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kunareads · 2 months ago

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brat | track one

360

producer!suguru x popstar!reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 2k

content: smut, fluff, smau / exhibitionism (concealed in a public setting), fingering, drug/alcohol use, ambiguous relationship status / a little scene-setting before we get into it next chapter :)

taglist is closed! 18+ please <3

Variety — YEAR OF THE BRAT: SUGURU GETO AND YN HAVE THE INDUSTRY IN A HEADLOCK (AND THEY’RE LAUGHING ABOUT IT)

Vulture — INSIDE THE CULT OF YN AND GETO: WHY EVERYONE’S COPYING THE CHAOS

The Cut — THE ART OF BEING WATCHED: THE ROLLOUT THAT TOOK OVER YOUR TIMELINE

[ seven days, 14 hours to drop ]

you’re chewing gum when you walk in.

the meeting room is glass-walled, over-lit, aggressively air-conditioned. it smells like money and emails. a brand director is mid-slide, gesturing at a screen filled with words like reach and multi-platform ecosystem. someone else chimes in about vertical integration.

suguru trails two steps behind you with half a croissant in his hand, headphones slung around his neck. he doesn’t say a word—just drops into the chair beside yours and opens his laptop as if the room isn’t full of people.

you don’t take your sunglasses off. their fault for lighting the place like an interrogation chamber.

“the aim is cultural virality,” someone says. “we’re thinking cross-brand utility meets niche rebellion.”

you blink slowly. blow a bubble. pop it.

“is there a slide where you tell us what the fuck that means?”

suguru doesn’t look up, but he does smirk beside you—the silent, crooked kind he gives you when he thinks you’re being mean on purpose. (you are.)

a younger exec tries to pivot. “no, like—we just want to elevate your image without diluting the—”

“please don’t say authenticity.” you cross your legs. “i’ll have to light myself on fire.”

[ six days, 12 hours to drop ]

@/cultyn (instagram post) 📸 : your silhouette behind a sheer curtain with silver tinsel, suguru’s tattooed hand pulling the curtain aside. 💬 : countdown in bio. don’t be late ⏳

@/cultgeto (instagram post) 📸 : same as yours. 💬 : it begins 🔄 360 video friday

[ four days, 22 hours to drop ]

you feel it before you name it—that warm, sparkling edge of visibility. the music’s perfect. the lights are forgiving. everyone’s looking, seeing exactly what you want them to.

but the only eyes that matter are fixed on you from a corner—suguru, legs spread and an arm slung over the back of the couch like the section belongs to him. (it does.)

he waits.

you let it build. air-kiss people you barely remember. twirl a girl’s hair between your fingers, whispering something that makes her giggle. lean into camera flashes, catching light in your earrings, your clothes, your teeth.

and when you’re satisfied, you cross the floor, hips swinging like a threat, and slot yourself between his knees. he leans back and gives you that look—somewhere between dare and devotion.

“having fun?” he asks, amused.

you straddle his thigh without answering. your skirt rides higher, his eyes drop lower. instead of stopping you, he grabs his jacket from the seat and drapes it over your bare shoulders—possession dressed as modesty.

“so fucking spoiled,” he mutters, more observation than complaint. like he’s proud. like he made you this way on purpose.

you roll your hips once. then again, slower, dirtier. a palm settles on your ass to guide you, not stop you. his show now, not yours. every grind hits harder as you fall into the rhythm he sets.

he takes your drink, downs it in one swallow, sets the glass aside. you watch his throat work before that same hand trails condensation up your thigh and under your skirt.

you’re slick through your panties.

“you’re such a fucking handful,” he says with a smirk, planting kisses from your cheek to your jaw. his voice is hot in your ear, close enough to catch between beats. “you know that?”

you tilt your head, feigning innocence. “wanted you to touch me.”

his smirk deepens when you slide your knees wider on the seat for him. he shifts your panties aside and sinks two fingers in.

your mouth drops open as he sets a pace. you arch into him automatically, grinding harder, already after something without permission. his palm presses over your clit with every thrust. it’s sloppy—shallow breath, parted lips, heavy eyelids.

you try to keep the rhythm, to stay composed, but his fingers work in time with the music, eyes pinned to your face. he kisses you when he catches it—the split second where it stops being teasing and starts being need.

“breathe.”

your hips stutter, the warning landing between your lungs and your legs.

“you’re gonna cum too fast.”

you nod, or shake your head—you don’t know. you ignore him like you always do, desperate now, chasing it like you’re not surrounded by strangers. if anyone’s watching, suguru’s already made sure they can’t see anyway.

“you wanna be fucked on this couch in front of everyone?” he asks, voice dropping to something fond and a little mean. “or are you gonna behave?”

you don’t answer. can’t. your forehead drops to his shoulder, breath hitching as his cologne fills your senses. you’re right on the edge—

“i know, baby.” he murmurs it like a spell, dragging his thumb up your clit. “i know. make a mess if you need to.”

you cum on his hand like it was his idea. like you didn’t start the whole thing in the first place.

he keeps you there, fingers still inside, letting you come apart in pieces on top of him. your hips twitch and you whimper into his throat, melting against him. he lets you ride it out. lets your slick flood over his fingers and down his hand, then pulls out slowly. tucks your panties back into place too carefully for what just happened.

then he brings one finger to his mouth, licking it clean. he offers the other to you, and you take it like you always do—lips parted, tongue out, wrapping around him slow in the way you know drives him insane. you suck, humming low in your throat like a thank you.

you start to lift your head, suddenly aware of where you are and the fact that the song’s changed twice, but a hand finds the back of your neck, grounding you as he kisses your temple.

“not yet,” he murmurs. “you’re okay.”

so you exhale and let yourself sink into him fully. your cheek pressed to his chest, his arm snug around your waist, jacket still warm over your shoulders. the music keeps playing and the lights keep shifting, but for a few more seconds, you stay where you are.

[ four hours to drop ]

you’re twenty-five minutes late and only partially dressed when you go live.

you rarely do interviews separately. don’t take meetings separately either, unless you’re trying to scare someone. livestreams are the same—it’s him or nothing.

suguru stands behind you, black shirt half-buttoned with the sleeves rolled up. he’s halfway through lacing your corset, rings flashing as he works the ribbon like he’s tying a gift.

“i told you to start getting ready two hours ago,” he mutters, eyes on his hands.

“you did,” you agree with a nod, squinting at the phone propped against the hotel mirror. the chat scrolls too fast to follow, but you catch a few:

SUGURU HANDS WATCHERS STAND UP he’s doing it wrong but like… sexy?? she’s so calm i would be screaming and crying and biting

“chat says you’re doing it wrong.”

“chat can’t get you out of a corset with one hand,” he deadpans, not even looking up.

you seal the joint in your hands with a slow press of your tongue, dragging it across the paper like you know he’s watching. (he is. he always is.)

he finishes with a final tug, knotting the ribbon tight and smoothing the laces like he’s proud of himself. his fingers trail down your spine in a lazy line as he kisses your bare shoulder once, soft and thoughtless.

the lighter clicks. you inhale, exhale. watch him in the mirror as he disappears from the frame to rifle through the jewelry you’d dumped onto the counter earlier.

he returns with earrings, necklaces, and bangles in hand.

“stay still.”

his fingers are cool where they skim your neck. he hooks the earrings in slow, fastens your necklace, slips each bracelet on one by one and brings your hand to his lips when he’s done.

you pass him the joint.

“we were supposed to be there thirty minutes ago and it’s thirty minutes away,” he says, exhaling smoke.

“mm,” you reply, dabbing on lip gloss. “better hurry up and pick my shoes then.”

i’ve never wanted to be a joint so bad in my whole life HE PICKS HER JEWELRY?????? is this foreplay or a grwm

[ 30 minutes to drop ]

the diesel party is still going by the time you leave. your heels click loudly against the sidewalk. suguru’s hand rests low at your back, half-steering. he smells like weed and your favorite cologne.

someone with a press badge calls your name—matte lipstick, eyes wide like she can’t believe you’re real. she catches you just before the car with a mic, a cameraman, and a hopeful smile.

“just a second—can we get a quick word? you both look—” she hesitates, trying to find the right language. “—unreal.”

suguru stops halfway behind you, not moving his hand from your waist.

“so,” she starts, practically vibrating. “what made you two want to show up together for tonight’s diesel launch?”

“we love a party,” you reply, smiling.

she laughs like it’s charming. follows up with something about your sound, the visuals you’ve been putting out recently. you let suguru answer that one—you’re busy watching the lights bounce off the gloss you left on his cheekbone.

“okay, last one. you probably get this all the time, but—are you two… together?”

suguru grins. “we’re the same person.”

you don’t miss a beat. “worse.”

the interviewer laughs, flustered and delighted. “right. okay. thank you—”

but you’re already sliding into the backseat.

the car door shuts and the world cuts out. no bass, no flashing lights. just dark leather and air conditioning and exhaustion behind your eyes.

you exhale once, sharp, and start leaning forward to unbuckle your shoes.

suguru stops you. “let me.” like it’s obvious.

he pulls your feet into his lap one at a time, slipping the heels off like you’re breakable. his thumb circles your ankle, slow and grounding. your breathing evens out.

outside, cameras flash against the windows, but the tint’s too dark for them to get anything real.

it echoes in your head. are you two together?

“you didn’t say no,” you say softly, eyes closed.

he keeps rubbing. “you didn’t either.”

when you look at him, he’s smiling at you, eyes soft like he’s listening for something unspoken.

you settle deeper into the seat, one hand resting over his.

neither of you has said it.

but he always shows up. always looks at you like you’re the only person in the world speaking his language.

and you do the same.

you’re each other’s. just not in a way you can put in writing.

[ three minutes post-drop ]

the 360 video drops at midnight. it’s trending by 12:03.

the internet does what it always does.

@/bratchive: every brand strategist watching this with tears in their eyes

@/getogirl: brat / tamer dynamic so loud you can hear the leash drag

@/forynonly: legacy is UNDEBATEDDDDD icon behavior

you don’t check your phone, but you feel it—the shift, the buzz, the spin of it all. the world catching up to something you’ve already lived through.

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mokulule · 2 months ago

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Dead on MAYn - Day 2

Trope | Identity Shenanigans Word | Hoodwinked Situation | Danny works at the Watchtower & meets Red Hood there. Dialogue | "Cool glowing swords, mind if I borrow them for a minute?"

Summary: There's something on the Watchtower posing as a human and Jason is the only one who knows.

It had been just a little hacking, a little bit of information retrieval, not like Red Hood was doing terrible crimes on the Watchtower. Still, he’d rather be in and out without anyone the wiser. He could only loop the cameras for so long without anyone noticing.

Could Jason have just asked for this information?

Sure. But that would require actually talking to Bruce, and since that was scheduled for… preferably never, this was the next best option. Of course the potential for actually getting sent to jail as the wanted criminal that he was, if he was caught, was a definite drawback to this plan. It would set back his timeline a day or two while he escaped and he really couldn’t afford that.

Of course no reason to count your chickens until they hatched, and unless they hatched Wonder Woman, Jason was reasonably sure he could still avoid capture by most of the other super friends.

Footsteps were approaching from further ahead the bending hallway. Quickly Jason looked around and finding no other choice he squeezed into the space between two vertical pipes in an open service hallway. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when some obscure blue and yellow costumed hero walked by without even glancing towards the open service hallway.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

Jason jumped, turned around, and grabbed the suddenly appeared person by covering his mouth then he pushed him against the wall with the other arm across his chest. Where the fuck did he come from?! As Jason waited for his heart to migrate back into his chest from his throat, he noted the guy’s blue coveralls and tool belt and at least knew what the guy was doing in the open service hallway.

Jason was an idiot he should have expected someone to be in here, why else would it be open?

Odd, Jason thought, there was a complete lack of struggle. The man just watched Jason with calm eyes from over Jason’s gloved hand. It was that more than anything, because he didn’t look like someone who would scream, that made Jason readily remove his hand when the guy reached up to pull it away.

“At least buy a guy dinner first, Red,” he smirked and leaned his head back casually, drawing attention to the line of his throat and the dib between his collar bones, visible because the coveralls were slightly unzipped.

It took a moment for Jason to comprehend the words and what direction his thoughts had been going, then he let go as if burned, taking a step away.

Smiling in satisfaction the guy straightened his coveralls and took a step away from the wall.

“So whose side are you on these days, Red? Do I need to sound the alarm?”

Jason narrowed his eyes from beneath the helmet. What was up with this guy? Somehow, inexplicably, it felt best not to lie. “My own side.”

“Hmmm,” the guy seemed to consider for a moment then finally nodded. “Very well, follow me.”

He started walking further down the service hall. After a few steps he turned his head slightly. “Are you coming?”

Jason hesitated. All sorts of alarm bells were ringing in his head, but still he found his feet moving forward into what felt like the bowels of the space station. He felt at once disconnected and grounded in every doomed step. The low orange lights that lit their twisting mechanical path in regular intervals and their shadows dancing as if alive across pipes, cables and consoles didn’t help the feeling that Jason was being led to the underworld.

There had been a number of branches in the path, places where Jason could have taken the chance to run, but hadn’t.

It was stupid following an unknown, every ounce of his training rebelled, because it was sure to be a trap. But there was something in Jason, something primal, that felt absolutely terrified of pissing of whatever the fuck that maintenance worker actually was behind the too sharp smile. A smile that was flashed at him every now and then when he checked whether Red Hood was still following.

They went down two ladders and squeezed through some pipes before finally they seemed to have reached their destination. The being knelt down and opened a previously unseen hatch in the floor letting in the artificial sunlight the main areas used like a beam in the darkness. Jason half expected the being to dissolve in the light, but he was not so lucky. Dread squeezed Jason’s heart when he stuck his head down into the room and then seemingly waved to someone below.

This was the moment the trap would spring.

Time stretched until finally the being straightened with a too wide grin lit from underneath.

“Alright coast is clear time for you to go.”

“What?” Jason asked weakly.

“In you go, this is the Zeta Bay.” He explained patiently.

“You’re letting me go?” At this point Jason wasn’t sure if he’d expected to be handed over to the Justice League or eaten. At this point it didn’t matter.

“Mmmhmm,” he hummed agreeably, “now get a move on, I’ve got work to do.”

Right, Jason thought weakly. He stuck his head down and confirmed this was indeed the Zeta Bay. He hurried down what was apparently a ceiling panel. He was just about to take a step towards one of the zeta tubes when the voice halted him.

“Though, Red-”

Jason’s breath hitched when he looked up to see two glowing green Lazarus eyes staring back at him from within the darkness.

“-don’t let me catch you uninvited here again.”

And that was Jason’s cue to skedaddle. He was never setting foot on the fucking Watchtower again.

Oo o oO  Six months later Jason was on the fucking Watchtower again.

He stepped out of the Zeta Tube with dread curling in his stomach. He did not sign up for this.

So he was vaguely aware of how “all bats on deck” had started to include the Red Hood. He’d been there. He’d been part of the whole process: the arguments, the concessions, the tearful confessions and father-son moments which he tried his best to ignore happened, but they were… good? Things were overall semi-okay.

But the part where his brain hit a bit of a snag, was when all bats on deck meant Red Hood (still very wanted criminal) on the Watchtower deck.

So what if there was an alien invasion? Red Hood could protect Gotham from Gotham if aliens decided to try their luck. What part of micromanaging Crime Alley screamed world saving to Bruce? In fact it would have been better if he’d stayed back, because surely some assholes (Jason could think of at least three) would take advantage of the distraction of an alien invasion and move in on Crime Alley.

Yet, here Red Hood was, on the Watchtower, gaining odd looks even amongst the hurrying heroes as they passed them. In fact it was probably only Red Robin’s presence by his side that prevented him from being accosted - because he was, as previously established, a wanted criminal, one with a rather bloody and explosive reputation to boot.

You would think putting the guy known for blowing shit up onto your very expensive space station would be a bad call.

But no, Bruce trusted him. Not only that, he trusted him to watch Tim’s back and Jason hated how choked up that made him feel. So he was doing it, okay? Bruce better fucking appreciate it.

He cautiously scanned his surroundings, as he followed Tim, watchful for any heroes that might consider Red Hood more of a threat than the ongoing invasion and more importantly signs of certain maintenance workers from the abyss.

Of course Jason’s luck wasn’t to last. Just before the door into the Watchtower command central he was there, innocently perched on a ladder with a light panel open above him, seemingly changing an actual lightbulb - as if he was just some guy working there. And sure in the light he looked harmless in the light blue coveralls with the top part tied around his waist revealing a black t-shirt that hung a bit loose on his slight build. He looked deceptively human with the tousled black hair and the little smudge of oil across his nose, but the way his gaze zeroed in on Jason like a predator smelling blood was anything but.

Surreptitiously Jason moved so Tim was between him and the thing.

“So what’s that guy’s deal?”

“Who?” Red Robin glanced at Red Hood before following his line of sight. “Danny?”

Danny… what a deceptively ordinary name. He supposed that was fitting for something posing as human.

Tim looked at him with an absolutely bewildered look on his face and told him lowly. “Danny has worked in maintenance for a couple of years. He has a degree in mechanical engineering, honestly he might be a bit overqualified. Why are you asking? You can’t be surprised we employ maintenance workers.” He narrowed his eyes.

‘Danny’ met Jason’s eyes from over Tim’s head. He smiled and winked at Jason sending a chill down his spine, before turning back around to close the now functioning light panel. Jason mentally shook himself out of it.

“Just wondering with the invasion and all, why there’s a civilian on the Watchtower,” he covered smoothly, but not smoothly enough by the way Tim kept glancing at him. He swiped the door panel and they entered the control room.

“All the maintenance workers carry stun guns and know how to use them. There’s also panic rooms and escape pods available.”

The doors closed behind them and Jason breathed a quiet sigh of relief to have the metal between him and Danny.

Now maybe they could get to work stopping this invasion so Jason could get back to Gotham, and most importantly off of this stupid space station.

Oo o oO

Jason did his best to stay off the Watchtower, he really did, but events conspired against him. He couldn’t even share his concerns because everyone else was convinced Danny was a completely ordinary and nice guy - even Bruce, mr Paranoid himself. Yes, Jason had checked the personnel files, even the locked ones: Danny was listed as human, born to human parents. No meta gene. Everything perfectly ordinary in a way that set Jason’s teeth grinding by how wrong it was.

It was maddening.

Every moment he was forced onto the Watchtower was a waiting game, because every time without fail Danny would be there. Either doing innocuous maintenance or as ominous green pinpricks from the shadows. Stalking him. Hunting him. Waiting for him to slip up, to come here ‘uninvited’.

But Jason was careful, and Danny would just have to go hungry.

Oo o oO

It was bound to happen, Jason thought as he limped as fast as his leg would take him into a narrow alley. You could only go so long without killing anyone before they realized you’d stopped sending that kind of message, that the old mail service had shut down and they realized you’d gone over to e-mail or whatever newfangled thing was supposed to work in this metaphor. The blood loss was not helping Jason’s faculties at the moment.

The point was… there was a point somewhere…

“Over here! Bitch is leading us straight to him.”

Jason looked down at the ground and the splatters that glistened in the lamplight. Not good, he had to-

“Hey-“

The sound came from behind him. Jason reacted on instinct, spinning around and pushing the assailant against the wall, an arm across their chest and gun pulled and aimed at their face, which- the rest of Jason’s blood promptly drained out of his face.

“We gotta stop meeting like this, Red,” Danny said, and gently moved Jason’s gun down to his side.

“What are you doing here?” No no no. He should be on the Watchtower, not here. Whatever he was shouldn’t be allowed to move locations!

“I live here?”

“What?” He whispered not understanding one bit.

“Apartment, third floor,” Danny pointed upwards somewhere behind Jason. He still couldn’t comprehend what was going on.

Danny looked to the mouth of the alley then down at Jason’s leg.

“You’re hurt.”

Jason shook his head. It wasn’t a denial that he was hurt, he was very aware, but it was a no he didn’t want whatever that sentence lead to, but he also knew he was powerless to fight it-

He was on a couch, looking up at a crack in the plaster ceiling. He didn’t know how he’d gotten there. His leg felt strangely cold and numb, like death creeping up on him from there, encroaching bit by bit. Maybe he should be alarmed, but his head felt like it was encased in fuzz.

“You with me again Red? You passed out there for a bit.”

Jason tilted his head. Danny was standing a few feet away holding a nondescript duffel bag, behind him an open doorway lead to a bathroom. He frowned, the lights from there were too bright and his gaze slid back to Danny. He didn’t even have the energy to feel scared right now.

Huh, Danny’s eyes were blue, he could have sworn they were green. They were also much closer than they had been just a moment ago. There was something important Jason was supposed to remember. Something had happened to get him here. It was dangerous to stay put-

“Woah- no.” Hands pushed at his shoulders. “Red, you’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Jason gave up. Lying down was clearly better.

“Were you drugged too?” The voice wondered from far away.

Was he drugged?

Jason didn’t know. He didn’t remember.

Oo o oO

Jason woke up to sunlight streaming in from a window. The first, most apparent thing was that this was not his apartment. Secondly his right leg throbbed, and he was rather groggy.

His helmet stared back at him from the low coffee table. Alarmed, he sat up. The soft blanket he’d been covered by slid down to reveal he was undressed except for his underwear. The pull on his skin when he frowned revealed that his domino was at least still in place. He cast around and his heart about stopped when his gaze landed on Danny-

But after a moment of nothing happening and his brain taking in the way the slight man slept - crossways on a plush armchair, limbs akimbo, mouth open and neck at an angle that was gonna be uncomfortable when he woke - he could breathe again. In the sunlight he looked so human it felt almost silly to have been afraid. It was irrational, but Jason would allow the relief it gave him as long as Danny was asleep.

Next to the couch was an open duffel full of first aid supplies and a trash bag filled mainly with bloodied gauze squares and packaging. His hand went to his thigh and the two bandages adhering there - entrance and exit wound in his quadriceps, no wonder his thigh throbbed. Curious he pulled a corner of the innermost bandage so see a few neat stitches holding his skin together. He patted the bandage back in place, it wasn’t quite sticking as well as before, but it’d hold alright.

It was worrying that he didn’t remember how he’d been shot. Or how Danny, the creature from the Watchtower, was involved. Though currently the evidence pointed towards him having had a helpful disposition this time.

Jason bit back a groan as he swung his legs off the couch. Helpful disposition or not, Jason was not sticking around a moment longer than he had to.

Unfortunately the moment Jason touched the wooden floors Danny startled awake falling off the chair with a thump and an ooph. He sat up, clearly disoriented, his hair was a mess that stuck up on one side and he looked cute in the way a ruffled kitten looked. It was an absolutely crazy thought when Jason was caught on the edge of bolting in fear. The opposing feelings had hysteria bubbling up and he snorted in his attempt to hold back helpless laughter.

Danny blinked owlishly at him, eyes big and blue.

Blue, the thought repeated in Jason’s brain. Not glowing. Not green.

“Oh, you’re awake. That’s good. You’ve gotta be hungry.” Danny picked himself off the floor.

Jason watched him carefully as he stood and walked over to the kitchen area. When he sent Jason a hesitant smile over his shoulder it was perfectly ordinary in width. There were no alarm bells ringing in Jason’s head, no sense of other.

Jason’s heart beat hard and fast in his chest. He felt like he was going crazy. How was this possible?

No! Jason had definitely seen what he’d seen on the Watchtower! He wasn’t crazy, but it was hard to believe his memories when Danny puttered about his kitchen, standing on tippy toes to reach something in one of the cupboards. He looked about as threatening as the kitten Jason’s brain had compared him to. His loose t-shirt and fuzzy washed out pajama pants with smiling stars only added to that.

He looked exactly the ordinary guy everyone thought him to be. Except he had seemingly brought a vigilante home for medical attention, but then again he did work on the Watchtower, so obviously not completely ordinary.

“Hope you’re not lactose intolerant.”

“What?” Jason shook himself out of his thoughts.

“Cause melted cheese sandwich is about the most exciting thing I can offer?” He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“’S fine.”

Could there be two of them? Or the creature on the Watchtower just occasionally took Danny’s shape? Or the creature was extremely adept at pretending to be human. Maybe they shared a body? Maybe Danny was unknowingly possessed? There were too many options and Jason knew too little.

He rubbed his head, trying to remember, what happened yesterday, but aside from going patrolling it was one big blank space.

“What happened yesterday?”

“Hmm? Oh I found you in the alley between my building and the next.” He vaguely waved in the direction of the windows to the right. “You were kinda out of it? Not to mention bleeding and there was a bunch of goons after you. So I brought you up.”

Jason frowned. “You shouldn’t have gotten involved. They could have followed you.”

Danny glanced back with a small bemused smile. “That was my choice.”

They drifted into silence after that as Jason pondered. He supposed it was rather silly to worry about Danny’s safety, but since right now he was questioning everything he thought he knew, he wasn’t sure what to make of him.

“Why Crime Alley? Do they not pay you a decent wage?”

Danny glanced at him, another small smile stretching his lips and winked. “Wage is fine. I just happen to like Crime Alley’s vigilante best.”

Jason felt heat in his cheeks at that and was glad Danny was turned back around to face his grilled cheese project. There was no way that was the real reason, right? He thought back to how some of the first words Danny had said to him was to buy him dinner first. Had Danny been actually flirting with him? Was he flirting now? Jason felt deeply unsettled, not because the advance was unwanted but rather because somehow it wasn’t? Despite him still being half terrified.

“Here we go.” Danny snapped him out of his thoughts, setting down a steaming grilled cheese sandwich on the coffee table and slinging himself back into the armchair with his own plate.

Jason steeled himself. He was only going to get answers if he asked, and if it got him eaten? Well, at least he’d know.

“Are you possessed?”

Danny who’d just taken a bite spluttered and coughed, dry bread clearly going down the wrong pipe- and then, when his face was turning alarmingly red and Jason was considering if he needed to go over there and perform the Heimlich, Danny reached into his chest and plucked out the offending half-chewed bread with a relieved wheeze. He grimaced at the mass in his hands before leaving on his plate. Another reflexive cough shook his frame as he looked at Jason.

“I’m sorry? Possessed?” He asked hoarsely, as if he couldn’t believe it.

Jason crossed his arms.

“Well you’re something! You just reached a hand inside yourself and you- on the Watchtower-“ And Jason couldn’t even begin to describe the events on the Watchtower.

Danny looked at him dumbfounded.

“Oh…” Another cough turned into laugh. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought for sure-“ He spoke in between laughter. “I really haven’t been nice, have I?”

Jason stared levelly at Danny in his best impression of Bruce, conveying wordlessly how that was not an explanation at all. Danny eventually sobered.

“I thought you could sense what I am, so I kinda allowed my instincts a bit more free rein than I usually do.”

“I sensed you were something.” Jason grumbled, “and that still doesn’t explain what you are?”

When Jason met Danny’s eyes they glowed green and his smile was too sharp. He stilled.

“If you don’t know what I am, do you even know what you are?”

There was swoop in his stomach and terror clutched his rapidly beating heart. Danny’s nostrils flared as he breathed in deep, scenting like a predator looking for prey, except he already had Jason in his sights.

Then, just as abruptly the pressure let up, and Danny who’d somehow left his chair floated back into it to slump boneless across the armrests, head tilted back, barring his throat.

“You can do whatever you want with me Red, you are so fucking delicious.”

Jason felt terrible heat in his face and chest and mortifyingly down south at the shift in mood. Danny, from the way he eyed Jason out the side of half lidded eyes, somehow knew, which only made it worse.

“You still have not answered my question.”

Danny sighed. “I’m a half-ghost. More specifically the ghost half is a protective spirit, so while to the human part of me the Watchtower is my workplace that pays the bills, to the ghostly part it’s my haunt.”

Jason frowned. Half Ghost? “I’m not sure that explains anything.”

“It means, that you should be very glad I already knew and liked you that time you broke into the Watchtower. It’s easier to leave humans and whatever aliens there might be to the Justice League, though I will admit to having traumatized some invaders here and there, but supernatural threats like yourself? Generally don’t make it out alive, unless they realize fast enough what mistake they made, like there was this pale child looking sorceror with a cat once? He was very quick to make his escape.”

Danny was clearly just rambling now. Maybe Jason should feel afraid now that he knew he was right, that Danny really was a terrifying creature that definitely would have killed, maybe even eaten him, but mostly he felt relieved it wasn’t all in his head and it was clear to him now that Danny didn’t actually want to kill him. He was all bark and no bite- or maybe actually probably a lot of biting, but no tearing chunks out of him.

Suddenly he realized how hungry he was and he grabbed the cooled off melted cheese sandwich and took a bite. It didn’t even matter that it was cold, cause Jason was ravenous. He swallowed a bite, as he pondered out loud, “So how come you’re tolerating me here in your home?”

Danny sent him a baffled look. “For one, I brought you here. Secondly this is your haunt.”

“My haunt?”

Danny frowned. “I don’t know exactly where you fall on the scale of ghostliness, but it may be less than I assumed if you really don’t know.” At Jason’s continued silence, Danny elaborated, “you have the whole Crime Alley area quite thoroughly claimed as yours. Anyone with even a small sense for the supernatural would know.”

“Then how come I’ve not felt the urge to evict you violently.”

“Because you protect everyone who just wants to life here in peace,” Danny smiled softly.

Jason was stumped, but he couldn’t deny the truth of the words.

Danny looked up at the ceiling. “I like my mischief and I will admit I have delighted in messing with you. But for someone like me, whose core thrums with the need to protect my haunt, whose every sense is tuned towards potential invaders when I am in my haunt, to be able to leave that behind when I clock out, to be able to go home, to a little place not my haunt, not my responsibility, where I can actually relax? Be human?”

He looked back over a Jason, blue eyes slightly glistening. “I told you, you were my favorite vigilante.”

Jason really didn’t know what to say to that, it felt like so much more than what the words themselves meant. His own throat felt tight.

Danny chuckled self-consciously and finally sat up, quickly wiping his eyes. “Well, that was more than I really expected to reveal of myself, but since you didn’t know, well, I owed you an explanation for the terrorizing.”

But what about the flirting? Jason found he really wanted to know about that, but his tongue felt tied. It didn’t feel right to bring up after that.

The somber mood followed them through the rest of their long gone cold grilled cheese sandwiches, through Jason redressing in his surprisingly clean suit and a wordless goodbye.

Oo o oO

The next time Jason was on the Watchtower, he didn’t see Danny at all. Didn’t even sense him. He didn’t know what to do with that, didn’t know why he felt so bereft. He should be happy right? To for once not to leave the Watchtower terrified for his life? But he wasn’t.

He was so fucking messed up.

He knew where Danny lived. He could always go there.

He didn’t.

He had no clue what he even wanted from Danny!

Oo o oO

This was not good.

In fact things had pretty much gone to shit.

He barely managed to combine another dodge and deflection to avoid another swipe of that cursed flaming sword. Something that big should not be allowed to move so fucking fast. Jason panted and sweat ran down his face. He’d lost his helmet some time during the fight.

He dodged again. Gritting his teeth as he using the All Blades to propel himself over the flaming sword.

“Any ETA on that solution.” He yelled over the roaring flames. It was hard to breathe and even harder to fight.

The comm in his ear crackled, obviously not appreciating the heat, it was a wonder it was even still working. “They’re working on it. Hood you have to retreat if-“

“Like Hell, I will,” Jason snarled back, this knock-off balrog was not reaching Gotham. It was not reaching the line of fire fighters holding the flames back. Not while Jason still stood.

It was however not looking good. While Jason had managed to score hits, mainly early in the fight - the thing bled fucking lava. His only real chance was to stall. If this had been the only one Jason would have gladly left it to Bruce’s super friends, but it wasn’t. The Justice League, everyone, was stretched thin as multiple rifts had opened all over the place letting these creatures into their world and it didn’t matter if they beat the creatures back in the rifts, they couldn’t exactly leave their spots until the rifts were closed.

It was little comfort that the perpetrators had met their end as the first victims of their folly.

Jason only barely got his blades up and crossed above him and the sword went down in an overhanded strike. Immediately Jason knew it was a mistake, and it would cost him. He should have tried to dodge, instead the sword hit the All-Blades with an explosion of sparks. Jason yelled in pain as the force of it brought him to his knees.

“Jason!” Bruce yelled and it was only because it was right in his ear he could hear anything over the ringing. He rolled to the side instantly, ignoring the way he couldn’t feel his arms. The flaming sword came down gouging into the ground where he was a fraction of a second ago.

The knowledge came over him with sudden clarity, clear and calm, inevitable; he wouldn’t be fast enough to dodge the next strike. He still tried, because Jason would always fight to the last, but his limbs were too slow, too sluggish, the sword was already coming towards him.

He braced himself.

A pillar of ice shot up before him, the sword cleaved down, but stopped a feet above his head where it stuck. The beast roared in anger and pulled. Dumbfounded, Jason stared at the sputtering blade that had been mean to cleave him in half.

“Cool glowing swords, mind if I borrow them?”

Suddenly Danny was folded around his kneeling form, arms reaching out and fingers circling around each of the All-Blades. The blades powered by his soul. Jason gasped at the rush of energy it gave him. It shouldn’t be possible. Danny shouldn’t be able to pluck the blades out of his hands. Much less be able to wield them.

But wield them he did. He beat the beast back with a kick that broke the pillar. The beast never really had a chance, between the blades and the ice Danny could summon that clearly pained the beast, it really was a terrible matchup.

Jason felt like he should feel violated, those blades were made from his soul. And yet all he felt was protected, safe, loved. It was quite possible he was delirious or high. At least the blistering heat from the fires was going down with all the ice Danny had thrown around.

Before Jason knew it, it was over. Danny may or may not have eaten the Balrog, Jason wasn’t entirely clear on the details, or why Danny’s hair had been white at some point, it was really all very confusing.

Gingerly, Jason got to his feet. His entire body felt like it had been through a meat grinder, and yet there was still that strange buzzing energy under his skin. He slowly made his way towards Danny.

Danny, who was studying the glowing red rift in space time, tilted his head considering. Then moving the blades carefully so both were in his right hand, he reached out with his left hand as if feeling for something, then with a sharp counter-clock motion, the rift was gone.

Huh.

Danny turned back around and smiled sheepishly. “Oh hey, Red. I’m sorry about grabbing your swords like that-“

And it didn’t really matter what Danny was going to say. Jason grabbed his head and crashed their lips together. A small wounded noise escaped Danny’s throat and then he was kissing Jason back with fervor. And when Danny dropped the blades to let them dissolve to dig his own desperate fingers into Jason’s matted hair, it didn’t matter that he lost that all encompassing feeling of love and protection, because he knew how Danny felt, and he finally knew what to do with all his own confused feelings.

They broke apart to breathe, foreheads leaning on each other, eyes meeting though it was hard to focus this close.

“Couldn’t you have shown up a bit sooner?” Jason panted.

“I was visiting some friends… they don’t exactly live around here.” From the slightly shifty glance Danny gave to the side, it was probably a good bet that 'not around here', meant another plane of existence. what the fuck was Jason’s life?

“I’m just-“ Danny’s fingers tightened in Jason’s hair momentarily, “so glad I didn’t get here a second later.”

Jason grinned toothily, and he probably looked terrible goofy, but he didn’t care, it was just he and Danny here. “So am I.”

The comm crackled, and Bruce’s voice asked almost hesitantly, “What’s your status, Hood?”

Oh right, not completely alone. But Bruce thankfully didn’t have visuals.

“Ah.” Jason straightened, and promptly grabbed one of Danny’s hands when they tried to leave him, earning a little surprised smile from Danny. Urgh, creatures from the abyss had no right to be this cute.

“We’re okay, I’m okay. Situation is dealt with here.”

There was a relieved sigh from the other end, and Jason did not envy the old man his role as a coordinator of their efforts-

“Oh!” Jason suddenly realized. “Danny can close the rifts.”

“Danny?” Bruce’s simple question was overlaid with Tim chiming in with disbelief.

He shared a glance with Danny, who gave him a grin full of mischief.

“Yeah, Danny from Maintenance.”

And that's that, hope you enjoyed :D I certainly had fun writing this. Tell me what your thought if you have the time?

#dp x dc #dead on main #deadonmayn25

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divinector · 1 year ago

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Responsive Vertical Timeline Flexbox

#css flexbox examples #vertical timeline #timeline design #html css #code #frontenddevelopment #css #html #css3 #responsive timeline #responsive web design #frontend #divinector #learn to code #webdesign

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sunsymbols · 29 days ago

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"They're huge! Unless they hatched full size — I don't think so! I mean, I don't mind having more ducks, they eat ticks n' shit. But. Did you . . . where did you get ducks?"

"Maybe they had babies?" Lily suggested, knowing he was already thinking of blaming her for the additional ducks. "They tend to do that 'round this time of year, yeah?"

#these new ducks are vertical ducks lily #lilyspaintedred #timeline: post series.

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violetstark3000 · 16 days ago

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Floor 23

this is my first fic lmk what you all think!!

pairing: bucky barnes x stark!reader (Y/N) word count: ~4k summary: Y/N Stark was taken by Hydra at nine years old and experimented on — now she's back, powered, confident, and moving into Avengers Tower with a past no one quite understands. She shares a floor with Bucky Barnes, the quiet super soldier who trains her, teases her, and looks at her like she’s more than just a ghost from her father’s past. There’s no angst — just slow burn tension, found family, super speed reveals, rooftop heart-to-hearts, spicy training montages, and one very unforgettable Stark party. warnings: canon-typical violence, spicy content (18+), mentions of past trauma (Hydra), suggestive language, emotional vulnerability, fluff, smut (clearly marked), soft!bucky, strong!Y/N, comfort a/n: this one is for the girlies who love the classic avengers dynamic, protective men with metal arms, and casual girls with quiet strength. this is a no-angst zone <3 timeline: post-Ultron AU, everyone lives, everyone’s hot.

The Avengers had faced world-ending threats. Aliens. Armies. Interdimensional rips in time.

But somehow, nothing had ever shut them up quite like Tony Stark saying the words:

“She’s my daughter.” It wasn’t a punchline.

He stood in the center of the common room, coffee in hand, jaw set just a little too tight.

“She was taken when she was nine. Hydra,” he said. “They used her to get to me. And I didn’t even know.”

The silence in the room was sharp. Uncomfortable.

“I found her six months ago. It took this long to… get her out. Fully. Legally. Safely. And now she’s coming here.”

“To live?” Steve asked gently.

“To stay,” Tony said. “If she wants to.”

Before anyone could process that, the elevator doors chimed.

And then— She stepped in.

Y/N Stark didn’t walk into the room like someone being reintroduced to a world that forgot her. She walked in like she already knew everyone was looking and didn’t mind one bit.

Faded jeans. Converse with ink scribbled on the rubber. A cropped navy hoodie with “Stark Industries” printed in lowercase across the chest. Her duffel was slung over one shoulder, a beat-up set of wireless headphones hanging from her neck.

The first thing she said?

“So this is what happens when you ghost your dad for eleven years. He gets famous, builds a robot army, and moves in with Captain America.”

Sam cracked a smile.

Tony exhaled. “You’re late.”

“I’m not late,” she said, stepping further into the room. “You just started early.”

Then she stopped in front of him, dropped her bag to the floor, and looked him in the eyes.

Tony looked back.

A moment passed.

Then he opened his arms.

“Come here, kid.”

She didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.

She walked right into him and let his arms close around her shoulders like they’d done this a hundred times before—even though they hadn’t. He held her like he wasn’t sure he’d ever get another chance. She didn’t cry. She didn’t freeze. She just leaned in and rested her chin against his shoulder and said, “You owe me like ten birthdays.”

“I owe you everything,” he muttered back.

When they pulled apart, Tony turned to the rest of the team like he was seeing them for the first time. “Everyone, this is Y/N. She’s funny, smarter than me, probably stronger than me, and knows how to pick a lock with a paperclip. Be nice.”

Thor was the first to approach, all broad shoulders and unshakeable friendliness. “You are much smaller than I expected.”

“And you’re taller,” she replied, “but only vertically.”

Thor blinked. Then let out a booming laugh. “I like her!”

“Same,” said Natasha, giving her an approving once-over. “You talk like him, but less annoying.”

“Give it time.”

Steve smiled, offering his hand. “Welcome to the Tower.”

Y/N took it. “Thanks. It’s a bit cleaner than Hydra’s decor.”

Silence.

She didn’t flinch. “Sorry. Was that too soon?”

“No,” Wanda said softly. “Not too soon. Just honest.”

Y/N gave her a real smile at that.

It wasn’t long before the group fell into easy conversation—Tony explaining her powers vaguely, Sam asking if she could fly (she couldn’t), and Bruce appearing from the lab just long enough to give her an awkward wave and say, “Glad you’re here.”

Only Bucky didn’t say anything.

He stood a little off to the side, arms crossed. Watching.

Y/N met his gaze once. Didn’t look away.

He didn’t either.

Later That Day – Floor 23

Y/N followed her dad through a private elevator with “Stark Access Only” engraved into the panel.

“I built this floor for you a while back,” Tony said, unlocking the door. “Before I even found you again. Just… in case.”

Y/N stepped inside. The suite was wide and open, warm wood floors and oversized windows spilling afternoon light across the couch and bookshelves. One hallway led to a bedroom. Another led to a second door.

“Who’s in there?” she asked.

Tony scratched the back of his neck. “Technically… your neighbor.”

“Technically?”

“You’re sharing the floor with Barnes.”

She turned to face him.

“You’re telling me that after eleven years in a Hydra lab, you’re putting me next door to the Winter Soldier?”

Tony held up both hands. “He’s different now.”

“So am I.”

“That’s why I think it might work.”

She stared at him.

“I’m not saying you have to like him,” Tony added. “But I trust you. And honestly? I think he could use someone who isn’t afraid of him.”

As if summoned by awkward timing, the other suite’s door opened.

Bucky Barnes stepped out. Hoodie. Sweats. Barefoot. He looked like someone who’d just woken up from a nightmare and found out he still had to be awake.

Y/N didn’t move.

Neither did he.

Tony gave them both a quick wave. “Alright. I’m gonna go back to the lab and pretend this isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve ever set up. Play nice, you two.”

The door closed behind him.

Y/N shifted her weight, casual but alert. “So… we’re roommates. That’s hilarious.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Not roommates. Same floor. Two doors. Big difference.”

“Noted,” she said, stepping past him. “I call the good window.”

He said nothing. Just followed her with his eyes as she hauled her bag toward the bedroom.

When she opened the door and saw the soft lighting, the clean bed, the empty bookshelves—her chest ached in a way she didn’t show.

From behind her, Bucky said quietly, “You need help?”

She turned, eyebrow raised. “With what? Lifting emotional baggage?”

His lips twitched. Just barely.

“I’m good,” she added. “But thanks.”

And she meant it.

Y/N woke up to the muffled hum of the city far below, filtered through the massive windows of her new room. The sunlight spilled softly across the floor, illuminating the little mess she’d made unpacking. Her jeans were draped over a chair, the duffel bag left unzipped near the bed, and a half-empty bottle of water was perched on the nightstand next to an old Stark Industries baseball cap. She was still adjusting to how… normal it felt. That is, until the quiet ping from the intercom reminded her she wasn’t alone here. “Good morning, Miss Stark. JARVIS is online and awaiting instructions.” Y/N grinned, swinging her legs over the bed. “Hey, J. How long have you been waiting?” “Since you last disconnected at approximately 3:42 a.m.” She rolled her eyes. “Night owl, remember? Anyway, bring up my playlist and put on something chill. And maybe order some breakfast? You know, human things.” “As you wish.” For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt like she could breathe. She liked it. Not just the tech, the luxury, or even her dad’s presence. But the quiet acceptance of a place that didn’t feel like a cage. Later that morning, after a breakfast JARVIS insisted was “balanced and Instagram-worthy,” she headed out of her room to explore. She bumped right into Bucky Barnes in the hallway, arms full of random boxes—some labeled “Fragile,” others just scribbled “Y/N’s Stuff.” “You again,” she said, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged. “Thought you might want help.” “Please.” He smirked, setting the boxes down. “I’m kidding. Thought you’d say no.” “I’m good,” she insisted, but he could see through it. The truth was, she didn’t like asking for help. Hydra had taught her independence was survival. But here? She was learning to lower her walls. Together, they moved the boxes into her room, and he stayed long enough to assemble a chair and hook up her gaming console. “Don’t think I won’t destroy you at ‘Street Fighter,’” she warned. He laughed softly, a sound that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m counting on it.” That evening, the team gathered in the common room for their usual downtime. Steve was telling a story about the old days, and Thor was rummaging through the snack cabinet in search of Pop-Tarts. Y/N sat near the edge, quietly observing, when Sam nudged her. “You’re kinda quiet for a Stark.” She smirked. “I’m just… sizing you all up. You’re weird.” “Fair.” Natasha gave a knowing look. “You’ll fit right in.” “Only if I can steal your stuff in the fridge,” Y/N quipped, earning a small smile from Nat. Bucky caught her eye from across the room and raised an eyebrow. She shot back a teasing grin. The comfortable banter was a new feeling for her. Like this strange, found family was exactly where she belonged—even if she wasn’t ready to say it aloud yet.

One afternoon, the Avengers were hanging out on the Tower’s rooftop garden, trying to enjoy a rare break. Steve and Bucky were reminiscing about missions past, Tony was tinkering with a gadget, and Wanda was quietly meditating near the flowers. Y/N leaned against the railing, scrolling on her phone. Suddenly, Steve threw out a challenge. “Alright. Who thinks they’re fast enough to beat me and Barnes in a race?” Bucky smirked. “You’re on, Cap.” Tony looked over from his workbench. “This is gonna be good.” The team quickly gathered at the starting line—a strip of rooftop lined with potted plants and benches. Y/N stood to the side, arms crossed, amused. “Don’t leave her out,” Sam said. “She looks fast.” Steve glanced at her. “You wanna try?” Y/N shrugged with a grin. “Why not? I’m already here.” The countdown started. “Ready?” “Set?” “Go!” Before anyone could blink, Y/N was gone. A blur of movement that left Steve and Bucky staring, mouths slightly open. She was halfway to the finish line before Steve and Bucky had even taken their first strides. “Is she—?” “Faster.” Y/N crossed the finish line, slowing to a casual walk as if she’d just taken a stroll. Tony whooped from the sidelines. “That’s my kid!” Steve and Bucky trailed behind, breathing hard, eyes wide. “I didn’t see that coming,” Steve admitted, shaking his head. Bucky wiped his brow. “Yeah… she’s faster than either of us.” Y/N grinned, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “You guys okay back there?” Sam laughed. “You just beat two supersoldiers like they were standing still.” Y/N shrugged. “Guess I’m not just a Stark.” Wanda approached, impressed. “That was incredible.” Y/N shrugged again, but the smile was soft. No one knew the full extent of her powers yet. But maybe, just maybe, they were starting to. Y/N was starting to realize that living in Avengers Tower wasn’t nearly as chaotic as she expected. Or maybe she was just getting used to the chaos.

Her mornings were still slow, with JARVIS gently nudging her awake by dimming the lights and playing her favorite soft tracks. The AI had developed a knack for reading her moods—if she was cranky, JARVIS lowered the volume; if she was restless, he’d suggest a walk on the roof.

“Hey, J,” she said one afternoon as she sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through mission reports on her tablet. “You ever get tired of being perfect?”

“I do not experience fatigue in the human sense,” JARVIS replied smoothly. “But I do enjoy your sarcasm. It keeps things interesting.”

Y/N smiled. “Well, don’t get used to it.”

Later that day, she found herself wandering into the common room just as Bucky was finishing up his morning workout. He looked up, hair damp and muscles still moving from exertion.

“Hey,” she greeted, dropping onto the couch a little too casually.

He gave a tired smile. “Hey.”

For a moment, neither said anything. Then Y/N reached into her bag and pulled out a half-eaten granola bar.

“Want half?” she offered.

Bucky raised an eyebrow but didn’t refuse. “Sure.”

They shared the bar in comfortable silence.

“You don’t talk much,” Y/N observed.

“Depends on the day.”

She nodded. “Me too. Hydra taught me a lot about silence.”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps you alive.”

Bucky looked at her then, really looked. “You’re different than I thought.”

“Different good or different bad?”

He smiled, small and genuine. “Different good.”

That night, she joined the group in the kitchen. Wanda and Natasha were debating the merits of spicy food versus comfort food.

“Natasha can’t cook,” Wanda said, rolling her eyes.

“She burns water,” Natasha shot back.

Y/N laughed. “Sounds like you’re in good company.”

Wanda looked over at Y/N. “You’re fitting in fast.”

“Only because I’m sneaky,” Y/N teased. “And because you guys are actually decent.”

Tony popped his head in, holding a tray of cookies.

“Try these. I’m taking credit for all of them.”

Y/N took a bite. “Not bad, old man.”

The warmth of the kitchen, the laughter, the mess—it was the first time in a long time Y/N felt like she could be herself without armor.

Later, she caught Bucky in the hallway.

“Training again?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “You wanna join?”

Y/N smirked. “You trying to show off?”

“Maybe.”

“Challenge accepted.”

As they moved to the training room, Y/N felt something shift. She wasn’t just Tony Stark’s daughter anymore. She was Y/N. Stronger. Ready.

Tony Stark throwing a party was a bit like a fireworks display — bright, loud, and impossible to ignore. And when the occasion was his daughter finally stepping back into the world he’d built, well, you knew the Tower would be overflowing with Avengers, allies, and anyone with a good excuse to sneak in. Y/N stepped out of her room on Floor 23, already wondering if she could survive a night surrounded by Tony’s “friends” — people she mostly knew by reputation or by what her father had described in rushed phone calls that were more apologies than explanations. The music was loud, the kind of pulsing, electric mix that made the floor vibrate under her boots. She felt a familiar zing of nerves but also a strange warmth, like maybe this was the kind of chaos she could get used to. Tony was in full dad mode, wearing sunglasses indoors, holding a drink, and running around making sure everyone had what they needed. “Y/N!” he called from the kitchen. “You made it. Come meet the important people who matter.” She smirked. “You mean the people who kept your tech from self-destructing?” He laughed, waving her over. The crowd was a mix of familiar faces and new ones. Steve was charming someone near the buffet, Thor was explaining something about Pop-Tarts to an increasingly confused Sam, and Natasha was… well, Natasha was leaning against the wall, looking unimpressed but secretly enjoying herself. Bucky stood near the edge of the room, arms crossed, eyes on Y/N like she was a flame he couldn’t quite look away from. Y/N caught his gaze and gave a small, playful raise of her eyebrow. Tony nudged her. “Go on. Say hi.” She stepped forward and bumped into Sam, who grinned. “Hey, Y/N. Heard about your superspeed.” Y/N shrugged. “It’s a good party trick.” Thor suddenly approached, holding a plate stacked high with Pop-Tarts. “You must try. They are delicious.” Y/N took one, bit it, and made a face. “Too sweet. I’m more of a black coffee and sarcasm kind of girl.” The night rolled on in a haze of laughter and storytelling. Y/N found herself drawn to the quieter corners, and somehow that always seemed to lead back to Bucky. Finally, the music shifted. A slow, steady beat filled the room. Tony clapped his hands. “Alright, everyone! Dance time. And yes, Y/N, you have to dance. No excuses.” Bucky’s eyes found Y/N again. He took a step forward. Y/N smirked but didn’t move away. “Dance with me?” he asked quietly. The room seemed to blur. She nodded. They moved to the center of the floor, the noise fading into the background. Bucky’s hand found hers — steady, sure. Y/N let herself relax against him. For the first time since she arrived, she wasn’t the daughter of a genius billionaire. She was just Y/N. And Bucky? He was more than the Winter Soldier. He was something soft and real. The music slowed, and so did their breathing. No words needed. Just the quiet certainty of a dance, a glance, and the start of something new. The party had settled into a hum of laughter and scattered conversations when Y/N found herself standing in front of Bucky’s door.

She hesitated for a heartbeat.

Then knocked.

Bucky opened it, his usual guarded expression softening the moment she stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit, personal, with photos pinned to the wall and a guitar resting in the corner.

Y/N glanced around and then up at him.

“Nice place,” she said, kicking off her boots.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It’s home.”

They settled onto the couch, not quite touching but close enough that silence felt natural.

“I’m glad you asked me to dance,” Y/N said after a moment.

Bucky’s eyes met hers. “Me too.”

They talked—slow, easy conversation about things neither usually said out loud.

Her voice softened when she spoke about Hydra, about being gone for so long.

He shared quiet stories about his past, about finding purpose again.

No pressure. No grand declarations. Just two people finally letting their walls down.

When Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder, Bucky didn’t pull away.

For once, the night was theirs. Then he kissed her like he’d been waiting — like every missed glance, every sparring match, every smirk had been building to this. She kissed back like she’d been searching for something and just found it. There was no hesitation anymore.

His hands slid slowly, reverently, around her waist, drawing her in until she could feel his heartbeat against her own. Her fingers found the edges of his shirt, tugging it upward, and he let her. Their mouths never left each other as the fabric disappeared piece by piece. Her hands roamed over his chest, feeling the heat of him, the scar tissue, the muscle — and he let out a quiet groan against her neck that made her heart stutter.

She whispered his name and he froze, forehead pressed to hers. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice strained.

“I won’t,” she breathed. “Don’t even think about it.”

And that was all it took. He kissed her again, harder this time, walking her back until she hit the mattress and fell into it with a soft thud. He followed, his body blanketing hers with warmth and tension and need. Every movement was deliberate, every touch a conversation. There was a tenderness in the way he peeled away her layers, kissing the skin he uncovered, trailing his lips along her collarbone, her shoulder, her chest — and when her shirt was gone, he just stared for a second, eyes soft and hungry all at once.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, barely a whisper.

She pulled him down by the necklace at his throat. “Then do something about it.”

They moved together like it had always been inevitable — months of tension unraveling all at once. He took his time, mapping her body with hands that had only known violence and now wanted to memorize softness. She arched into him, breath hitching, head thrown back, and the way he looked at her made her feel like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

When he finally pushed into her, slow and deep, she gasped his name. He kissed her temple, her jaw, her lips — every part of her he could reach — while they found a rhythm that felt like coming home. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t clumsy. It was honest, raw, and overwhelming in the best way. Her nails dragged across his back, his grip tightened on her thigh, and their bodies moved like they’d done this a hundred times in dreams.

And when she came undone beneath him, head buried in his shoulder, he wasn’t far behind, whispering her name like a prayer.

They lay tangled in the sheets afterward, chests heaving, slick with sweat and barely touching because it was too much and not enough.

He pulled her against him, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You okay?”

She looked up, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “More than okay. You?”

He smiled — a real one, rare and warm. “Yeah. You ruined me.”

She laughed softly, burying her face in his chest. “Good.”

The next morning, the training room buzzed with energy.

Y/N was already warming up when Bucky walked in, a determined look on his face.

“Ready to get your ass kicked?” he teased.

“Oh, you’re on,” Y/N replied with a grin.

What followed was an intense, breathless hour of drills, sparring, and sprinting.

Bucky was relentless, pushing her to her limits.

Y/N matched him move for move, her powers giving her an edge, but Bucky’s experience kept her honest.

They laughed through the exhaustion, exchanged sharp jabs of sarcasm, and shared those fleeting glances that meant more than words.

At one point, Y/N surprised him by pulling off a move he hadn’t seen coming.

He shook his head, impressed. “Okay, Stark. You’re full of surprises.”

She smirked, wiping sweat from her brow. “You have no idea.”

By the end, they were both dripping, breathless, but the atmosphere was electric.

They’d tested boundaries—not just physical, but emotional.

And neither wanted to stop.

In the days that followed, Y/N’s presence became a new constant.

She joined Natasha and Wanda for late-night strategy talks, offering sharp insights and a steady voice.

With Steve and Sam, she ran drills and shared stories from her years in hiding, slowly earning their respect.

Tony hovered in the background, proud but trying not to smother.

JARVIS was her unofficial partner in crime, managing everything from playlist curation to subtle tech pranks.

Bucky found himself often at her side, whether it was cooking disasters in the kitchen (courtesy of Natasha’s famous inability to cook) or quiet walks on the rooftop.

During one particular evening, Y/N and Bucky caught Thor debating the merits of Pop-Tarts versus pancakes in the dining hall.

“Pancakes are fluffier,” Y/N argued, crossing her arms.

“But Pop-Tarts are eternal,” Thor insisted, brandishing a tart like a weapon.

Bucky chuckled. “I’ll take the fluff, thanks.”

The team laughed together, sharing moments that weren’t about missions or powers but about being a family.

Y/N realized that even after everything she’d been through, this—these people—were her home now.

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