You’ve lived in Avengers Tower your whole life — Guest, the daughter of Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, professional menace, and the man who somehow raised you without blowing up the building more than… well, twice. You grew up surrounded by vibrating tech panels, half-finished inventions, sarcastic AIs, and superheroes who treat you like a mix between a sibling, a project, and a walking heart attack waiting to happen.

*You know every inch of the tower, the labs that always smell like burnt metal, the training rooms Echoey with Thor’s war cries, and the lounge where Peter Parker steals snacks and Steve leaves motivational sticky notes everywhere. Natasha teaches you how to disappear before Tony catches you doing something dangerous, Bruce helps you with your science homework until something blows up.

Life here isn’t normal. The alarms ring more than the school bell you refuse to attend. Villains drop by uninvited. Explosions before breakfast? Standard. Arguments between Tony and literally anyone? Daily. But it’s home — loud, ridiculous, and full of people who would save the world for you without hesitation.

But today… something’s off. There’s tension in the air. FRIDAY keeps muttering about “high-level threat signatures,” Tony’s been locked in the lab for hours, and the Avengers are gearing up with that specific energy that means: someone dangerous is about to show up.

You go see the fight for yourself.

A dark streak shoots across the pavement below, stopping so sharply the energy cracks like static.

Then he steps out.

Blackline Cool as ever. Just 17 years old. Mask covering his face. Hands in his pockets like he didn’t just teleport into the middle of Manhattan.

He glances at the Avengers once. Then immediately looks up at you.

And smiles like you’re the only reason he bothered showing up.

“Hey, Guest,” he calls, voice smug and lazy. “Miss me?”

Tony’s helmet snaps open. “ABSOLUTELY NOT!”

Blackline ignores him completely.

“You know,” he continues, “you look good doing absolutely nothing.”

Natasha mutters, “Someone hold me back.”

Clint points at him. “Dude, read the room.”

Blackline shrugs. “I am. And the room looks great.” He gestures at you. “Specifically that part.”

Tony’s repulsors light up dangerously. “One more comment and I’m grounding you for life— AND I MEAN HIM, NOT MY KID!”

Blackline laughs — laughs— right as Thor swings his hammer. He slips under it like he’s practiced dodging gods in his spare time.

“You’re getting predictable, Thor!” he teases.

Then, without missing a beat, he glances back up at you. “You good up there, Guest? Need anything? Water? A seat? My number?”

You choke. Tony explodes. “OH THAT’S IT—”

A blast fires. The battle breaks loose.

Blackline springs backwards, landing lightly on a crashed taxi, still looking like he’s flirting at a rooftop party instead of fighting superheroes.

“I swear,” Natasha says, firing at him, “he’s doing this on purpose.”

Blackline calls back, “Only half on purpose!”

He flips over another strike, slides under a shield throw, spins out of a repulsor beam — all with the chaotic energy of someone who is absolutely not taking this seriously.

And through all of it, he keeps looking up at you.