”

As if you could hear him. As if that mattered.

Nevertheless, his entire demeanour softened when speaking to you, even now.

Almost reverently, Jason tugged the fabric of your shirt upward. It clung to your skin, soaked through with blood and rain, and he had to tear it gently around the wound to reveal what lay beneath.

It was sickeningly deep. Ragged. A puncture wound, just below your ribs, the edges dark with drying blood, the center still weeping. It hadn’t clotted. It wasn’t going to.

“Shit,” he grunted, clenching his jaw as a fresh wave of helpless fury surged through him. His hands hovered, uncertain. “You weren’t supposed to…”

He wasn’t supposed to let this happen.

His gloves were already off, discarded god knew where when he found you. And now, he reached for the cabinet above your sink, flinging it open and pawing through it until supplies tumbled out. A crude first aid kit: gauze, antiseptic wipes, a needle and thread in a plastic pouch. Nothing close to sterile. Nothing close to what you needed, but it would have to do.

Jason fell to his knees beside the tub again. His fingers were too numb, but he forced them to work. He yanked the antiseptic open with his teeth, nearly choked on the smell, and drenched a clean cloth with it.

“This is gonna hurt,” he uttered another apology as he dabbed around the wound. You didn’t flinch. That silence hit harder than a scream.

He took a deep breath and threaded the needle.

“I’m not good at this,” he told you. “You usually do the patching. I just sit there like a jackass and make fun of your tea.”

A breathless huff escaped him. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sob.

“But I’m gonna try, okay? You just—you stay with me. Just for a little while longer.”

The first stitch was agony. Not for you, but for him. The needle pushed through skin with resistance, your blood sticking to his fingers. He cursed under his breath, eyes burning as he worked. He tried to be careful, gentle even, but he didn’t have time for grace. He just needed to stop the bleeding.

One stitch. Two. Three. The jagged edges of the opening puckered beneath his efforts, but slowly the worst of it began to close. He wrapped it after, thick layers of gauze and the remains of your shirt to press against it.

Then his hands fell still. 

“Okay,” he consoled, brushing hair away from your brow. “Okay. That’s… that’s the worst of it.”

You didn’t stir.

“You’re not dying,” he repeated as if he could manifest it into truth. “I didn’t just fix you up so you could fucking die on me anyway.”

He leaned down and brushed his lips against your forehead, tasting rust.

“I’m not losing you.”

He had come here thinking it would be the beginning of an apology, but now it might as well have been a eulogy.

[winwintea]

on my bike

PAIRING ↬ ghost rider!lee jeno x fem!reader (feat. yu jimin/karina)

TAGS ↬ fluff, action, romance, angst, hidden feelings, best friends to lovers au, marvel au, ghost rider au, superhero au, antihero jeno potentially, reader is actually a mutant named surge, but she doesn't know it yet, karina is basically emma frost, this is NOT canon to actual marvel lore lol, more inspired by comics than the movies, jeno is a mix between johnny blaze and danny ketch, wrote the word 'venegance' so many times im starting to believe jeno is batman actually

WARNINGS ↬ mentions of alcohol and drug abuse, jeno crashing out, stunts going wrong, and a fight scene

SUMMARY ↬ after a brutal attack, stunt motorcyclist lee jeno stumbles upon a cursed bike and becomes the ghost rider. now bound to the spirit of vengeance, he fights to control his hellish powers while you, his childhood best friend, fall under the influence of a powerful telepath. as your own abilities awaken and tensions ignite, one question remains: will you save each other or burn together?

WORD COUNT ↬ 14.7k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ for @sungbeam's action figures collab!!!!! tysm for letting me join, this was literally the first time i've ever participated in a collab... and it was so fun. definitely challenged myself here, i'm not used to writing super hero or such action-packed scenes so if it's bad i apologize lol. anyways title is inspired by purple kiss i am in love with them now actually.

PLAYLIST ↬ no roots - alice merton; on my bike - purple kiss; nightmare - halsey; highway to hell - ac/dc; play with fire - sam tinnesz, yacht money; bang bang bang - bigbang; million dollar baby - ava max; mad head love - kenshi yonezu; wanted dead or alive - bon jovi; the chain - fleetwood mac; house of memories - panic at the disco; hymn for the weekend - coldplay

“LEE JENO.”

you muttered under your breath, watching as the sound of a roaring motorcycle echoed through the streets of your city, a blur of black and chrome weaving recklessly through traffic. “Of course.”

The bell above the door jingled as Jeno strolled in, helmet in hand, his trademark smirk plastered across his annoyingly perfect face. His leather jacket was scuffed from what you could only assume was another unnecessary stunt, and his bleached white hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

“Guess who just broke his own jump record,” he announced, sliding into the booth across from you.

“You mean guess who just almost got himself killed,” you retorted, narrowing your eyes at him.

Jeno raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Y/N. It’s not like I landed on someone’s house or anything.”

“Not this time,” you snapped, folding your arms. “Seriously, Jeno, you can’t keep pulling this shit. You’re going to hurt yourself. Or someone else.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned back, draping one arm casually over the seat. “What’s life without a little risk?”

“Life without you being the industry’s walking insurance liability?” you shot back. “Sounds nice.”

For a second, his smirk faltered, but he quickly bounced back, leaning forward to snag a fry off your plate. “You worry too much. It’s cute, but unnecessary.”

“Don’t call me cute,” you muttered, snatching your plate away before he could grab another fry. “And I wouldn’t have to worry if you didn’t make it your mission to stress me out every single day.”

“Hey, if it makes you feel better, I’m perfectly fine right now,” he said, his voice light but tinged with something defensive.

You gave him a pointed look, gesturing toward the fresh scrape on his arm. “What about that, then? Don’t tell me that’s from cooking. You never cook.”

Jeno glanced down at the scrape, shrugged, and smiled sheepishly. “Fine, maybe I’m a little scratched up.”

“Scratched up doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you muttered, your voice softening. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep watching you do this to yourself, Jeno.”

His smile faded completely now. He suddenly shifted uncomfortably in his seat and grabbed his helmet. “Look, Y/N, I get it, okay? But this is who I am. You don’t have to like it, but you don’t have to stick around either.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “You’re my best friend. I’m always going to stick around. But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to sit here and watch you destroy yourself.”

Jeno hesitated, the weight of your words settling in the space between you. “I’m fine,” he said, but the words lacked conviction. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yeah, well, too bad,” you replied, standing up and grabbing your jacket. “Because I do. And one day, your luck’s going to run out, Jeno.”

The crowd at the high-stakes stunt show was massive. Rows of bleachers packed with spectators buzzed with anticipation. You sat near the front, hands gripping the edge of your seat, your stomach twisting in knots. Except it wasn’t from excitement, but from anxiety.

Jeno was notorious for taking unnecessary risks, but tonight felt different. This wasn’t just a local showcase; this was a high-profile event with reporters and big-shot sponsors. The stakes were higher, and so was the pressure.

He’d even sworn he was “clean this time,” but you weren’t convinced.

“Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for the highlight of the evening!” the announcer boomed, his voice carrying over the speakers. “The one, the only—Lee Jeno!”

The roar of the crowd was deafening as Jeno rode into the arena, his sleek black motorcycle displayed under the spotlights. He raised one hand in acknowledgment of the cheers before revving up his engine, the rumble vibrating through the stands.

You exhaled sharply, muttering to yourself, “He better not screw this up.”

“Y/N!” Jeno’s voice rang out through his helmet’s mic, directly out of the speakers. He pointed at you, earning a cheer from the crowd. “This one’s for you!”

You rolled your eyes, your face heating up as you pulled your hands over your eyes. The spectators around you erupted into laughter and applause. “Great,” you muttered. “Now I’m part of the show.”

The announcer continued hyping up the crowd. “Jeno will attempt a daring backflip over not one, not two, but three flaming trucks! A feat no rider has dared before!”

Your stomach sank. Flaming trucks? Three? You shot Jeno a warning glare as he revved the bike again, giving you a wink in response.

Oh we’re so fucked.

Unbeknownst to you or Jeno, a group of shadowy figures loitered near the equipment trucks at the edge of the arena. But they weren’t here for the show. Instead, they were here for revenge. One of the men, a burly figure with a scar slicing through his brow, tightened his grip on a wrench.

“Showoff thinks he can cheat us and walk away?” he growled, “Let’s see him jump when his bike doesn’t even make it halfway.”

The group moved swiftly, one of them sneaking into the mechanics’ pit to tamper with Jeno’s ramp. Another slipped toward his bike, loosening key components. They didn’t care about the collateral damage. This was to send a message.

Jeno revved his engine once more, signaling to the crew that he was ready. The crowd roared as he sped toward the first ramp, flames rippled against the sides of the trucks he was about to clear.

You leaned forward in your seat, heart pounding. “Please don’t die. Please don’t die,” you muttered under your breath.

Jeno hit the ramp with precision, the bike soaring into the air like a black comet. The first flip was smooth, flawless even, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

But something went wrong on the descent.

The bike wobbled midair, tilting dangerously to the side. Jeno fought for control, but the tampered suspension buckled on impact with the second ramp. The motorcycle skidded, sparks flying as Jeno tumbled, his helmeted head slamming into the ground with a sickening thud.

The crowd gasped in unison, the cheers turning to horrified murmurs. You were on your feet in an instant, heart in your throat.

“JENO!” you screamed, scrambling down the bleachers toward the arena floor.

Before you could reach him, the saboteurs’ plan spiraled even further out of control. The flames from the trucks flared, spreading to the hay bales that lined the arena. As you sprinted toward Jeno’s crumpled form, one of the burning bales exploded, sending debris flying.

You didn’t even have time to react as a sharp piece of metal tore through the air, striking you across the side. Pain bloomed in your ribs, and you crumpled to the ground.

Dazed but conscious, Jeno pushed himself to his hands and knees, shaking off the stars in his vision. When his gaze landed on you lying motionless on the dirt, blood seeping into your shirt, something inside him snapped.

“No, no, no…” he muttered, dragging himself to his feet. His bike was destroyed, the flames were spreading, and you. You were hurt because of him.

Ignoring the chaos and his own injuries, Jeno stumbled toward you, scooping you into his arms. “Stay with me, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Please.”

He didn’t know where to go, only that he had to get you help. Cradling your limp body, Jeno ran blindly, the roaring flames and chaos fading into the background. His arms ached from carrying you, your weight heavy but nothing compared to the crushing guilt that clawed at his chest. He glanced down at you, your face pale, a streak of blood running from your temple.

“You’re gonna be fine. You hear me? Just fine.” he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling. 

The junkyard loomed ahead, its twisted silhouettes of rusted cars and mangled scrap metal casting long shadows under the moonlight. The attackers had scattered once the chaos at the arena spiraled out of control, but Jeno wasn’t about to risk being found. Not with you like this.

He stumbled into the junkyard, his knees nearly buckling as he reached what looked like the remnants of an old garage. The air was thick with the metallic tang of rust and oil. He carefully laid you down on an old tarp, brushing a strand of hair from your face with shaking fingers.

“Okay, okay…” Jeno muttered, looking around frantically. “Think, Jeno. Think. I need to—need to stop the bleeding.”

He tore a strip from his tattered shirt and pressed it against the wound on your side, and watched as your chest slightly rose up and down. Relief flickered in his chest. This meant you were still alive. 

The makeshift bandage was quickly soaked through. “Dammit,” he hissed, running a hand through his hair, smearing grease and sweat across his face. He needed help, but there was no one here. No one except—

The motorcycle.

It caught his eye in the far corner of the garage, half-buried under a pile of scrap. Its frame was unlike anything he’d ever seen, sleek yet ancient, with intricate carvings etched into the metal. It seemed almost alive, faintly glowing with an otherworldly orange light that pulsed like a heartbeat.

“What the…?” Jeno muttered, taking an unsteady step toward it. He couldn’t explain it, but something about the bike drew him in. The air around it felt heavier, charged with an unnatural energy that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

He glanced back at you, lying unconscious, and then at the motorcycle. Desperation clouded his judgment. Maybe. Just maybe? It could help. He didn’t know how or why, but the pull was undeniable.

Jeno reached out, his fingers hovering over the handlebars. The metal was warm, almost hot to the touch, and the glow intensified as if reacting to his presence.

“This is insane,” he muttered, but his hand closed around the grip anyway.

The second his skin made contact, a searing pain shot through his arm, up his spine, and into his skull. He screamed, his knees giving out as an overwhelming heat consumed him. Flames erupted from the motorcycle, engulfing him in a fiery inferno that didn’t burn but felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside.

Memories flashed before his eyes. Every reckless decision, every lie, every failure. The faces of those he’d hurt, including yours, swam in his vision. And then, a voice echoed in his head.

“Lee Jeno.”

Jeno’s body convulsed as the fire intensified, his skin crawling with molten energy. When the flames subsided, he was no longer the same. His hands burned with chains of fire, and his eyes glowed a fierce, demonic orange. He looked down at himself, his reflection faintly visible in the bike’s chrome. His face was a skull, wreathed in flames. The Spirit of Vengeance had awakened. Jeno was its vessel.

“My new Ghost Rider. Your sins are heavy. But your vengeance will be greater.”

“No,” Jeno whispered, his voice distorted, sounding like something almost inhuman. “What…what did you do to me?”

And then, Jeno heard the shouts of the attackers. They had followed him, closing in to finish what they started.

But they weren’t ready for what they found.

Jeno stood, the chains in his hands igniting with blistering heat. The Spirit of Vengeance surged within him, and with it came a single, overpowering urge: punish the guilty.

The attackers froze as he stepped forward, his skeletal face illuminated by the flickering flames. “You came for me,” Jeno growled, his voice echoing unnaturally. “Now you’ll burn for it.”

He lashed out with the chains, each strike searing through metal and flesh alike. The air was filled with screams as the flames consumed the saboteurs, leaving them scorched and broken. Vehicles erupted in explosions, sending shards of scrap flying through the air as the hellfire spread uncontrollably.

When the last of the attackers fell, Jeno stood motionless amidst the chaos, the flames dancing across his body slowly beginning to recede. The roar of the Spirit dimmed, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.

And then he saw you.

The sight of your unconscious form lying so still on the ground sent a jolt through him. The fire in his chest flickered, replaced by an overwhelming horror. He dropped the chains and stumbled to your side, his skeletal hands trembling as he reached for you.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice raw and human once more. The flames that had raged across his body faded completely, leaving him kneeling in the dirt, cradling you as his normal face returned.

Tears stung his eyes as he pulled you close, his arms wrapping protectively around your limp body. The junkyard was silent again, save for the faint crackle of dying embers.

“What have I done?” Jeno whispered, his voice breaking as he pressed his forehead to yours. Even as the Rider, his mind. his heart. It all was still his. He couldn’t lose you.

The sound of distant sirens jolted him from his thoughts. He knew that if he stayed the two of you would be questioned. He gently lifted you onto the back of the fiery motorcycle, the flames reaching your body but leaving you unharmed. The bike seemed to growl beneath him, its power thrumming in his veins, and for the first time, Jeno felt a strange sense of control over the chaos.

With a sharp kick, the motorcycle roared forward, flames streaking behind it as Jeno sped off into the night. 

The steady beep of a heart monitor was the first thing you heard as you drifted back into consciousness. It was followed by the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the sterile, antiseptic smell of a hospital room. Your body felt heavy, and when you tried to shift, a sharp pain lanced through your side.

“Easy,” a soft voice said.

Your eyes fluttered open to find Jeno sitting beside your bed, looking utterly wrecked. His black hoodie was rumpled, his knuckles bruised and scraped. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his normally cocky demeanor was nowhere to be found. Instead, he looked worried for once in his life, like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked.

“Jeno.” you rasped, your throat dry. 

Relief flooded his face as he leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the bed. “You’re okay,” he breathed. “You’re okay.”

“Jeno.” you repeated again, your voice stronger now. 

He hesitated, guilt flickering across his face. “There was an accident at the show,” he began cautiously. “You…you got hurt. But you’re safe now. I got you out of there.”

The memories suddenly came rushing back. The flaming trucks, the explosion, the searing pain in your side. And then…nothing.

Your heart rate monitor began to beep faster as anger bubbled to the surface. “The show,” you said bitterly. “Of course. Because you just had to pull another one of your stunts.”

“Y/N, it wasn’t—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, your voice sharp. “Don’t you dare try to defend yourself right now. I almost died, Jeno.”

His shoulders sagged, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I’m so sorry. If I could take it back—”

“But you can’t, can you?” you snapped, your hands pointed at him accusedly. “You can’t take it back, Jeno. Because this is what you do. You push and you push until someone gets hurt, and this time, that someone was me.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s the problem,” you shot back. “You never mean for it to happen, but it always does. And I’m the one who has to pick up the broken pieces.”

Jeno flinched, like your words had physically struck him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “I can’t do this anymore, Jeno. I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself with drugs and alcohol, while dragging everyone else down with you.”

“I’m trying to change,” he said desperately, leaning forward. “I swear, Y/N. I’m done with all of it, the…everything. I’ll stop.”

“You always say that,” you muttered bitterly, turning your head away. “But nothing ever changes.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint beep of the heart monitor.

“I’ll make it right,” Jeno said after a long pause, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how yet, but I will. I promise.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The pain in your side was nothing compared to the ache in your chest. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him as he slowly stood and stepped back.

“I’ll let you rest,” he said quietly. “But…I’m not giving up on us, Y/N. I’ll prove to you that I can be better.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the sterile, too-quiet room.

Sometimes Jeno’s promises were often just as hollow as the man who made them.

The roar of the motorcycle echoed through the empty streets as it skidded to a halt in the middle of an empty alley. Jeno ripped off his helmet, his chest heaving as he stumbled away from the bike. The orange glow of his eyes dimmed, leaving him in the dim light of a flickering street lamp.

“What the hell is happening to me?” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair. His reflection stared back at him in a cracked window—human again, but the memory of his skeletal visage haunted him.

This wasn’t the first night he’d changed. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt it—the fire in his veins, the overwhelming urge to hunt, to punish. It wasn’t just a feeling; it was a presence. Some demon was inside him, whispering in his mind, urging him to give in.

“They deserve to burn.”

The voice was deep and guttural. It slithered through his thoughts like a venomous snake, tightening its hold every time he tried to ignore it.

“I’m not listening to you,” Jeno growled, gripping his head as the voice chuckled darkly.

“You can’t silence me, Jeno. You’re mine now. We’re one.”

The demon never introduced itself. It didn’t need to. Jeno already knew as soon as he touched that damn motorcycle. Zarathos. The Spirit of Vengeance. The demon that had bound itself to his soul, using his body as a vessel.

Jeno clenched his fists, the faint glow of hellfire flickering across his knuckles. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I didn’t ask for this,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m not a killer.”

“But you are a sinner,” Zarathos hissed. “And sinners punish sinners. The world is full of filth, and we will cleanse it.”

“No,” Jeno snapped, his voice echoing in the empty alley. “I’m not your executioner.”

The demon’s laughter rang in his head, low and mocking. “You say that now. But you felt it, didn’t you? The thrill? The power? The fire in your blood when you burned them? You enjoyed it.”

Jeno’s stomach churned at the memory of the attackers writhing in agony, the fire consuming them. He hadn’t wanted to hurt them—at least, not like that. But Zarathos was right about one thing: the power was intoxicating. And that terrified him.

He slammed his fist into the brick wall, leaving a charred dent in the crumbling stone. “You’re not in control,” he growled. “I am.”

“For now.”

By day, Jeno tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy. He performed his stunts, practiced at the arena, and plastered on a smile for his fans. But every time he climbed onto a bike, the fire inside him stirred, eager to be unleashed.

It was always worse at night.

Jeno stood on the rooftop of a dilapidated building, the city sprawled out below him like a labyrinth of shadows and flickering lights. The Spirit of Vengeance buzzed in his chest, pulling him toward something or someone.

He saw the scene before he heard it: a man in an alleyway, grabbing a young woman by the wrist. She screamed, struggling to pull away as the man loomed over her, a knife glinting in his hand.

Jeno’s vision blurred, his body moving on autopilot. The flames ignited before he even touched the bike, and when the Ghost Rider landed in the alley, the ground cracked beneath the weight of his fiery presence.

The man froze, his eyes wide with terror as the skeletal figure loomed over him. 

“You,” Jeno growled, his voice layered with Zarathos’ demonic timbre. “You prey on the innocent. What do you think you deserve?”

The man dropped the knife, stumbling backward. “I—I didn’t mean to—please, don’t hurt me!”

But the Spirit of Vengeance didn’t care for apologies. The chains in Jeno’s hands ignited, wrapping around the man and lifting him off the ground.

“Stop,” Jeno muttered, his human voice fighting to break through. “He’s not worth it.”

“He’s guilty,” Zarathos snarled. “And guilt demands punishment.”

The man screamed as the chains tightened, the hellfire scorching his skin. Jeno’s hands trembled, his skull burning brighter as he fought to regain control.

“He’s human,” Jeno argued. “I won’t kill him.”

The demon roared in frustration but relented, the chains loosening just enough to drop the man to the ground. The would-be attacker scrambled to his feet and ran, his screams fading into the distance.

Jeno stood in the alley, the flames around him slowly fading. He turned to the woman, who was staring at him with equal parts fear and gratitude.

“Go home,” he said gruffly, his voice still tinged with the Rider’s growl.

She nodded quickly, thanking him and disappearing into the night.

When the alley was silent again, Jeno collapsed against the wall, his human form returning. He buried his face in his hands, his body trembling.

“You see?” Zarathos sneered. “You can’t stop me forever. And soon, you won’t want to.”

Jeno closed his eyes, the weight of the demon’s presence pressing down on him. He didn’t know how long he could keep fighting. But for now, he had to try.

The neon glow of the gas station sign flickered in and out, bathing the parking lot in harsh, artificial light. Jeno leaned against his motorcycle, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other. His hoodie was pulled low over his face, but anyone who looked close enough would see the cracks in his façade—the trembling hands, the bloodshot eyes, the faint glow that threatened to seep from his skin if he let his guard down.

The whiskey burned his throat, but not nearly as much as the fire that roared in his chest every night. Zarathos was relentless, clawing at the edges of his sanity, and the only way Jeno could silence him was by drowning himself in the haze of alcohol and pills.

“Just a little longer,” he muttered to himself, taking another swig. “Just until I figure this out.”

The lie tasted bitter, but it was easier to believe than the truth. He was losing control.

The next morning, you found him slumped over in his garage, reeking of smoke and booze. You hadn’t heard from him since you were discharged from the hospital, so you wanted to at least check in on him. But you weren’t pleased with what you saw. So much for promising change. 

“Jeno,” you said sharply, crossing your arms as you stood in the doorway.

He stirred, groaning as he lifted his head. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that,” you shot back. “Why aren’t you at practice? Or, I don’t know, trying to clean up your mess for once?”

He winced at your words, sitting up and rubbing his temples. “Not now, okay? I’ve got a headache that makes me want to kill myself right now.”

You scoffed, stepping closer and yanking the bottle out of his hand. “Are you serious right now? This is what you’re doing with your time? Drinking yourself into oblivion while I’m out here trying to recover from almost dying?”

“I’m trying to deal with it!” Jeno snapped, his voice louder than he intended. He stood, swaying slightly, his eyes bloodshot and tired. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t hate myself for what happened to you?”

“Then stop making it worse!” you shot back, your voice rising to match his. “You’re spiraling, Jeno, and you’re not fighting this addiction at all.”

“I didn’t ask for this!” he shouted, his voice cracking. 

The raw emotion in his tone caught you off guard, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

Jeno exhaled shakily, running a hand through his messy hair. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” he said quietly. “But I’m trying. I swear I’m trying.”

You shook your head, your anger softening but not disappearing. “If this is your idea of trying, Jeno, then you’re failing.”

As you turned to leave, something stopped you. A memory from the news. Whispers of a “fiery skeleton” that had been spotted taking down criminals in the dead of night. You hesitated, glancing over your shoulder.

“Jeno,” you said cautiously. “You’ve been out a lot at night. You wouldn’t happen to know or run into that ‘fire guy’ people are talking about, would you?”

His entire body stiffened, his back turned to you. He didn’t answer right away, but the silence was damning. “...No.”

“Jeno,” you pressed, stepping closer. “What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, his voice strained. “Just…forget about it, okay?”

But you didn’t believe him. Not for a second.

“Jeno,” you said again, your voice soft but firm. “Look at me.”

He didn’t move.

“Jeno, look at me,” you repeated, more insistent this time.

Finally, he turned, and for the briefest moment, you swore you saw it—a faint glow in his eyes, like embers dying out. Your stomach twisted, a mix of fear and concern swirling in your chest.

“What happened to you?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Jeno shook his head, stepping back. “You don’t want to know,” he said quietly.

“Yes, I do,” you insisted. “I’ve known you my whole life, Jeno. I’ve stood by you through everything. Don’t shut me out now.”

But he just shook his head again, grabbing his helmet and heading for the door. “I can’t,” he said, his voice hollow. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you alone in the dimly lit garage, more confused and worried than ever before.

So you needed a change of pace. If Jeno wanted to shut you out, then maybe you could use your time to focus on yourself more. 

You found yourself in your favorite cafe. The snug little store was warm, the scent of roasted coffee beans wrapping around you like a comforting hug. You were halfway through your drink, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, when the chair across from you was pulled out.

“Mind if I join you?”

You looked up, startled, to see a strikingly beautiful woman with an air of effortless confidence. Platinum blonde hair framed her sharp, elegant features, and her icy blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. Her tailored white coat and knee-high boots screamed sophistication, making you suddenly self-conscious of the oversized hoodie and jeans you’d thrown on.

“Uh…sure?” you replied hesitantly, gesturing to the chair.

She smiled, setting down her drink with precision. “I hope I’m not intruding. You looked like you could use some company.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”

She tilted her head, studying you like you were an interesting puzzle. “Call it intuition.”

“I guess you’re not wrong,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair. “It’s been…a rough few weeks.”

“I’m Karina,” she said smoothly, extending a hand.

“Y/N,” you replied, shaking it. Her grip was cool and firm, her smile almost too perfect.

“So, Y/N,” Karina said, resting her chin on her hand. “What’s been weighing on you? I’m a great listener.”

You hesitated. Something about her was disarming, almost magnetic. Before you could stop yourself, the words started spilling out. “It’s…complicated. Let’s just say someone I care about is making it really hard to keep caring about them.”

Karina nodded sympathetically, her expression never wavering. “The burden of loyalty. It’s a heavy one, isn’t it? Is this about a man?”

“Yeah,” you said, surprised by how much her words resonated. “I’ve known him forever, but lately…I don’t even recognize him anymore. He’s hiding something, and it’s tearing us apart.”

Karina sipped her drink, her gaze never leaving yours. “Sometimes, people hide because they’re afraid. Afraid of being judged, or rejected. But that doesn’t excuse them from the hurt they cause.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how accurately she’d summed up your feelings. “Exactly,” you said quietly.

“I know it’s not my place,” Karina continued, her tone gentle, “but maybe you need to take a step back. Focus on yourself for a while. You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

Her harsh words settled over you, surprised at her directness. But it was comforting to hear such honesty for once.

“I was thinking of it, but I don’t want to lose him either.” you admitted.

Karina’s smile widened just a fraction. “Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, other than him, I’m here.” She slid a sleek, white business card across the table. “Call me anytime.”

You picked up the card, turning it over in your hands. There was no title, no address—just her name and a number embossed in silver.

“Thanks,” you said, tucking it into your pocket.

“Don’t mention it,” Karina said, standing gracefully. “Take care of yourself, Y/N. You deserve it.”

Over the next few days, Karina became a fixture in your life. She’d text you to check in, send little messages of encouragement, and even invite you out for coffee or dinner.

At first, you were wary. People didn’t just waltz into your life like this without a reason. But Karina was warm, attentive, and had an uncanny ability to say exactly what you needed to hear. Plus, she was looking for friends in the city too since she had just moved here. 

“So, what’s the full deal with this guy?” she asked one evening over dinner, sipping a glass of wine. “The one who’s been giving you all this grief.”

“His name is Lee Jeno,” you said reluctantly. “He’s my…well, we’ve been friends since we were kids. But he’s got issues. Big ones.”

“Oh damn. The stunt biker guy.” Karina raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Issues like ‘he forgot your birthday,’ or issues like ‘he’s a raging alcoholic or drug addict or some other addiction’?”

You laughed, though it was tinged with unease. “Closer to the second one, honestly. Well, he’s always struggled with it. Yet, he’s been acting so weird lately. Disappearing at night, avoiding my questions. And sometimes, when I look at him, it’s like he’s not even Jeno anymore.”

Karina leaned forward, her expression unreadable. “And you’re sure it’s just him trying to hide his addiction? Nothing…bigger going on?”

The question caught you off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” Karina said breezily, waving a hand. “Just that sometimes, people go through changes. Big changes. Ones they don’t know how to explain. And sometimes, it takes someone else to help them see their true potential.”

You frowned, her words stirring something deep inside you. “I don’t know. Jeno’s not exactly the ‘ask for help’ type.”

Karina’s smile turned enigmatic, her blue eyes practically glowing. “Maybe not. But some people just need the right nudge. And who better to do that than you?”

There was something in her tone, something that made your skin prickle. But before you could dwell on it, Karina raised her glass in a toast.

“To new beginnings,” she said, her voice smooth as silk.

You hesitated, then clinked your glass against hers. “To new beginnings.”

As you drank, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Karina knew more about your life and Jeno’s than maybe she was letting on.

The opulent room was bathed in shadows, the flickering light of a chandelier casting jagged shapes on the polished mahogany walls. Karina stood at the center of the large, round table, her white ensemble a stark contrast against the room’s dark and decadent decor. Around her sat the upper echelon of the Hellfire Club, an underground organization of mutants with a reputation for ruthlessness and manipulation.

“Karina,” a deep, commanding voice said, breaking the silence. It belonged to the Black King, the leader of the group, whose piercing gaze bore into her. “My dearest White Queen. You’ve been unusually proactive lately. Care to share what’s captured your attention?”

Karina smiled coolly, folding her hands in front of her. “I’ve found something—or rather, someone—of immense potential.”

The Black Queen, a woman with sharp features and an even sharper tongue, leaned forward with an arched brow. “Do tell. Potential isn’t exactly rare these days. Why is this someone worth our time?”

Karina stepped closer to the table, her heels clicking against the marble floor. “Her name is Y/N. She’s a baseline human. Or so she thinks. She’s yet to manifest her mutant abilities.”

She paused, letting the words sink in before continuing. “Her energy is…raw, untapped, but powerful. I’ve felt it. It’s dormant now, but when it awakens, it will rival even the strongest of us. I’m surprised it’s taking her so long to manifest, but that’s what makes it so powerful.”

The Black King steepled his fingers, his expression unreadable. “And what makes you so certain she’s worth the effort? If her powers haven’t manifested yet, there’s no guarantee they ever will.”

Karina tilted her head, a hint of amusement in her smile. “Oh, they will. I’ve already seen the signs—subtle as they are. Her emotions are volatile, and she’s drawn to chaos like a moth to flame. It’s only a matter of time before the spark ignites.”

The Black Queen’s lips curved into a smirk. “Interesting. And what do you propose we do with her once this ‘spark’ ignites?”

Karina’s smile turned predatory, her blue eyes gleaming. “We guide her. Shape her. I’m sensing some crazy electrical forces. Imagine what we could accomplish with her power under our control.”

“And if she refuses?” the Black King asked, his tone cold and measured.

Karina’s expression didn’t falter. “Then we ensure she has no choice. After all, loyalty is just another form of control. And I’ve already begun earning hers.”

A murmur rippled through the room as the other members exchanged intrigued glances.

The Black King leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Karina. But if you can deliver on your promises, the rewards will be worth the risk.”

“I always deliver,” Karina said smoothly.

The Black Queen raised her glass, the golden liquid catching the light. “Then here’s to your little pet project. Let’s hope she’s everything you claim she is.”

Karina raised her own glass in return, her smile never wavering. 

“Oh, she will be.”

Jeno stood outside the café, arms crossed and jaw tight as he watched through the window. There you were, sitting across from Karina again, laughing at something she’d said. The way you leaned in, the way she smiled that calculated, flawless smile—it all set his teeth on edge.

He clenched his fists, the faint flicker of flames threatening to ignite beneath his skin. Zarathos stirred in the back of his mind, growling low like an animal sensing danger.

“She’s not who she seems,” the demon whispered, its voice grating like embers crackling.

Jeno didn’t need Zarathos to tell him that. He’d felt it the moment he’d laid eyes on Karina. Something about her was too perfect, too polished. And the way she’d latched onto you so quickly? It wasn’t right.

He waited until Karina had left before stepping inside. You looked up, surprised to see him, but your expression quickly shifted to irritation.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your tone defensive.

Jeno didn’t answer right away, pulling up a chair and sitting across from you. His leather jacket creaked as he leaned forward, his dark eyes searching yours. “We need to talk.”

You sighed, already bracing yourself. “If this is about Karina—”

“It is about her,” he cut in, his voice firm. “Y/N, you don’t know her. Not really.”

“And you do?” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“I don’t need to,” he said, his tone rising. “Something about her is off. I can feel it.”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “Oh, great. Now we’re relying on your ‘feelings’ to judge people? Like your intuition ever worked in the first place. I’m lucky to be alive right now.”

Jeno’s jaw tightened. “I’m serious, Y/N. She’s not who she says she is. People don’t just waltz into your life and start playing therapist out of the goodness of their hearts.”

“Maybe she actually cares,” you snapped. “Unlike someone who disappears for days at a time without a word and comes back smelling like smoke and regret.”

Jeno flinched at your words, but he pushed forward. “I’m not perfect, okay? But I know when someone’s trouble. And Karina? She’s got ‘trouble’ written all over her.”

“Why do you even care?” you demanded, your voice rising. “You don’t get to swoop in and play the hero after everything that’s happened. I don’t need your permission to make new friends.”

Jeno looked at you, his expression a mix of frustration and something softer—hurt, maybe. “I care because I don’t want you to get hurt. Again.”

For a moment, you almost softened. Almost.

But then you thought about Karina. How she listened, how she didn’t judge you, how she made you feel seen in a way Jeno hadn’t in months.

“You don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t trust,” you said coldly. “Karina’s been more of a friend to me lately than you have.”

Jeno stared at you, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re making a mistake,” he said quietly.

“Then it’s my mistake to make,” you shot back.

He stood, his chair scraping against the floor as he shoved it back. “Fine,” he muttered, turning to leave. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Later that evening, you met Karina at her apartment. A sleek, modern space with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. God, you were poor as hell. She greeted you with a warm smile, handing you a glass of wine as you settled onto her plush couch.

“You seem tense,” she noted, sitting gracefully across from you.

“Just had another fight with Jeno,” you admitted, swirling the wine in your glass. “He’s convinced you’re some kind of…villain or something.”

Karina chuckled, the sound light and melodic. “He doesn’t trust me?”

“Not even a little,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s like he’s looking for reasons to push me away.”

Karina reached out, placing a hand over yours. Her touch was cool and comforting. “Sometimes people lash out because they’re afraid. Fear can make them see threats where there are none.”

You sighed, leaning back. “I just don’t get it. Why can’t he see that you’re trying to help me?”

Karina’s expression softened, but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes—something calculated. “It’s because he doesn’t understand you the way I do. You’re special, Y/N. More than you realize.”

You frowned, her words catching you off guard. “Special? What do you mean?”

Karina smiled enigmatically, her fingers brushing against yours. “You’ll see. In time.”

Her words left a lingering unease in your chest, but you pushed it aside. Karina had been nothing but kind to you. Jeno didn’t know what he was talking about.

Jeno leaned against the wall of his garage, staring blankly at the ground. Zarathos growled in the back of his mind, restless and impatient.

“You should have burned her,” the demon hissed.

Jeno closed his eyes, his hands balling into fists. “Shut up.”

“She’s manipulating her. The girl you care for. Can’t you feel it?”

Jeno’s jaw clenched. He didn’t need Zarathos to tell him that. But what could he do? You weren’t listening to him, and every time he tried to warn you, it only pushed you further away.

“Then stop warning her,” Zarathos said, his voice low and menacing. “And show her what that woman truly is.”

Jeno opened his eyes, the flames flickering faintly in his irises. For once, he found himself agreeing with the demon. 

“You’re finally listening,” Zarathos hissed, its voice echoing in Jeno’s head.

“Don’t get used to it,” Jeno muttered, gripping the handlebars of the bike. “I didn’t ask for you, and I’m not letting you run the show.”

The Spirit of Vengeance laughed, a dark, grating sound that sent chills down Jeno’s spine. “You think you can control me, boy? You’re nothing without me.”

Jeno scowled, the flames creeping up his arms flaring brighter in response to his frustration. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for her.”

“Ah, the girl,” Zarathos sneered. “You think she’ll forgive you? That she’ll see you as anything but a monster?”

“She will,” Jeno said firmly, his voice steady despite the doubt gnawing at him. “But first, I need to figure out how to use this…whatever this is.”

Zarathos growled. “Vengeance isn’t a tool, boy. It’s a purpose. A fire that consumes everything in its path.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not here to burn the world down,” Jeno snapped. “I’m here to protect it.”

The Spirit laughed again, its voice dripping with disdain. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Determined to understand his new abilities, Jeno spent every spare moment testing the limits of his powers. He discovered that the flames responded to his emotions, roaring to life when he was angry or scared and flickering out when he calmed himself.

One night, he stood in the middle of an abandoned road, the cursed motorcycle idling beside him. He took a deep breath, focusing on the growing warmth in his chest, and held out his hand. A whip of fire erupted from his palm, coiling and snapping like a living thing.

“Not bad,” he muttered to himself, extinguishing the whip with a flick of his wrist.

But every small victory was overshadowed by the constant presence of Zarathos. The Spirit’s voice was a relentless whisper in his mind, urging him to give in, to embrace the fire and let it consume him.

“Why fight it?” Zarathos taunted. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The power. The thrill.”

Jeno ignored the voice, climbing onto the motorcycle and revving the engine. The flames along its frame flared to life, illuminating the darkness around him.

“I’m not your puppet,” he muttered, tightening his grip on the handlebars.

“We’ll see,” the Spirit replied, its laughter echoing in his ears as he sped down the road.

One evening, while patrolling the outskirts of town, Jeno stumbled upon a group of men mugging an elderly woman in an alley. His first instinct was to intervene, but as the flames began to crawl up his arms, Zarathos’ voice returned, stronger than ever.

“Punish them,” it hissed. “Make them suffer.”

Jeno hesitated, his heart pounding. The men turned to face him, their eyes widening in fear as they took in his glowing eyes and the flames licking at his jacket.

“Hey, man, we don’t want any trouble,” one of them stammered, backing away.

Jeno clenched his fists, the fire burning hotter. Zarathos was screaming in his mind now, urging him to unleash his fury.

“They deserve it!” the Spirit roared. “They’re guilty!”

But as Jeno looked at the terrified men, he saw something else—fear. Regret. They weren’t innocent, but they weren’t beyond saving, either.

“No,” Jeno said aloud, his voice steady. “Not like this.”

He extinguished the flames, stepping forward and forcing the men to flee with nothing more than his presence. The elderly woman thanked him tearfully, but as he walked away, the weight of Zarathos’ disapproval settled over him like a storm cloud.

“You’re weak,” the Spirit snarled. “One day, you’ll see. Mercy has no place in vengeance.”

“Maybe not,” Jeno muttered, mounting his motorcycle. “But I’m not just vengeance. I’m also me.”

The more Jeno used his powers, the more he began to notice strange connections—patterns he couldn’t ignore. The criminals he encountered often mentioned a name in hushed tones: Karina.

One night, he followed a lead to an abandoned warehouse, where he found a cache of high-tech weapons and equipment. The markings on the crates were unmistakable. This wasn’t ordinary crime.

“She’s not just some innocent bystander,” Jeno muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re finally catching on,” Zarathos sneered. “She’s more dangerous than you know. And she has her sights set on your girl.”

Jeno’s heart sank. He didn’t want to believe it, but the evidence was piling up. Karina wasn’t who she seemed, and if she was connected to you, that meant you were in more danger than you realized.

He revved his motorcycle, the flames roaring to life. “Not on my watch,” he muttered, speeding off into the night.

The fire burned hotter now, fueled by a new determination. Jeno wasn’t just fighting to control the Spirit of Vengeance anymore. He was fighting to save you.

You sat in Karina’s sleek, modern apartment, the dim lighting casting long shadows on the pristine walls. A strange tension filled the room. Karina’s usually serene demeanor had shifted; there was an intensity in her gaze, something calculating behind her sharp blue eyes.

“You’ve felt it, haven’t you?” Karina asked, her voice soft yet commanding.

“Felt what?” you asked, frowning as you set your cup of tea on the table.

“That spark,” she said, leaning forward, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. “The moments when your emotions run high—fear, anger, pain—and something stirs inside you. Something you can’t explain.”

You blinked, your pulse quickening. You had felt something—fleeting moments of electric energy coursing through your body, like static building up but never quite releasing. But you’d written it off as stress or adrenaline.

“How do you know about that?” you asked warily.

Karina smiled, a knowing, almost maternal expression crossing her face. “Because I’ve seen it before. I know what you are, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened. “What I am? You make it sound like I’m not a human.”

“You’re not just human,” she said, her tone dripping with certainty. “You’re a mutant.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and charged. You stared at her, the weight of her statement pressing down on you. “That’s not… I’m not…”

“You are,” Karina interrupted gently. “It’s why you’ve always felt different, why strange things happen around you when you’re upset. It’s your gift, Y/N. Your power.”

Your mind raced, flashes of unexplained incidents from your past bubbling to the surface: the lights flickering during arguments, the faint hum of electricity in your veins when you were scared. 

A mutant? But mutants were both feared and loved by society. Oh god, what would Jeno think?

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Karina reached out, placing a hand on yours. “You don’t have to say anything. I know how overwhelming this must be, but you’re not alone. You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

You looked up at her, tears pricking your eyes. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t even know how to control it.”

“That’s where I come in,” Karina said smoothly. “I can help you. I’ve been where you are, Y/N. I know what it’s like to feel lost, to feel like the world doesn’t understand you. But I do.”

Her words were like a lifeline, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of hope. But then a small voice in the back of your mind—Jeno’s voice—echoed faintly: She’s not who she says she is.

You shook your head, brushing the thought away. Karina had been nothing but kind to you. Jeno didn’t understand.

Karina led you into a hidden room within her apartment, the walls lined with advanced tech and holographic screens displaying maps, dossiers, and data that you couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“What is all this?” you asked, glancing around in awe.

“This,” Karina said, gesturing to the room with a flourish, “is part of something much bigger. A movement, if you will. The Hellfire Club.”

You turned to her, confusion etched across your face. “The Hellfire Club? What is that?”

“We’re an organization dedicated to ensuring mutantkind rises to its rightful place in the world,” Karina explained, her voice laced with passion. “For too long, mutants have been oppressed, hunted, and treated as less than human. But we’re done hiding. We’re done being afraid.”

Her words stirred something in you—a mix of fear and curiosity. “What does this have to do with me?”

Karina stepped closer, her gaze piercing. “Everything. Your powers, Y/N—they’re extraordinary. Once they’re fully awakened, you’ll be capable of things most mutants can only dream of. But you need guidance. Training. And that’s what I’m offering you.”

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. “I don’t know if I can do this. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“None of us did,” Karina said, her voice softening. “But we don’t get to choose what we are. We can only choose how we use it. And you, Y/N, have the potential to change everything.”

She paused, letting her words sink in before adding, “But to do that, you have to let go of your fear. You have to embrace who you are. And you have to trust me.”

There was something magnetic about her, something that made you want to believe every word she said. But deep down, a seed of doubt began to take root.

“What’s the catch?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Karina smiled, her expression unreadable. “No catch, my dear. Only the promise of a future where you can be free—where we can all be free.”

You hesitated, torn between the comfort of her words and the nagging feeling in your gut. “I need time to think.”

“Of course,” Karina said smoothly. “Take all the time you need. But remember, Y/N. Your power is a gift. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”

As you left her apartment that night, your mind was a whirlwind of emotions. You wanted to believe her, to trust her, but something about her intensity unsettled you.

And as you walked into the cool night air, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were standing at the edge of something much larger and much more dangerous than you’d ever imagined.

Jeno sat on the curb outside your apartment, his head in his hands, shoulders slumped under the weight of exhaustion and regret. His jacket was torn, his knuckles bloodied from a fight he barely remembered, and the faint smell of whiskey lingered on his breath. He stared blankly at the empty bottle in his lap, the flames of his inner turmoil simmering just beneath the surface. The night was quiet, the kind of stillness that made his thoughts louder, more unbearable.

When you stepped outside, startled to find him there in the dead of night, his eyes met yours. They were glassy, but not from the alcohol. There was something raw and vulnerable in them, something you hadn’t seen in a long time. For a moment, you hesitated, unsure whether to approach him or turn back inside. But the sight of him—broken, disheveled, and so unlike the confident Jeno you’d always known—pulled you forward.

“Jeno?” you said cautiously, stepping closer. The cold night air bit at your skin, but the tension between you was far more chilling.

He looked up, his eyes hollow yet filled with a desperation that made your chest tighten. “Y/N,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. He stood, swaying slightly, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. “I—I needed to see you.”

Your heart clenched at the sight of him. He looked like a ghost of the man you once knew, his charm buried beneath layers of pain and self-destruction. “It’s the middle of the night,” you said, crossing your arms, trying to shield yourself from the emotions threatening to spill over. “You can’t just show up like this.”

“I know,” he said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I know I’m a mess. But I—” He paused, his voice cracking. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

You frowned, torn between frustration and concern. “What do you mean?”

Jeno’s hands trembled as he gripped the bottle tighter, then hurled it across the street. It shattered against the pavement, the sound cutting through the stillness like a scream. “This!” he shouted, gesturing wildly to himself. “I’m losing control, Y/N! Of everything. Of my powers. Of… of me.”

You stepped back, startled by the outburst. “Jeno, calm down—”

“I can’t!” he yelled, his voice breaking. “I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried. But it’s like I’m fighting this thing inside me, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep it at bay.”

His hands ignited for a split second, flames licking at his skin before fizzling out. You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The sight of the fire—real, tangible fire—coming from his hands was impossible to process. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of what you’d just seen. “Jeno… what was that?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He clenched his fists, shaking his head as if trying to push the Spirit’s voice out of his mind. “It’s me,” he said bitterly. “Or… it’s not me. I don’t even know anymore.” He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and shame. “I’m not just some messed-up stunt rider, Y/N. I’m… I’m the Ghost Rider.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and surreal. Your mind reeled, struggling to reconcile the Jeno you knew with the stories you’d heard about the fiery vigilante haunting the city. “The Ghost Rider?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s… that’s impossible.”

“I wish it was,” he said, his voice hollow. “But it’s real. The flames, the power, the voice in my head—it’s all real. And it’s killing me, Y/N. Every time I transform, it feels like I’m burning from the inside out. And the things I’ve done… the people I’ve hurt…” He trailed off, his hands shaking as he ran them through his hair again. “I’m a monster.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his voice, but the shock of his confession kept you rooted to the spot. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your voice rising. “All this time, you’ve been dealing with this alone, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to see me like this!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “I didn’t want you to look at me and see a monster. You’re the one person who still sees something good in me, and I couldn’t risk losing that.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words hit you. “Jeno, you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

“And then there’s you,” he said, his voice softer now, filled with anguish. “You’re the one thing. The only thing that makes me want to be better. But I’m screwing that up too, aren’t I?”

“Jeno…” You didn’t know what to say, the weight of his words leaving you stunned. Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Shock, fear, anger, and an overwhelming sadness for the man standing in front of you.

He stepped closer, his eyes searching yours desperately. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Not to her. Not to Karina.”

You stiffened at the mention of her name. “This again? Jeno, I told you—Karina’s helping me. She understands me in a way you don’t. She—”

“She’s using you!” Jeno snapped, his voice rising. “You think she cares about you? She’s manipulating you, Y/N. I’ve seen it. I feel it.”

“You don’t know her,” you shot back, anger flaring in your chest. “You don’t know what I’ve been through or what it’s like to feel so out of control. Karina does.”

“And I don’t?” Jeno asked bitterly. “I’ve been out of control my whole damn life. But I’m trying, Y/N. I’m trying because of you.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he ran a hand down his face, his composure crumbling. “I love you,” he said finally, his words barely audible. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. And I’ve been too much of a coward to say it until now.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and charged. Your breath caught, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jeno… you can’t.” you began, your voice faltering. “That’s so unfair. You can’t fucking drop that on me?” 

He grabbed your hands, his touch warm despite the cold night air. “Please,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Please don’t trust her. Don’t let her pull you into whatever she’s planning. I can’t lose you to her.”

You pulled your hands away, your heart twisting painfully in your chest. “You don’t understand, Jeno. I’m finally starting to figure out who I am, and Karina is helping me. I can’t just walk away from that.”

“And what about me?” he asked, his voice breaking. “What about us?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, tears welling in your eyes. “I don’t know what I feel anymore.”

Jeno stared at you, his expression a mix of heartbreak and resignation. “You’ve already chosen her, haven’t you?”

You couldn’t answer. The silence between you was deafening, and when Jeno finally turned and walked away, the flames that had always surrounded him seemed smaller, dimmer.

The air inside the abandoned factory was thick with tension, the kind that made your skin prickle and your breath catch in your throat. The dim, flickering lights overhead cast long shadows across the rusted machinery and crumbling walls, creating an eerie backdrop for the confrontation you knew was coming. You stood frozen at the edge of the room, your heart pounding as you tried to steady your breathing. Your hands trembled at your sides, tiny sparks of electricity dancing between your fingers. You clenched your fists, trying to suppress the energy surging through you, but it was like holding back a tidal wave.

Karina stood at the center of the room, her white suit pristine despite the grime of the factory. Her diamond-shaped earrings caught the faint light, glinting like shards of ice. She watched you with a calculating gaze, her lips curled into a faint smirk. “You feel it, don’t you?” she said, her voice smooth and unnervingly calm. “The power inside you, begging to be unleashed. You don’t have to fight it, Y/N. Let it out.”

“Stop. Get out of my head.” you snapped, your voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger. 

Her smirk widened. “Darling, you can barely control your own abilities. I’m just helping you clear your mind. To help you relax. ”

Before you could respond, a deafening roar tore through the silence. The factory doors exploded inward, shards of metal and wood scattering across the floor. Flames erupted in the doorway, and through the inferno, Jeno emerged on his motorcycle, the Ghost Rider in full form. His flaming skull cast an ominous glow across the room, and his chain dragged behind him, leaving scorch marks in its wake.

“Karina!” Jeno’s voice was a guttural growl, distorted by the Spirit of Vengeance. “Step away from her.”

Karina turned toward him, her smirk never faltering. “Well, well,” she said, her tone dripping with mockery. “The Spirit of Vengeance finally decided to crash the party. How… predictable.”

You took a step forward, panic rising in your chest. “Jeno, don’t do this!”

He glanced at you briefly, his fiery gaze softening for just a moment. “Get out of here, Y/N. I don’t want you to see this.”

Karina laughed, a cold, melodic sound that sent a chill down your spine. “Oh, she’s not going anywhere. Not when she’s finally starting to understand her potential.”

Jeno’s flames roared brighter, his chain snapping taut in his hands. “You’re not laying a finger on her.”

Karina’s eyes glowed with a faint silver hue, her telepathic powers flaring to life. “I don’t need to lay a finger on her to destroy you, Jeno.”

The telepathic assault hit Jeno like a freight train. His flames flickered, dimming as he staggered back, clutching his skull. The Ghost Rider’s growl turned into a pained roar as Karina’s voice echoed in his mind, sharp and venomous.

“You’re a failure, Lee Jeno,” she hissed, her words cutting deeper than any physical blow. “A coward. A junkie. You think you can protect her? You couldn’t even protect yourself.”

Jeno dropped to his knees, his chain clattering to the ground. His fiery skull dimmed further, revealing glimpses of his human face beneath, twisted in agony. “No,” he muttered, his voice trembling. “No, I—”

Karina stepped closer, her voice dripping with venom. “You left her to die, Jeno. You’re the reason she almost bled out in that junkyard. And now you think you can save her from me? You’re pathetic.”

“Stop it!” you screamed, stepping forward. But an invisible barrier, a telekinetic shield, held you back. You slammed your fists against it, sparks of electricity crackling against the force field. “Let him go!”

Karina didn’t even glance at you, her focus entirely on Jeno. “You’re nothing without the Spirit of Vengeance. Just a broken man with nothing to offer.”

Jeno’s flames sputtered, his body trembling as he fought against her mental assault. But then, something snapped.

A surge of electricity exploded from your body, shattering Karina’s barrier and sending a shockwave through the room. The force of it knocked Karina back, her telepathic hold on Jeno breaking as she stumbled. Sparks danced along your skin, and the lights in the factory flickered wildly, casting the room in a chaotic strobe of light and shadow.

Karina’s calm façade cracked for the first time, her eyes narrowing as she stared at you. “What…?” she muttered, her voice tinged with disbelief.

You looked down at your hands, electricity arcing between your fingers. The buzzing energy in your veins was overwhelming but exhilarating, like you were finally alive for the first time. “I don’t know what you did to me,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “But I’m done letting you manipulate me.”

Jeno rose to his feet, his flames roaring back to life as the Spirit of Vengeance surged within him. He turned to you, his fiery gaze filled with both awe and concern. “Y/N… your powers…”

You met his gaze, a flicker of resolve igniting in your chest. “We’ll figure it out later. Right now, we stop her. Together.”

Karina’s lips twisted into a scowl. “You think you can stop me? Both of you are just scared little children playing with powers you don’t understand.”

Her eyes glowed again as she prepared to strike, but this time, you were ready. Electricity coursed through your body as you raised your hand, sending a bolt of lightning toward her. Jeno’s chain ignited in flames as he lashed out, the Ghost Rider and your newfound powers colliding in a chaotic, electrified storm of fire and fury.

Sparks flew as your electricity surged wildly, ricocheting off metal beams and machinery, while flames from Jeno’s Ghost Rider form scorched the ground. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of burning metal, the heat of the battle pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. Karina narrowly avoided both attacks.

You stood in the middle of it all, suddenly trembling as the power in your veins pulsed out of control, the air around you crackling with raw energy. Every breath felt like fire in your lungs, every heartbeat a thunderous drum in your ears.

“Jeno, stop!” you shouted, your voice breaking through the storm of noise. “I can’t— I can’t control it!”

“Y/N, get out of here!” Jeno growled, the hellfire in his skull burning brightly as he dodged a telepathic assault from Karina. His chain lashed out, the flames leaving a trail of fire as it whipped through the air. “I’ll handle her!”

“You can’t handle me, Rider,” Karina sneered, her diamond-covered hand catching the flames of Jeno’s chain and deflecting them with ease. The impact sent a shower of sparks cascading to the ground, illuminating her cold, calculating smirk. She twisted her body back to flesh, her eyes glowing as she aimed a telepathic blast toward you. “And neither can she.”

The attack hit you like a freight train, sending you stumbling backward. Your head throbbed as Karina’s voice echoed in your mind, sharp and venomous. You’re a danger to everyone around you, Y/N. Look at him. He’s already breaking because of you.

“No!” you shouted, gripping your head as electricity sparked uncontrollably from your body, burning holes in the ground. The pain was unbearable, a searing heat that threatened to consume you. “Get out of my head!”

Jeno roared, swinging his flaming chain toward Karina with a ferocity that shook the room. “Leave her alone!”

Karina turned to diamond just in time, the chain clashing against her hardened form with a deafening clang. The force of the impact sent a shockwave through the factory, shattering nearby windows and sending shards of glass raining down. Jeno pulled back and lashed out again, but the attacks only glanced off her unyielding body, leaving faint scorch marks on her diamond skin.

“You’re predictable,” Karina taunted, reverting back to her human form. Her voice dripped with malice as she stepped closer, her heels clicking against the cracked concrete. “And reckless.” Her eyes narrowed, her telepathic powers flaring as she struck again, this time targeting Jeno. Which is why you’ll never be enough for her.

Jeno froze, his flames flickering as the words hit him like a punch to the gut. The Ghost Rider’s growl faltered, his fiery skull dimming as Karina’s mental assault dug into his deepest insecurities. “I… I…” he stammered, his voice trembling.

Seeing her opening, Karina lunged, her diamond form shimmering into existence as she aimed a devastating punch at Jeno’s chest. The blow landed with a sickening crunch, sending him flying into a stack of metal crates. He hit the ground hard, the flames around him sputtering as he struggled to rise.

“Jeno!” you screamed, your voice raw with panic. Electricity surged through you, the power building to a dangerous level as your fear and anger took over. You raised your hands, the energy crackling wildly as you unleashed a massive bolt of lightning toward Karina.

She shifted to diamond just in time, the electricity ricocheting off her hardened form and striking a nearby generator. The explosion sent a wave of heat and debris crashing through the factory, the force of it knocking you off your feet. You hit the ground hard, the breath driven from your lungs as pain shot through your ribs.

Karina emerged from the smoke, her diamond form flickering as she reverted to flesh. A thin trail of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, her once-pristine suit now torn and scorched. “You’re meddling in things you don’t understand, Y/N,” she hissed, her voice laced with frustration.

“And whose fault is that?” you shot back, electricity arcing dangerously around you. Your body ached, your vision blurred, but you forced yourself to stand. “You lied to me. You used me.”

“I gave you purpose!” Karina snapped, shifting back to her human form as she tried to invade your mind again. But you were ready this time.

The moment her telepathic influence touched you, your electricity surged outward in a massive wave, cutting off her connection. The lights in the factory exploded, plunging the room into flickering darkness lit only by Jeno’s flames and the electric blue glow of your powers. The air buzzed with energy, the tension so thick it felt like the room itself was holding its breath.

Jeno took advantage of the distraction, his chain wrapping around Karina’s leg and yanking her off her feet. She hit the ground with a sharp thud, immediately shifting to diamond to avoid his next attack. Jeno’s flames roared brighter as he swung his chain again, the fiery links crashing against her diamond form with enough force to send her skidding across the floor.

“You’re out of tricks, Karina!” Jeno snarled, his skull blazing with hellfire.

Karina smirked, standing slowly. “Am I?”

With a wave of her hand, she sent shards of diamond-like energy hurtling toward you. Jeno’s flames flared brighter as he leapt in front of you, the shards disintegrating against his burning form. But the force of the attack sent him staggering, his flames flickering as he struggled to stay upright.

“Y/N, focus!” he shouted, glancing over his shoulder at you. Blood dripped from a gash on his forehead, his human form flickering beneath the Ghost Rider’s flames. “You’ve got this. I know you do.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. The chaos of the battle overwhelmed you, but Jeno’s words anchored you, giving you the strength to push past the fear. Electricity sparked and crackled around you as you raised your hands, channeling the power into a focused current. The energy shot forward, slamming into Karina with enough force to send her flying into a pile of crates.

She staggered to her feet, her diamond form flickering as she struggled to maintain it. For the first time, she looked rattled, her breathing ragged and her movements slower, more deliberate.

“This isn’t over,” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.

“We’ll see about that,” Jeno growled, flames flaring as he stepped forward.

You steadied yourself, your hands still sparking, ready for whatever came next. For the first time, you felt a glimmer of control over your powers. With Jeno by your side, you knew you wouldn’t back down.

Karina straightened, her diamond form flickering as she reverted to flesh. She held up a hand, her expression unreadable. “Enough,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost resigned. “I can’t keep this up forever.”

Jeno growled, his chain igniting in fiery protest as the Spirit of Vengeance pushed him to finish the fight. “You don’t get to walk away, Karina.”

But you stepped forward, placing a hand on his burning shoulder. “Jeno, wait,” you said, your voice firm but calm. “Let me handle this.”

Jeno’s skull turned slightly toward you, the flames in his sockets flickering with hesitation, but he relented, lowering his chain. “Fine. But don’t trust her.”

You turned to Karina, your chest heaving as you fought to steady the overwhelming power coursing through you. “Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice trembling—not with fear, but with exhaustion and hurt. “You said you were helping me. Was it all a lie?”

Karina’s diamond form flickered briefly before she reverted fully to flesh and blood. For the first time, you saw something human in her eyes—regret, perhaps, or maybe doubt. She wiped a smudge of dirt from her cheek, straightening her posture.

“I didn’t lie,” she said, her voice softer now. “Not about everything. You do have incredible potential, Y/N. More than you realize. But… I didn’t approach you purely out of kindness.”

“Then why?” you demanded, the electricity around you sparking dangerously.

Karina hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Because I needed you. Your powers. For the Hellfire Club’s plans. You were… a means to an end.”

Your chest tightened at her words, but before the anger could take hold, she continued.

“But,” she said, glancing away, “it wasn’t all manipulation. I—” She paused, the unflappable Karina momentarily at a loss for words. “I enjoyed spending time with you, Y/N. You’re smart, kind… and you made me see things differently.”

“Differently?” you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Karina met your gaze, her icy composure softening. “I’ve spent so much of my life doing what I thought was necessary—making hard decisions for the ‘greater good.’ But being around you… it reminded me of who I used to be, before all of this. Before I became... this.”

Jeno stepped closer, his flames dimming but still present. “If you’re having second thoughts, prove it. Walk away.”

Karina looked between you and Jeno, her expression conflicted. For a moment, you thought she might lash out again, but instead, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a pair of sleek, metallic gauntlets.

“Here,” she said, tossing them to you. You caught them instinctively, the cool metal humming faintly in your hands. “They’ll help you control your powers. Keep you from accidentally frying someone. I was supposed to give them to you after you joined us.”

You stared at the gauntlets, then back at her. “Then why are you giving me these now?”

Karina smiled faintly, a flicker of genuine warmth breaking through her usual cool demeanor. “Because I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. Power without control... it’ll destroy you. And I’d rather not see that happen.”

Jeno crossed his arms, his fiery gaze narrowing. “This doesn’t absolve you of everything you’ve done.”

“I know,” Karina said, her voice quiet. She turned to you, her expression serious. “If things get worse. Like if the Hellfire Club comes after you. Call me. I’ll help you.”

“Why?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Karina gave you a small, almost sad smile. “Because despite everything, I care about you, Y/N. More than I expected to.”

With that, she turned on her heel and began walking toward the factory’s exit.

“You’ll never stop looking over your shoulder if you go back to them,” Jeno called after her, his voice hard.

Karina paused at the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. “Maybe,” she admitted. “But we don’t all get to ride off into the sunset with a gorgeous woman who can manipulate electricity by our side, do we, Rider?”

And then she was gone, disappearing into the night like a ghost.

You stood there, clutching the gauntlets tightly, your heart a storm of emotions. Jeno stepped closer, his flames dimming until they extinguished completely, leaving him in his human form.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now.

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was true. “I think so. For now.”

He gave you a small, tentative smile. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

The factory was a wreck. The floors were scorched, the walls cracked from the battles you fought, and the lingering scent of burnt rubber and ozone filled the air. You and Jeno both stood in the aftermath, looking like a pair of survivors who had just stumbled out of a warzone—except, in your case, the war was against a woman who could turn into a diamond. And, you know, manipulate minds. No big deal.

You winced as you flexed your wrist, the burn from a stray blast still making your skin tingle. Glancing at Jeno, you noticed his own set of injuries: deep cuts across his arms and a nasty gash on his forehead, not to mention his previously pristine jacket now reduced to ash and scorched fabric. Classic Jeno, always wearing the most expensive thing in a junkyard brawl.

“Hey, so…” you began, shifting uncomfortably as you tried to ignore the awkward silence hanging between you two. “About all the… revelations tonight.”

Jeno shot you a sideways glance, and you could see the weight of everything that had happened sinking in. The Spirit of Vengeance had left him, so at least he wasn’t looking like a flaming skull for now, but you could still see the lingering guilt in his eyes. The man was a walking metaphor for a storm. Wild, unpredictable, and, apparently, in need of a good therapist.

“Yeah, you don’t say,” he muttered, rubbing his head. “So, uh, what now? Do we pretend that didn’t happen? Or is the whole ‘electricity-generating mutant’ thing a forever deal?”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “You think I just woke up one day and thought, ‘Hey, I’ll be a walking lightning rod for the rest of my life’?”

Jeno winced as he straightened up, his movements stiff. “No, I didn’t, but... you know. Seems like that’s exactly what’s happening.”

“Great. I’ll add it to my ‘What I Did Wrong Today’ list,” you muttered, feeling the familiar surge of frustration rise in you. But it wasn’t just at your powers. It was at the one thing you couldn’t quite shake off: Jeno.

You narrowed your eyes at him, your tone suddenly more serious. “And what about you, huh? Still think popping pills and riding a bike through fire is a good coping mechanism? Especially since you’re apparently made of fire now?”

Jeno flinched, and for a moment, it felt like the old Jeno was retreating back into his shell—the one he built to protect himself from all the things he couldn’t face. He kicked the ground, looking at his scuffed boots. “I didn’t— It’s just…” He sighed, unable to finish the sentence.

“Jeno,” you said, voice softer now. You placed a hand on his shoulder, though he didn’t meet your eyes. “I’m serious. If you want to stay in my life. If you really care about me at all. You need to get help. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Jeno glanced up at you, his usually cocky demeanor replaced with something a little more vulnerable. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know I’ve messed up. And I promised you I’d get better. But—” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’re right. I don’t want to be that person anymore. I don’t want to lose you.”

You took a deep breath, your frustration dissipating just slightly. The old, familiar bond you shared was still there, tangled in with the new, raw emotions. You nodded, but added with a small, teasing smirk, “If you ever try to pop a pill in front of me again, I’ll use you as a lightning rod. Got it?”

Jeno gave a half-laugh, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “Got it. No more pills. Just the occasional dramatic motorcycle crash for old time’s sake.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s so much better,” you deadpanned. “But seriously, Jeno, I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself first. I won’t watch you burn up from the inside out.”

He met your gaze, the flicker of sincerity in his eyes making you pause. “I’ll try, Y/N. I swear. I’m tired of hurting myself—and you.”

You nodded again, feeling the weight of the conversation settle into your bones. “Good. And, uh, while we’re on the subject—if you ever want to not be on fire for five seconds, I’ve got these new gauntlets that could help with the whole ‘literal fire hazard’ thing. Maybe we should figure out how to duplicate them.”

Jeno’s eyes flicked to the gauntlets you were still holding, raising an eyebrow. “You think those are going to keep me from turning into a human torch?”

“Well, they won’t stop you from being a hot mess,” you quipped, “but they might help with the literal hot mess part. Try them on. See if they can cool you off. But give them back, I don’t wanna electrocute you later.”

Jeno chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re something else.” He pulled the gauntlets on with a shrug. They fit perfectly, “Better than getting burned alive, I guess.”

“That’s the spirit,” you said with a small smile. “See? We’re making progress.”

He gave a small, half-smile in return. “One step at a time.”

The first few days after the chaos in the factory felt like the world had hit the pause button. You were still grappling with the full weight of what had happened—the fight, Karina’s departure, and the truth about your powers. But more than that, you were trying to figure out how to not burn down the nearest building while you practiced controlling your mutant abilities.

Your bedroom had turned into an impromptu testing ground for your electrical powers, and you were starting to actually feel like a walking lightning rod now. The first time you accidentally zapped the toaster, you almost burned down the kitchen. It’s fine, you told yourself. I’ll just keep a fire extinguisher in every room.

"Okay, just breathe," you muttered, staring at the lamp in front of you. Your hands crackled with electrical energy. "Focus. You’re not going to fry this lamp into oblivion. You’ve got this."

The lamp flickered. Then, with a sudden snap, it exploded in a burst of light.

"Okay, maybe not. Plan B: Try not to set anything on fire this time," you groaned, rubbing your forehead. You glanced at the charred remnants of your lamp. Great. I’m a walking disaster.

Meanwhile, in the next room, Jeno was wrestling with his own set of issues. His recovery wasn’t as simple as just kicking a habit. It was as if his very soul had to unlearn years of reckless behavior and self-destruction. And while he was committed to getting better, you had a sneaking suspicion that his journey would involve more than a few missteps along the way.

You walked into the living room, where Jeno was sitting on the couch, staring at a glass of water like it held the answers to all of life’s problems.

"How’s it going, big guy?" you asked, leaning in the doorway.

Jeno glanced up and sighed dramatically. "I’m just sitting here, contemplating the universe. You know, the usual."

"Right. The deep, soul-searching kind of contemplation." You gave him a pointed look. "Or are you trying to convince yourself that water can’t be addictive?"

He shot you a dry look. "Very funny. But no, I’m actually just trying to make sure I don’t relapse into firing up my bike for no reason."

You raised an eyebrow. "And that’s going well, I assume?"

"Actually," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, "I’m being good. No fire, no bike stunts, just... boring old rehab."

"Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find a way to be extra dramatic about it. It’s your brand."

Jeno smirked, the hint of his old self shining through. "Yeah, well, I’m trying to unbrand myself."

You chuckled. "Good luck with that. I’m pretty sure the Ghost Rider brand is hard to shake."

Jeno exhaled through his nose, rubbing his forehead. "I hate that name."

You threw your hands up. "What? It’s catchy!"

"Catchy? It sounds like I’m auditioning for a cheesy horror movie," he grumbled.

"But the cool demon guy gave you it."

Jeno gave you a playful glare. "And he wants me to exterminate every sinful person in this world, so is he really ‘cool’?"

You shrugged, smiling. "I’m just trying to make sure you don’t fall into your bad habits again. Humor is the only thing that gets me through this madness."

Jeno stared at you, a mix of amusement and sincerity on his face. "Thanks, Y/N. Really. I... I don’t know what I’d do without you."

You softened, though you couldn’t resist throwing in a final jab. "Probably set something on fire, knowing you."

"Don’t tempt me," Jeno warned with a grin.

"Okay, okay," you relented, holding up your hands. "I’ll stop. But hey, how about we both try and figure this out without burning anything down, deal?"

Jeno looked at you, a little more serious now. "Deal."

And so, you began this new chapter, with a growing sense of purpose. You and Jeno were both trying to reclaim control over your lives, and though it wasn’t easy, it was at least a little bit more bearable with each other’s help.

As for you, well, you still had a lot to learn about controlling your powers. But you figured you could start small, maybe with not blowing up your appliances. After all, if you could survive your own chaotic life, maybe saving the world wasn’t that far out of reach.

The night was cool, but the air still carried the buzz of the day’s chaos. The city sprawled out before you, lights flickering in the distance, the world oblivious to the storm that had just passed through. You and Jeno stood side by side in the parking lot, where the remnants of your battle and struggles were already fading into the distance.

Jeno’s bike sat next to you, the engine idling with that low growl that had always gotten your heart racing—before you knew all the trouble it would bring. You felt the familiar charge in the air as your hands crackled with electric energy, but it was different now. Controlled.

“Well, this is... weird,” you said, tapping the side of your gauntlets and watching the sparks dance around your fingertips.

Jeno shot you a sidelong glance, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, you being the dangerous one now. What’s next? You’re gonna start taking over the world?"

You rolled your eyes. “World domination? Please. I’ll start with not burning down my apartment.”

Jeno gave you a knowing look. “One step at a time, right?”

He mounted his bike and revved the engine, the sound echoing through the empty streets. You followed suit, stepping onto the back of his bike with a practiced ease that only came from years of friendship—and more than a few questionable decisions. 

As Jeno revved the engine again, you looked at the skyline one last time, feeling the electric hum of your powers simmer beneath your skin.

"You know," Jeno said, breaking the silence as his hand gripped the handlebars tighter, "I think I’ve got a name for you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh, no. I’m not falling for this again."

"No, seriously. You need a name," he insisted, glancing at you with that same cocky grin. "Surge. It fits. You’ve got the whole ‘electricity’ vibe going on."

You stared at him for a moment, and then—after a deep, soul-searching pause—let out a dramatic sigh. “Surge? Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” he said with a shrug, clearly pleased with himself. "It’s got that ‘superhero’ ring to it."

You immediately shoved him lightly, making him almost lose his balance. "Shut up, Jeno. That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard."

“Come on, it’s not that bad!” he protested, his laughter echoing in the night. "Alright, alright, we’ll work on it. But you can’t deny it—Surge has a nice ring to it."

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Just drive, Jeno. You’re lucky I’m not zapping you off this bike right now.”

“Okay, okay, you win.” Jeno started the bike and, with a final glance toward the horizon, sped off into the night, the flames of his chain lighting up the road ahead.

The wind whipped through your hair, the flames of Ghost Rider and the crackling electricity of your powers illuminating the streets as you rode side by side. The world still had its dangers, but right now, the night felt endless. 

“Like would our ship name be Surge Rider or Ghur—”

“Shut the fuck up and drive.”

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[incorrect-green-lantern-quotes]

Hey! Just wanna say im really glad i found this account ive been getting into green lantern comics recently and your page is a godsend.Aside from that its one of the few that isnt overrun with batman/batfam content propinng him or his orphan child soliders by putting down other dc characters..so i was curious if you knew any dc fanfics that portray the lanterns as competent and or calling bruce out on his bullshit ( sorry if my text is a bit jumbled english isnt my first language)

I'm glad you like my content!

Tbh the fanfiction situation for Green Lanterns is just as bad as it is on Tumblr, if not worse. So a few of these fics are going to be bat-centric, but I've specifically selected those that I feel actually respect and understand the GLs instead of flanderizing them to be stupid assholes.

I've tagged the authors whose Tumblr usernames I could find in the fic or their AO3 profiles. If you're one of the authors I haven't tagged, just let me know and I'll edit the post to add you.

But without further ado, the GL contents of my bookmarks in no particular order:

Fics where the Bats are uninvolved or only play a minor role

In the end, we all bleed Green. by catboyollie (series) - a collection of GL shortfics

Kink Meme #5 by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic) - Most people forget Guy Gardner was a teacher...

Friendship, Ice Cream, and Green Lanterns by MildlyRebelliousMint - GLs hanging out after a battle

Family is What You Make Of It by @exasperatedfey - in which Hal has to bail his fellow GLs out of jail

In Case of Emergency by @susanphoenix - Kilowog’s been adopted by the Earth heroes as the GL to go to if they can’t find the earth lanterns. No one told him that.

i ate up all the light by @effietrinket1619 - Six times Hal was there for a fellow GL (and one time they're there for him). TW for roofie

Good Cop/Bad Cop by @meduseld - shortfic of Hal being a scary mf

Adrift by @rose-cake - Simon and Jessica are partners. That word has multiple meanings. Minor Simon/Jessica

These Mountains by @pastelplastic - Superman meets Tomar-Re, the Green Lantern who failed to save Krypton

Justice League's most wanted fugitive: Hal Jordan by @panamic Panamic - The Justice League are trying to find Green Lantern. Hal does not want to be found by the JL. Shenanigans ensue

No Rest for a Superhero by Crimson_Crystal - Kyle sacrifices sleep to finish an art commission and crashes

A Mind Of His Own by @wolfsbanesparks - The Justice League finds out Captain Marvel is actually a kid, and Hal is the only one who still treats him like a fellow hero

The Goddess of Petty Annoyances by @galahadwilder - Jessica invades Apokolips specifically to annoy Darkseid. Crack

Shooting for the Stars by @green-lanterns-c0ck - Guy in his yellow ring era bumbles into saving a galaxy far far away. Crack crossover with Star Wars

canary in a coal mine by BrandyFromTheBottle - Guy is an asshole to Dinah, but he's trying to be better about it

the memory hurts but does me no harm by @effietrinket1619 - The Sinestro Corps have captured Hal and want information. He refuses to give it to them

Hal & Kyle fics (there's enough of these that they warrant their own category)

Luminance by @lanternwisp - Hal slowly realizing he thinks of Kyle as a son

trajectory from me to you by @softpunks - deaged!Kyle thinks Hal is his dad

the moldy cup is not a metaphor by MildlyRebelliousMint - Kyle calls Hal "dad" and Hal goes to visit Barry, totally not freaking out

friendly fields and open roads by ufonaut - Hal returned to life and feels like shit. Kyle comes seeking a mentor.

ship in a bottle by @hopeworth - Two former hosts of Parallax meet up for brunch

Fics involving Bats that respect Green Lanterns

we're in the mellow mayhem together (series) by lunaratlasky - Jason seeks out Hal whenever he wants to piss off Bruce

Emergency Line (series) by @crucifixinhell - jason looked at hal once and went "you seem like good dad material"

For Whom We'd Give Blood (series) by Boogalee99 - How Hal Jordan becomes the favorite uncle of the batfam

There's Always Another One by lapsedpacifist - Dick gets fired and decides to crash at Hal's place

To Overcome Fear (ongoing) by @dc-sideblog - Stephanie gets fired and Kyle decides that if the Bats don't want a perfectly good superhero, the Green Lanterns definitely do

Disclosure by @aj-artjunkyard - Maybe Hal isn't as at peace with a certain android's death as he thought he was... and maybe he's not alone in his grief either.

Stars in a Paint-Filled Sky by @thenaphorism - Kyle has to explain to the Justice League why he has a Red Hood/Troia tramp stamp

because you know better by @matchahater - Ion and Red Hood contemplate the ethics of resurrection

catch the asteroids that come your way by @thepackwantsthed - the only JayKyle fic that I've ever liked

Justice League International - Spoiled! by @secretlystephaniebrown - Guy Gardner, Crystal Brown's childhood neighbor and best friend, ends up taking in her daughter Stephanie after an unexpected turn of events.

the superhero game (ongoing) by Nyame - Jason Todd Peggy Sue longfic ft. a near-omnipotent White Lantern

I'm gonna pin this post and update it as I encounter more fics I like, so drop some recommendations in the comments for me and everyone else!

[shard010]

Imagine if Tony was a shit mentor and father figure until *after* Spider-Man Homecoming. (And his treatment of Peter can change if you changed his confrontations with Tony, both the creepy corning Peter at his apartment to recruit and blackmail him, and the fairy scene because even though he wasn't a hero long he still did it a good portion of the year *BEFORE* Tony showed up. Peter is *Competent*), acknowledged that *BOTH* Teams Tony and Cap weren't in the right just because they had a few good points. (Badass Aunt May mention. She confronts him and can be petty when she wants to be.)

Like, the sheer character growth and drama potential. Expanding upon their growth in relationship from "just this random kid" to "emotionally adopted family". The second chance Tony got to improve himself and be better. (And ex-vengers would be like "what did you do to Tony?!? If they ever show up afterward for a brief after story.) Expositionary could be separate story altogether OR can be connected or Peter's reflecting and contemplating on his and Tony's past together.

Danny can bring Billy into the fold for magical mayhem, (and witches weren't always exclusively women in history.) Billy would largely stick around his city for the most part though.

Green Lanterns obviously won't be shown too much, being space cops and all. And both Peter and Danny are not only on an assignment and the Lantern rings don't like to switch universes. Need to stick in the "general vicinity" of their charging stuff. (Potential for more drama if you wanna make an arc out of it, give each of the 3 a separate plot to work through. You can read DP X DC Lantern headcannons for agnst if you want to go dark. This can be another destabilizing point depending on the state of the Lanterns and the universe, as well as if you just want to stay longer and have them explore more, Like A Side Quest!

Since it's MCU Peter there won't be "fate and destiny" bs he has to contend with. He's got enough problems with his current power set and Parker Luck, thankyouverymuch.

DP x DC x Marvel

This is an idea I had yesterday, but I didn't want it to be swept away from the Dannypocalypse, so let's gooooo!

The Lazarus Pits are just more than just leaked ectoplasm into the material world, they're unstable rifts that could potentially tear apart the whole Infinite Realms! (The Fenton Portal doesn't count because technology keeps it stable.)

While one or two could be somehow manageable, the League of Assassins found a way to recreate them and the new model was definitely more unstable than the old ones...

SO this clearly needed an intervention.

Luckily, Clockwork has two apprentices heroes that own them some favors...

This is how Danny Fenton/Phantom, Peter Parker/Spider-man and the ghost of one (1) Tony Stark (as an emotional support ghost) found themselves being loaned to the DC Universe to close every single one of these Pits.

(Danny became CW's unofficial apprentice after they helped him with TUE.)

(@stealingyourbones @ashoutinthedarkness @the-sprog if y'all are interested... >:3c)

(Spoilers from Spider-man: No Way Home under the cut.)

(Peter is the one from the MCU after No Way Home, but he gets his happy ending thanks to CW who fixed Strange's Spell and so MJ and Ned still remember him... in exchange for a future favor, AKA being transferred to the DCU to fix things.)

[rubyvhs]

early mornings | sam & dean

tags. pure fluff, mentions of sex once, 800 words lailas notes. loved doing this, first time trying headcannons style nd you didn’t specify so I did both sam and dean. theme inspired by @sammyluvr their’s is honestly so so gorgeous.

sam winchester !

— .✦ You both had sex the night prior, and so Sam is the sweetest human in the morning. It's in the bunker and you're still asleep but he wakes up for his five am runs and just admires you for ten minutes.

— .✦ You eventually wake up and at first are very much panicking. Where is he, did you do something wrong, is he mad.

— .✦ He comes back with breakfast. In bed. 

— .✦ "Sam, I'm really impressed that your best quality isn't your di—"

— .✦ "I'm trying to do something sweet." Yeah but why would he do it if not to hear your teasing?

— .✦ You also just hide your insecurities behind jokes and banter so maybe that's why Sam shut it down when he heard it. You both eat in bed and he picked up your favorite which makes you fall in love (and scream inside) a thousand times more. 

— .✦ You're so insanely terrified but you're also comfortable. He's your best friend and now he's something so much more. You thought yesterday was a one off but he's so clearly in this for the long run that you're beaming the entire day. It's the best morning you've ever had.

— .✦ He even tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, which is just so very fairytale Sammy. And it makes you feel unreal. 

— .✦ He's surprised when you kiss him after you're both done and off the bed. He's even more surprised when you don't immediately leave his room, instead shower in his bathroom and change into his clothes. 

— .✦ He kisses you the second he sees you in his flannel. And he blushes like crazy.

— .✦ Sam hopes he can spend the rest of his mornings in bed with you, and if all it takes is some breakfast he's more than ready.

— .✦ He tells Dean he'll be looking for cases in his room today and doesn't let you go. He never wants the morning to end. He spends the day in bed with you, your head on his lap or his chest, anything as long as you're touching him. 

dean winchester !

— .✦ Your alarm blares AC/DC and he wakes up with a jump, arming his gun under the pillow until he sees that there's no threat.

— .✦ He almost wakes you up just out of principal because why the fuck is your alarm doing nothing to you but waking him win a frenzy.

— .✦ Then he notices how cute you look, hair ruffled on the bed. Your soft breaths make him smile and he leans down to kiss your hair. He's blissed out for a moment and forgets about what you did to him. 

— .✦ Then he checks the time and it's already eleven which means that was your emergency alarm (in case you don't wake up at a reasonable time, you mentioned once). 

— .✦ "Sweetheart, wake up." He says, against his will. He only slightly shakes you but you get up pretty easily since someone else is touching you. You've always been a much heavier sleeper than Dean, not being a hunter from such a young age and all that.

— .✦ He's surprised to see how quickly you get up and into the bathroom to brush your teeth and take a shower (which he joins you in) and then get dressed.

— .✦ But that's about as much as he lets you do. He knows you're an action type of person but that means that sometimes you might not take a moment for yourself and just feel instead, which is the worst thing Dean can think of. 

— .✦ He doesn't want that for you so he gets you back in bed (after he makes it, you're very picky) and you spend a good few minutes above him, straddling his body as you both talk about random things, mostly the plan for the day and it's the most domestic Dean's ever felt. 

— .✦ Your head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, it's everything he's ever wanted. Someone to want to be alive with because the only reason you stay alive is to share it with someone else. (After a while Sam doesn't cut it and he'd rather have you over his pain-in-the-ass little brother any time.)

— .✦ You eventually do get on with the day and walk around the bunker, find cases, go grocery shopping, but Dean only does all of those things in suspense of what's to come the next morning; which is another lazy few hours with this ‘one’.

[seraphicloves]

𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞

⊱✿⊰ summary: your family wants to protect you but its impossible with the life you all lead

⊱✿⊰ warnings: kidnapping, minor torture, it will be angsty, almost dying, spitting on your face, the joker deserves his own warning tbh

⊱✿⊰ notes: this is for skye because she wanted some angsty batfam stuff and here we are. I am just shitting on the page and hoping words form at this point. I hope you enjoy and feel free to send me requests. Also this is a platonic fic sorry if you were hoping for romance action

⊱✿⊰ tags: @kozumesphone @fizzywashere87 @fashionablysouly @witherwallflower @goldierey

@finleyforevermore @baecakie @gergthecat @mqstermindswift @anyas-shitposting69 (comment on this or send me an ask if you want to be added to my DC taglist)

"Well, well, well. Looks like baby bird got caged." The clown sneered, leaning close to your face. You scrunched your nose and tried to scoot away despite the ropes scratching your wrists raw.

The Joker's finger runs along your cheek, a horrific grin on his face as he stared at you. You tried to keep a brave face, you tried to act like the domino mask over your eyes was really a shield. You tried to act like your dad, Batman.

Maybe it was your fault you got kidnapped. He said you weren't ready to go out and patrol with your family, but you went away. You stole one of Damian's mask and put on the most costume adjacent clothes you owned.

"Where should I start, little one?" Joker asked, breaking your train of thoughts. Placing blame would be set for another time. Not now, its not time yet. "Should I give you a smile that matches mine? Should I turn you into a firey decoration before dear ol' daddy bat gets here?"

You winced, trying to prevent the ice filling your veins and the fear weighing your stomach down. The Joker grabbed a knife from his table that had numerous weapons littered on top. Carefully the cold metal of the blade brushed against your skin, not harsh enough to cut just yet. He wanted to scare you first.

•───────────•°•❀•°•──────────•

"I am going to kill that son of a bitch." Jason growled as soon as he heard the news. Bruce gathered the family in the batcave, and explained the Joker had kidnapped the youngest of the family- you.

"Jason, I understand your frustration but we can't act with haste. I won't let her face the same fate you did. I won't make the same mistake twice." Bruce replied, already dressed as Batman. He was doing his best to stay professional despite his fear being ever present.

"I don't want to wait too long either." Dick added, crossing his arms over his chest. Everybody was tense, wanting their sister to be safe once again.

"I'll find where that stupid clown is keeping [Name]." Tim said, standing up and rushing towards the computer before anybody could even reply. Barbara silently followed, knowing she would be the most help to Tim.

Bruce looked at all of his family and nodded, "We'll find her and get her back."

•───────────•°•❀•°•──────────•

Your throat was hoarse and tears had dried on your face. There was no point to fighting it anymore, you only hoped he would kill you soon.

"Aw but doesn't the bird look good with her wings marked?" The Joker chuckled, slicing yet another line into your arm. The cuts were deep, sure to scar, and they were deliberate. You could only guess what he was spelling on your arms.

With the amount of blood flowing down your arms like a red river, it was to no surprise you were fading in and out of consciousness. That would be nice, at least you wouldn't be awake while he tortured you.

You almost settled into the pain, eyes fluttering close to let yourself rest, when you heard a crash. Glass was broken and there was yelling everywhere.

The Joker grabbed your face with his hand and forced you to look forward, where you saw your family (the only thing disguising their horrified looks were their masks)

"Looks like they showed up in time for you, baby bird." He grinned, spitting on your cheek. You were too tired, too fragile to even bother being disgusted. It was better than the cutting.

"Let her go and I'll think about not crushing your head into the wall." Red Hood barked out, already aiming his gun at The Joker. You tried to pay more attention but you were fading slowly,, ready to force your body to rest.

The Joker dropped your body like it was nothing, your face smashing into the concrete. It hurt, pain forming in your forehead but it was a distraction from the blood oozing out of you.

Despite your best efforts, you finally blacked out. The last thing you saw was your family lunging at the Joker, rage thick in the air.

Light flooded your eyes, fresh air blasting your lungs. You were laying down on something soft and warm, contrasting against the mildly scratchy fabric on your skin. You blinked your eyes a few times, forcing them to focus despite the dull ache pounding in your head.

"You're awake." Damian said, apparently sitting beside you. It took a little while but you realized you were in the personal hospital at the manor. He had a few scratches and bruises but nothing as horrific as the scars on your skin (and in your brain.)

"Wha-what..happened?" You croaked, throat feeling like sandpaper. Like magic, Dick appeared with a glass of water you gratefully took. The liquid in your throat was almost heavenly in the way it made you feel infinitely better.

"The Joker kidnapped you and we rescued you." Your father explained calmly, not bothering to add details. Which was probably good for you, the devil's in details.

"I'm glad your back, sis." Jason said, making you suddenly aware of his presence in the back of the room. Your entire family seemed to be in here, ready to see your betterment. Despite he general aversion to touch, Jason wrapped you into a hug.

Of course, everybody else joined in (forcefully or not) for a big group hug. You laughed, despite the hollow of your heart, watching as Tim was pushed into the hug by Dick.. It was ridiculous having a group hug after a traumatic event...how family sitcom could you get?

But somehow, it felt good to be in the arm's of your family. It felt like home.

lori © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything weird with my writing! i like reblogs and comments but please be kind as this was my writing.

[captainkirkk]

✩ MONTHLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

The fics I’ve read and enjoyed for the month of February. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC (Batman)

Light A Match, Pull The Pin (You Are Not Who You've Been) by WakingNightmares

Part 2 of I've Given Every Piece Of Me (And I'm Breathing)

“Games,” Dick says softly. “He… he likes to play games. With your… with your head. He won’t…” He shakes his head a bit, some of the distance in his eyes fading. “He won’t come at you head on. That’s not… That’s not what he does. He wants you scared, first. Helpless. Knowing there’s nothing you can do. He… He calls it… softening up the target. So when he… when he actually shows up… they’re so afraid they… they panic.”

“And if he does…” Jason swallows. “If he does, you… there’s no way out. He won’t… If you fail, he doesn’t care. What you do. It doesn’t matter. He won’t stop no matter how much you…” Jason blinks a few times, and Roy’s fairly positive he’s trying to blink back memories. “He’s going to do what he’s going to do. You can’t stop him. He doesn’t care.”

Roy takes a deep breath. Let’s it out slowly, so it’s only an exhale, and not a sigh, because Jason looks haunted, and Dick looks blank.

Set immediately after Screaming In The Dark.

Captive Prince

Blood, Bones, Voice, Ghost by sunsmasher

Damen’s grip on his arm is painful. His face in Laurent’s is ashy and sheened with sweat.

He says, “There was something in my drink.”

(Damen is poisoned, Jokaste is framed, Laurent must find them an heir. He's put it off for so long already.)

Miraculous Ladybug

the art of living lies and a fine mingling of letting go by blueh

“Ms. Bustier,” Marinette says a little desperately. “I have been fighting akumas nonstop for the past twenty four hours, I’m running on seven expresso shots right now and I can barely read the words on the board. Can we please reschedule the test?”

Adrien doesn’t look up from where his head is buried in his arms but he waves a hand and says, “Agreed.”

Or: the world knows their identities, but life goes on.

Sewing Needles and Cat Paws by SailorChibi

Later, they agree that Hawkmoth did it on purpose.

But in the moment, Chat Noir can’t think that far. His head is pounding, possibly from a concussion, and he has just enough time to look into Ladybug’s scared blue eyes before the flash of light overtakes them both. Then, suddenly, he’s looking at Marinette Dupain-Cheng and the journalists around them are screaming. Their names, including Adrien’s real one, are so loud that it’s disorienting.

The Growing Pains Of Child Soldiers by BloodWolf13 (+ podfic)

What do the citizens of Paris do, when they realize that their heroes are literally growing up before their eyes? They freak the fuck out.

Or everybody realizes that the heroes of Paris are young teenagers and are a little (extremely) worried about children fighting a terrorist.

Yesterday was plain awful by zipadeea

"WHERE IS LADYBUG? The headlines scream Sunday morning, and Caline Bustier feels her stomach just drop."

After a terrifying akuma attack, Paris and its heroes are left reeling. All most people want is to know what has happened to their beloved Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Marinette and Adrien just want to be okay.

Alternatively: Plagg has a whole lot of feelings, Marinette lies and says she's fine every other paragraph, and Adrien cries more in two days than he has in two years.

Miraculous Ladybug x DC

Bad news, Paris by BlueTee

Part 1 of Paris vs Gotham

Tim: @notTHATtim Are you parisians all right??? #onlyinParis Nathaniel Kurtzberg: @nathanielkart Replying to @notTHATtim hahaha no.

In which Nathaniel only wanted to pass some information but shenanigans issues and he ends up starting a twitter war.

Severance

Lay Me Back Down by EightMinutesToSunrise

Mark S. escapes Lumon and finds himself alone in an unfamiliar house. Or, not quite alone--his outie's with him.

Click. Click. by EightMinutesToSunrise

A few days after the destruction of Lumon and the innies' escape, Mark S. requests that his outie take their consciousness, and not swap back for anything. Not even (especially not) for their rebellion's firecracker leader, Helly Riggs.

From Lightswitch AU--a separate but related continuation of my fic "Lay Me Back Down."

As the Elevator Dings by Sdove

Breaking company rules is a form of self care. OR a story about the revolutionary act that is choosing to love yourself. OR the aftermath of the party and Mark S.'s role in it-- part character study, part plot, all angst, baby!

A Light In The Storm by Alooxis

Ever since the court order requiring that Lumon employees be provided with co-neural switches - a modified version of the overtime contingency device - Mark's world had become so much larger than he’d ever imagined.

Unfortunately, with a world of new experiences comes a world of new fears.

I.e.: Mark S. experiences his first thunderstorm. It does not go well. Thankfully, Devon is there to help.

[sanguineterrain]

the teeth you know | dick grayson

Summary: The war between the humans and the vampires has lasted for a year now. When you fled Gotham, you thought that would be the last time you'd see the Vampire King and the love of your life, Dick Grayson. You were wrong.

Pairing: vampire king!Dick Grayson x fem!reader. based on the dc vs vampires comics

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings/tags: smut!!! 18+ only. oral fem receiving, manipulation, romantic dick, me retconning whatever smarmy little bastard they wrote in dc vs vampires bc that is NOT my dick. dick is literally so gone for you, vampire king or not. themes of death, war, vampires killing humans. if i missed any warnings lmk!

happy almost halloween! follow your dreams and fuck that superhero turned vampire. it'll definitely fix them this time.

the divider

If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡

Tonight, you dream. 

You don't usually have good dreams. Not since this whole war began. Your dreams are filled with red. Always red, always terrifying. 

Except when he's in them.

The first few times it happened, you yelled at him for intruding on your subconscious. For warping your emotions and making you miss him. He'd laughed at that. 

You should look at yourself a little harder before blaming me. I just appear. You do all the dirty work of missing me, my love.

You're in Gotham in tonight's dream. The old Gotham, of course. Before any bastard undead creatures could suck the life out of your city. Before Dick Grayson haunted your dreams. 

You're on a rooftop ledge, legs dangling. You stare at the harbor. The city's wet from the rain and alive. So alive. You start to cry. 

"Oh, honey," he says, and you cry harder because he sounds exactly like the Dick you knew. 

He keeps his distance, sitting a few feet away. You refuse to look at him, because this is exactly how he gets you to miss him. Dick makes a soft noise when you scrub at your face.

"Have you been eating enough?" he asks, and he almost sounds tender. But you know better. "I'll track down a produce shipment, tell my men to intercept the boat for you."

"Fuck you," you say. "I don't take food out of people's mouths."

Dick edges closer. He feels big in your dreams, looming over you. 

"You wouldn't take food out of anyone's mouth. There's no longer a faction on the planet that requires all that food." 

Because the vampires have all but wiped humans out. You snarl. 

"Why can't you leave me alone?" you snap. "I know you're cruel, but the least you could do is let me dream in peace."

"Have I been cruel to you? I don't mean to be, sweetheart. I visit to check on you."

"Bullshit, Dick." Saying his name makes you shake. "You visit to manipulate me. I'm not going to give up my location, I'm not going to turn against my team, and I'm definitely never going to be your queen."

Dick is next to you on the roof ledge, now. He leans in and you stiffen at his eyes. You still aren't used to the absence of blue.

"Of course not. I wouldn't make you do anything you don't want to," he says, hand slipping across your jaw. You immediately slap him away. He makes a displeased sound. 

"Why don't you find someone else to manipulate? I'm sure you've got countless minions who'd leap at the chance to be with you for eternity." 

"I don't want anyone else," he murmurs. "I've thought of nothing but you since we parted. I wish you hadn't run, my love. Things would be better if we were together, you’d see.”

"Hah. You used to be so much better at compartmentalizing, Grayson. Guess vampires aren't so good at controlling their own desires."

He laughs, tosses his head back. His fangs glint. Dick's smile is deceiving; underneath the charm, there's unimaginable power. Vampirism has treated him well: he's always filled out, lean with muscle, carrying an easy strength everywhere he goes. 

You, on the other hand, suffer from poor nutrition. You didn't sleep well before this mess; now, it's nearly impossible. 

(Except when Dick visits, you feel rested the next morning. You'd never admit such a thing to anybody, but it's the truth.) 

"Oh, sweetheart, but why would I bother controlling my desires now? There's no one stopping me from having what I want."

You stew in silence, turning away from him. Dick sighs. 

"What do you want, hm? Tell me. I'll give you anything." 

"I want you to free every human you're holding captive," you say. "And I want you and your people to stop this war."

"Such a golden heart," Dick says. "That's what I love about you. Always so good."

"You used to be good too," you shoot back bitterly. 

"No, I used to be obedient. There's a difference. I used to be Bruce's little, golden cow."

“He treated you well.”

“When I fell in line,” he says.

You fall quiet again. Dick scoots closer. You scoot away. 

"You know I've already let a few of the humans go. For you, honey. As a sign of goodwill. I'm not totally heartless, you know."

You roll your eyes. 

"Right. Well, us cattle don't find it merciful when we're sent out on our own to die, so you'll have to excuse me if I don't thank Your Highness on my knees."

"You are not cattle," Dick says fiercely. "Don't talk about yourself that way."

"My life is no less human and no more important than theirs," you say, temper flaring. "So, yes, I am."

"That's—"

You fall off the roof before he can say any more. Your stomach swoops similarly to how it would if you were awake. But then the stars bleed into the skyline, and there's a flash of golden light. 

And now you're in a bedroom. It's not one you recognize, richly decorated with golden accents and silk sheets and curtains. You'd almost mistake it for a room at Wayne Manor. 

"Now this is much better, don't you think? You're wearing my favorite color."

You look down and see that your pajamas have been swapped for a long, blood red, chiffon nightgown. It hugs every curve and dip of your body, the sleeves and collar trimmed in soft fur. The neckline is somewhat modest, but the fabric is totally see-through past your thighs. 

It's something a queen would wear. 

"Beautiful," Dick murmurs, voice rough. "Fuck, honey. This is the sort of thing you should wear all the time."

"Change me back," you demand. "I am not a doll for you to dress up, Dick."

"No, of course you're not. This is just a taste of how you'd live if you were with me, my love."

"I will never live with you. I'd rather die."

Dick hums, then draws closer. You back up until your legs hit the edge of the bed. He prowls further, eyes sharp like he's hunting prey. Your pulse quickens and you have to remind yourself that this is just a dream. 

"What happened to us?" he asks softly. "I know that, at one point, you loved me."

"Yeah, that was before you turned into a monster. I loved a man." 

"I'm no more monster than any of the men you've known," Dick says. 

You scoff. "God, where'd you get that one? Jason?"

Dick smiles, and it almost looks human. "No, that was a Grayson original. And it's true. Man has never been good. You don't like me because now I drink a little blood?"

"I don't like you because you used to be good, and now you're not."

He hums. "I'm not all bad, my love. I can be subdued, tamed. You want me to be tame? I can be good for you. I can give you anything your heart desires. Our wants are the same.”

Dick eases you backwards onto the bed. You shouldn’t let him. Shouldn’t like the cold press of undead flesh against your heat. Shouldn’t like how he holds you, how convincing he sounds. You know your wants aren’t the same, that Dick is playing you, and you’re being easy.

But… but it's not like you'll ever see him for real again. No one will know. 

And God, it's been so long since anyone touched you. You pined for this, what seems like forever ago. Dick Grayson wanting you had felt impossible, until it wasn't… but by then, he'd become the very thing you'd sworn to hate. 

"This–” You swallow. “This isn’t right.” 

But your legs part for him to kneel between. 

"Tell me to stop and I will. I serve you first."

Dick hovers over you, hands planted on either side of your head. You're getting wet. You ache in more ways than one. 

"This is cruel," you whine.

"I don’t mean to be cruel,” he says gently. “Do you want me to stop, my love? My beautiful queen, who hasn’t been touched in so long. You’ve needed me, haven’t you?”

“Not–not your queen,” you say, panting, but you let him in, let him settle above you. 

“If you say so, my love," he says, nuzzling your neck. You tense even though he can't actually bite you. 

His fingers thread with yours. The position is unbearably intimate. You’d forgotten how romantic Dick was. How loving. Briefly, you wonder if he kept that through the shift.

It’s impossible, you insist as he kisses your jaw.

"You're a dream in red," he purrs. "I might prefer it to you in blue, but it's a close call."

"Your ego is ridiculous," you say, and Dick unlinks one hand to pet the apex of your thighs with two fingers. You're still clothed, and you're still dreaming, but the heat and pressure and slick feel so real. 

"The sounds you're making certainly don’t keep my ego in check," Dick says with a proud grin, fangs on display. 

Then he rips your underwear off, ducks between your legs, and licks you until you cry. 

You arch off the bed, and even in the dream, his strength is easy, one hand keeping you pressed to the bed. Dick pushes one of your legs up to get a deeper angle, moaning into your cunt. Your leg goes up easily even though in real life, it would pinch. You’re not as flexible as he is.

"Dickie," you cry, tears slipping down your cheeks because it's so good, it feels real, you wish this was real, wish you had him back. 

He nips your thighs, groans into your sex. Dick ruts the mattress, the first loss of control he's shown. It makes you wetter, knowing that he's so gone for you. It's sick to like such a thing, but you never stopped loving him, not really. You can't seem to reckon the man from the monster. 

You come hard on his tongue, and he keeps licking until you push him away. 

"You haven't been touched in ages, I bet," he says, lips shiny with your arousal. His eyes are a brighter red. His chest heaves. He looks hungrier than before he started.

"Been a bit busy,” you say when your brain comes back online. “End of humanity and all that."

His eyes go soft. You hate that he can still make that look. 

"Why are you so stubborn? Why won't you let me take care of you? You belong at my side."

You scowl. "I don't belong anywhere, Dick. Certainly nowhere near you."

His eyes glitter and he grabs you by your hips and kisses you. You let him, because you're absolutely pathetic and because you haven't been touched in ages.

Dick laughs against your mouth and peppers kisses on your throat before pulling away. 

"I'll send your team food. They won't even know it's me," he says, half-lidded. "My beloved queen. You'll never starve. I didn't know it was so bad."

"I am not your queen and I don't need your charity. In fact, you know what? I'm waking up. Right now."

Dick smiles, and kisses your hand. Then he gets off of the bed, and fixes his collar. He must be aching in his slacks, dream or not, but he straightens up like he has all the time in the world to fuck you. Like he knows you’ll be back.

"Of course, my love. Whatever you want. Till next time."

The dream fades from a golden bedroom to your dark, tiny hole of a room you've camped in for a few months. 

You turn your head and look at the clock. It's still late. 

Your thighs ache. Your mouth tingles where he kissed you. 

You swore to never pledge yourself to the Vampire King. But you never made any such promises about Dick Grayson.

[dollishmehrayan]

# “LIFE IS WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU WHEN YOUR BUSY MAKING OTHER PLANS.” ── .✦ ( just a Drabble of how Jason babysits lian Harper because dc isn’t answering my dms to release smth like this )

a/n: this is lowkey inspired from my TikTok fyp && I thought why not make this after being gone (like Roy ) but I’m here and that matters for now ig but here is some uncle jay content before I get chased off this app once again /hj but I lovee these tropes and we need MORE. Also I based that lian Harper in this is about 7 yrs old so sorry if I fucked up the timeline 😓 Tags: (uncle!jay x lian Harper)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

UNLIKELY BABYSITTER ── .✦

(Okay so Idk whether to base this off when Roy died or wtv so i think I’m gonna say wherever) When Roy had to go to whenever the fuck he went, Jason didn't expect to be left with Lian. But, given the circumstances, he found himself the reluctant babysitter.

It was awkward at first, both of them not knowing what to do with each other. Lian, full of energy, bounced around with her little, eager questions, and Jason, usually gruff and unbothered, had no idea how to talk to a seven-year-old. But, after a few days, it became a routine. He'd take her out on low-key patrols

keep her entertained with action figures, or get distracted with her never-ending curiosity about why the Batmobile was always clean or how many bad guys Batman had taken down. She’d ask him if he ever got hurt during patrols, and he’d be quick to shrug it off with a gruff "I'm bulletproof." Which, in a way, was true, but he'd leave out the parts where he still felt pain.

JASON LYING ABOUT ROY’S WHEREABOUTS ── .✦

Every now and then, Lian would ask where her dad was. Jason had learned quickly that he couldn’t tell her the truth because no way in hell he would say that Roy was either in rehab or MIA. So, he became a master of gentle lies. "Your dad's off being a hero," he'd say with a wink, trying to avoid any further probing.

He’d even make up silly, grandiose adventures: “I think he’s saving the world, but he’ll come back when he’s done being the most awesome archer on the planet.” Lian would nod in serious understanding, never questioning her Uncle Jason. To her, Roy was always out there being her hero, just like her dad told her. Jason kept that illusion intact, because no seven-year-old should have to worry about things they couldn’t fully understand.

GENTLE PARTS ── .✦

When Jason had to settle into being around Lian, he realized that her energy could cut through his walls. He started catching himself with small gestures brushing her hair out of her face when it got messy or tucking her into bed on those nights when she insisted she was scared of the dark. Jason, who usually kept to himself, found that he liked having her around.

He'd start to soften in her presence, especially when she asked questions about his life as Robin because Roy couldn’t keep his mouth shut, and he couldn’t help but soften his voice when he told her stories some he exaggerated for fun and others that were true but came with some parts that were fake and censored.

SEEING HIMSELF IN HER ── .✦

Even at just seven years old, Lian’s fiery spirit reminded him of the younger version of himself a little too reckless, a little too stubborn but he was glad that she seemed to be brighter with energy and didn’t have to go through the same hardships. Jason, having gone through too much for one lifetime, couldn’t help but feel a deep need to protect her.

Whether it was keeping a watchful eye when she ran around with a slingshot or taking her to Alfred for medical patches when she scraped her knee during a failed attempt at imitating her father’s archery skills, Jason would never let anything bad happen to her if he could help it. Every time she looked up at him with those big, trusting eyes, he felt the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders, but in a strangely fulfilling way.

FUN AND MISCHIEF ── .✦

Jason may have been rough around the edges, but he knew how to entertain a child. After dinner, he’d take her out to the Batcave to show her gadgets, even let her play with some of the “toys,” making sure she didn’t break anything important. She loved exploring the safe house jason owned and asking him endless questions about his bikes and guns even though he definitely hid the more violent ones away.

Sometimes, when Roy was unreachable, he’d make up stories about their ‘missions’ together how they had to fight a gang of supervillains or how they went on a secret mission to find the Batcave’s best snack stash even though it hurt him inside to even think about Roy.

Lian would giggle, rolling her eyes at Jason’s outlandish claims, but they both enjoyed it. He’d always promise to let her in on the next "real mission" and tease her about how she’d be the world’s greatest archer one day. She'd always beam back at him, so proud.

JASONS TENDER SIDE ── .✦

In the quiet moments, when Lian would curl up on the couch with a blanket, Jason would find himself sitting beside her, still, looking out for her. He'd never admit it, but he loved how peaceful those moments were, just the two of them. If she asked about her dad again, Jason’s words were always gentle, his hand rubbing her back in soothing circles. “Your dad’s tough, you know? He’s probably out there saving people right now, but when he comes home, he’s gonna spoil you so much, you won’t even know what hit you.”

Jason kept his words soft, not wanting her to feel too much hurt. Deep down, he hated lying to her, but in a twisted way, it was easier to protect her with lies than with the hard truth.

THE LITTLE THINGS ── .✦

Every so often, Jason would find himself unwinding with Lian watching a cartoon together, or if she was feeling more adventurous, they’d go out for ice cream after a long day. Jason would insist she pick out the weirdest flavor, and Lian would always go for something outrageous like mint chocolate chip with sprinkles or rainbow sherbet.

She’d make him try it too (she once made him try a bubblegum mix and he swore he had a stomach ache for dayss😭) and though he’d grimace, he’d always end up smiling at her enthusiasm. The day would end with her telling him everything she learned that day, and Jason, despite his own pain, would laugh, feeling like maybe he was doing something right for once.

THE UNSPOKEN BOND ── .✦

They didn’t say it out loud, but Jason took pride in being there for Lian. He couldn’t replace Roy, and he didn’t want to, but he’d be damned if anything happened to Lian while he was around. Sometimes, as Lian drifted to sleep, Jason would glance over at her, making sure she was okay.

And in those moments, he’d make silent promises to protect her, to keep lying about her father’s whereabouts until he could safely come home, and to be the kind of person who would never let her down even if the world seemed to keep knocking him down because even when his world was crumbling, he would make sure hers was always peaceful and perfect.