#Emma frost one shot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urdreamydoodles · 10 days ago

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X-MEN x FEM!READER

The X-Men Receiving a Dirty Picture from You in Public

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Emma Frost, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Laura Kinney & Wade Wilson

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

You aren’t sure what possesses you to send it—not exactly. Maybe it’s boredom, maybe it’s the way Logan’s been gone longer than expected, leaving you restless. Either way, you know it’s reckless. The second the picture sends, you can already hear his voice in your head: Darlin’, you got a death wish? But you know Logan, know that he’s a beast caged in skin, and there’s nothing he loves more than being provoked by you.

He’s at a dive bar when his phone vibrates. The place is crowded, a few bikers at his table arguing over a pool game. Logan isn’t paying attention—until he glances at his screen. The moment he sees you, bare and sinful, every muscle in his body locks up. His breath hitches, his grip on his beer tightening until the glass threatens to crack. The scent of his own arousal floods his senses, so sharp he’s sure the few mutants around can catch it. One of the bikers nudges him, saying something about his "weird face," but Logan’s already pocketing the phone, jaw clenched.

He needs to get out of here. He doesn’t get embarrassed—not exactly—but the heat that licks up his spine is too much, too distracting. Logan swipes his tongue across his teeth, exhaling hard through his nose as he stands. His voice is a growl, all gravel and heat. “Got somewhere to be.” His movements are stiff, his body thrumming with need as he shoves out of the bar, barely resisting the urge to snarl at the people in his way.

The second he’s outside, he presses a number on his phone. When you pick up, he doesn’t say hello. His voice is low, dangerous. “You got no idea what you just started, sweetheart.” His free hand flexes at his side, his control razor-thin. “You better be home when I get there. And you better be ready.” Then he hangs up, already making his way to his bike, his thoughts full of nothing but you.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

Remy is used to being desired. He knows the weight of hungry stares, the way people fall over themselves trying to get his attention. But you—you’re different. You make him ache. And you know it. Which is why you send the picture when you do, when he’s at a poker table, mid-game, surrounded by half a dozen people.

He sees the message light up his phone and, without thinking, checks it. The second the image fills his screen, his pupils dilate, his breath hitching just enough that the man across from him—some big-shot casino owner—narrows his eyes. “Something wrong, LeBeau?” Remy schools his features quickly, smirking as he locks his phone. “Non, mon ami,” he drawls, voice smooth despite the heat licking at his spine. “Just feelin’ a little… distracted.”

But he is struggling. His heartbeat is unsteady, his palms itching to touch, to grab. You’ve effectively thrown him off his game, and you know it. He shifts in his seat, stretching his legs out, forcing himself to focus. But his mind keeps circling back to the curve of your body, the way your skin looked in the dim lighting. His fingers twitch, itching to shuffle his deck, to channel all this pent-up energy somewhere before it burns him alive.

He doesn’t text back. No, that would be too easy. Instead, he waits until he’s out of the game, until he’s walking down the neon-lit streets of New Orleans. Then he calls you, his voice a lazy purr. “Ma belle, you really gon’ tease me like that?” He pauses, his smile slow, wicked. “Think you should be waitin’ by the door for me, chérie. Don’t want me comin’ in all impatient now, do you?”

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

Kurt is used to wanting. He has spent a lifetime longing for things he believes he doesn’t deserve—love, touch, a home. But then there’s you, and you make him greedy. So when his phone vibrates in the middle of a crowded hallway at the Xavier Institute, he doesn’t think much of it. Not until he sees what you’ve sent.

His tail flicks so fast it nearly knocks over a nearby vase. A choked sound catches in his throat, his golden eyes widening, pupils dilating. He should look away, should pocket his phone before someone notices. But instead, he stares, heat rushing to his face so quickly it nearly makes him dizzy. The image of you burns itself into his mind, searing and divine.

Someone calls his name, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, fumbling to lock his phone. His three-fingered hand twitches, his tail coiling around his waist as he forces a shaky breath. Gott im Himmel, you’re going to be the death of him. He can feel the heat rising to the tips of his ears, can sense the way some of the younger students glance at him in curiosity. He clears his throat, tugging at the high collar of his uniform, muttering something about needing air.

The moment he’s alone, he teleports straight to your room, appearing in a burst of sulfur and smoke. His voice is hoarse, thick with something between reverence and hunger. “Liebes… do you have any idea what you have done to me?” He steps closer, eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I hope you are prepared to confess your sins… because I am more than willing to be your punishment.”

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

Scott prides himself on control. It is all he’s ever known—containing his power, his emotions, his every sharp-edged want. But you? You make control feel like a curse. So when his phone vibrates in the middle of a team debriefing, he barely glances at it. Until he does. And then his world tilts.

His breath halts, heat rushing up his throat so fast it makes him dizzy. The conversation around him blurs, the sound of Logan and Ororo discussing strategy fading into static. He swallows hard, locking his phone, fingers tightening into a fist on his thigh. You are going to ruin him.

“Scott?” Jean’s voice pulls him back. He clears his throat, straightening his shoulders. “Yeah,” he says, voice just a little too tight. “I’m fine.” But he’s not fine. His skin is too hot, his thoughts spiraling. He adjusts his visor, as if that’ll help him regain some semblance of control. It doesn’t. He can still see the image burned into his mind, can still feel the ache you’ve ignited in him.

The moment the meeting ends, he heads straight to his quarters, his movements stiff, controlled. He doesn’t call, doesn’t text. Instead, he waits until he’s inside, the door locked. Then he pulls out his phone, staring at the image for a long, slow moment before finally responding: You just made a very big mistake, sweetheart. And you’re going to spend all night making up for it.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

Jean is used to knowing. She reads people as easily as turning a page in a book. But you—you manage to surprise her. When her phone vibrates, she’s mid-conversation with Ororo, standing in the bustling halls of the X-Mansion. She checks the message out of habit, and then—Oh.

The world around her vanishes. Her breath catches, her fingers gripping her phone tighter. Heat blooms beneath her skin, a slow, simmering thing. She locks her phone quickly, but not before Ororo arches an eyebrow, a knowing smirk curling her lips. “Something interesting?” Jean lifts her chin, feigning nonchalance. “Just a… distraction.”

But she is not unaffected. No, she can still feel the pull of you, the way you linger in her mind like a whispered temptation. She exhales slowly, steadying herself. You’ve always had a way of making her unravel, of setting her pulse racing with just a look, a touch. And now, with that picture—she knows exactly what you’re doing.

So she doesn’t text back. Instead, she closes her eyes, reaching out mentally, brushing against your thoughts with a teasing whisper: You’re playing a very dangerous game, darling. And you know I always win.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

Ororo has always carried herself with grace. There is a quiet strength in her, an effortless command of any room she enters. But when her phone vibrates, when she glances at the screen and sees you, bare and unapologetic in your teasing, even a goddess can stumble.

She is in the middle of the X-Mansion’s garden, surrounded by students tending to the plants under her guidance. The air is warm, the scent of rain lingering from a previous storm. But the second she opens your message, heat spreads through her veins like wildfire. Her fingers tighten around the phone, the wind around her shifting just slightly, enough for the nearby students to glance up in confusion.

With practiced ease, she takes a steady breath, forcing composure to settle over her. She locks her phone, tucking it away in the folds of her robe, but the image of you remains burned in her mind. She has faced gods and walked through storms, but nothing has ever made her this desperate. She exhales slowly, smiling at the students before dismissing them early.

Later, when she is alone in her room, she finally allows herself to look again, to savor. Then, with a smirk, she types out a message: You test the patience of a goddess, beloved. But I promise you—when I return, I will show you the consequences of such boldness.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

Rogue ain’t shy. Not really. But there are certain things she doesn’t expect—like her phone buzzing in her back pocket while she’s in the middle of a conversation with Logan. She pulls it out absently, expecting a mission update. But when she sees your name, when she opens the image—her whole body locks up.

"You good, kid?" Logan asks, eyebrow raised as she nearly drops the phone. Rogue snaps the screen down against her thigh so fast she nearly fumbles it. "I—uh—yeah! Peachy!" But she can feel the heat rushing to her face, burning down her neck. Logan narrows his eyes, but she’s already stepping back, waving him off. "I—uh—gotta go!" She turns so fast her boots squeak against the floor.

She beelines for the nearest empty room, slamming the door shut before pressing her back against it, exhaling hard. "Mon Dieu…" she mutters, staring at the phone again. The sight of you makes her stomach flip, makes her hands itch with the desire to touch—even though she knows she can’t. And maybe that’s what makes it even worse, the sheer torture of it.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard before she smirks, biting her lip. She types back, her accent thick even in text: Ya better be waitin' for me, sugar. ‘Cause I got some real pent-up frustration I need to work out.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

Erik is a man of control. He has spent his entire life bending the world to his will, shaping metal and fate alike with the force of his power. But when he sees your message, all that careful composure fractures like shattered steel.

He is in the middle of a political gathering, surrounded by dignitaries and mutants alike, discussing the future of mutantkind. He is calm, poised, his presence commanding the room. But then—his phone buzzes. And when he checks it—his grip on his glass tightens. The metal bends beneath his fingers, distorting under the force of his sudden, sharp desire.

He exhales slowly, willing himself to focus, but it’s impossible. His thoughts are consumed by the image of you, the sheer audacity of what you’ve done. He lifts his eyes, scanning the room, but the conversation has blurred into meaningless noise. He is no longer interested in politics. No, there is only you now, and the punishment you so clearly deserve.

Later, in the privacy of his chambers, he finally allows himself to react. He sets his drink down, removing his gloves with slow, deliberate movements. Then, he types a message: You are a very foolish woman, my dear. And I am a very dangerous man. I suggest you prepare yourself accordingly.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

Charles is used to knowing things before they happen. His telepathy grants him insight into the minds of others, makes surprises a rare thing. But you—you always manage to catch him off guard. So when his phone vibrates mid-lecture, when he absentmindedly glances at the screen—he nearly chokes.

His fingers tighten around the armrest of his wheelchair, his usually composed demeanor faltering for the briefest moment. He quickly locks the screen, but it’s too late—the image of you is seared into his thoughts. And worse, the faintest flicker of his reaction has echoed across his psychic link with you, letting you feel the way his breath hitched, the way his pulse stuttered.

He clears his throat, composing himself with practiced ease. "Shall we continue?" he asks smoothly, though his mind is miles away. The students remain oblivious, but you? Oh, you know. And Charles can feel your amusement through the bond you share, a teasing whisper against his mind.

Later, in the quiet of his study, he sends a message—not with his phone, but directly into your thoughts, his voice smooth, measured. My dear, if you wished to test my restraint, you have succeeded. But I fear you’ve also ensured that when I return, you will be left utterly undone.

Emma Frost aka. The White Queen

Emma Frost is not easily shaken. She has built an empire on her confidence, her ability to keep control in even the most delicate of situations. But when she receives your message, she very nearly gasps.

She is at a Hellfire Gala, surrounded by high society, diamonds glittering at her throat. The room is alive with conversation, champagne glasses clinking. She is draped across a velvet chaise, effortlessly poised—until she sees you on her screen. The way her lips part, just slightly, is the only betrayal of her reaction.

With a slow inhale, she tilts her phone away from prying eyes, locking the screen. But inside, her mind is already buzzing. You have nerve, sending this while she’s in public. It’s a power play, a challenge. And Emma does not lose. She takes another sip of champagne, a knowing smirk curling her lips.

Later, when she is alone, she finally lets herself look again, savoring the way you look—so tempting, so utterly hers. Then, with a slow, deliberate tap, she types: My darling, I do hope you enjoyed your little game. But let me make one thing clear—you are mine to tease. And when I return, I will remind you exactly why.

Wanda Maximoff aka. Scarlet Witch

Wanda has spent most of her life feeling like the world was just a little too unsteady. Magic crackles beneath her skin, her emotions tied too tightly to the fabric of reality itself. But when her phone vibrates in the middle of a very serious conversation with Doctor Strange, she has no idea the real chaos is about to begin.

She checks the message absentmindedly, but the second she sees you, bare and utterly wicked, the world around her tilts. The air shimmers—just slightly—like heat rising from pavement. Wanda sucks in a sharp breath, locking her phone quickly, but it’s too late. Strange is watching her with an arched brow, the flicker of mystical energy curling at her fingertips a dead giveaway.

“Are you alright, Wanda?” Strange’s voice is calm, but there’s a glint of amusement in his gaze. Wanda clears her throat, forcing her magic back under control, smoothing her expression into something composed. “Fine,” she says, a little too quickly. But inside, her mind is burning, and it’s all your fault.

When she finally gets a moment alone, she sends a message—not with her phone, but with her magic, a whisper of her voice threading into your mind: You have no idea the kind of spell you’ve just cast, my love. But don’t worry—I’ll break it soon enough. And when I do, you won’t be able to breathe without thinking of me.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

Pietro is always moving. His mind, his body, his thoughts—everything is fast, too fast for the rest of the world to keep up with. But when his phone buzzes, and he actually takes the time to check it, the impossible happens—he stops.

He’s in the middle of a conversation with Clint Barton, something about training drills, when he pulls out his phone. And then—bam. His mouth shuts, his brain short-circuits, and for the first time in years, he is frozen.

“...Pietro?” Clint frowns, waving a hand in front of his face. “You good, man?” Pietro’s fingers twitch, and suddenly, he is gone, zipping out of the room at impossible speed. The moment he stops—several cities away, in the middle of nowhere—he grips his phone, running a hand through his silver hair.

Then he smirks, his heartbeat pounding. He types back, quick as lightning: You are so cruel, bellezza. But don’t worry—I’ll be home in five seconds. Hope you’re ready for me.

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

Hank prides himself on his intelligence, his ability to remain rational in even the most unexpected situations. But when his phone vibrates in the middle of a scientific symposium, and he—without thinking—checks it, all rational thought leaves his brain.

His glasses slide down his nose. His usually eloquent mind is reduced to pure static. He should lock his phone, put it away, but instead, his blue-furred fingers tighten around the device as his brain short-circuits. A faint growl rumbles in his throat before he catches himself, quickly clearing it.

“Dr. McCoy?” One of his colleagues is staring at him, waiting for a response to a question he definitely didn’t hear. Hank straightens, adjusting his glasses, willing his heartbeat to slow. “Ah—yes. My apologies. I seem to have been... momentarily distracted.”

The second he’s alone, he finally allows himself to breathe. Then, adjusting his tie, he sends a message: My dear, I do hope you’re prepared to be thoroughly lectured on the consequences of distracting a scientist. In great detail. Preferably with a demonstration.

Laura Kinney aka. X-23 / Wolverine

Laura doesn’t get flustered. She doesn’t blush, doesn’t stammer. But when her phone vibrates, and she checks it in the middle of a mission briefing with Logan, something deep in her animal brain nearly malfunctions.

She sees the image, and every muscle in her body locks up. Her sharp, enhanced senses go into overdrive. Her claws almost unsheathe from sheer tension. Logan is talking, saying something about enemy patterns, but she hears none of it. The only thing in her head is you.

“Laura?” Logan’s voice pulls her back, and she snaps her phone shut, jaw tight. “Tch,” she mutters, shifting in her seat, pretending like she isn’t burning alive under her own skin. “Nothing. Keep talking.” But she’s not okay. She’s seething with the need to do something about this, now.

The moment the briefing is over, she finds the nearest exit, presses her back against the cold wall, and breathes. Then, she types—short, sharp, dangerous: You think that was funny? Good. Let’s see if you’re still laughing when I get my hands on you.

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

Wade is always unhinged. Nothing shocks him. Nothing catches him off guard. But when his phone pings in the middle of a mercenary bar, and he casually opens your message—his brain leaks out of his ears.

“Oh holy chimichangas.” His voice is too loud, and every thug in the bar turns to look at him. Wade barely notices, his masked face tilting down at his phone, staring. Staring so hard his mask is probably fogging up.

One of the mercs nudges him. “You good, Wilson?” Wade slowly lifts his head, his voice an octave higher than usual. “I have never been better. In fact, I am having a religious experience. Thank you for asking.” Then he stands—abruptly—phone clutched to his chest like a lifeline.

The second he’s outside, he’s already typing, fingers flying: BABE. BABY. LOVE OF MY LIFE. I AM ON MY WAY. DON’T MOVE. ACTUALLY, MOVE A LITTLE, STRETCH OR SOMETHING. MAYBE DO A LITTLE TWIRL. OH GOD. I’M RUNNING HOME IN SLOW MOTION FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT.

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riboism · 2 months ago

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warm on a cold night

》 pairing: aged up professor! c.jh x fem student reader

》 plot: Choi Jongho, a middle-aged professor struggling with a midlife crisis and an unfulfilling marriage, seeks a brief escape through an affair with a bright young student he meets at a bar during a faculty Christmas party. What begins as a distraction soon forces him to confront deeper guilt and dissatisfaction, leading him to question his choices and the life he's built.

》 content: aged up and married jongho (40s), college student reader, mentions of OC, emma (jongho’s wife), cheating, alcohol, FAT COCK JONGHO AGENDA, manhandling, spanking, creampie, blowjob, face-fucking, stand and carry position, smut with some angst

》 wc: 4.7k

》 a/n: all credits for this idea goes to @yun-fangz

🎧 warm on a cold night- honne

Jongho leaned against the wall, his whiskey swirling lazily in hand as he watched his colleagues laugh and chat over the hum of soft holiday jazz. The semester had finally ended, and a handful of faculty members had chosen to unwind at a cozy bar just a few blocks from campus.

The place was charmingly festive, adorned with twinkling fairy lights, cranberry-decorated wreaths, bright red ribbons, and polished wood paneling that radiated warmth. Inside, the air was thick with the cheer of the season, a stark contrast to the biting cold winds just beyond the frosted windows. Yet, no matter how long he lingered near the fireplace, or how many shots burned in his chest, the chill from outside seemed to cling to him, refusing to melt away in the glow of the celebration.

Jongho lingered in the corner, isolating himself from the rest of the group. He watched the other professors mingle, their laughter bubbling over clinking glasses. The sight stirred a mix of envy and disdain. Their holiday cheer felt hollow, a performance, and yet he resented how effortlessly they seemed to pull it off.

He’d considered skipping the party altogether but couldn’t bear the thought of going home tonight. Not yet.

He shouldn’t be drinking—not this much, anyway—but he kept ordering pint after pint, convincing himself that each one would drown his thoughts a little more. And for a while, it worked. Until it didn’t. Now, his thoughts swirled darker, heavier, impossible to ignore.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” or so the song went. Jongho begged to differ. The Christmas trees, the holiday sales, the relentless jingles—it all made him tense. He was sick of it. Sick of forcing smiles through strained dinners. Sick of walking on eggshells at home. Sick of pretending that everything was fine, that he was still happily married, that he still wanted this. And the thought of hosting Emma’s family for Christmas dinner this year made his stomach churn. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up the facade.

What gnawed at him most was that he couldn’t point to any one thing to explain his unhappiness. There’d been no affair, no fights, no children to argue over. Just a slow, relentless erosion of something he couldn’t name. He had simply checked out, growing numb.

Emma, once a beacon of warmth and brilliance, now felt dimmed to him, like a candle flickering from a draft. He thought back to their early years—the long dinners spent debating poetry, the late nights whispering sweet nothings in the dark, tangling into each other over white satin sheets, her longing for him even when he was only a few feet away. Now, their evenings were quiet, their conversations perfunctory. They ate in near silence, their words dried up like an old well. Nights in bed were worse: two bodies lying back-to-back, the weight of unspoken things pressing down on the space between them, the burning desire for each other now snuffed out like a dying flame.

It wasn’t her fault, not really. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was suffocating.

Unlike the rest of the faculty, Jongho wasn’t looking forward to the long winter break. While his colleagues spoke eagerly of trips, family gatherings, and restful days at home, he found himself filled with a quiet, gnawing dread. Work had become his refuge—long hours at the office, stacks of papers to grade, and the pretense of ‘office hours’ no one ever attended. It was all a convenient shield. The thought of being home with Emma, with no deadlines or lectures to hide behind, felt almost unbearable.

He’d toyed with the idea of seeing a lawyer. The thought of ending it all—cleanly, definitively—had crossed his mind more times than he cared to admit. But every time, the guilt stopped him. How could he serve her divorce papers without a clear reason? No betrayal, no dramatic blowout, just the suffocating weight of his own unhappiness. It felt cruel, cowardly.

So, instead, he stayed. He let his depression settle in, heavy and inescapable, like an unwelcome guest. His wedding ring sat on his finger like a shackle, not a symbol of love but an anchor pulling him further into the depths of his discontent. Some days, he wondered what it would feel like to let it drag him all the way down to the bottom of the sea.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, staring down at the empty glass in his hand. The amber traces of his last drink clung stubbornly to the bottom, mocking him. With a groan, he pushed himself off the wall and stumbled back to the bar, his movements heavy and unsteady. He leaned over the polished counter, shaking his glass slightly to catch the bartender's attention. Without a word, the bartender nodded and began pouring another whiskey neat, the amber liquid glinting under the soft, golden lights.

As Jongho waited, his gaze drifted. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her—a familiar girl, laughing softly among two friends at a table on the far side of the bar. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her giggles carried just enough to reach him, rising above the hum of the crowd and the muted jazz playing overhead. For a moment, he squinted, trying to place her. Then it clicked.

Y/N. His student.

He remembered your paper on Keats’ Ode on Melancholy. It was rare for him to recall specific assignments, let alone be impressed by them. Most of his students treated his class like an obligation, churning out rushed, half-hearted essays that betrayed their indifference to literature. But your work had stood out—not just for its clarity and depth, but for the way it annoyed him.

You’d written with optimism, arguing that Keats saw melancholy as a companion to joy, as something that heightened the beauty of life rather than drowning it. Jongho had scoffed at your words as he read them, unable to reconcile your argument with his own misery. To him, melancholy wasn’t some poetic counterpoint to happiness—it was a relentless weight, suffocating and inescapable. Still, he couldn’t deny the paper’s quality or the sincerity behind it.

The bartender slid his whiskey across the counter, snapping Jongho out of his thoughts. He picked it up, taking a long, deliberate sip before glancing back at you. Your friends had gotten up and were weaving through the crowd toward the exit, leaving you alone at the table. You didn’t seem to notice right away, your attention fixed on your phone, but when you looked up, a flicker of disappointment crossed your face.

Jongho hesitated. He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. But the whiskey burned warm in his chest, loosening his inhibitions and drowning out the voice of reason. Before he could think better of it, he picked up his glass and made his way toward you.

“Y/N?” he said, his voice low and slightly unsteady.

You looked up, startled, your eyes widening in recognition. “Professor Choi?”

He gave you a faint smile, gesturing toward the empty chair next to you. “Mind if I join you?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the door your friends had disappeared through. Then, with a small shrug and a curious smile, you gestured for him to sit.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your tone light but your eyes searching his face.

“Same thing as everyone else, I suppose,” he replied, settling into the chair. “Avoiding reality.”

Your lips curved into a half-smile. “That’s not how you struck me in class.”

He raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “How did I strike you, then?”

You hesitated again, as if weighing your words, before saying, “Like someone who sees too much reality to avoid it.”

The comment caught him off guard, and for the first time that night, Jongho felt seen. Vulnerable, but in a way he didn’t mind. He took another sip of his whiskey, the silence between you stretching just long enough to feel charged.

“So,” he said, setting his glass down. “Do you always come to bars like this, or is tonight special?”

You laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “My friends dragged me here. They’ve abandoned me for some frat party, so… I guess that’s my answer.”

Jongho nodded, leaning back slightly. “Their loss.”

Your cheeks flushed faintly at the comment, and for the first time, he noticed how young you seemed outside the context of his lectures. Yet, your presence held a gravity that felt far beyond your years.

And as the conversation unfolded, Jongho couldn’t quite shake the thought: he shouldn’t be here, saying these things, feeling this pull. But he stayed anyway. “Can I ask you something?”

You paused, your fingers brushing the rim of your shot glass. You shared the same thought he had: maybe you shouldn’t be here, talking to him, sharing drinks, lingering longer than politeness demanded. But there was something about him tonight—a quiet vulnerability that mirrored your own. You could see it in his slightly hunched posture, in the way his eyes didn’t quite meet yours until they did, holding just a second too long.

And maybe, you admitted to herself, you felt a pull too. You were lonely. It was clear he was, too, and that unspoken connection put you at ease in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Sure,” you said softly.

Jongho leaned in, his voice dropping, as though he were about to share a secret. “Why Keats? Why not something easy, like Poe? Do you know how many essays I’ve graded on The Tell-Tale Heart or The Raven? Yours was the only outlier.”

You tilted her head, a small, thoughtful smile playing on your lips. You rubbed your fingers absentmindedly against the glass, the tequila inside still untouched. “I don’t know,” you said with a shrug, though your tone suggested otherwise. “I guess it’s just… comforting, you know?”

“Comforting?” He blinked, genuinely puzzled. “You think melancholy is comforting?”

You nodded, meeting his eyes directly. “Yeah. It’s like... it’s always there. Inevitable. You can’t escape it, but once you stop trying to, it feels less heavy. More like... a part of you. It’s something to be embraced, something to be experienced. It’s human. I think Keats got that.”

For a moment, Jongho didn’t respond. Your words hung in the air, resonating with something buried deep within him. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, his thoughts turning over themselves. “Most people run from it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “They see it as a weakness. Something to be fixed.”

“Maybe it is,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to your drink. “But it’s also honest. Keats thought melancholy was the start of a new transition in life. Drowning it out by distracting yourself with alcohol or drugs would just ruin it.”

Jongho looked down at his drink. Your words struck a chord he hadn’t felt in years. This was the kind of conversation he used to have with Emma, back when they stayed up late talking about literature and life before the silence crept in. He felt the faintest spark—a flicker of something he couldn’t name. Connection, maybe.

“You think there’s harm in a little distraction?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes anything but. His gaze lingered on your face, studying every detail as though seeing you for the first time.

Maybe it was the whiskey or the fact that there was no desk separating you this time, but he realized how different you looked up close. Your eyes were wide, filled with a youthful energy that seemed so foreign to him. They practically radiated life, a stark contrast to the weight he carried in his own. The soft glow of the red Christmas lights hanging above reflected off your skin, casting a warm, rosy hue across your cheeks. He hadn’t noticed before—maybe he hadn’t let himself—but you were pretty.

You tilted your head slightly, your lips curling up in a shy smile as you considered his words. “I guess it depends on the distraction,” you said, your voice light, but there was a hint of curiosity there.

He took a slow sip of the dark liquid, his gaze never leaving yours. “Some distractions are good,” he said, his tone low and measured. “When you’re feeling stuck. Or....”

“Lonely?” you suggested, your voice soft and careful.

His expression shifted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t his usual polite, practiced smile; it was something quieter, more real. Like you’d hit on something he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to really look at him. The crinkles around his eyes and the subtle greys in his hair hinted at his age, but there was a boyish charm in the way his lips curved into that sly, gummy smile. It made you wonder what he looked like a decade ago, though you suspected he’d been just as magnetic.

Professor Choi was handsome—you’d known that since the first lecture. Most of the students had agreed on it, passing whispered comments and exchanging sly glances whenever he turned to write on the board. You’d harbored your own quiet crush on him, but it had been harmless, distant, academic.

This, however, was different.

Here, in this dimly lit bar, with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sliver of his collarbone, his salt-and-pepper hair slightly tousled, and the way his eyes lingered on you—longer than they should—you felt something shift. A warmth spread through you, pooling in your stomach, forcing you to press your thighs together under the table.

You traced the rim of your glass with your finger, the smooth rhythm giving you a moment to collect your thoughts. His gaze followed the movement of your hand, his whiskey glass forgotten for the moment.

“And what kind of distraction are you looking for, Professor?” you asked finally, your voice low, testing.

His eyes flicked back to yours, and for a second, he seemed to hesitate. His smile faded into something more serious, almost contemplative. “The kind that makes you feel something…something different,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.

There was a rawness in his words that made your breath hitch. You liked it. He wasn’t like most of the boys you talked to. Of course, he wasn’t just any boy; he was almost twenty years your senior, and with that came maturity and experience. It was different—refreshing, in a way.

You hadn’t realized how close you were to him until now. Your knees brushed under the table, a subtle contact that sent an electric spark up your spine, though neither of you acknowledged it. The scent of his cologne—a mix of mint and sandalwood—filled your nostrils, making it harder to focus. His presence was all around you now, and you couldn’t pull away.

Your gaze drifted down to his hand, still holding his drink, and there, gleaming under the bar’s soft lights, was a shiny gold band on his finger. The sight of it made something inside you tighten, and your shoulders sagged with sudden disillusionment.

“And what if you’re not sure if it’s just a harmless distraction or a momentary lapse in judgment?” you asked.

He caught your glance at his ring, and the weight of it hit him, harder than he expected. Part of him recoiled, disgusted with himself for letting things get this far. Shame settled over him like a cloak. But another part, the part that had been suffocating for so long, felt a strange relief. He was tired—tired of thinking, tired of fighting. For once, he just wanted to feel something. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, lost in thought, before looking back at you.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

—

Jongho hissed as he watched you part your lips over his throbbing tip. You were kneeling in front of him, your knees cushioned by the fluffy pink rug that lay before your bed. You two had stumbled into your apartment not too long ago, kissing and tugging at each other’s clothes, until the desire within you grew too strong to resist, and you began palming his crotch crazily until you felt him harden in your hand.

You guided him into your mouth, your skilled tongue swirling around his girth with delight. His cock was so hard and heavy on your tongue that you couldn’t help but bring your fingers down to your clothed heat, rubbing yourself desperately as you imagined how good he’d feel when he’s buried deep inside you. You held onto his cock with your other hand, giving it a few lazy pumps as you sucked and slurped him.

“Feels so good baby,” he panted, his gaze fixated on you. Jongho refused to blink, stuck in a trance in which he couldn’t escape. You looked so sweet with your mouth stuffed full of him, your reddened, puffy lips and teary wet eyes enticing him even further. He felt himself melting into you, his core tightening in anticipation, but he held himself off, just enough to keep enjoying your warmth.

Jongho grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling it up into a makeshift ponytail so he could have better control. “All the way princess,” he coached, pushing you down his length until your nose was pressed against his pelvic bone. “Just like that, good girl,” he hummed, proud to see you take all of him so easily. You gagged around him, tears blurring your vision as he guided your head up and down, his sweet, honey-like moans making your core throb.

Your eyes fluttered up to meet him, watching intently as he tilted his head back, his brows knitting together and his mouth falling open. Each breath he took grew shakier, more unsteady, and you knew he was close. Despite his efforts, Jongho couldn’t hold it in anymore, and he reached his peak somewhat prematurely. He pushed your head down firmly, his hips stilling as he flooded into you. The taste of his salty, thick cum overpowered you, and you moaned in satisfaction over the crown of his cock, forcing him to grasp onto your hair even tighter.

“Swallow,” he rasped, fucking the last bit of cum he had left into your pretty mouth, “all of it sweetheart, don’t waste a drop.”

You gulped his creamy white just as he demanded, the bitterness on your tongue and his desperate whines making your head spin. You came off him with a plop, licking your lips to prove you listened to his directions well.

“Good girl,” he smiled down at you, wiping away a tear from your warm, red cheeks. His thumb lingered over your skin as he watched you lick him clean, your soft kisses on his tender head making his gut tighten in overstimulation.

You then wrapped your fingers around him tightly, his pretty cock standing tall in your small grasp. You lined his veiny length with wet, messy kisses, grinning to yourself each time he jolted and gasped in response to your touch. When you finally pulled back to look up at him, you were met with the sight of his flushed face, his chest rising and falling heavily. A light sheen of sweat clung to his brow, and he looked utterly spent— as if he might collapse into a long slumber at any moment.

"What's the matter, Professor?" you teased, your voice low and taunting, "Can't keep up like you used to, huh?"

Jongho chucked at your little jab. He leaned down, cupping your face tightly with his hand. “Oh, don’t worry darling, I’m just getting started.”

—

“F-fuck!” You wailed for the nth time as you fucked yourself over his hard cock, grasping onto your headboard to keep you steady. Your thighs burned with exhaustion, each movement growing heavier and more difficult. Your pace slowed significantly, despite your determination to keep going. Each time you lost your rhythm, Jongho would send a harsh smack on your ass, warning you to keep going.

He sat against the headboard, nipping and sucking at your tender nipples as you rode him, his big hands grasping at your rear to keep you in place. He loved how you felt in his hands, your skin so soft and malleable, a complete contrast to your wet and tight cunt.

Smack.

The sting ignited a fiery pleasure on your skin, but the overwhelming exhaustion had you teetering on the edge of collapse.“Please, Professor,” You begged with tears streaming down your cheeks, “just wanna cum…wanna cum on your fat cock.”

Jongho finally gave your swollen breasts a much-needed break, plopping off your flesh and sinking back against the headboard. He looked up at you in pure fascination, completely mesmerized by your messy hair and fucked-out expression. “Then cum baby…” He cooed, “What, do you need my permission?”

Your pace faltered once again, the little bit of strength you had left in your legs finally giving out. You yelped as he brought down yet another hard smack to your already red, sensitive skin. “Please...need help.”

Jongho understood now. He repositioned his hands onto your hips, grasping them tightly as he took over and jerked his hips up. He pounded into you so rapidly, the sounds of your frenzied moans and smacking flesh filling up the room.

“Almost there…” He huffed, his eyes locked onto your core, “cum baby, cum all over my dick, need to feel it.”

Following his words, your walls tightened around him, and before you knew it, your knees buckled in and a wave of relief took over you. You fell over into his chest, crying out as he pumped himself into you slowly now, your slick gushing all over him.

“That’s it,” He purred into your ear, your chests heaving against each other, “that’s a good girl. Made such a mess, didn’t you?”

The way he talked to you made you dizzy, and if it was possible to cum from just being called his good girl, you most definitely would. His movements paused, giving you a chance to catch your breath. Your lips lightly traveled over his shoulder, to his neck, until you finally met his plush lips. You felt his big hands caressing your bare back as he kissed you hungrily, his lips tasting of hard whiskey and sweat. He was still inside of you, and the excitement from your moany, wet lips made him stiffen up again.

Suddenly, he flipped you over on your back, your head falling onto your stack of pillows. You let out a soft groan as his lips pulled away from yours, longing for the kiss to linger just a moment longer. You ran your fingers through his soft, dark strands as he traced his lips over the swells of your breast, making his way down to your wet heat. You gasped loudly as he pecked your skin, his practiced tongue parting your folds until finally reached your aching clit.

“Taste so sweet,” he moaned into you, the vibration from his deep voice making goosebumps prickle all over your skin. You were so sensitive now, each swirl of his tongue making you melt further into the mattress.

You lost yourself in his warm mouth, arching your back and writhing in pleasure over your messed up sheets. But then, the warmth slipped away, replaced by a sudden, isolating chill.

Jongho stood at the edge of the bed now, pulling you closer to him before abruptly lifting you up. You gasped at the sudden move, your arms and legs wrapping around him almost instantly.

“What are you doing?” You asked, still feeling hazy and confused from the interruption until you felt him tap his cockhead on your dripping cunt.

You had never been in this position before. It felt all too new, too risky, and you worried if he’d be able to support you all the way. “Professor, I don’t know…” you hesitated, a look of anxiety washing over your soft features.

Jongho’s lips curled up in that same boyish grin of his. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Afraid you can’t keep up with me?”

Your nerves disappeared and gave way to determination. "No," you scoffed, a playful glint in your eye. "I’m just worried about your back. Wouldn’t want you to pull something.”

Jongho smirked. He liked how quick you were with your jabs. “How considerate.”

He pointed his cockhead towards your cunt, leveling you down just enough so he could slip inside of you. You screamed out as he pulled you up and down his length, working you open like the pocket pussy he keeps locked away in his office. His unrelenting tempo forced you to hold onto his broad shoulders for dear life.

Jongho was strong. He held you up with ease, supporting you with a tight and secure grasp under your thighs. The sounds of your broken sobs and wet skin smacking against his made your cheeks flame red, which Jongho noticed immediately. He loved seeing you so bashful.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep screaming like that, sweetie,” He said against your ear. Your pussy was so open, and each pump over his cock felt raw and hard. There was a mix of pain and pleasure; the sweet feeling of his cock massaging your walls, and the pain of him jutting into you so deep with precision. You swore you were starting to see stars.

He slowed down, and you expected to feel his cum rush inside you, but when you looked up at him, his expression softened with worry evident in his eyes.

“Oh, you're crying baby,” He soothed as he gently placed you back on the bed. You hadn’t realized the stream of tears running down your cheeks, your mind too preoccupied with being split open over his thick cock. He quickly leaned over you, his lips brushing against your salty tears, his hands gliding soothingly along your sides. “Want me to stop?”

Your fingers tangled in his hair once more, threading through the soft strands as he trailed kisses across your face. A soft giggle escaped you, charmed by his sudden tenderness and care.

“I want you to cum inside me,” You whispered, your voice tinged with a burning need.

Without haste, he slipped into you once again, this time slow and steady, his face just millimeters away from yours. He thrust into you in languid strokes, leaving soft touches all over your skin like you were a fragile vase he didn’t want to tip over.

“You feel so good,” He praised, sucking in the soft bit of flesh at your neck, “you’re doing so well for me.”

His pace quickened again, he was just seconds away from reaching his climax. His breath felt hot against your skin, his dark brown eyes glinting with a fiery desire. “Kiss me,” he whispered, his voice thick with need, “kiss me when I cum inside you.”

It wasn’t an odd request, but the way he said it—so desperate, so filled with need—you felt you had no other choice but to oblige. You pulled him in closer, your lips finding his once more. You both moved with equal fervor, your hands cradling onto his strong jaw as his cock twitched inside of you. Jongho groaned, his hips going still as he spilled into you, his warm seed filling you up. You laid like that for a while, your lips continuing to move in sync as his pearly white cum leaked out of you.

—

Later that night, you rested against his chest, your breathing steady as he ran his fingers through your hair. You were deep asleep now, but Jongho remained wide awake, his gaze fixed on the wedding band he'd placed on your nightstand. A wave of guilt slowly crept in, sinking its teeth into him. He wondered what Emma might be doing at this very moment. Losing his phone at the bar meant she most likely bombarded him with calls and texts, desperate for answers—wondering where he was, if he was okay, when he was coming home. He relished his time with you, the feeling of experiencing something new, something that made him feel alive. But your words haunted him. "What if you're not sure if it's just a harmless distraction or a momentary lapse in judgment?"

He thought it over, turning it in his mind like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. This wasn’t just about one night. It wasn’t about the alcohol, or the thrill of doing something he thought would give him a sense of control. He’d replaced drink with sex, thinking it would numb the ache, solve his midlife crisis, fill the emptiness. But it didn’t. It just made everything more complicated.

He felt even less of a man now. The feeling of power that once came with teaching, with being wanted, had faded. In the wake of it all, he felt small, insignificant. What was the point of it all? What was he really searching for? The guilt had been creeping in, but now it was fully consuming him.

This wasn’t just about breaking away from his marriage; it was about breaking down the man he thought he was. And as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, it became painfully clear: this wasn’t a solution. It was a reminder of everything he had lost and could never reclaim.

The warmth of your body against his and your hair's softness felt like a fleeting comfort. It made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t in years, but it didn’t fix the hole inside him. And no matter how much he wanted to ignore it, the truth remained: he was still trapped in a life he didn’t know how to leave behind.

a/n: feedback is appreciated

#jongho smut #jongho x reader #ateez smut #ateez angst #jongho scenarios #ateez fanfic #jongho fanfic #choi jongho smut #choi jongo x reader #jongho angst

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winwintea · 14 days ago

Text

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

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thehelltingvilleclub · 1 month ago

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Bill Dickey - Comic & Ego Extraordinaire

Welcome to the club, why not meet the president?

William “Bill” Alan Dickey [04/13/80] | [5'11.5 (that .5 is real Important*)] Secretary of Comics | President of the Eltingville Club AOL / Online Users: [greedo318] | [DarkxKnightx] Theme Songs: What’s My Age Again? - blink-182 | My Own Worst Enemy - Lit | Brutal - Negative 25 Favorite Shit: Stan Lee, The X-Men, Complete Runs, Signed Editions, The Joker, Emma Frost, The Batman, Alternate Earths, Variant Covers, Crossovers, Torrent Sites, Action Figures, Statues/Busts, Alex Ross, Bondage Covers, First Printings, Continuity, Cosplay Chicks, “Headlights”.

In the ripe year of 1999, Bill Dickey couldn't be any more... Tired? Annoyed? A lonely piece o' sh-- But that's fine, everything is fine, right guys? .... Guys? The fact he's managed to keep the club together is baffling at best (and all thanks to Jerry, and May.. er.. Mr. Osewai, actually), and completely unbelievable at worst, but he's still got his friends (kind of) and they still like him (eh..) He's a nice guy, honest, just.. don't turn on your brain.

Variants Under the Cut--

Oh Captain, My Captain

His @ greedo318 account got banned essentially in the first two weeks of him getting it on Messenger about a year back, as May and Pete helped Josh essentially spam report it when he started to harass Josh there too. Hence the new name that he actually uses.

Mrs. Dickey is still trying to force him to get a job, and while he has applied, he flops any and every interview he lands with his stupid need to be the loudest asshole in the room.

This man's ego is absolutely the size of the sun, it's almost immeasurable I assure you, HOWEVER--

Show him some ⋆｡°✩spunk~✮⋆˙ show him you bark back just as harsh as him and he *might* just keep you around.

Someone please just get him a better acne face wash and a steady form of income that isn't his mother's paychecks bro please for the love of god--

He was actually one of the first in the group to get a car, but he never has money for gas so he like never drives it. It was a "gift from dad" according to his mom, but he doesn't believe her for a minute. (He's convinced she bought it for him to get him to move out.)

His mom watches Titanic every year on his birthday after 1997 and he HATES it to the point he has threatened to disconnect the breaker if she kept playing it at full volume.

He is still convinced that he has a shot with May (Despite her telling him repeatedly no) and is INSISTENT about it like a possessive little weirdo (news flash, he doesn't but he's delusional so it's fine)

^^ This absolutely pisses Pete off but he can't say shit cause he's a baby that won't ask her out so--

The night of the Destruction of Joe's Fantasy World, Mr. Osewai had tried to stop in and pick something up for May when he walked in on.. well, Dickey on fire. His paternal instincts kicked in and managed to help the kids and smooth some things over with the families (and.. may or may not have threatened to rip out Joe's tongue but like it's fine).

Dickey has a strong sense of gratitude for the guy, even if he expresses it in the WEIRDEST ways, 'cause at the end of the day the guy kind of saved his only group of friends from his own bullshit.

When he does eventually land a job, it's essentially a generic gas station attendant, but they let him read his comics on the job when he has to work nights so that's a plus?

Guh guys I hate this man so much can someone please explain why I have so much fun drawing him please please please--

also... this somethin' y'all want?

#the eltingville club #eltingville fanart #welcome to eltingville #the helltingville club #bill dickey #eltingville oc #eltingville bill #eltingville club #my art #digital art #my headcanons #im so tired #sorry guys my roommate got home from mexico and we talked too long this was supposed to be up an hour ago #haha oops #suggestive???#yyeah it's suggestive ig enjoy the batman tidywhities lmao

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rei-ismyname · 2 months ago

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X-WOMEN highlights

X-women was a one shot released in 2010 with the explicit purpose of showing women in 'skimpy clothes' - at least according to the wiki which references a now dead Marvel URL. With Chris Claremont on words and Milo Manara on pencils, you can decide that one for yourselves. Implied SA content warning.

Believe it or not, there's several pages of other girls gone wild shit before the plot actually starts, with Rogue inheriting a villa in Greece (from who? Never mentioned.) Gal pals only, except for the gay dudes Kitty busta in on when phasing on a jetski.

Turns out they recognise her, lol. She's entering people's rooms on a cruise ship - it'd be more surprising to not see fucking. Ororo does Karaoke, nailing Proud Mary. Rachel sneaks off with that dude, but he shoots her and shit goes wild. 'I can't quite make sense of it' wild.

The cruise ship gets attacked so they flee and somehow end up in the dingy boat with Captain Dave. They notice they're depowered so Rogue takes the opportunity to touch someone - Ororo is happy to be that person. While platonic intimacy is wonderful, I'm going to label this 'pretty damn sapphic.'

The least believable bit is Storm wearing those jeans tbh.

Then that boat gets attacked too, and they're shipwrecked with the 'chief' who claims to be a God-King that can bring down planes. The tribe worship him and planes, which seems odd. I think they're all his wives now, but he takes special interest in Storm. Dude never gets a name, but he's creepy AF. I assume Captain Dave is dead.

Less favoured wives perform manual labour. Believe it or not, this explicitly rapey chief is not the bad guy of this tale. Rachel and Kitty's psychic rapport runs through the mini, something famously associated with platonic friends. There's some nonsense in the background about China and India doing ... something. War, maybe?

This whole 'trying to rape Ororo' scene goes on for quite a while, and the chief's main wife is jealous of her for the attention. Gross. Ororo beats him down a bunch but he does have some powers. She agrees to 'stop fighting' if her friends are released. Nope! He likes it. Again, this creep is not the bad guy in this narrative. What the fuck was CC thinking?

The real bad guys show up with guns and start shooting but the chief has fucking eye beams and some kind of telekinesis. Or magic, or maybe he really is a God. The X-Women, sigh, team up with him to take down the Baroness' troops. Baroness of where? Doesn't matter. I definitely hate aristocrats who try to steal my friends' brain juice but this jerk enslaved them.

The Baroness' plan has been developing off panel and is now ready. She tries to fire the 'weapon' which involves the psychics' cooperation, but Emma Frost (who is in this story!) says nah. The chief becomes a reasonable person all of a sudden and does ... something. Whatever it is it works and he releases the X-Women without incident, saying he'll miss Ororo. She tells him to pay attention to his main wife, who is surely a slave too? I have no idea - this was such a bad idea.

The Baroness can control mutant powers and tries to get away. Storm unloads on her with max weather and freezes her solid. Emma punches her and breaks a nail. 🙄 I don't think she could possibly survive this, so yay?

After all the bullshit, the girls realise they never truly got to frolic. They do so, yet the chief is there? He's literally chasing Ororo in the last panel and she doesn't look happy about it. Everyone else is partying so I don't think we're meant to worry, but I do. Let's pretend she murdered him. This was in 2010, and it's not like rape culture doesn't exist - but it's baffling that this was either missed or just approved. Wait, no it's not. Marvel is not great with anything like this, and middle aged white dude writers and editors could totally see this as unproblematic. Rogue is doing some Coyote Ugly shit, the others are grinding on each other, and Ororo is playing chasey with the rapist with 50 wives? 💩

#x women #x men #ororo #tw rape #tw sa implied #rogue xmen #betsy braddock #rachel grey #emma frost #kitty pryde #x comics #marvel #comics #chris claremont

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scottxlogan · 1 month ago

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In Pieces

Summary: On New Year's Eve Bucky makes his way out to the west coast after a personal mission leaves him worse for wear leading him right to Tony's doorstep where the two catch up with one another and face the possibilities of what the new year could bring to their lives now that they're together again.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62038081

This story was written for the @buckybarnesbingo to the prompt U3: Comic panel of Bucky looking bloody, bruised and a little worse for wear.

Rating: Teen and Up

Characters: Tony Stark, James “Bucky” Barnes

Pairings: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 4,091

Notes: This is a WinterIron one shot story that references past Tony Stark/Emma Frost as well. It is set in the Iron Man (2024) comic series as a background for this one :) (The title came from the song Pieces by Red. It was playing as I was trying to sort out the name for this and I felt like it was fitting for them. If anyone wants to hear it, then here's a link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CctCZieAbNU)

#winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #marvel 616 #marvel fanfic #winteriron fanfic #iron man #winter soldier #bbb24 #bbb2024 #bucky barnes bingo 2024 #bucky barnes bingo #starkbucks #buckytony #tonybucky #iron man fanfic #winter soldier fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #tony stark fanfic

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rpking99 · 3 months ago

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Krakoa Getaway

Closed with @stripclub-elysium

Continued from here

'Make more Mutants...' which is basically saying 'Fuck as much as you want' and Phillip is all here for it. Walking around the island he was looking for 2 Mutants in particular... Lady Deadpool and Gwenpool.

But what makes those 2 more desirable then Mutants like Emma Frost, Rogue (SouthernBell) and Wanda?

Is it him having a thing for blondes? Is the fact that their similar powers weapons and shared ending part of their Name gives the illusion of a possible Incest Threesome with 'Mother and daughter'?

Is it...

"Is it the fact that the Mun thinks it would be funny to have both 4th wall destroying Mutants in one RP?" Wanda asked, she and Gwen suddenly... Sitting either side of Phillip on the beach "Which, on that point... I'm the only one of us who breaks the fourth wall. Gwen knows about it and can manipulate the comic medium in weird fucking ways. Also... We don't share the same last name. I'm Wanda WILSON, she's Gwen POOLE. Because she's lazy spin off of a spin off."

"Says a lazy genderbent spin off created for a series filled with spin offs of a rip off of a DC character." Gwen shot back with a roll of her eyes

#stripclub elysium

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excelsiorfics · 10 months ago

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Preview unavailable at this time, please refresh the page.

Date: July 6, 2022 Author: JamieGaylePiff Rating: Teen Word Count/Status: 1,364, complete Dynamic: Jessica Vale & Sarah Vale, Jessica Vale & Melody Guthrie, Jessica Vale & Noriko Ashida Characters: Jessica Vale, Melody Guthrie, Sarah Vale, Noriko Ashida, Emma Frost, Megan Gwynn Tags: (Past) Major Character Death, (Past) Child Death, Alternate Universe - Twins, Canon Compliant, Krakoa Era (X-Men)

Summary: There is a bus, burning. There is an egg, hatching. There is a girl, watching.

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heckcareoxytwit · 9 months ago

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The battle rages on as the X-Men fighting the three Nimrods at different places - Sentinel City, New York and Washington DC. Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Cyclops, Colossus, Rogue, Gambit and Monet are fighting the main Nimrod in Sentinel City. Emma Frost and Synch are battling a Nimrod duplicate in New York. Whereas Polaris and Magneto are facing the Nimrod duplicate in Washington DC. Magik and Eden Fesi try to join into the fray but they get shot by Nimrod (I don't know which one though).

While they are fighting Nimrod, Cyclops and Nightcrawler are wandering around the burning Sentinel City. Nightcrawler confirms to Cyclops that he has destroyed the thrusters and Nimrod/Omega Sentinel won't be able to repair them before the orbit decays. Nightcrawler asks how they're going to kill something that exists in multiple places and Cyclops says they'll have to do it all at once. "Under that armor, it's just… electricity." Then, Kwannon telepathically chimes in saying Colossus got punched out into space and he's almost out of sight. Cyclops tells Nightcrawler to go and he teleports away to save Colossus. Cyclops then goes off to challenge Nimrod. In the control room, Omega Sentinel tries to regain control of the station when Rogue busts through the floor asking if Karima has lost every last shred of her humanity. Omega Sentinel says Xavier cut a deal that the X-Men would get to live on their little island but they're too dense and prideful so she'll have to kill them including Xavier who she'll kill last. Kwannon sneaks up behind and nails Omega Sentinel with a psychic knife, leaving the cyborg mumbling and crying in despair. Rogue is about to stomp her head in but Kwannon stops her, telling her that she fried the Sentinel mind and that Karima's human brain was drowning in regret and pain.

Rogue and Kwannon charge at Nimrod but the robot knocks them out with a blast. He punches the just arriving Colossus away and is about to stomp a knocked out Manifold and Magik but Nightcrawler gets to them first and Cyclops blasts Nimrod away from them. Just as Nimrod could kill more X-Men, the killer robot gets zapped by the timely arrival of Storm. With Storm's lightning zapping the main Nimrod, the Nimrod duplicates are affected too, giving the chance for the other mutants at New York and Washington DC to fight back. The main Nimrod is left to face Storm and Cyclops in Sentinel City when Monet and Omega Sentinel fly in. Omega Sentinel (now with regained humanity) begs at Nimrod to stand down but the killer robot refuses to listen. Cyclops and Storm work together to take down the main Nimrod by cracking the armor and frying the circuits. As the other Nimrod duplicates, they are also defeated by Synch, Polaris and Magneto at different places. As Storm watches as the main Nimrod melting away, Monet arrives with Omega Sentinel and Cyclops says Kwannon is showing him what's going on inside her brain. He tells Omega Sentinel to earn this second chance and she, crying, replies weakly, "Call me Karima." Once the battle is over, the X-Men leave the Sentinel City with Eden Fesi before it explodes.

Fall of the House of X #5, 2024

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monsieuroverlord · 10 months ago

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Letterless preview pages for Marvel Voices: Pride a.k.a. X-Men: The Wedding Special have been posted.

Main Wedding Story by Kieron Gillen, art by Rachael Stott

Betsy Braddock/Rachel Summers story by Tini Howard, art by Phillip Sevy

Wolverine + crew story by Tate Brombal, art by Emilio Pilliu

Rogue/Gambit story by Wyatt Kennedy, art by Jenn St. Onge

Emma Frost Pre-marriage counseling story by Yoon Ha Lee, art by Stephen Byrne

source here

Personal thoughts:

I gotta say, I'm still feeling incredibly ambivalent about this book.

I mean, a Mystique/Destiny wedding is great! Ya love to see it and its long overdue, but I think this would've been better served as a one-shot alongside the main pride story this rather, rather than in place of it.

Most of these stories sound really fun, like for example: a Rogue/Gambit side story involving a wedding band mishap! That sounds hilarious!

But, for a Pride-centric issue, its really lacking in the Pride department. No one outside of the x-books this year, and even the x-couples are lacking!

I mean, to name a few: Northstar and Kyle, Rictor and Shatterstar, Iceman and whoever he's dating right now (lol), Cerebella and Escapade, Akihiro and Aurora (he's still bi, straight-passing relationship or not), the list goes on!

I don't know, I'm just frustrated. The stories themselves seem fine, its just the branding/packaging that's rubbing me the wrong way, if that makes sense.

Except the Wolverine story. We literally have a confirmed/canon queer member of the snikt fam (who, at bare minimum, has had a flirtation with Mystique as well), and he's still ded :(

Like, if they wanted a Wolverine-centric story, why not have Gabby finally explore her sapphic feelings for that girl on the bus? Let her have a little heart-to-heart with Akihiro, drag Logan to a Pride parade (then, he accidently gets roped into a side quest involving a group of short trans-mascs, ending with Logan buying them a round of beers). My point is, there are ways to add your money-maker character into stories while still respecting your target audience.

I don't know. My feelings are complicated.

#marvel #marvel comics #marvel voices pride #destiny #irene alder #mystique #raven darkholme #emma frost #rachel summers #askani #betsy braddock #rogue #remy lebeau #pixie #meggan puceanu #anole #victor borkowski #bling!#indra

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mcrdvcks · 4 months ago

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Sweet Dreams - Chapter 9

Chapter Summary: Alexandria is cleared to go back to classes after her near-death encounter, and a new student joins the school.

Word Count: 7.6k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x Original Female Character (platonic relationship)

Notes: i can't wait for y'all to read this chapter, especially because this is where a lot of the future plots will stem from

Series Masterlist - Chapter 8 → Chapter 10

AO3 Link For Chapter

Two months after the HYDRA kidnapping, Alexandria was finally cleared to go back to classes. She suspected that Logan had convinced Kitty, Jean, and Scott to all keep an eye on her while he couldn’t.

As Kitty said, it was like she had a guardian angel and bodyguard wrapped in one.

On the third day of her being back during classes, Professor Xavier announced they had a new student, Matthew Roman.

She didn’t pay much attention to the announcement, until she had settled into her seat in algebra, Ms. Frost still getting together papers before class started in a few minutes, when a voice spoke up from her right.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

Alexandria looked through the notes Scott handed her, who was sitting on her left before the words soaked in and she turned her head to the right.

Matthew sat in the seat; his head propped up on his fist with a grin on his face. Alexandria turned to face Scott who paid no mind to her or the new kid.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked.

Matthew leaned back in his chair, twirling a pencil between his fingers, a grin still plastered on his face. “Who do you think?”

Alexandria arched an eyebrow at him, clearly unamused. “Are you talking to me?”

Matthew’s grin widened. “Of course. Who else would I be talking to?”

She narrowed her eyes at him and looked back at Scott’s notebook. “Scott could you explain- ” Alexandria looked over at Scott to find him gone, probably off to get some more water since he was complaining about spilling it at the end of breakfast.

“I could always explain it.” Matthew spoke again.

She looked back over at him, a glare on her face, but his grin was still there. She hoped he’d get the hint as she stood up from her desk and over to Ms. Frost’s desk.

Sure, she was a harsh teacher, but Alexandria’s pretty sure she’s softened up to her slightly. Especially after the whole almost dying thing she went through.

“Could you explain how you got this answer?” she asked, turning Scott’s notebook around and pointing to the problem.

Emma looked at the problem in the notebook. “Okay, Alexandria, this is a basic quadratic equation. The solution involves factoring or using the quadratic formula. The steps are as follows…”

Matthew's voice cut in, his tone nonchalant. “Hey, if you’re interested, I could explain it to you in a way that’s way more fun.”

Alexandria, still standing by Ms. Frost’s desk, glanced over her shoulder at Matthew. “And why would I want that?”

Matthew’s grin didn’t waver. “Because I’m way cooler than Ms. Frost. And besides, who doesn’t want a bit of flair with their algebra?”

Alexandria arched an eyebrow. “Flair?”

“Yeah,” Matthew said, leaning back in his chair. “Let’s just say my way is less boring.”

Emma glanced up from the notebook, her eyes narrowing slightly at Matthew’s interruption. “Matthew, this isn’t the time for theatrics. Alexandria is trying to catch up on her work.”

Matthew waved off Emma’s comment with a casual flick of his hand. “I’m just offering some alternative methods. No harm in that, right?”

Alexandria sighed and turned back to Ms. Frost. “Forget it. I’ll figure it out myself.”

Emma shook her head slightly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Alright, Alexandria. If you need any more help, let me know.”

As Alexandria walked back to her desk, she shot a glance at Matthew, who had taken out a notebook and was scribbling something down. She tried to ignore him but couldn’t help but feel a bit annoyed by his persistent presence.

Matthew watched her with a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, what’s your deal? You usually this grumpy?”

Alexandria’s glare was icy. “I’m not grumpy. I just don’t like people who think they’re funny.”

Matthew’s smile widened. “Fair enough. But you know, I think we could get along just fine if you’d give me a chance.”

She scoffed and shook her head, focusing on her work. “I doubt it.”

Matthew didn’t seem fazed. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and continued to watch her with an amused expression. The rest of the class proceeded in a somewhat awkward silence, punctuated only by the occasional remark from Matthew, who seemed intent on breaking through Alexandria’s reserve.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the class, Alexandria quickly packed up her things and made a beeline for the door. She wanted to avoid any more unnecessary interaction with the new student. However, Matthew was right behind her, his footsteps echoing as he walked alongside her.

“So, where you headed?” Matthew asked, trying to sound casual.

Alexandria kept her eyes ahead, not bothering to look at him. “None of your business.”

Matthew chuckled. “Alright, alright. I get it. You’re not a fan of small talk.” Alexandria stayed quiet.

As they reached the hallway, Matthew made a show of dramatically looking around. “Well, since you’re not interested in chatting, I guess I’ll just have to explore this place on my own.”

“Fine by me,” Alexandria replied, quickening her pace. She could hear Matthew’s laughter fading behind her, but she didn’t turn around.

She entered Ororo’s classroom for English, Jean and Scott already in their seats at the table next to her. Alexandria sat down as did another person next to her.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She grumbled, seeing Matthew sitting next to her. Curse this classroom for having a table that seats two.

Jean and Scott shared a glance at Alexandria who glared at Matthew. “I wasn’t lying, you know. You are quite pretty.” he said.

She raised an eyebrow, “why would I care about that? And why do you keep following me?”

Matthew raised two hands, “hey, we share the same class. It’s not my fault.”

Alexandria rolled her eyes and took out her notebook, determined to focus on the lesson and ignore the persistent new student beside her. Matthew seemed unfazed by her cold demeanor, his grin widening as he settled into his seat.

“Hey,” he said casually, leaning slightly towards her. “What’s your name? You seem to know everybody around here, except for me.”

“Alexandria,” she replied curtly, not bothering to offer any additional information.

Matthew’s eyes lit up with a playful glint. “Nice to meet you, Alexandria. So, what’s the deal with this place? I hear it’s full of interesting people.”

Alexandria didn’t respond. She kept her attention fixed on the front of the classroom where Ororo was setting up for the English lesson. Despite her best efforts to ignore him, she could feel Matthew’s gaze occasionally drifting towards her.

Jean, who was seated next to Scott across the table, observed the interaction with mild amusement. She leaned towards Scott and whispered, “Looks like Matthew’s trying to make a new friend.”

Scott nodded, watching as Matthew continued his attempts to engage Alexandria. “He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.”

Ororo finally began the lesson, drawing Alexandria’s attention away from the distraction beside her. As she listened to the discussion, she could feel Matthew’s occasional glances, though she chose to ignore them.

When the class ended, Alexandria packed up her things with quick, efficient movements. She was determined not to give Matthew the satisfaction of seeing her ruffled. Just as she was about to leave, she felt a hand on her arm.

“Wait up,” Matthew said, his tone light and friendly. “I was thinking of grabbing a snack. Want to join?”

“No, thank you,” Alexandria said firmly, shaking off his hand. “I’ve got other plans.” She saw Kitty waving a hand at the lunch line, Jean and Scott behind her.

“Oof. Rough for me then. Catch you later.”

Alexandria rolled her eyes, though she was glad he had finally left her side.

During lunch, as she joined Kitty, Jean, and Scott at their usual table, the conversation inevitably shifted to the new student.

“Did you see how persistent he was?” Kitty asked, her voice laced with amusement. “Matthew’s not giving up anytime soon.”

Jean laughed softly. “He’s definitely got a lot of energy. But I guess that’s his way of making friends.”

Scott nodded, his expression thoughtful. “He’s a bit much, but maybe he’s just trying to find his place here.”

Alexandria took a bite of her sandwich, trying to ignore the conversation. “As long as he doesn’t keep bothering me, he can do whatever he wants.”

Kitty glanced at Alexandria with a sympathetic smile. “Give him a chance. It’s not easy being the new kid.”

“I’m not here to make any more friends,” Alexandria replied bluntly.

Scott held his hand to his chest, “you hear that? We’re her friends.”

Jean laughed softly, nudging Kitty. “Looks like Scott’s taken it personally.”

Kitty grinned. “I’m sure he’s just glad Alexandria’s starting to open up. It’s been a tough road for her.”

Alexandria rolled her eyes, but a faint smile tugged at her lips. “I’m just trying to get through my day without more complications.”

Scott leaned in, pretending to be offended. “Complications? We’re just here to help. No ulterior motives.”

Jean shook her head, smiling at Alexandria. “Scott’s right. We’re your friends. And we’ll be here whether you like it or not.”

As lunch continued, the conversation drifted to other topics. Alexandria was grateful for the change, focusing on her food and the comfortable company of her friends.

Meanwhile, Matthew had taken a seat at a different table, but he kept glancing over at Alexandria. He was still intrigued by her cold demeanor and was determined to break through her defenses.

After lunch, her and Scott made their way to US history. They sat in their usual seats towards the front half of the class when she noticed Matthew sitting down in the seat next to her.

“That’s Jubilee’s seat.” She said, looking through the textbook. Logan had ended up teaching her what she missed through his own life experiences. Which ended up with her calling him ‘old’ repeatedly.

Jubilee sat down in front of Alexandria, turning around to face her, “it’s a-okay with me.” She winked at Alexandria before facing forwards.

She turned to face Scott, who was once again on her left and he just smiled. “Do you need help catching up?”

Alexandria shook her head, “no, Logan caught me up.”

Scott raised an eyebrow, “surprising.”

She shrugged in response as Matthew leaned closer to her, “well, then. Maybe I could use some catching up.”

Alexandria turned to face Matthew, “you’ll find out in a minute.”

Matthew let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated air of defeat. “Fine. Leave me to perish by landmines.”

Alexandria, trying to suppress a smile, returned her attention to the history textbook in front of her. “I’m sure you’ll manage,” she said, her tone as deadpan as ever.

Matthew chuckled softly, seemingly undeterred. “You know, with an attitude like that, you’re really making me question whether I’ve chosen the right seat.”

Jubilee, sitting in front of Alexandria, turned around with a grin. “Don’t worry, Matt. Alexandria’s just a bit grumpy when it comes to new people.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow, looking at Alexandria. “Grumpy, huh? You know, I’m pretty good at dealing with grumpy people. Got a lot of practice back home.”

Alexandria shot him a sideways glance. “Good for you. But I’m not interested in having a chat.”

Matthew’s grin only widened. “You say that now. But give it time. I’ve got a feeling we’ll be getting along just fine.”

She wasn’t sure how this new classmate of hers could keep a grin on his face at all times and not be deterred by her clear disinterest in him.

It was almost impressive, but mostly annoying.

Logan glanced at Alexandria and then at Matthew, noting the persistent grin on the latter’s face. With a curt nod, he began discussing the complexities of early American history, his tone clearly signaling that he expected the students to pay attention. Alexandria hoped that Matthew might finally take the hint and focus on the lesson.

Yet, Matthew leaned closer, his voice barely audible over the lesson. “So, how did you end up here? I mean, besides the whole mutant thing.”

Alexandria didn’t look up from her textbook, keeping her tone clipped. “Why does it matter?”

Matthew shrugged, still grinning. “Just curious. You seem to have a lot of history. Thought I’d ask.”

Jubilee, sitting in front of Alexandria, glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. “Matt, you’re really laying it on thick, aren’t you?”

Matthew’s grin didn’t falter. “Guilty as charged. But hey, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to Matthew, a hint of irritation in his eyes. “Matthew, you’re here to learn, not to disrupt the class.”

Matthew straightened up, his playful expression fading slightly. “Right, sorry. Just trying to make the class a bit more interesting.”

Logan gave him a hard look before returning to the lesson. “Stick to the material, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong side of my desk.”

As the class continued, Alexandria found herself trying to focus on Logan’s lecture. Despite her best efforts, she could feel Matthew’s occasional glances. His presence was a persistent distraction, but she refused to let him get under her skin.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, Alexandria was quick to pack up her things. She shot a quick look at Matthew, who was still absorbed in his notes. With a hasty goodbye to Scott and Jubilee, she headed out the door, hoping to escape Matthew’s relentless pursuit.

Matthew caught up with her in the hallway. “Hey, don’t run off so fast. I was thinking of checking out the Danger Room later. Interested?”

Alexandria turned to face him, her expression a mixture of frustration and curiosity. “I’ve got other plans.”

Matthew’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Oh, come on. It’s not every day you get to see the Danger Room. And besides, it might be fun to have some company.”

Alexandria sighed, her patience wearing thin. “I don’t do ‘fun’ with strangers.”

Matthew raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. I’ll stop bugging you. For now.”

She nodded curtly and turned towards the common room. As she walked, she could hear Matthew’s footsteps behind her, but she chose to ignore them.

As she walked past the kitchen, she noticed Logan walking into the room. She followed as he glanced over at her, pulling out a bottle of beer and a juice box.

She wanted to tell him she’s not a child, and therefore doesn’t want a juice box, but it was apple juice, so she took it.

“You sure you didn’t want to go to the Danger Room? You could’ve kicked his ass.” Logan said, opening the bottle.

Alexandria shrugged and took a sip of her juice, “thought you didn’t want me doing anything strenuous.”

Logan snorted. “I’m surprised you listened to me.”

“I can listen sometimes.” She responded. “I’ve been going to bed at 11 like you asked.”

Logan took a swig from his beer and then gave Alexandria a sideways glance. “For 2 days. I doubt it’ll last a week.”

Alexandria rolled her eyes, leaning against the counter. “Wanna bet?”

Logan took another swig of his beer, smirking as he set it down on the counter. “You’re on. I’ll give you a week before you slip back into your old habits. No way you’ll keep up the bedtime routine for long.”

Alexandria raised an eyebrow. “And what’s the wager?”

Logan thought for a moment, then grinned. “If you can keep it up for a full week, I’ll teach you how to ride.”

Her eyes lit up. They had been for a few more motorcycle rides in the past month, but when she asked if he could teach her, he said ‘in your dreams.’ Logan’s offer now was a rare chance she wasn’t about to pass up.

“You really mean it?” Alexandria asked, her voice betraying her excitement despite her effort to sound nonchalant.

Logan’s smirk widened. “You think I’m gonna back down now? You want to learn, you gotta follow the rules.”

Alexandria took another sip of her apple juice, trying to keep her expression neutral. “I’ll keep the bedtime routine for a week. You can count on it.”

Logan chuckled, clearly amused. “Alright, but don’t think it’ll be easy. And don’t forget what happens if you don’t keep it up for a week.”

She raised an eyebrow, “okay. Then what’s my punishment?”

Logan took another swig from his beer, setting it down on the counter with a clunk. He crossed his arms and gave Alexandria a thoughtful look. “If you don’t keep up the bedtime routine for a week, you’ll have to help me grade papers for a week.”

She groaned, when she was on bedrest and out of the medbay she was bored out of her mind and went to Logan’s office for company. He ended up tasking her with grading papers. She did help, for an hour, then said it was torture and went back to her room.

“Yeah, I remember how much you enjoyed grading those papers,” Logan said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He leaned back against the counter, smirking at her. “But hey, if you want to learn to ride, you’ll have to earn it.”

Alexandria crossed her arms, giving him a challenging look with a hint of a smile. “Fine. I’ll keep the bedtime routine. But don’t think I’m gonna make it easy for you.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t expect anything less. And remember, if you slip up, you’re stuck with me and a mountain of papers.”

“I’ll manage,” Alexandria said, taking a final sip of her juice before heading out of the kitchen. “See you later.”

As Alexandria walked down the hallway, she could hear Matthew’s footsteps echoing behind her. She sighed, bracing herself for another round of unwanted conversation.

He stepped beside her, following her to the common area. She kept quiet, and so did he, which was surprising. Once she spotted Kitty, Jean, and Jubilee she turned to face Matthew and looked almost slightly horrified.

“What is wrong with your face?” she asked.

“You mean my smile?”

Alexandria narrowed her eyes, “yes.”

Matthew's smile didn't waver as he tilted his head slightly. "Oh, you mean this?" He gestured to his beaming grin. "Just my usual face. It’s a lot of work keeping it this way, you know?"

Alexandria studied him for a moment, a mix of curiosity and irritation in her eyes. “It’s… unnerving. Stop it.”

“Why would I? Seems to work for you, gorgeous.”

“What does that mean?” She gritted out.

Matthew's grin widened, seemingly unfazed by Alexandria's glare. "It means I'm just being me," he said, his voice casual and light.

Alexandria’s eyes narrowed further, her patience wearing thin. “Well then, maybe you should try being less… whatever you are.”

Matthew's grin didn't falter at Alexandria’s comment. He tilted his head, clearly amused by her irritation. “You know, you’re not the first person to find my smile unnerving. I’m just trying to be friendly.”

“Friendly isn’t the issue. It’s the way you’re constantly… smiling,” Alexandria replied, trying to keep her tone steady despite her frustration.

Matthew chuckled. “I guess you could say it’s my default setting. Besides, if you think I’m unnerving now, you should’ve seen me before I perfected this smile.”

“I’m sure you had other… charms,” Alexandria said, her sarcasm thinly veiled.

“Yeah, but this smile? It’s hard to beat,” Matthew said, still smiling. “Plus, I’ve always had a thing for Ukrainians.”

“I’m Russian, idiot.” Alexandria fired back.

His smile somehow grew wider, unnerving her even further. “Oh, even better.”

Alexandria's irritation was palpable as she glared at Matthew. “I’m glad you think so,” she said tersely, trying to keep her voice steady. “Maybe you should take a break from that grin.”

Matthew chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I’d love to, but it’s kind of my thing. Plus, it’s not every day I get to talk to someone who’s so… passionate about their dislike for smiles.”

“I’m not ‘passionate’ about anything,” Alexandria snapped. “I just find it… disconcerting.”

“Disconcerting,” Matthew repeated, nodding as if considering the term. “That’s a new one. But hey, if that’s how you feel, then I guess I’m doing something right.”

They had reached the common area, and Alexandria’s friends were scattered around, chatting and lounging. Kitty, Jean, and Jubilee looked up as Alexandria approached, their expressions ranging from curiosity to amusement. Alexandria barely registered them, her focus solely on Matthew and his persistent grin.

Jubilee leaned over to Kitty, whispering something that made both of them stifle laughs. Jean caught Alexandria’s eye and gave a sympathetic smile, clearly understanding her struggle with Matthew’s unending cheerfulness.

“Do you ever stop smiling?” Alexandria demanded, crossing her arms.

Matthew shook his head. “Not really. It’s like a reflex. But enough about me. How’s your day been so far?”

She glared at him, clearly fed up. “It’s been fine, thanks for asking. And since you’re so interested, how about you go find someone else to bother?”

Matthew’s grin softened into a more genuine, if still amused, smile. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you some space. But just so you know, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be around.”

As he walked away, Alexandria felt a mix of relief and frustration. She turned to her friends, who were now watching her with varying degrees of curiosity and sympathy.

“Is it just me, or does he never stop?” Kitty asked, tilting her head.

“It’s not just you,” Alexandria replied, rubbing her temples. “He’s relentless.”

Jean nodded. “Matthew can be like that. But don’t let him get to you too much. He’s actually a good guy once you get to know him.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Alexandria said, though her tone suggested she had doubts. “For now, I’m just glad he’s giving me a break.”

Jubilee grinned. “You know, it’s kind of impressive how you manage to keep him at arm’s length. I don’t think many people can handle his… enthusiasm.”

Alexandria sighed. “I’m not sure I’m handling it. I’m just trying to get through the day without losing my patience.”

Kitty put a reassuring hand on Alexandria’s shoulder. “You’re doing fine. Just remember, he’s not trying to make things harder for you. He genuinely likes being friendly.”

“Great,” Alexandria said dryly. “I’ll try to remember that when I see him next.”

---

It was Friday now, which meant she only had to last 5 more days to learn how to ride a motorcycle. She was determined to win the bet, mostly because she did not want to help Logan grade papers. Kogda rak na gore svistnet. When pigs fly.

She had tried to listen to her friend’s advice, to be nicer to Matthew, but his constant smiles and niceness were almost too sweet. She wondered if cotton candy would even melt in his mouth.

She spotted Kitty, Jean, and Scott gathered on the couch, chatting and laughing. Alexandria made her way over to them, her mood slightly improved by their familiar faces.

“Hey, Alexandria,” Jean greeted with a smile. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” Alexandria replied, plopping down on the couch beside Scott. “Just trying to keep my promise to Logan.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Still keeping up with that bedtime routine?”

“For now,” Alexandria said, leaning back and letting out a small sigh. “I’m determined not to help him grade papers.”

Kitty grinned. “I think Logan’s going to be surprised if you actually make it through the week.”

“Me too,” Alexandria admitted. “But I’m not backing down.”

Jean’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “You know, you don’t have to be so hard on yourself. It’s okay to have a little fun.”

“I will have fun when Logan teaches me how to ride his motorcycle.” She responded.

"Which we can all agree is completely out of the ordinary for Logan. He hates anyone touching it. He once got mad at me for looking at it," Scott said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Alexandria smirked slightly. "Maybe he's getting soft in his old age."

"Or maybe he just likes you more than he likes the rest of us," Kitty suggested with a playful nudge.

"Hard to believe," Alexandria muttered, but the small smile on her lips hinted that she didn’t entirely disagree. The idea of Logan having a soft spot for her was something she still wasn’t used to, but it was becoming more apparent with each passing day.

"You’ve definitely got a way with him," Jean added. "It’s nice to see."

Alexandria glanced at Jean, trying to read the sincerity in her voice. She wasn’t sure if Jean was just being polite or if she genuinely believed that Logan was warming up to her. Either way, it was a strange concept—someone like Logan caring about someone like her.

"Don’t make it weird," Alexandria said, leaning back into the couch, though she couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit of warmth at their words.

"We’re not making it weird, you are," Kitty teased, earning a light jab from Alexandria.

"Touché," Alexandria replied, her tone lightening. It was moments like these, surrounded by friends who didn’t judge her, that made her slowly start to see the X-Mansion as more of a home. Even if she would never admit it out loud.

"So, what’s the plan for tonight?" Scott asked, shifting the conversation away from Logan and onto safer topics.

"Just trying to survive another day without losing my mind," Alexandria said, half-joking. "And maybe, just maybe, get some peace and quiet."

"Good luck with that," Kitty said with a grin. "This place is never quiet."

"No kidding," Alexandria agreed, her thoughts briefly drifting to Matthew and his incessant smiling. Peace and quiet seemed like a luxury she could only dream of lately.

"Well, if you ever need an escape, you know where to find us," Jean offered.

"Thanks," Alexandria said, and she meant it. Despite her usual reluctance to rely on others, it was nice knowing that her friends were there for her, no matter what.

---

Matthew wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. Sure, his older sister told him that he shouldn’t see anybody as a ‘challenge’ but it was more than that.

Dad said it was love at first sight when he met mom, and mom said that she disliked him at the beginning.

He just knew when he saw her. There wasn’t any explanation, yes, she was pretty, but it was the way she held herself, the way she interacted with others.

His first two days at the school were orientation and a tour, so he would see students milling about their days, going to classes, reading, doing homework, and talking to friends.

Matthew had seen Scott get upset when there weren’t any cookies left at the lunch line, and without talking Alexandria had placed the one she had on his tray. She, without speaking, handed Jean a rubber band for her hair when she was writing.

Talking to her was different, difficult. Jubilee, who had been the one to give him a tour, said that Alexandria was rescued from HYDRA 8 months ago, and around 2 months ago had been recaptured and rescued, but almost died from a slit throat.

So, he understands she’s probably not open to strangers.

But fuck, she was driving him crazy. The small smiles she’d give to everyone but him, the chuckles and laughs she’d quietly do around others, the sweet smell of strawberries every time she walked by him.

Friday night, he called his sister, who was only 3 years older than him and in her first year of college.

“Hey, Matt!” Jenna’s voice came through the phone, cheerful and full of energy as always. “What’s up? How’s the new school?”

Matthew let out a sigh, flopping onto his bed. “It’s… complicated.”

Jenna chuckled on the other end. “Complicated? That doesn’t sound like you. What’s going on?”

He hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. “There’s this girl…”

“Ooh, a girl!” Jenna teased. “Tell me everything.”

“It’s not like that,” Matthew protested, though he knew his sister wouldn’t believe him. “She’s just… different. I’ve never met anyone like her.”

Jenna’s tone softened. “Different how?”

“She’s been through a lot,” Matthew explained, his voice serious. “She’s not like the other girls here. She’s distant, guarded, and it’s like she has this wall around her that no one can get through.”

“Sounds like she’s been hurt before,” Jenna said thoughtfully. “You said she’s been through a lot. What happened?”

Matthew hesitated again, unsure of how much he should reveal. “She was rescued from HYDRA about eight months ago. She was kidnapped again two months ago and nearly died. I guess that kind of trauma doesn’t just go away.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Jenna spoke again. “Wow, Matt. That’s… intense. No wonder she’s distant.”

“Yeah,” Matthew agreed. “But the thing is, I really like her. There’s something about her that I can’t get out of my head. I know she’s not interested in me, and she probably finds me annoying, but I can’t help it. I want to get to know her, to help her somehow.”

Jenna was silent for a moment, then she sighed. “Matt, it sounds like you’ve got it bad. But you have to be careful. She’s been through a lot, and she might not be ready for someone to get close to her. You can’t push her.”

“I know,” Matthew said, frustration evident in his voice. “But it’s hard. I’ve tried being friendly, but it just seems to make things worse. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Then maybe you need to back off a bit,” Jenna suggested gently. “Give her some space. If she wants to get to know you, she’ll come around. But you can’t force it.”

Matthew sighed, knowing she was right. “I just… I don’t want to give up on her.”

“Then don’t,” Jenna said firmly. “But be patient. She needs to know that you’re there for her, but she also needs to feel safe. If you really like her, you’ll find a way to show her that without overwhelming her.”

“Yeah,” Matthew said softly. “Thanks, Jenna. You always know what to say.”

“That’s what sisters are for,” Jenna replied with a smile in her voice. “And hey, if it works out, you’ll have one heck of a love story to tell.”

Matthew couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“Please do,” Jenna said. “And remember, take it one step at a time. She’ll come around when she’s ready.”

After hanging up, Matthew felt a little better, though the frustration of his situation still lingered. He knew Jenna was right—he needed to be patient, to give Alexandria the space she needed. But that didn’t make it any easier.

The next morning, Matthew decided to follow his sister’s advice. He would still be around, still make his presence known, but he would try to tone down the enthusiasm that seemed to annoy Alexandria so much. Maybe, just maybe, she would start to see him in a different light.

---

The weekend passed without much incident. Alexandria stuck to her bedtime routine, much to Logan’s surprise, and the two of them continued their banter about the bet. She was determined to make it through the week, and the thought of finally learning to ride a motorcycle kept her motivated.

Matthew, on the other hand, kept his distance. He still smiled when he saw Alexandria, but he didn’t push for conversation. He gave her space, just as Jenna had advised, and hoped that she would notice the change.

Tuesday rolled around, and the school was abuzz with the usual activity. Alexandria found herself in the common area again, surrounded by her friends. They were chatting about classes, upcoming events, and the usual gossip, but her mind kept drifting back to Matthew. She hadn’t seen much of him over the weekend, and his absence was oddly noticeable.

“Earth to Alexandria,” Kitty’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she blinked, realizing that everyone was looking at her.

“What?” Alexandria asked, slightly defensive.

“You okay?” Jean asked, her tone concerned. “You seem a little distracted.”

Alexandria shrugged, trying to play it off. “Just thinking.”

“About Matthew?” Jubilee asked, a knowing grin on her face.

Alexandria rolled her eyes. “No.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Kitty said, her grin matching Jubilee’s. “You’re totally not thinking about him.”

“I’m not,” Alexandria insisted, though her friends’ teasing smiles made her wonder if they saw through her denial.

“Whatever you say,” Scott chimed in, giving her a playful nudge. “But just so you know, he’s been asking about you.”

That caught Alexandria’s attention. “He has?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah, he mentioned something about wanting to make sure he wasn’t bothering you. Seemed like he was trying to give you some space.”

Alexandria frowned, a mix of confusion and curiosity in her expression. “Why?”

“Maybe because he likes you?” Kitty suggested, her tone light but with a hint of seriousness.

Alexandria scoffed, though the idea made her heart beat a little faster. “He doesn’t even know me.”

“Maybe not,” Jean said, her voice thoughtful. “But he’s trying to. And from what I’ve seen, he’s not a bad guy.”

“I didn’t say he was,” Alexandria replied, her tone defensive. “I just don’t get why he’s so… persistent.”

“Because he likes you,” Jubilee repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And let’s be real, who wouldn’t?”

Alexandria rolled her eyes again, but this time there was a slight smile tugging at her lips. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Kitty said with a shrug. “But we’re not wrong.”

After the group separated, Alexandria headed to Hank’s classroom. She knew that Matthew had chemistry at a later time than she did, so she waited outside the room until class was over.

Five minutes later, students trickled out, Matthew being the last one out. His eyes widened as he saw Alexandria standing against the wall.

“You’re avoiding me,” she stated.

He snorted, “no.”

“Yeah.”

Matthew started to walk off, Alexandria following. It did strike her that the roles were reversed now but she paid no mind to that. “You said I was annoying, so I backed off.”

“But… that doesn’t mean I want you to stop.”

Matthew paused mid-step, turning slightly to look at Alexandria, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Wait, what?"

Alexandria huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I said, that doesn’t mean I want you to stop."

Matthew glanced sideways at Alexandria, a mix of surprise and curiosity on his face. "So, you actually want me to keep bothering you?"

Alexandria gave him a pointed look. "Not exactly. I just... don’t want you to think I don’t want to talk to you. You’ve been giving me space, and I guess I miss the, I don’t know, annoyance?"

Matthew chuckled softly, clearly pleased by her confession. "Annoyance, huh? Well, I can do that."

"Good," Alexandria said with a slight smirk, trying to ignore the way her heart was racing.

Matthew’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “You’re really something, you know that?”

“Yeah, well, you’re not exactly the easiest person to ignore either,” Alexandria replied, her tone light but with a hint of seriousness.

Matthew smirked, clearly pleased by her response. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Alexandria rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You shouldn’t. Just don’t get used to it.”

“Fair enough,” Matthew said, catching up to her as they walked down the hallway together. “So, if I’m not supposed to stop bothering you, what exactly am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” Alexandria admitted, her shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Maybe just be… less annoying while still being persistent.”

Matthew laughed, a genuine, amused sound that made Alexandria’s heart skip a beat. “I think I can manage that. I mean, if you’re saying you miss me, I guess I’m doing something right.”

“Don’t get a big head,” Alexandria warned, though her tone was more teasing than serious.

They reached the entrance to the common area, and Matthew hesitated for a moment, looking at Alexandria with a thoughtful expression. “You know, if you ever want to talk or hang out or whatever, just let me know. I’m around.”

Alexandria met his gaze, her expression softening slightly. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Matthew nodded, then waved as he headed off toward the stairs. “See you around, Alexandria.”

She watched him go, feeling a mix of emotions she wasn’t entirely sure how to process. Part of her wanted to keep up her usual defensive wall, but another part of her was intrigued by the genuine effort Matthew was putting into breaking through it. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Alexandria headed to her room.

She needed to finish some homework, take a shower, and go to bed. Today was the last day of the bet, and she wasn’t about to lose now.

---

Wednesday arrived, and by the time history class came up Alexandria stood in front of Logan’s desk, with a smile on her face.

“Looks like you owe me a lesson.” She said, holding her textbook against her chest.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He grumbled, though he was impressed that she stuck to it. Every night he’d pass by her door at 11 and she would be asleep. “Now, stop carrying around that textbook, sweetheart. Your ribs aren’t fully healed yet.”

Alexandria rolled her eyes, “fine. But only until you tell me when your gonna hold up your end.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, “Saturday, 9 in the morning.”

She pouted, “Saturday? That’s three days!”

Logan raised an eyebrow at Alexandria’s pout. “You think three days is a lot? Wait ‘til you see how long it takes to get you on a bike. It’s not just about showing you how to ride; it’s about making sure you’re ready.”

Alexandria crossed her arms tighter around her textbook, her pout deepening. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not exactly the easiest student,” Logan shot back, his lips twitching into a smirk. “You’ve got a lot to learn, and I want to make sure you’re up to it.”

“Fine, fine,” Alexandria said, rolling her eyes but her annoyance fading into a smile. “I’ll wait.”

Logan gave her a reassuring nod, then waved her off as the bell rang, signaling the start of class. "Now, get to your seat before you make me look bad in front of the students."

She shot him a playful glare before heading to her desk. And of course, Matthew was sitting at the desk to her right.

“Look at you, gorgeous. You’re smiling.” He said, wearing a smile of her own.

Alexandria sat down, “no, I’m not.”

Matthew tsked, “well, now it’s gone. Probably shouldn’t have said anything to see it longer.”

Alexandria shot him a sideways glance, trying to suppress the smile that had nearly escaped. “Don’t flatter yourself, Roman. I was just—”

“Just what?” Matthew leaned in a bit closer, his grin widening. “It looked like you were about to have a good day.”

Alexandria rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly helping.”

Matthew raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. For now.”

“Good,” Alexandria said, trying to sound more serious than she felt. “Keep it up, and I might start thinking you’re actually tolerable.”

Matthew’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “High praise coming from you. I’ll take it.”

The class began, and the two of them fell into the rhythm of the lesson. Alexandria found herself more aware of Matthew’s presence than usual, though she tried to focus on Logan’s lecture. She could feel his eyes on her occasionally, and it made her both irritated and intrigued.

---

Saturday came along and Alexandria made it outside to the front where Logan stood smoking a cigar and leaning against the motorcycle. She was 5 minutes early as she walked down the steps and stood in front of him, a small grin on her face.

Logan took a long drag from his cigar, watching as Alexandria approached with a slight grin on her face. She was early, which didn’t surprise him. When she wanted something, she was all in—stubborn, determined, just like him.

“Look who’s eager,” Logan remarked, exhaling smoke as he flicked the ash off the cigar. “Could’ve sworn you’d show up late just to mess with me.”

Alexandria stopped in front of him, crossing her arms as she looked over the motorcycle with a mix of excitement and nerves. “You’re the one who said nine. I’m just making sure you don’t back out.”

Logan grunted, pushing off the bike and straightening up. “Ain’t in the habit of backing outta deals, kid. You know that.”

She rolled her eyes at the ‘kid’ remark but didn’t argue. Logan had a way of making things sound final, and she wasn’t about to challenge him on something she wanted so badly.

“So, where do we start?” Alexandria asked, a hint of anticipation in her voice.

Logan studied her for a moment, then nodded toward the bike. “First, you’re gonna learn the basics. Get on and feel it out. It ain’t like ridin’ with me—you gotta control this thing yourself.”

Alexandria took a deep breath and stepped closer to the bike. She’d been on it before, but always behind Logan, never in control. There was a thrill to that, sure, but this... this was different. This was hers.

Logan watched as she swung her leg over the bike, settling onto the seat. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she gripped the handlebars a little too tightly. “Relax,” he said, his tone softer than usual. “You’re not gonna go anywhere yet.”

“Easy for you to say,” Alexandria muttered, though she loosened her grip slightly, trying to heed his advice.

Logan stepped up beside her, his hand resting on the handlebar next to hers. “You gotta trust the bike. Feel it. It’s an extension of you—if you’re too tense, you’re gonna fight it instead of workin’ with it.”

Alexandria glanced at him, then nodded, taking another deep breath. She tried to focus on the weight of the bike, the feel of the engine beneath her. Logan was right; she needed to relax.

“Good,” Logan said, noticing the change in her posture. “Now, lemme show you the basics.”

He walked her through the controls, explaining the clutch, throttle, brakes, and gears. Alexandria listened intently, absorbing every word. Logan wasn’t the type to give long-winded explanations, and she appreciated that. He kept things straightforward, simple—just what she needed.

“Alright,” Logan said after a while, stepping back to give her some space. “Now, give it a shot. Start her up.”

Alexandria’s heart pounded in her chest as she reached for the ignition. She’d seen Logan do it a dozen times, but now, it was her turn. She twisted the key, and the engine roared to life beneath her. The vibration of the bike sent a thrill through her, and for a moment, she couldn’t help but smile.

“Not bad,” Logan said, his eyes narrowing in approval. “Now, let’s see if you can keep it steady.”

He guided her through the process of easing the clutch and giving it a little gas, and before she knew it, the bike was moving—slowly, but moving. Alexandria’s grin widened as she felt the wind against her face, the freedom of it all.

Logan jogged alongside her, his hand hovering near the handlebar in case she needed help. “Easy now. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I got it,” Alexandria called back, her voice full of excitement.

“Yeah, you do,” Logan replied, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

They spent the next hour going over the basics, with Logan giving pointers and corrections as needed. Alexandria was a quick learner, though Logan expected nothing less. She had the focus and determination to master this, just like she did with everything else.

After a while, Logan had her stop and get off the bike. He could see the pride in her eyes, the satisfaction of having conquered something new.

“You did good,” Logan said, nodding at the bike. “But this ain’t over yet. We’ll keep practicing until you’re ready to hit the road.”

Alexandria looked at him, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Thanks, Logan. I mean it.”

He grunted, looking away as he took another drag from his cigar. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go gettin’ all mushy on me now. We got more work to do.”

She laughed, a sound that was still rare but becoming more common these days. It was a laugh that meant she was starting to find her place, to feel like she belonged.

“Alright,” Alexandria said, standing next to the bike. “So, when’s the next lesson?”

Logan gave her a sideways glance, a smirk playing on his lips. “How’s tomorrow sound?”

“Perfect,” she replied without hesitation.

“Good,” Logan said, putting out his cigar. “Now go on, get outta here. You’ve earned a break.”

Alexandria nodded, giving the bike one last look before heading back toward the mansion. As she walked away, Logan watched her, a mix of pride and something else he couldn’t quite place. She was a tough kid, no doubt about it, but there was more to her than that. There was a fire in her, a determination that reminded him a little too much of himself.

you can probably guess where this is going... i can't help it i'm a sucker for a good love story

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