Been trying to articulate why I am compelled to be weird about Maxwell Q Klinger and thus far I’ve failed to organise my thoughts coherently 😅 So here’s a line from The Wind They Call Korea that I think is very important in thinking about him

the act (s. moran)

sebastian moran doesn’t know how to love. incessant pressure from his father to “do better” erased any kind of bond he could have formed with him. his platoon was murdered in front of his eyes, and when he woke up the realization that he was dead too wiped away any chance at love.

sebastian moran prides himself on his ability to bed women (and men if he so chooses) at the snap of a finger. taunts and mocks come at the expense of his actions, but why should he care? he’s always been the butt of the joke while working with the moriarty family. it’s not like they’re going out and picking up people left and right. they don’t have the ability to do so. the colonel claims it’s a god given gift, but fred knows better than to buy into the defense mechanism that is moran’s sexual habits.

sebastian moran doesn’t care for anyone. sure, he’ll give his life to keep william alive, but that’s simply out of pure obligation. he’s well aware that his own like is expendable. why should he spend time trying to convince himself otherwise?

sebastian moran is a defensive, brash, sexual man who does not need anyone to stay alive. that is, until he meets you.

•••

when he first sees you, it’s across the street in town. you’re arguing with a vendor, claiming the fruit you’re trying to purchase is much too expensive for the meager salary of a maid working for some self-centered noble. it’s not like the vendor will cave on their price, but you hope they’ll remember the interaction for the next time someone can’t buy any of their produce. you’re two seconds from walking away until a tall (very handsome) man slides next to you, paying for the fruit in full. he offers you a cocky smirk, but you know better than to buy into the fact that some strange man is buying the entirety of your produce just for the hell of it.

meanwhile, the colonel is trying his very hardest to not blush like a maniac. because in reality, the suave act that he puts on for the men and women swooning over him in bars and sleazy alleyways is just that. an act. so when he realizes you’re absolutely nothing like the people he puts the act on for, he’s stumped. he’s intrigued by your soft eyes, the slight downward curve of your lips as you frown at him, and the way your fingers fiddle with the thin gold chain hanging delicately off your neck.

“there’s no need for such a beautiful person to frown and mar their face. i’m simply being polite,” he’s well aware his comment strikes a bone in you, but he’s thoroughly surprised at your remark.

“i’m beautiful regardless of the face i’m making. only some people can truly appreciate such beauty,” you say with confidence, straightening your back and staring up at him (you’re just now made aware of how tall he is). his smirk fades into a childlike grin, and you come to appreciate how he almost looks like a young boy smiling widely in a candy shop. but you know better. the hard lines of his face and the small scar peaking out from beneath his buttoned shirt indicate that the man’s mind is far older than you realized. his dark eyes reflect pure joy at your challenge, but you can still detect the faint traces of panic. you’re confused as to why such a confident looking man would experience panic when talking to you. you won’t know why he’s panicked around you until much later.

“i suppose you’ll have to teach me how to appreciate your beauty then,” he hopes he maintains the same confident tone he spoke with before, but with the way you’re looking at him he’s positive you see right through him.

“you can only see true beauty once you’ve seen it in yourself. i’d suggest dropping the act, it makes it much easier to appreciate yourself if you’re true to who you are,” you finish, turning away from him and walking away. the vendor looks between you and moran, but moran’s eyes focus solely on you. he’s sure that the next time he sees you he’ll fall even farther than he already has.

•••

the second time he sees you, you’re picking up a brand new tailored suit for the nobleman you work for. you’re very clearly tired, the bags under your eyes a dark purple, but sebastian moran is still in awe of your raw beauty. he doesn’t even try to put up his usual front when he walks in line next to you, head turned down.

“if you’re having trouble with such a heavy bag, i could help you carry it,” he tries hard to keep the bubbling feeling of bashfulness out of his voice, but your small giggles prove that you’ve already detected it. when you look up at him, eyes shining with amusement and mouth wide in a breathtaking smile, he thanks every deity in existence for bringing you to him.

“i see you’ve learned to at least drop your act around me. i’m impressed, i didn’t know men like you could learn to do it so quickly,” you admit, turning back to the heavy package in your hands. at that, his face turns down into a confused frown.

“what do you mean men like me?” he’s curious, wanting to know how you see him.

“men who so clearly put up a charming front in order to seduce others when in reality it’s simply a defense mechanism to hide their insecurities,” you say it as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. sebastian on the other hand takes a moment to process your words before scoffing indignantly.

“and what do you think i’m insecure about?” he glares down at you, trying to keep the anger in his voice. it’s difficult for him to do so when you look up at him with pure mischief in your eyes.

“that would probably be a third date kind of conversation. how about we start with date number one tonight at the bar near the vendor we first met at. 8 o’clock sharp,” you say it with ease, and he’s taken aback by your brazen words.

“but i’ve never been on a date,” he blurts out without thinking, looking down as his cheeks flush a pale red. sure, he’s met people at bars, but it never escalated past the one night they shared between sheets. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your heart beat a little faster at his obvious embarrassment.

“i’m sure you’ll do just fine colonel moran. i look forward to tonight!” you call out, turning left at the intersection. it takes him a second to register that you just said his name, and he never said it to you in the first place, much less his military rank.

“how do you know who i am?” his voice is loud enough to catch the attention of a few noble women who giggle and stare at him. he pays no attention to them. he only watches you as you turn around to smile coyly at him.

“you’re not the only one with connections,” you say before disappearing into the crowd. it’s a simple sentence, but the implication has his head spinning dangerously fast. he’s ecstatic to see you again.

•••

the third time he sees you, it’s not at the bar. it’s in the basement of your nobleman’s house, where he had you locked up five days ago. your clothing is practically ripped to shreds, blood seeping out of angry red cuts on your arms and legs. you almost look more dead than the noble upstairs. the only tell tale sign that you’re still alive is the shallow rise of your chest with every labored breath. you barely stir when he carefully cradles you in his arms, rushing you out of the house and back to the manor.

when louis opens the door to find a frantic moran and a near-dead maid in his arms, he lets him by without a word. he knows better than to question the colonel when he looks as panicked as he did. louis helps him bandage you up without a word, washing away dried blood and cleaning old wounds as moran carefully wraps bandages around the bigger cuts. william, fred, and albert return back to the mansion all together, watching moran in awe.

“colonel, who is this?” william finally speaks up as the two men finish bandaging up your still unconscious form.

“a maid for that dead noble,” his answer is short, curt. he doesn’t speak again as he carries you bridal style out of the kitchen and into his bedroom, letting you rest. he’ll explain everything once you’re awake, but for now, he’s content with watching you sleep. as fred stares quietly from the doorway, he’s well aware that sebastian moran has never cared for anyone in his life. but with you, there’s clearly an exception.

•••

he sees you everyday after that, keeping a silent tally in his head. he’d never admit that to you though, knowing he’d never hear the end of it.

he learned your name the day you woke up, your raspy voice still ringing clearly in his head. the first time he heard your name, he had to stop a blush from spreading across his face. a beautiful name for a beautiful person.

“so colonel, are we ever going to make up that bar date? i was really looking forward to it you know,” your soft voice pulls him out of his head, staring at you from across the couch. you’re wearing his jacket, claiming it was cold in the house since winter was coming. you both knew that was a lie, that william always had measures in place to keep the house warm. yet, neither of you said a word about it.

“you want our first date to be in a bar? why can’t i take you out on a proper date?” his question is genuine, and the exasperated look on his face makes it very evident. but you couldn’t care less.

“yes i would like it to be in a bar. i’m sure that’s where you put your act on the most. it would make sense that that’s where you start to drop it as well,” you say nonchalantly. the sentence is loaded, and he can see the piercing gaze you send his way as you speak. the knot in his throat grows, and for the first time in years, sebastian moran feels nervous. downright anxious.

“no pressure colonel, i can see the cogs in your head spinning wildly. i just want to see who you really are, not the panty dropper the other maids used to fantasize about while working,” you can’t help but giggle at your own words, and the silliness of it all forces a laugh out of moran. you’ve never seen him laugh before, but it’s the most beautiful sight in the world.

•••

the seventh time he sees you, you’re dressed in nicer clothes than usual, a glass of whiskey in your hand as you giggle over another story moran’s told you that night. both of you are breathless, laughing over the story about how one time albert tried sneaking a girl into the manor, but everyone was awake and awkwardly watched as he escorted her into his bedroom. the bar incites lively conversation, patrons bumping into you two as you stand at the wooden countertop.

“i thought albert was a gentleman!” you can’t get the sentence out without giggling once more, leaning forward a bit.

“apparently he’s not as much of a gentleman as we thought he was,” moran responds, a bright smile painting his face. he looks absolutely gorgeous like this, cheeks flushed and smile so wide you could fit a coat hanger in his mouth. once your laughter dies down, both of you sigh, taking sips from your respective drinks. you’re the first one to break the silence, smiling warmly at the colonel.

“i think i could come to like this more accurate version of you colonel,” you say with sincerity. his smile grows impossibly wider at that, a heavier blush accompanying it.

“excuse me mr. moran? i was wondering if maybe you’d like to join me upstairs?” a high pitched, almost whiney voice sounds to the left of you. a woman, probably a few years older than you, bats her eyelashes seductively at the colonel. his blush fades instantly, and his smile turns sharper. you watch as his eyes glaze over with their usual cockiness, turning to face her and whispering what you can only assume are sweet nothings in her ear.

“i think i’ll be taking my leave, i seem to only be interrupting something here,” you say dryly, setting your glass down on the bar and walking away from the pair. you can feel moran’s eyes on you, but it doesn’t matter as you push your way through the crowd. the doors fly open with the force of your push, and it catches the attention of almost everyone in the bar. not that you care. all that matters is getting away from the sight of the shell of sebastian moran and the woman who was so clearly was eye fucking him right in front of you. you don’t realize your hands are shaking until you feel a larger pair envelope your own and they stop trembling. moran’s eyes are wide, trained on you. you’re positive if you look up they’ll simply take your breath away.

“why’d you leave so suddenly?” his voice is steady, but you know better. you were always terrible at reading people up until you met sebastian moran.

“i’d rather not be abandoned in a bar while you went off with some woman, so i figured i’d save myself the trouble and just leave,” you keep your voice even, eyes still on the ground. that is until his fingers lift your chin up to meet his face, and you come face to face with the softest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. it should be illegal the way he’s looking at you.

“i was telling her i was on a date with you, and that she should think twice before coming up to a man who’s clearly with someone else,” he says softly, fingers still on your chin. embarrassment washes over you as you tug your hands out of his grasp and bury your face in them. he chuckles from in front of you, and before you process what’s going on, your world is tilted sideways. the yelp that escapes you is completely involuntary, and when you open your eyes you realize you’re in sebastian moran’s arms, and he’s carrying you back towards the manor.

“why are you carrying me?” your hands wring together, desperately trying to calm yourself down before you pass out from sheer shock and humiliation.

“i heard jealousy makes people do irrational things, so i figured i’d just take you home before you could do any damage,” he speaks with confidence, but it’s not an act this time. and the teasing smirk he shoots you is genuine. so you bury your head in his chest, hands fisting his jacket.

“i’m not jealous,” you speak boldly, but it sounds muffled in his jacket.

“sure you aren’t princess, sure you aren’t,” his laughs are deep, and you whine in protest, the alcohol warming your senses.

“shut up,” you grumble, and you’re only met with more laughs.

“make me sweetheart,” his voice is right next to your ear now, breath tickling you. so you do.

the seventh time he sees you, you kiss him for the first time. you grab him by surprise, hands removing themselves from his jacket to hold his face close to yours as you push your lips onto his. your eyes are squeezed shut, and your face burns with shame as you pull away. it takes all of your self control to not kiss him again with the way he’s gazing down at you, eyes wide, lips slightly swollen from the force of your kiss, and face painted a pretty pink. you bury your face back into his chest, hands finding purchase in his jacket once again.

“keep walking,” your voice is quiet, almost scared to break the silence. moran doesn’t trust his voice at the moment, so he quietly walks back to the manor, grip on your body tightening marginally. the only thing that runs through his head is how soft your lips were against his, and how warm your hands were on his face. he prays to every god that he’ll have the chance to kiss you again.

•••

the fifteenth time he sees you, he’s beyond annoyed. you had deftly avoided him since kissing him, but now he had your cornered in your own room.

“are we just going to ignore the fact that you kissed me the other day and then completely ignored me for an entire week?” his voice is stern, commanding. any other day you’d be fighting a blush at how sexy he sounds like that, but now you’re beyond terrified.

“well that was the plan,” you hope your sarcasm is well received. judging by the way sebastian’s eyes harden and he crosses his arms across his chest, it is most definitely not well received.

“if that was the plan i would’ve appreciated a heads up you know,” his voice is somehow deeper than before.

“well i was kind of drunk so i wasn’t thinking you know,” you stumble over your words, fingers finding your thin golden chain and tugging harshly at it to fight the anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

“so it was a mistake then?” he’s closer to you now, inches away from your trembling body. you don’t know how to answer the question, not knowing if even you knew the answer. sebastian takes your silence as your answer, turning to walk back out of the room. in an ungodly moment of clarity, your only solution is to scream a rushed ‘wait!’ and promptly jump onto his back, your arms wrapping around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. your head is tucked into the crook of his neck, and he just about falls over at the force of you flinging yourself onto him.

“what in god’s name are you doing?” his voice is loud in your ear, and despite his attempts to tug you off of him, you stay wrapped around him.

“getting you to stay!” your line of logic is borderline at best, but that doesn’t matter now.

“what? why?” his hands grip each of your ankles tightly, intending to pry them apart and pull you off of him.

“because it wasn’t a mistake!” you’re consciously aware of the fact that you’re practically yelling in his ear, but it does the trick as his hands stop tugging on your legs. both of you are silent, save for the heavy breaths falling from your mouths.

“get off of me,” he speaks lowly, practically growling. it’s a tone you’ve never heard, and it sends shudders up your spine. you don’t waste a second, nimbly detaching yourself from him and falling to your feet just behind him. you’re positive he’ll walk out and not look back, so when his hands grab your face and he kisses you harshly, you all but pass out on the spot. your hands easily find purchase in his hair, tugging lightly at the roots as he backs you into the wall behind you and pressing his body into yours. his tongue claims every inch of your mouth, hands moving from your face to hold your hips tightly. when he pulls away, both of you gasping for breath, you catch a glimpse of that same soft smile he gave you outside of the bar.

“i thought you were mad at me,” you blurt out, consciously aware of how your hands are still tightly wound in his hair. you’re scared if you let go you may float up and away from him. he laughs lightly, staring down at your wide eyes and mouth slightly agape.

“i couldn’t stay mad at you if i tried,” he confesses, forehead resting against yours. it’s calming, comforting.

“why’s that?” you’re still breathless as you stare at him.

“because i don’t think anyone has ever looked through the front i put up and proceed to call me out on it the first time we met,” his answer is blunt, straight forward. you suddenly remember how panicked he seemed when you two first met. the puzzle pieces click together nicely.

•••

the forty seventh time he sees you, sebastian wakes up to see you peering down at him in bed. he’s hyper aware of the fact that he’s only in boxers.

“rise and shine sunshine!” you’re smiling widely, and the sudden shock of waking up to your face jolts him awake.

“jesus christ why would you do that,” he groans out, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palm.

“because you have to do chores today. louis is already annoyed at you, and i’d rather not wake up one day to find you dead because you never did what he asked you,” you say, hands on your hips. he comes to realize how beautiful you look while you stand next to his bed.

“how about you just come join me in bed all day,” he says, reaching out and grabbing your arms. you yelp with the force of being pulled forward and tripping over the end of the bed. you bounce onto the bed, strong arms wrapping tightly around your smaller form. your face grows increasingly warm, hands unconsciously pressed against the firm planes of his chest and head tucked under his chin. you look down on instinct, heart practically jumping out of your chest.

“sebastian! you’re not wearing clothes!” your voice is high and strained. your hands push against his chest, but he keeps you against him, rolling over so that he’s hovering above you with both of your hands intertwined above your head. when you look up, he’s grinning down at you, but it’s completely genuine.

“i have on underwear though. does that count?” he’s teasing, you’re very aware of that.

“that is probably the thinnest piece of clothing you could possibly have on right now. can you please pu-” you’re cut off by his lips on yours. it’s not like his usual kisses that tease you and only rile you up. it’s soft, passionate. he squeezes your hands ever so slightly as he feels you kiss back. everything about it is perfect in spite of his lack of clothes. when he pulls back, your eyes are gleaming in the sunlight pouring through the window, and you have the faintest hint of a smile on your face.

“how about instead, we get you out of all these unnecessary clothes instead,” he offers wiggling his eyebrows at you. neither of you can stop the laughs that follow his words, your eyes crinkling as you’re overcome with a fit of giggles. in the midst of your laughs, you don’t see how sebastian moran stares down at you. you don’t see how his heart beats inexpicably faster. you don’t see how he blushes madly. you don’t see how he’s fallen in love with you.

but it’s okay. because he can’t see the way you’ve fallen for him too.

•••

sebastian moran doesn’t know how to love. his past all but erased any chance for him to form a deep and meaningful connection with anyone. and he’s lived that way for the majority of his adulthood. that is, until the eighty third time he sees you.

he’s woken up to see you trembling in bed beside him, and he knows it’s not from the cold. your shared body heat keeps both of you comfortably warm.

“love? what’s wrong?” it’s still dark outside, probably well into the night. that doesn’t matter as he turns your shaking body to face his, and he sees the gleam of your tears reflecting the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains. he immediately pulls your body impossibly closer to his, smoothing a hand over your hair as you sob quietly into his chest. he waits until you’re calmed down before leaning back to look at your face. his thumb rubs over fresh tears, lips brushing against your forehead as your cries quiet down to occasional sniffles.

“i had a nightmare about the man i used to work for,” you admit, hands trembling between you two. it’s not the first time you’ve had one of these nightmares, but the last time it had happened was weeks ago.

“do you want to talk about it?” his voice is soft, gentle. you’ve come to love how sweet he is, how careful he is of you.

“no. can you just hold me for now?” your eyes are still shining with unshed tears, but he nods and pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and one around your back. he pushes your head onto his chest, your ear lining up just above his heart. he’s found that hearing his heartbeat helps you calm down after the more severe nightmares. he sighs in relief when he feels your breaths come out more evenly, your stiff body relaxing significantly in his arms.

“feel better princess?” you nod at his question, pulling your head back to shoot him a watery smile.

“thank you sebastian,” your voice still shakes slightly, but it’s considerably better than it was before. 

he tried to seduce men and women in bars until he met you. he never cared for anyone until he met you. sebastian moran didn’t know how to love someone until he met you. and now that he’s met you, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to live without you. so when he murmurs those three words that he hasn’t said since he was a young child, he feels tears prick the back of his eyes. because if he can make you smile the way you are right now, tears spilling onto your cheeks and a rushed ‘i love you too’ falling from your lips just so that you can kiss him as hard as you can, he’ll gladly tell you he loves you every hour of every day for the rest of his life.

“Chloe xxx”

I really want Chloé to get another redemption arc, but not because she wants to be Queen Bee again or prove herself to anyone-but because she wants to prove to herself that she can be as awesome as she wants. Also sorry but I rambled here.

I don’t even want it to start because of something big like being rejected or glares from classmates, it could just be she’s chilling in her room and she notices her butler flinching when she calls his name, or she’s watching a show and she wants to be just as cool as the main character, or even just looking around the class and just thinking “why not?”

She then starts calling her butler’s name a little sweeter, takes Sabrina out for coffee at her favourite café this time, pushes Alya’s bag towards her when it falls off the bench. She anonymously donates money to varying charities and doesn’t tell anyone about it. She feels warm when she does it-she doesn’t know why but it almost feels kind of nice. She begins working a shift or two here and there at the hotel. She smiles at Mylene when she walks in (even if she considers that outfit a crime against fashion), and returns pens when she borrows them. Nino loses a USB and Chloé helps in the search party for it (though does it secretly at break and lunch).

Becoming nice to Marinette is harder though. She decides however, that if she wants to be an ok person, she has to give everyone a chance, so buys a yard or two of a nice fabric the girl’s been eyeing for weeks, and posts it with a note signed “-C xxx”. It kind of feels a little nice when Marinette walks in in a pale pink beaded dress that isn’t totally horrible Chloé supposes.

She later realises that saying sorry is another thing she can do to become a better person, and she always kind of wanted to but was too prideful to do so-but no more! She apologises to butler Jean, saying that she’s sorry for screaming at him, firing him, everything.

She then apologises to Sabrina, for treating her as a slave and asking if she wanted to go to that film she’s been rambling about, since they always go for her choice. She also takes all of her homework back that Sabrina was doing for her, and starts working really hard on it.

She goes to the bakery later that week, and orders a large slice of cake, reasoning that she can’t be nice to others if she’s not being nice to herself, therefore she needs this chocolate cake. She then asks Sabine if she can go up to talk to Marinette, who is rather skeptical of her and only allows her in the dining room. She apologises for bullying her all those years, and hands her an envelope signed “-C xxx”. Marinette opens it, to find it full of cash that’s tied in small bundles with labels on.

“Homework soaked-age 7” €3

“Sketchbook ruined-age 10”. €18

“Teacher’s present destroyed-age 14”. €16

Everything she’s physically destroyed or ruined is accounted for and compensated. She then apologises for all the verbal abuse and mean comments, before asking for a truce. Marinette accepts, and points out that since they have a truce, she is obliged to inform Chloé that she has buttercream on her face.

A week later she gets all her homework back: B+, B, A-, B-, A+.

Not her usual report of full marks, but she’ll take it.

She starts working every night at the hotel, from 6pm till 10pm. She refuses to look it though-she is Chloé Bourgeois after all. Her uniform is spotless, her makeup is now impeccable (blue eyeshadow with pale lips? What was she thinking?), and she never has a hair out of place. She begins living on coffee-these grades aren’t going to raise themselves after all -and constantly has an energy drink in her bottle (not that the class is allowed to know that).

Grades: B+, A-, A, B, A+

Getting better...

Once in class, Rose slammed her head on the table (delicately? She somehow slammed her head DELICATELY?), and weeped that she didn’t understand the material. Chloé scribbled an explanation on a sheet of paper, and after class slipped it in Rose’s bag.

The next day, an akuma strikes near the school. They can’t leave because some kids live far away, and Bustier isn’t taking initiative and the class rep is no where to be found. Chloé bites her lip, before standing on the desk and clapping her hands. Once she has the class’ attention, she gives out instructions.

“KIM, IVAN! Grab heavy objects and block the doors. JULEKA, NINO, NATHANAEL! You can lock the windows since you’re the tallest. EVERYONE ELSE! Clear books away and any other things that could cause bruising if knocked over, put bags away, and hide under the desks and benches!”

Everyone stares at her.

“NOW!”

Everyone scrambled to their duties, before hiding under the desks, holding their heads like Chloé instructed.

Grades: A, A-, A+, B+, A+

Nearly there...

She informs her father that she’ll be leaving for a week next month, and tells Bustier and Damocles. She books a plane ticket to New York with her money from working, as well as a hotel room. She packs her bags and leaves, giving her dad a kiss and a hug beforehand and promising that she’ll be safe. She boards her plane and then hauls her bags up to her room, before making a call.

“Who is this?”

“Your daughter, Chloé.”

“I DON’T-oh you. Why have you called me I’m in the middle of working-shouldn’t you be at pre-K?”

“I’m 15 and French ma-but anyway, is it possible if you could promote Marinette’s website-MDC-in return I’ll work for you for free.”

“Oh yes Marinette-the exceptional one. How long will you work?”

“I’m only here a week-I’ll become your assistant even! I know you hate Stephanie.”

“...Fine. I’ll drop her into conversation at an interview if you’re only here a week. Now do not call me unless it’s an emergency. You start tomorrow-8am, sharp, in a fashionable outfit-or you’re fired.”

Chloé smiles as the line goes dead. Her mother may be a dragon, but Chloé can respect that she helps those she cares about.

Even if it isn’t her...

The next day she arrives at the office at 7:45, in a white suit with gold jewellery. Audrey nods, before sending her out with rapid instructions for coffee. Chloé takes her order to the café she requested, and starts reading it out to the barister, only for him to pale and interrupt her halfway through.

“Oh God-you’re ordering for Audrey aren’t you? Oh Lord-HEY AARON! STYLE QUEEN ORDER NO. 37! QUICK!”

The other worker, Aaron, goes white, before flipping every machine on and opening every can he can find in preparation.

“You must be her new assistant-good luck with her, the last one would come in to order her coffee and then sit in the corner and cry so much we set up her own space-look!” The first one says, pointing out to a comfy area of bean bags and pillows.

Chloé cringed. “Nah, worse. I’m her daughter, if you can even call me that, that’s interning for her in exchange for a favour.”

The barister pitied her. “Yikes.”

Chloé takes the coffee being thrusted at her and nods at the two, before sprinting back to the office.

After that week of hell, she still refuses to wear anything other than heels and designer clothes, and her hotel room is immaculate. She packs the night before, and sets off back to Paris in the morning.

MDC takes off after the Style Queen reccommended it briefly in an interview, and Chloé starts helping Marinette manage and organise commission dates and social media, eventually becoming her PR person/caffeination.

She starts working not only her 6pm-10pm shifts, but also a few shifts from 4am-7am a few times a week. She does her homework at lunch and as soon as she gets back from school, even doing it during akuma attacks. She gets through a concealer a week for her bags, and sleeps all weekend.

Grades: A+, A+, A+, A+, A+.

Perfect.

...Or not...

She realises that she can’t maintain this. She can’t survive on 3 hours sleep and an unholy amount of caffeine. She cuts back on her shifts, doing 4 a week at most, and only does homework for a maximum of 2 hours a day. She starts, meditation and yoga, trying to keep her mind peaceful. She still donates to charities, and goes out with Sabrina and shops.

Grades: A, A, A, A, A.

Still pretty good, and she’s happy this time!

She begins doing things more for herself. She’s always wanted to learn Spanish after all. She hires a tutor, and starts working extremely hard to become as fluent as possible by the end of her education.

She learns conversational Spanish in about 6 months of semi-intensive learning, and decides to do something else as well. She starts learning Mandarin with Marinette, and struggles slightly more than she did with Spanish, but she’s still progressing.

She realises that she has a knack for learning languages, and picks more up more easily after she starts learning Spanish, Mandarin and later Portuguese.

One day when she’s out she comes across a homeless man, and offers him some money and brings him a hot meal. She sees others around him in the same situation, and does the same for them.

She then volunteers at the local soup kitchen, feeding hundreds of people on weekends and washing up afterwards. She connects with the homeless and a few refugees, and starts learning Arabic from one of the regulars, in return slipping her a few Euros (basically she gives her €250 every week).

She takes a shift at the bakery, manning the counter and becoming fast friends with Marinette as they practise their Mandarin on one another.

Grades: A+, A+, A+, A+, A+

AND SHE’S HAPPY!!!

She eventually starts applying for universities, listing her abilities and experiences.

• A+ Student

• Volunteer

• Interned for Audrey Bourgeois

• Works at Boulangerie Patisserie

• Works at Le Grand Paris

• Fluent in Spanish, English and Mandarin, knows conversational Arabic and Portuguese, learning Polish.

The more she writes and thinks about the past 4 years, the more she comes to the realisation of

“Holy shit, I’m awesome. I’m an ok person. I’m a good person in fact. I’ve done good things. I’ve made a good impact on society. I did it. I DID IT!!! And I’m going to keep doing it-after all, I’m awesome and people rely on me, plus it makes me feel good. I’m no longer a spoilt 14 year old. I can be good. I am good. I am a good person.”

Obey Me!: Human and Demon Hearts!

A/N: Make sure to check my pinned post for the whole story so far!

Chapter Two: Reaching the bare minimum (2/2)

Word Count: 1,926

Rating: 18+

Away in her self cleaned room, Noelle had laid in her bed. Face burrowed in the pillow, as she sobbed quietly. Thankfully enough time went by for her tears to subside, as a knock came from her door. Grumbling about being interrupted from almost falling asleep, she turned on the lights, and opened the door, peeking her head through. She didn't see anyone immediately, but caught the sounds of Satan's footsteps and soft humming as he walked back down to the dining room. A soft warm, and earthy smell dragged her attention to the plate of food sitting on the ground. A side of normal looking mashed potatoes, and a ham and pineapple dish made her sigh in relief of not having to go hungry for the night. She ate her food, and decided to wash the dishes in the morning.

The full swing of the weekend had stirred Noelle from her sleep. And much like she promised herself, she got dressed and made her way to the stone kitchen to wash her platter. She jumped slightly as Satan and Lucifer were already in the kitchen, yet they showed no sign of noticing her. Noelle ducked behind the wall, not wanting to intervene just yet. Her heart almost sank as she quickly learned what Satan was explaining to Lucifer, which was what she had told satan the previous day in the library. this caused her emotions to rush back to her while Satan expressed concern over Levi's attitude to her during their art class. Lucifer seemed to hum in thought and had quickly reminded Satan that this was what she had asked for, and a small argument broke out.

It seemed that even Satan was aware of how cruel his brothers were beginning to act towards her. Lucifer seemed stunned at his reasoning, and shot back at him, reminding Satan that he wasn't the eldest, and he doesn't know a thing. Noelle felt herself become defensive for the only Demon she had found safety in. she stood in the doorway, a set of tears stroked her cheeks as she spoke.

“So what?” Was all she could muster with her crackling voice.

The two brothers seemed stunned. Satan felt the growing anger and defense within her arise. Feeding into his own sin. Lucifer closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose before responding.

“And just how long were you standing there?”

Another surge of courage ripped through Noelle, as the familiar sensation of being pushed too far made her swallow what tears she had shed. Her voice came back out in full.

“Long enough. If you're going to talk shit about me, at least grow the balls to say it to my face, coward.”

A line was crossed and Lucifer had glared at her. Noelle's hand reached over her lips, touching them gently. Part of her was surprised and impressed, but the other part of her knew how grave of a mistake she just made. Lucifer was the Avatar of Pride. A demon who found entertainment in being above everyone, unchallenged. He even showed some grace as he sauntered up to her, backing her up into the hallway and against the wall. The other demons of the house had sensed Lucifer's aura and had made their way to the kitchen, stopping at the scene before them.

It was at that point that Noelle realized why she had struggled so much with the citizens of Devildom.

Lucifer's voice dropped into a growl. An inhuman growl.

“If you're going to be so bold to ask me, I will tell you. You are a small, and weak human in a world of strong demons who could rip you to shreds. If it wasn't for Lord Diavolo's orders to maintain your safety, I'd have yanked that flapping, moronic tongue of yours out of that little useless cavern you call a mouth. So we shall make this clear once, and once only. Do. Not. Speak ill of me like that again. Or so help me, there will be 'a case of rules meant to be broken'...”

He took a quick, short pause to inhale deeply, and spoke with a final, shaky voice.

“Along with a few broken bones, do I make myself clear?”

Noelle's body was only able to shake violently in fear. She heard what he had said; What he had threatened. Her mistake was forgetting where she was, and what she was surrounded by. Demons.

Her mind may have refused to process a response, but she felt every inch of her body screaming “I'll behave”. White hair and brown leather blocked her vision, and Mammon stepped between them, trying to coax Lucifer down from his rage.

“Alright there, uh Lucy! You don't have to go that far! And besides, the kid's shaking in her boots! I think um- she gets your point.”

A silent scoff was heard, and he looked past his brother and gave a final glare before walking away. Finally out of his eyesight she realized the black wings of his apparent demon form. She watched as the almost emperor like clothing, along with the wings, burned to ash, showcasing Lucifer's casual outfit. Then she dropped to the floor.

Breathing heavily, and still shaking. Even with her physical form showing her fear, her mind became painfully calm in contrast to the intense moment that just passed. The remaining brother's grew uncomfortable, but a small chuckle was heard. It came from Levi.

“Wooow! What Did you do to make him so grouchy?”

Satan started scolding Levi for such a vicious remark, and Mammon knelt down to Noelle's side, cautiously placing a hand on her shoulder. He jumped a bit as she got up quickly, and walked halfway to Levi, catching his attention. She looked around at the brother's before her. She spoke, her voice stuttering and shaky.

“Grouchy- That's just grouchy? You- you all just.. you- just stood there. Why? Why would- why would-”

Mammon had quickly placed a hand back on her shoulder as the rest looked on in sympathy. Even Leviathan had realized the trauma that was just bestowed upon her. Satan was next to speak, walking up to her and ruffling her hair in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Yeah- That's Lucifer when he's grouchy. What you just witnessed was a Demon Feeding. Come to think about it...” Before he finished his thought, Mammon gathered everyone's attention and reminded them that it was best to go back to what they were doing. Leaving just Satan and Noelle in the hallway. He looked at her. Having felt the anger and confusion she had hidden so well in the moment. He felt it all crumble, and then he felt... nothing.

He led her into the kitchen, and she watched him as he made the family breakfast. Silence drumming out to their ears. That was until Noelle found her voice again, calm and recovered.

“That was... scary...”

Satan hummed in response.

“It could have been worse.” He looked back at her, studying her in her response.

“what... was that about Demon feeding?”

Satan chortled, clearly amused by something, but answered her nonetheless.

“Before you had decided to entertain everyone just then, I was telling Lucifer, or more so reminding him, that you're human. A lot of times you have kept yourself vulnerable. You're mostly honest, you tend to reach out to others before they even consider asking for help... to a demon you're a very tempting snack.”

Noelle shuddered and swallowed her collective saliva, as she listened to Satan explain further.

“Demons, even if they're fallen angels, have this weak spot for humans like you. The response to that weak spot can go one of three ways. The first two are usually the most common, I'd say about 99.5% common. A demon will take interest in your soul and have the urge to make a contract with you, or will Feed off of you. Which is exactly what everyone has been doing to you. Well except me and the few others who don't bother interacting with you.”

Noelle tilted her head, and Satan sighed, resting himself next her, as she sat on the counter.

“What I mean is, since you're a relatively pure and kind person, despite your perverse sense of humor, you're the kind of person demons just love to torment. When a Demon Feeding takes place they're, in a way, suffocating your soul, and eating at the desired emotion they want.”

Satan rubbed his neck, and an almost visible light bulb went off as he turned towards her, seemingly excited with what he was going to say.

“It's almost like chewing bubble gum!”

Satan's smirk grew playful, and he elicited a laugh out of Noelle. Through her short laugh she asked him what he meant, to which he responded with great theatrics-

“It's just a taste of the soul without eating it! Incubi, and Succubi do it all the time! Ew-”

Noelle laughed harder at his outburst, almost falling off the counter. Satan had caught her before doing so, and led her off the counter tops back to the ground. She was quickly silenced by Satan's glare at her before he finally spoke up again.

“The best way to prevent this, is to not back down. Don't give anyone else the ability to scare you, or get what they want. I won't lie, because you've already gave some a taste it will be harder to fight them off. Bella hasn't been affected by the same condition because Belphegor and Beel have the most history with humans, therefore lacking the desire to take what's not rightfully theirs.”

He began to speak with a light blush.

“I'll even admit that seeing you overwhelmed with anger, made me tempted to feed off you as well... It's an instinctual thing... and it's.. different from what Lucifer did to you.”

Noelle scrunched her face in confusion.

“what do you mean?”

“that third option... The .5% reaction... If a human and demon have some form of common ground, then instead of wanting their soul, they find pleasure more so in amplifying emotions. It's like when you protected Bella when you first got here. She gave you the strength to face demons without thought. It's like an urge to connect with a human, except it's through a more spiritual means. So technically speaking... this was my fault. I think I accidentally amplified my feelings towards Lucifer to you. So uh- I'm sorry.”

Noelle nodded at him, and smiled lightly. A soft weight lifting from her shoulder as she gave him a hug. Speaking as she pulled back.

“It's okay. I'm just glad this just means no one here completely hates me... I was worried. Maybe you need to stick around me more often ya' know? Give me a boost of confidence to start finally sticking up for myself.”

Satan smiled at her, and playfully thought about it before nodding at her.

“Perhaps I do...”

“Hey Satan?”

“Yeah?”

Noelle sniffed the air and before she could ask, Satan had jumped up and rushed to the burning food.

“SHIT!”

I wrote this for myself to try and organize my current theories on TWST, but I might as well keep this blog going even though I’m out of ideas for card maker memes.

This is basically a rant that starts out with theorizing about RSA, the Cater=Cinderella theory, and Split Card, but then spirals into a Cater character analysis.

For anyone who doesn’t know the Cinderella theory, it’s basically just Cater might have something to do with Cinderella because he has two bossy sisters, and during the ghost marriage there was this whole thing where Riddle needs to rescue Cater before midnight because of some Queen of Hearts rule. 

Spoilers for Cater’s personal stories (including his halloween outfit story) and chat, and chapter 4 of the main story. Okay now let’s get into it. Over 1,800 words geez what am I doing with my life

   Aight so Ace and Deuce don't have their unique magics yet and there is obviously Something going on with Cater so it really makes me think that we're gonna return to Heartslabyul somewhere down the line. We know there's gotta be more stuff with RSA, so that might tie into the Cater = Cinderella theory. Maybe we have a chapter focusing on RSA and Cater will be the main focus or ally for that. IDK man, I'm still kind of eh on the Cinderella theory cause it makes a lot of sense but we already have Mozus being the evil stepmother. Him and Cater are from the same hometown (?) but my concern is that if Cater is a main focus and he gets connected to Mozus then Mozus would also be in the spotlight which would be odd given how nothing seems to suggest that the teachers (except Crowley) getting bigger roles in the story. However, it could always be a situation like with Farena where Mozus is there and some sort of connection is briefly discussed but he isn't important and maybe someone else takes the role of evil stepmother in the story.

   Ok idk so we're gonna go back to Cater. If the Cinderella theory is true, we gotta consider how exactly Cater represents Cinderella. Does he represent Cinderella in the way that he's twisted from her (ex. Azul & Ursula) or that he just takes the role of Cinderella for a chapter (ex. Azul & The Genie)? The fact that he uses dark magic points to it being the latter, that he really is twisted from a card soldier. However, we gotta consider 1. the nature of his unique magic 2. the plot of Cinderella. Though we know he has the ability to clone himself, we don't know how exactly this works. Are the clones identical, or do/can they have differences? In episode 1-15, the Cater clones all have slightly different responses ("はーい" "まかせて！" "おっけー♪") to getting ready to paint the roses. Given how clones don't exist in real life, it's impossible to tell whether this variation indicates actual differences in personality, is just due to the clones' slightly different experiences (like a sort of butterfly effect), or if it's just a decision by the writer so they aren't repetitive. Another thing to note is that in that same episode Cater claims that cloning himself is tiring. If this is the only source for this information, there's the possibility that it just was a lie to let him manipulate the 1st years into helping him paint. Finally, Cater's ability makes me think of Twice from BNHA. Can only the original Cater create clones? Or is he like Twice in that his clones can also make clones, therefore making it impossible for anyone, including himself, to tell who is the original?

  What I'm getting at here is the possibility of Cater having clones that 1. stick around permanently and 2. are significantly different than him. This would create the possibility of him being twisted from both the card soldiers and Cinderella, but he is able to use his clone ability to split up those aspects of himself. One Cater is the card soldier one normally walking around NRC and who has dark magic, but then there's another Cinderella Cater who has light magic. Assuming this is what is going on, it would kind of connect to his two-sided personality, where he presents his bubbly, social-media addict personality to the world but has another, depressed, more private personality underneath. 

  Now, getting into what I mentioned before about the plot of Cinderella, Cinderella normally looks like a humble servant. However, with the aid of the fairy godmother, she completely transforms herself into a breathtaking princess so she can go to the ball. However, once the clock strikes midnight, she transforms back. Basically, Cinderella has the ability of transformation, to have two completely different versions of herself. One version is her true, plain self, while the other is a flashy deception. This information strengthens what I just said about Cater's personality and clone ability.

  Actually, just going into Cater's personality for a bit (yeah, “a bit” lol)... He has a big focus on always being presentable. In his lab coat, he seems pretty desperate to hide all evidence of his true self, claiming that he just failed at putting his magic in the depressed mandrake and then hiding all his other mandrakes aside from the fun ones. This desperation is similar to Cinderella's, with how she flees the ball in a hurry once it reaches midnight so no one will see how she truly looks once the spell breaks. Now, why do Cater and Cinderella behave the way they do? I don't remember Cinderella's exact motivations for attending the ball, but wikipedia says that she had to flee the ball because if the spell broke there she could get caught by her stepmother & stepsisters. What is Cater's "ball"? Well, because of his strong social media presence, his "ball" is basically everywhere, all the time. If something happens on social media that exposes his true self, breaking his "spell", not only can other students see it, but his sisters can also see it.

  Cater hates sucking up to his older sisters, which implies that he has had to suck up to his older sisters and put up his happy front around them too. Just like how Cinderella can't afford to let her stepsisters realize her true identity at the ball, Cater can't afford to let his sisters realize his true self. It's honestly kind of sad; unlike Cinderella, whose stepsisters only showed up later in her life, Cater's older sisters have been around him and making him miserable for all of his life.

  Kinda unrelated, but looking though Cater's chats, in the one he has with Trey they talk about the Queen of Hearts and her love for sweets, Cater remarks that he wants to have tea with her too, leading Trey to say that Cater would be unable to befriend her since they're in different social classes. Isn't this basically a genderbent version of Cinderella, just a commoner, wanting to go to the ball where the Prince is? 

  Now going back to Cater's personality. Even if he does fear his sisters, that doesn't seem to fully explain his 24/7 pep and focus on being magicammable. Now, what if we say that happiness=nobility. In Cinderella, she dresses up like nobility so she can remain in the ball where the actually rich people are. What if Cater is acting happy so he can fit in with the people around him, who are naturally happy enough that they don't need to fake it? Is this a fake it until you make it situation? At the end of his ceremony robes story, after he says he's tired and doesn't care about the ceremony, he says he's just kidding and goes back to talking about the selfies he took that day. Even though he's alone and wouldn't really get hurt for dropping his performance. It gives the vibe to me that his situation is not like Jamil's, where he's fully aware he's unhappy, deliberately acts otherwise in front of others, and tries to eliminate the cause of his unhappiness. Instead, Cater is trying to eliminate his unhappiness itself. He grasps onto magicam because if he fills up his account with pictures of a happy life, it's like he's actually living a happy life.

  This idea I have of Cater trying to fit in also goes along with his focus on the current trends, like in one of his gym uniform voice lines where he panics at the idea of not knowing about a new popular game. Rather than making his own aesthetics or trends, he goes along with the crowd. Sweets and desserts are trendy? Then he'll take tons of pictures of them and say they're super delicious even if he actually hates sweet food. He disregards or evades his own preferences to create the appearance that he's just like everyone else, and he puts effort into staying up to date so he can maintain that appearance.

  Moving on, I reread his halloween outfit personal story. Something that stuck out was the end, when Cater thinks that Lilia wouldn't understand what he's going through. Specifically, Lilia wouldn't understand his 下らなくてどーしよーもない feelings. According to jisho, 下らない can mean trivial/not worth bothering with/worthless, and it can also mean stupid/absurd/silly. Then, どーしよーもない (どうしようもない)  means something that can't be helped, that has no way out of it. Doesn't this seem kind of odd? That he claims his feelings are just trivial then but also he can't help having them? Is this a contradiction? Or is it something like he believes that most people wouldn't have these silly feelings but he specifically is too weak to push past them?

  For self-esteem though, he seems to at least be trying to boost it. Like in his gym uniform story, when he decides to just clone himself and have each one run 1 lap instead of him running 5 by himself, his clones all praise him for the idea. However, this could be a fake it until you make it thing again. The praise does seem a bit heavy-handed. 

  There's also the whole thing in the 2nd part of the story where he talks about all the shallow friendships he has made. He notes that he'd rather have a casual time with people rather than get attached. That plus his family situation... means he's really never had anyone to trust. Anyway, he then goes on to talk about how magicame is amazing for helping him maintain all these casual friendships. So there we have another reason for his social media addiction: not only does it let him create a picture of happiness, he can get tons of feedback affirming his happiness and serving as proof of happiness. How can he possibly be lonely if he has so many friends?

  Both in his ceremony robes and halloween outfit stories have a moment where Cater is tired and admits he's tired but then downplays it. Yeah, the ceremony was tiring, but he got tons of great pictures out of it! Yeah, dealing with guests was rough, but at the same time all the halloween stuff was exciting! This sort of thing is a pretty common strategy for increasing the persuasiveness of an argument. By first agreeing (yes, he's tired) with the opposing view (he is not happy), he can then push his own view (he is happy) and point at his earlier concession as proof that he has looked at both sides of the issue instead of only looking for evidence of his own belief. 

 So basically what I'm getting here is that Cater Is Not Okay. Prevented from building close bonds with friends or family, he's reinforcing his isolation himself through his fervent efforts to never let anyone close and never let his mask drop. He's gone so far as to try and convince himself that he's happier than he actually is through self-deception and social media.

  Alright that’s all I got for now see ya

Excuse Me?

Anonymous said to alonelytinywriter:

Can I have a Hawks x reader where she's in japan and she's homeless and she steals Hawks coffee outside a coffee shop and he just - "EXCUSE ME?"

Ooooooo, Darling, you better bet. I still don’t do readers, though, sadly. It just doesn’t flow well with my writing style and makes it where the stories just don’t sound . . . good? I hope you’ll forgive me! If you like what you read don’t forget to drop a big fat heart on this fic (Support your local fanfic writers!), and let me know what you’d like to see next.

Warnings: There be soft smut here. And Hawks actually being a soft guy, and some heavy language because OC is a 2 kool 4 skool. Very soft Hawks. Warm Hawks. Gentle ball of . . . feathers doesn’t sound as good. Lets be honest, this prompt got me feeling a certain kind of way, and I really just wanted some self indulgent comfort.

Soft Yandere! Takami Keigo (Hawks) / Original Female Character

Playlist - Hitohira No hanabina - Stereophony

Name: Sato Ichika ~ Birthday: April 21st ~ Age: 19 ~ Hair Color: Blue ~ Eye Color: Green ~ Gender: Female ~ Height 5’0’’ ~ Quirk: Specter ~ Occupation: Subway/Train Musician

Appearance ~ Ichika is a fairly short girl with a rather full physique despite her willowy appearance. She has dark blue hair that falls just below her collar bones and crystalline green eyes that point slightly outward, which seems to resemble a cats. Due to her Quirk, Ichika’s skin is ghostly pale, almost stark white; using her Quirk causes her skin to fade to transparent at her hands and feet, while her hair begins to float about her head and face as if she has her own personal breeze. ~ Ichika’s appearance has always been a bit of a sore spot for her, making her an outcast at an early age. After becoming a teenager she began to dress to suit her appearance, adopting a punk/grunge style with lots of fishnets, oversized sweaters, dark colors and darker makeup. Now she wears next to no makeup, unless you count chapstix, but she still dresses the same.

Quirk: Specter ~ As her name-sake suggests Ichika, when activating her Quirk, can float, as well as permeate any solid object. - It should be noted that while she can permeate through another living thing, the effort is nearly enough to make her pass out. - She also has the ability to manifest and maintain ghostly images that have been known for their ability to produce sound, though not their ability to interact with the corporal world, something which many thought as the hindrance which held Ichika from becoming a Hero. Ichika uses the ability to preform on the subways and trains to earn money throughout the days and nights. As mentioned before, while her Quirk is activated her hands and feet become transparent and her hair floats - the longer her Quirk is activated, the farther the transparency will travel up her limbs. This can be dangerous for Ichika, as it becomes harder to control her Quirk and once 100% transparency has been archived, Ichika has been known for blacking out and even attacking those she considers friends. Due to this, Ichika refuses to use her Quirk for longer than 1 hour at a time, at which time the transparency will only reach her elbows and knees.

Power - 2/5 ~ Speed - 2/5 ~ Technique - 5/5 ~ Intelligence - 3/5 ~ Cooperativeness - 3/5

~Excuse Me~

~ The first time Ichika stole she thought she was going to throw up. Or maybe that had been the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything in four days and only drank stagnant water from a broken fountain. It had been three rice balls shaped to resemble cat heads from a small grocery market and when she had walked through the doors after slipping the plastic wrapped food under her sweatshirt, she had been sure that the nearest employee would appear and scream THIEF into her face before calling for the police. She would go to jail or worse - go home to her parents and their cross expression as she turned out exactly the way they believed she would. But they didn’t. No alarms sounded, no one tried to drag her back into the market, no one seemed to notice at all. They had tasted amazing - even the one she dropped on the sidewalk and had to fish from the gravels - and the glow of victory had stolen over her like a living thing. Each stole item felt lighter in her fingers as she took them, her natural dexterity and knack for misdirection making her a perfect pickpocket. The fact she could use her Quirk to preform on the train - simple musical sets as she danced and allowed her ‘Ghosts’ to make the music - helped to distract the silly sheep around her and she danced and slipped past. Fingers found wallets, watches, an elderly woman’s bracelet, a single diamond hoop earring, a cup of coffee -

~ “Excuse me? What do you think you’re doing?”

~ Now. Now, Ichika knows she’s going to vomit. She can feel the bile churning in her stomach as she turns towards the voice - Gods above, why did it have to be his coffee? - and confidently meet the bright golden eyes of the Number Two Hero - Hawks. Of fucking course. Of course there was a Hero on the train. But she stamps down the rising horror and smiles brightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But the Hero isn’t stupid and he snags her wrist before she can skip away, turning it so that the hand hold the large coffee showed the name scrawled across the front - HAWKS <3. Him turning her wrist does something worst, though. It rattles to hidden pocket in her sleeve and makes several of the stolen items to rattle to the floor of the train. A man to her left quickly recognizes his wallet at the top of the pile and frowns, looking for all the world as if he might attack Ichika at any moment for having dared stolen his belongings. 

~ “Shit.” Ichika activates her Quirk without thinking, her hair whipping about her face so quickly that it surprises the Hero into letting her go and she rushes to go above the others heads, straight up and through the roof of the train and into the sky above. Her heart is racing painfully against her chest as she slips through the metal as if it’s no more than water, thumping so quickly that she can feel the pulse beating against her sternum when she lays her hand there to calm herself. There was no way the Hero wouldn’t know what she had been doing. He would come looking for her soon, if he hadn’t already called for the train to stop. She needed to leave, and fast. It wasn’t the first time she had been caught in the act of taking what wasn’t hers, and normally it didn’t bother her to know that people knew what she did but there had been something in the Hero’s eyes as he stared at her in disbelief that set Ichika on edge.

~ She landed three miles away panting and covered in sweat from the effort of keeping her Quirk active for so long. Her vision was blurry, and she could feel the Earth swaying beneath her feet, rocking like a ship during a typhoon. She was still holding the damned coffee. Sighing, she allowed the transparency to fade from her skin, until she was whole again, until she was her again, and then she took a long draft from the coffee quickly cooling in her hand. It was intensely sweet, chocked with sugar and caramel until it reminded her of a milkshake instead of a coffee drink. Crinkling her nose at the intense taste of sugar on her tongue, Ichika forced herself to take another swallow before she started walking. She was only a few blocks from the grate that would lead her to the abandoned platform she used as a hideout, and she needed the energy to make it on foot since she had pushed her Quirk so far. Her heartbeat was still beating in her ears, a steady thwump thwump thwump . . . that didn’t match the beat of her heart at all.

~ This is all the time Ichika has before a dark shape hurtled from the sky above her, a laugh as dark and rich as honey sounding through the air. Hands clutched the back of her shirt and her feet her jerked out from beneath her as she was lifted forcefully into the sky. “Well, well, well, look what we found here.” Hawks voice is just as smooth as his laugh. “What do you think you’re doing, kid? Taking things from strangers is dangerous stuff, don’tcha think?” Ichika screamed, her Quirk flaring to life and sending her slipping from his grip. But it was too much. She had used her Quirk too much, since first thing that morning in fact, and the transparency had already been working well up towards her elbows and knees and she was too tired and she really hoped the Hero would at least take the time to make sure she didn’t die when she fell. Between one heartbeat and the next she slipped unconscious, her eyelashes fluttering to hide her sea-glass eyes and putting and end to the chaotic string of thoughts racing through her mind. 

~ She has no clue how long she’s been asleep, how long she floated in the inky darkness, but when she opens her eyes she finds a ceiling above her head that for certain wasn’t the ceiling of the abandoned subway station. And there, next to her, laying in the soft bed with nothing but a pair of boxers was Hawks. He wasn’t ugly - not by any means with his  smooth skin and thick hair and his muscles . . . But why had he taken her? She tried to scoot away but Hawks mumbled something in his sleep - something intellagable - and pulled her closer, forcing her front into his side.

Ichika jerked away so hard she fell from the bed, landing in a heap of blankets and sheets hard, making her cry out as her hip connected with the hard wooden floor. Hawks is up in an instant, looming over her, laughing softly. “What’s the matter, kid? Isn’t this a whole lot better than the place you where heading?” Hawks was already unwrapping her from the blankets and Ichika was trying to desperately separate herself from both them and him. She had to get away, get away, get way - why and the fuck was she in a bed with him and not in jail?? - but then Hawks hands are on her arms, hoisting her up, pulling her against his chest. “Don’t bother trying to use that Quirk of yours, kid. I’ve got a Quirk canceling cuff on your ankle, so you’re not going anywhere.” Ichika wants to speak, wants to ask exactly what the hell is going on, but he continues before she can. “I’ve been watching you for weeks, you know. Letting you get away with picking those peoples pockets. Watching you dance and trick your way into getting away with your loot, kid. It was hilarious watching you, knowing you thought no one knew. And you’re damn good, kid.” Ichika was shaking, pushing against his chest, trying to get away, but Hawks just held on tighter. “Awww, c’mon, kid. This is much better than a jail, isn’t it? I might have taken you, but I also made sure you didn’t turn into a pancake on the side of the road, you know?”

~ Ichika could barely remember her encounter with the winged Hero, and as her eyebrows furrowed, her sluggish memory trying to piece together what his words meant, Hawks wings curled around them both, encasing them in the soft red feathers. “It’s not so bad. I can feel your heart beating, you know? So hard, and fast against my chest. You don’t gotta worry, I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to. I have plenty of time to make you change your mind.” His fingers where running across the skin of her back - she was only clad in her bra and panties - and he allowed his nails to drag across her spine, making her shiver. “But I can already tell you, I decided weeks ago I was gonna bring you home, kid. I knew I wanted you. I just had to wait till I could catch you and guess what, kid - I did!” He hugged her closer to his chest, his cheek resting against her hair. “And I’ll keep you here as long as I need for you to want me the same way I want you. See, not a lot of people know this, but I’ve been working both sides for a while. I’ve got enough saved we can go on a nice long hiatus and it won’t bother me a bit. Pus, I’m raking in loads of cash for all the wrong reasons, and I have all the time in the world to be able to shower you with enough affection and attention, and I can make you love me.”

~ Hawks voice was low and rough, like gravel and Ichika couldn’t stop shivering. She was still held against his chest, desperately trying to move herself off the Hero’s - Villain’s? - lap, but the more she moved the more pronounced Hawks attraction became for her. He was still talking, whispering dirty, senseless declarations of love and affection against her ear as his fingers continued to skim across her skin, but Ichika couldn’t seem to find her voice. She was in shock. What was going on?? what was going on?? What was going on?? What was -

~ “I’m sorry.” Hawks cooed into her ear, his beard scratching softly against the soft skin of her cheek before he forced her to look into his eyes. “Didn’t I make it clear enough? You’re mine now. You’ll be staying here with me, until the unforeseeable future, and you’ll be paying me back for that coffee you decided to steal this morning.” Ichika was already thrashing in his arms before he finished, and he allowed her to tire herself out, panting in his arms before he continued. “It won’t be that bad, kid. Look kid, I’m a mess, but I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you’re safe and feed and you have a roof over your head. And I won’t hand you over to the police. How does that sound?” Hawks sat there, waiting for her response, knowing that she didn’t have a choice. But for the moment he allowed her to mull over the supposed ‘choice’ he had given her.

~ Ichika’s mind was racing; she could fight - without her Quirk she would loose. She could play along and try to escape but what would she do? What would he do? He would go to the police, tell them everything, and then where would she be? In a jail cell, and there would be no one there to bail her out. Her body drooped as she came to her decision, every muscle in her body going lax as tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. Hawks nearly felt bad as he watched the girl deflate in his arms, and he nudged her cheek with his nose, a teasing smile spreading across his lips. “Maybe you should tell me your name?” It falls from her lips easily, and Hawks repeats it, rolling it across his tongue, enjoying the way it tasted in his mouth. He’s still saying it when his lips begin to brush across her neck, her hair falling across her shoulders like a waterfall. His nails dug into her skin as she shivered, the tears finally spilling. Her skin was so soft, her hair like silk between his fingers. There were freckles scattered across her body, freckles that shone against her skin like fragments of opal when Hawks laid her back on his bed, her bra discarded to the floor. His fingers dipped across her skin, her voice raise’s and falls in sync with Hawks movements, and by the end the blush spread across her cheeks matches Hawks face perfectly.

~ “You’re gonna stay here with me for now on, kid. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

A New Life Pt. 2

I liked the Kylo Ren soulmate AU so much and I got so much love on it that I decided to write a second part! I hope you guys like it! (Here’s the first part if you missed it)

Requests are still open ✨

Kylo Ren X female reader soulmate! AU Pt. 2 

AN: Mentions sex. 

It’s only been a few days since you’ve boarded the Finalizer, but you’ve certainly made yourself at home. So far, Ren has provided you many items that you requested, including an impressive collection of art supplies, a veritable rainbow of a wardrobe, and most eclectically, a maintenance jumpsuit, which you’re wearing right now, the top half tied around your waist over a sleeveless white shirt. 

It had been sweet, and strange to him at the time, when you asked for it, walking through the hangar as Ren took you on a tour of the ship. You had been wide-eyed, admiring the sleek, black organization of the Order, so different from the simple and slow life you had known. You watched the workers at their duties, and a few radar technicians had scurried by, trying to avoid Ren’s attention while still getting a good look at you; the ship was full of talk about his new “guest,” but that had been the first time you’d left his room, and everyone wanted to see.

“What are they wearing?” You had been asking questions non-stop, and Ren tried to answer as many as he could to the best of his abilities. He liked to watch as you listened, processing the information with the slightest of scowls while you internalized it.

“Jumpsuits,” he was grateful it was a question he could answer easily; the more difficult the question was to answer, the more focused you looked, and the more distracted he became by the shape of your brow and the set of your eyes, “standard issue.” Your gaze had followed behind the techs, the look becoming familiar to Ren already. He liked that he was learning to read you without using the force, that your subtle gestures were becoming windows for him to peek through even when no one else could.

“Could I have one?” You had asked, still so polite, despite the fact that he had never said no to one of your requests before. That didn’t mean he wasn’t confused.

“Why?” Compared to the other clothes you had requested, the jumpsuit was plain, and the green-gray color incredibly ugly. You had looked at him, lashes framing your pleading eyes, the corners of your mouth turned up into the slightest of smiles.

“Please?” That was all it took. Ren would give you anything you wanted. Asking something of you, though, was not something he felt prepared for.

“They want us to do what?” you say, sitting curled up on the couch with your sketchbook on your lap. Ren sits across from you, very careful not to move. You had already scolded him a few times for fidgeting too much, and he doesn’t want to ruin your drawing.

“Um, a wedding?” Ren says. He wasn’t sure how to explain, had been putting it off for the last few days, but the longer he waited, the more impatient the general became.

“But why?” You laugh when you say it, and Ren adds your laugh to the mental list he’s compiling of his favorite things about you. “Aren’t weddings between soulmates kind of, I don’t know, silly?”

“Well, actually,” he clears his throat, and you go back to sketching, staring at him for a moment before adding another line on the flimsi and blending it out with your finger, “no one really knows-” he swallows before continuing, “that we’re soulmates.” You pause in your drawing. 

“Why not?” You look up, confused, and then disappointed, leaking sadness out of the corners of your mouth, and it reminds Ren why he didn’t want to have this conversation in the first place.

“The First Order frowns upon connections that could put the organization at risk. Soulmates are seen as a hazard.” You nod solemnly, dropping the sketchbook into your lap and looking pensive. “Some people know, obviously, but it was decided that it would be better if we kept the true nature of our relationship secret.” He watches closely, taking in your microexpressions with a careful eye. You hum through your lips, deep in thought, and Ren waits anxiously to know what you’ll say next.

“So what will everyone else be told?” 

“We’ll keep the details private. Our marriage will be seen as a political alliance . . . would that be alright with you?”

“Of course,” you say, after a short pause, “it doesn’t really matter to me, whether there’s a wedding or not.” Ren relaxes, and you start another sketch, slower this time, more detailed.

“You never wanted a wedding?” he asks, watching your hand glide across the flimsi; your hands go on the list as well.

“I don’t think there’s been a wedding in my village . . . ever.” You look up into the distance, trying to remember. “When you live somewhere as remote as I did, most people meet their soulmates at a very young age. By the time they’re old enough for something like a wedding, they’ve usually been bonded for years. The additional ceremony is pointless.”

“What about people without soulmates?” Ren wonders out loud. It’s pretty common for people in the Order to marry without finding a soulmate, for political alliances or companionship, but your life is so different from his. Despite the difference, it’s easy for him to talk to you. He never feels like you’re judging him. Being around you is like being someone else and himself wrapped up into a person who makes sense.

“They stay in the village, help raise the children and take care of the cattle and whatever else is needed. We support them when they are too old to work. In a way, we become their soulmates when we care for them.” You smile fondly at the memories, and he watches the faces of old friends flash by in your head.

“Seems sad.”

“Not forever,” you say, and then pause before adding, “I thought I was one of them. The sadness doesn’t last.” You set your drawings to the side and stand from the couch, stretching for a moment.

“Are you glad,” he asks, even though it scares him to hear your answer, “that you’re not . . .  one of them?” You go to him, sitting at his side and curling yourself up next to him. The couch is already too small for him alone, but he can’t be uncomfortable when you show him affection like this.

“Yes,” you smile, and he places one hand in your hair, always trying to gauge the invisible boundary between not enough and too much. Will he ever be too much for you? The thought haunts him.

“What about after the wedding?” You ask quietly, your face buried in the fabric of his shirt.

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it traditional for the couple to . . . go somewhere? Like, a honeymoon?” Oh. Ren’s heart races, he’s suddenly highly aware that he can feel you everywhere on him, the press of your body against his a little terrifying now. All your contact up until this point had been initiated by you, never more than an innocent resting of your head on his shoulder when you sleep or the brush of your fingers against his arm when you’re walking side by side down the corridor. He hadn’t wanted to pressure you, to make you uncomfortable, but it was difficult to maintain control, his eyes always managing to catch the gleam of a zipper at the back of your dress, or the shape of your hips underneath the fabric of your jumpsuit. And now you're inviting more, and it frightens him how much he wants it.

“I- I don’t think I could leave,” he says with some difficulty, purposely avoiding the true nature of your question, “I need to stay on the ship.”

“That’s a shame,” you reply. You’re looking at him now, your chin resting on his sternum, and your eyes examine him mischievously; you recognize the effect that you’re having on him, and you like it. It calms him a little, knowing how easily you accept him as he is. “I guess we’ll have to have a honeymoon here.” You roll off of the couch without warning, and run your fingers down the length of his arm. The gesture makes him shiver, and he can’t look at you when he feels this way.

“I’ll tell the general to schedule the wedding as soon as possible,” Ren says, focusing all his energy on keeping his voice steady. You bend down to eye level where he lies, and place a lingering kiss on his temple before whispering in his ear.

“I can’t wait.”

Jaig Eyes (Ch 68)

Jaig Eyes (68/?)

Summary:

Kida, a former slave who now thrives as a bounty hunter, finds herself sucked into the war she advised Jango Fett against. Now that she’s involved, she has to finally mourn the loss of Jango, seeing his face in the clones that man the GAR. What happens when she allows herself to get attached to one, not for his resemblance to her former mentor, but for his heart?

————————-

Chapter Sixty-Eight: Peace Talks

Despite having been on Mandalore before, I’d never actually been inside the domed capital city of Sundari. Obi-wan had talked of it often, in the many times he’d told stories to the clones on late nights during campaigns. He told epic tales of his time protecting the young Duchess Satine. His men saw them as morale-boosting war stories. But I knew better. I knew the true allure that laid within those memories for Obi-wan. He was telling love stories.

And what a better setting for them? The city was beautiful, reminding me of what Coruscant’s lower levels would look like if they were well-maintained.

And cared about art.

Having rejected the old Mandalorian way, the new pacifist government didn’t even let me wear my beskar in. I had to leave it, along with all of our weapons, back on the shuttle. Knowing this would happen, I’d asked Padme why she wanted me along.

We’d been sitting in her apartment on Coruscant when she’s suggested it. I’d told myself, while guiding my speeder through the air towards her, that I was going there to look for Anakin. He had to be told about what happened...right?

But deep down, I felt that he already knew. And that he was at the Jedi Temple, trying to sort this all out. 

And the truth was that I was going to Padme’s apartment for her and the comfort she provided to me. I’d exited my speeder and entered her apartment without issue, her security system still recognizing me. I hadn’t even bothered to change after leaving the transport that brought me back from Umbara.

When the senator saw me, she only held out her arms to me, her face sad. Anakin must have told her. Or maybe she saw the entire story etched into the lines of my face.

I ran to her, letting the kind woman take me under her wing as she had with her younger sisters when they were young. She listened. Consoled. Forced me to clean up and then fed me. 

The Coruscant skyline was bathed in the golden light of the sunset when Padme finally suggested a new mission. She saw it as a leave of absence without actually asking for one. I’d go with her to some rather uncertain attempt at peace talks, as I had once been her personal security, and be able to escape the battlefield for a bit.

She claimed Anakin needed it sometimes, too. It made sense. After all, I’d given it to the clones when Echo died. 

I felt overcome with guilt as I stood beside Padme’s chair, my hands folded behind my back. Here I was, taking on an easy mission without even thinking about looking after the clones. Of course, I’d tried to see them, but they were all on lock-down, more or less.

Considering all that had happened, there was a lot of briefing to be done. Even Rex, who had snuck away for a moment to comm me on our private channel, told me that he’d likely not be able to see me for a while...until all the protocol and scrutiny was gone.

I had a fair share of my own, of course, considering I raged out on a Jedi. Still, Dogma took the brute of it all, willingly. I wanted to defend him. To leap forward into the Chancellor’s office and explain that I was every bit as willing as Dogma to shoot Krell. I’d chopped two of the Jedi’s arms off, for Ka’ra’s sake. 

But in the end, what use would that be? I’d just get more of us tried for treason. And Dogma’s mind screamed that. This was his redemption. So I let him.

That didn’t mean I’d ever stop feeling the guilt, though.

My attention was dragged back to the room when I felt a spike of frustration ripple from the representatives across from us. Beside me, sitting in a simple chair, was Senator Amidala. Beside her were Senators Organa and Mothma. Behind us were a line of Republic Senatorial Guards.

To my far left, overseeing the meeting, was Duchess Satine. She’d remembered me well. I felt the confused emotions towards me when I’d first entered the room. I’d kept her and Obi-wan’s secret. But I’d also murdered a guy. Which was bad to her, even if it was to save an entire ship of people. But whatever.

On the other side of the throne room were Seperatist representatives. There was a Gossam, named Amita Fonti. A Siniteen I knew to be called Bec Lawise. And finally, Voe Atell, who was glaring rather darkly at Padme as she spoke.

I forced myself to tune back in. “The Republic recognized the tragedy of war, but there is nothing we can change that has already occurred.” I swallowed thickly past the frown that wanted to climb to my lips. In the end, Padme was right that there was no way to alter the past.

Still, that didn’t mean we should ignore it. The past was there to learn from it. And even though she didn’t mean it that way, I felt it came across as….dismissive?

Unfortunately, the Separatists didn’t know Padme’s heart like I did. Nor could they feel her genuine emotions when she spoke.

Thus….

“Say it aloud before this gathering,” Voe Atell demanded, “As representative of Chancellor Palpatine, that you declare, without reservation, the Seperatist State legitimate.”

I cut my eyes sideways to see Padme frown in the following silence. We both knew she didn’t have the authority to do that. Nor would she, under the circumstances that the Separatists are being led by a Sith. Of course, it’s not like we could tell them that and they’d believe us.

When I became worried that I’d die from the tense pressure building in the room, a voice finally spoke. “I have something to say about the legitimacy of the Separatists.” I leaned my head forward slightly, peering around Padme’s chair to see a young man who looked no older than myself. He was handsome, his hair swept to the side and his dress proper.

A senator, I assumed, but not one I recognized on sight. And then it made a bit more sense.

“It’s Lux Bonteri,” Bec Lawise whispered, seeming alarmed. 

“Why is Lux Bonteri here?” Voe asked at the same time, her gaze casting worriedly across the Republic Senators.

“What could he possibly have to say?” Lawise spoke again, this time louder and intending to mock the young man. Still, Bonteri didn’t seem bothered as he walked between the opposing groups to approach the Mandalorian throne.

My brow arched, my arms crossing before my chest to try and smother my amusement. I’d had the absolute pleasure of interacting with his mother once. Since then, I found it good fun to watch her absolutely decimate people with her ability to argue. She was a damned good politician, and she cared for her people. It was a shame her people lost her so early.

It seemed her son inherited her tendency to piss people off. I smirked when I heard Voe hiss, “He was not invited.” As if this was a fancy dinner party. Please. If I could get an invitation to this stupid thing, I wasn’t surprised the son of a senator got in.

I leaned down to Padme’s side as Bonteri passed, his gaze passing over us. For a moment, I saw a flash of disappointment. Huh. I’d investigate that later. But for now….

“Was this planned in any way? Cause if so, I’d like to be filled in next time,” I whispered in Padme’s ear.

She glanced at me, shaking her head. Usually she at least had a glimmer in her eye when I joked. But this time, there was only worry. I sobered immediately, looking back as Lux bowed to the duchess.

“I don’t know what he’s doing,” she whispered back. Her tension was distracting. Damn my emotional connections to people. 

With a small sigh, I touched Padme’s shoulder gently, resting my hand there. She eased slightly, letting me smooth over some of her anxieties with the Force. Bonteri turned back to us, having received permission to speak from Satine.

“I stand before you,” he began steadily, “Son of Mina Bonteri, loyal Separatist, a patriot, a friend.” He cast his eyes towards Padme briefly, that spark of disappointment igniting in him again when he saw me beside her. I tilted my head, curious. 

There was a wide range of emotions I was used to feeling when people laid eyes on me. Disappointment, weirdly...wasn’t one of them. Fear was usually more likely. 

“It has come to my attention that my mother was murdered by Count Dooku in cold blood!” 

My jaw dropped open as the boy spoke, my hand tightening on Padme’s shoulder when she tensed in fear. Bec Lawise leapt from his chair immediately. “That is a lie! Remove this traitor immediately.” 

On pure instinct, I moved to step forward as two commandos grabbed Bonteri. Padme’s hand quickly grabbed mine, keeping me glued to her shoulder. I tugged at her for a second, but a firm look stilled my movements.

“I will not be silenced!” Bonteri cried as he was dragged away from the throne. 

Duchess Satine rose angrily. “Stop this!”

Voe Atell got up from her seat as well, her voice terribly respectful. My nose crinkled at her. “We would ask you to respect that we deal with this matter ourselves.”

“No,” Lux cried, his hands bound as he was led from the room. “Dooku is deceiving you! You will all be betrayed, just like my mother!” My jaw set as the doors snapped closed behind him and his captors. What if that were true? Did Dooku murder Mina?

If so….

“I apologize for such a rude interruption,” Lawise announced to the room. “Please let us continue.”

The representatives all settled back into their chairs, the room filling with a low mumble as they reorganized themselves. I took the opportunity to lean down again, my hand still held against Padme’s shoulder.

“Senator, we can’t just let them take him. He could be killed for what he said. And if it’s true…”

Padme looked at me over her shoulder, nodding slightly, her brows furrowed. “Do what you can. But be discreet.”

I smirked. “If I’m not, you can just blame the bounty hunter.”

“Not funny.” 

Still, despite the words that left her mouth, the slight glimmer of humor was back as I turned and slipped from the room before the discussions could continue. I guess that meant she trusted me to save Mina’s son.

I only hoped she was placing that trust correctly.

A quick shuttle back to the landing platforms revealed Bonteri to me again. The Separatist platform was crawling with commandos--and these ones were armed, since they were outside the city.

Osik.

Ducking between crates, I made my way to the right edge of the platform, watching Bonteri be led up the ramp past two guards. Apart from those two, I counted another patrolling the walkway and a fourth at the front of the ship.

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I slipped along the side of the walkway, staying out of sight. I stopped, pressing myself to the metal wall, listening to the droid walking on the platform above. My eyes closed, my hand opening at my side, palm facing the sky. The Force moved at my gentle nudging, closing around the commando walking its patrol route.

My fingers clenched quickly, my fist dragging backwards. With the movement, I pulled the droid with the Force, sending it hurtling past me and towards the desolate surface of the planet far below.

Of course, this drew the attention of the other droids. But not enough for them to call for help. I leapt from the ledge, knowing three commandos would be looking over it any moment. Thankfully, while the Mandalorians had taken my weapons, they didn’t take my grapple.

I aimed it up, the tether securing against the underside of the platform and swinging me to the opposite side. A little help from the Force and a whole lot of practice…. And I was up on the left side of the platform, the droids all searching frantically off the other side.

I couldn’t help but smirk as my grapple detached and I raced aboard after the Bonteri boy. The Force moved darkly, and while I knew he wasn’t aboard, I knew someone was conversing with Dooku. It was freaky, how powerful his presence could be, even when he wasn’t fully there.

The Force whispered as I hurried after Lux’s signature; He was in trouble. I stopped at a door, a familiar pompous voice speaking, “I think it is time we reacquaint the young senator with his mother. Kill him.”

Nope. 

The door hissed open under my touch, revealing a kneeling Bonteri before a hologram of Dooku. Two commandos stood on either side of the young man. With a confident smirk to Dooku, I thrust out my hands, the first droid rocketing backwards and into the hologram projector. The count’s image disappeared as I vaulted off the wall, slamming my feet into the faceplate of the second commando. They fell together in a sizzling heep, their mechanics whirring.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Do you care?,” I replied, waving his curiosity away. We’d have time for that after we were gone. “I’m not currently trying to murder you, so I’d say that I’m a step up.” I gestured to the fallen droids, my hand on my hip.

Admittedly, I probably didn’t look like much. The only tough-looking thing about me was the scars that marred my face. I didn’t even have my beskar to make me look intimidating. I was in more civilian-typical clothes--gray pants with a black leather jacket. It’s not like I looked like a bounty hunter. Or someone who could Force-push a droid into a wall.

Thankfully, Lux shrugged in agreement, following me into the elevator. As we descended, I tapped my comms, wishing the Mandalorians had let me keep my advanced communications system. And by that, I mean that I wished I could call to Apex for help.

Still, R2 wasn’t a poor substitute by any means. “R2,” I said into my comms, waiting for the door to hiss open again. “Prep the shuttle. We’ve gotta go.” The astromech beeped back dutifully, but with a touch of snark.

I smirked, thankful Anakin had loaned R2 to Padme. He did that a lot, actually, which made me even more sure that they were the worst kept secret of the Jedi Order. I mean….her protocol droid was literally Anakin’s creation.

I shook that thought away, focusing on now. Leading Lux from the elevator when the doors snapped open. The commandos that had been searching for me earlier had returned to their posts beside the ramp. I raced down the gangway, leaping onto the back of the first commando. Locking my legs around its hips, I swung my weight sideways, pulling us both to look at the other droid.

The other guard was aiming at us, but not firing since the commando was in my way. I wrestled with my captive quickly, firing off two shots from the commando’s weapon to take out the other. I finally wrenched my arms sideways, ripping off my captor’s faceplate.

Landing deftly on my feet, I glanced at Lux, who just seemed shocked. “Come on,” I growled, leading us away as the final guard at the ship chased after the sound of blaster fire. We hurried across the landing pads, more commandos converging on our position and opening fire without hesitation.

I still didn’t have my weapons, so there wasn’t much I could do but run faster and hope the young senator had kept his cardio up. I ducked into the gorgeously decorated halls that threaded through the landing pads. I was surprised to see the senator right on my heels as we rounded a corner.

“You were with Senator Amidala,” he panted as we ran, ducking blaster fire. “Listen, I appreciate the help but--”

I grabbed his collar, dragging him around a corner as four shots rocketed past where he had just been standing. Glass shattered to the floor around us when the shots decimated the glass walls. He breathed slowly, moving to thank me, but I ran off. “Run now, talk later,” I called.

Thankfully, he seemed to agree, following me through the winding paths I’d memorized on the flight here. Padme had been busy with the other senators attempting to develop a plan for their peace negotiations. So, being who I was, I planned for the worst and memorized the layout of the landing pads….especially the areas occupied by the Republic and Separatist forces.

I rounded the corner onto the platform manned by the Republic. The ship we’d arrived on--a Senatorial shuttle called ‘Phoenix’-- was well-guarded by Senatorial Guards. “Captain Taggart,” I called to the leader I recognized, having met him many times when I worked for Padme, “I’ve made some friends.”

He dropped his gun from his shoulder as I stopped beside him, Lux racing out of the hallway after me. The sound of the droids approaching echoed towards us. “Friends?” the captain repeated, slowly turning his weapon towards the hall entrance.

“Care to say hi?” I asked sarcastically, grabbing Lux’s shoulder when he was close enough, only to throw him behind me and towards the shuttle. 

“We’ll cover you, sir,” Taggart yelled dutifully as his men opened fire on the incoming droids. I turned and ran after Lux, following him up the gangway and into the shuttle. 

I tapped my wrist comm swiftly. “Go, R2,” I called, hearing the engines engage. The droid dutifully navigated us away from the platforms outside Sundari before we even made it to the cockpit. The moment we did, he beeped happily, notifying me of an incoming message.

I sat in the seat closest to the console, patting the astromech’s head as he rolled past and out of the room. “Kida,” Anakin’s voice greeted through the hologram as he shimmered into existence, “Padme just contacted me.” I flinched slightly at his informal reference to the senator. He didn’t know Lux was with me. “She told me the peace negotiations have all but collapsed.” That was unfortunate. As much as I never expected them to succeed, I still held some small hope that my pessimism wouldn’t be right for once. “Where are you?” the Jedi finally asked.

“Senator Amidala,” I said with a blatant clear of my throat to tell Anakin I wasn’t alone, “Sent me after Lux Bonteri after the Separatists threatened his life. We’re on our way to Coruscant now.” I didn’t worry about whether Padme could get back. She was more than safe on Mandalore until an alternative transport could be found.

“Master Jedi,” Bonteri interrupted over my shoulder, earning a raised brow from me, “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble.”

“It’s fine,” I dismissed, sensing Anakin’s interested expression. “The Republic can keep you safe from Dooku.” Strangely, I felt some disappointment from the boy. What was I missing? I wanted to root into his mind a bit more, but I had to be careful. He was a clever one, and I wouldn’t go unnoticed if I didn’t take my time. And right now, Skywalker was talking again.

“Alright,” he conceded, “Bring Bonteri to Coruscant immediately and we’ll discuss giving him amnesty.”

“Got it.” I tapped the projector, cutting off the connection with Anakin. When I rose to calculate our jump, though, a darkness moved in the cockpit. I turned around abruptly, seeing Lux aim a pistol at me. “What the shab are you doing?” I growled, my muscles coiling in apprehension.

“I can’t go with you,” he said, holding me at gunpoint. “I don’t even know who you are. You work for the Republic and wield the Force, but you’re not Jedi.”

I popped my hip, my arms crossing grumpily. “A thank you, would be nice,” I mocked him, acting unbothered by the weapon in my face. “And no, I’m not a Jedi. But clearly I work for them.” In a flash, I reached out and ripped the gun from his inexperienced grip, turning it back on him. 

Lux raised his hands to his side, his eyes wide with shock. “Don’t.”

“Relax, pretty boy,” I chuckled, taking the aim off him and examining the weapon. “Where did you even get one of these? You’re a senator’s kid, not a fighter.”

The boy frowned at me. “My mother was.” I glanced away as he continued, the gun dropping to be held at my side. “And I’m no longer a Seperatist, either. I won’t join the Republic.”

I crossed my arms. “I never said you had to. But if you want protection, the Republic is your best bet. Especially since you’re running around accusing Dooku of murder.”

“There is a different way.” The way he said that scared me. His voice deepened, the energy around him darkening ominously. 

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

His anger flared slightly as he sighed at me. “I’ve already made contact with a group on Carlac who are noble and are allied with my cause.”

“Your cause?” My brow lifted suspiciously. Anytime anyone said they were aligning with a group that shared their goal….oftentimes led to me finding out that someone was associating with a very dangerous group. “And what might that be?”

The Force darkened around the young Bonteri boy. “To kill Dooku.”

I couldn’t help the snort of laughter that burst from my nose. I crossed my arms again over my leather jacket, giving the kid a smirk. “I’ve tried that. Trust me, the only one you’ll succeed in killing is yourself.” I cast him a sideways glance as I approached the console again, beginning to type in the coordinates for Coruscant. “Besides, your plan doesn’t seem to be well thought out, Bonteri. If it weren’t for me, how would you even be alive right now?”

I felt him move before her did, making me pivot in my stance beside the pilot’s chair. “Like this!” the young senator grunted as he lunged forward with a taser. I grabbed his wrist, but was surprised by his strength. Both of his hands slammed down over mine, shoving the taser down and into my chest.

“You--” I would have cussed him out in every language I knew, but my blood felt like it was boiling in my veins from the electricity. I blacked out, my legs buckling.

The boy was kind enough to catch me as I fell, cradling me against him. “I’m sorry,” I heard him whisper. It sounded genuine.

Of course, that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to punch his lights out the second I woke up. 

-------------------------------------------

MANDO’A

Ka’ra-- stars; ruling council of fallen kings

Shab-- fuck

Services No Longer Required

A/N: probably not the kind of smooch you thought you were gonna get with this one, but a smooch nonetheless! This is a one shot with no connection to any other Logan AU or fics I’ve posted. And it ran completely away with itself.

Warning: language, discussion of sexual assault

Word Count: 4,780 (oops)

Prompt: from @gollyderek

You tried not to roll your eyes as you raised your glass to your lips. It was expensive champagne; you knew because you hated it. You could taste the pretension in the way it flaunted its dryness like no liquid should. Swallowing the whole flute in one go, you sucked air through your teeth to cleanse your palate of the cloying wealth. A server came by, skin tight dress painted onto her mathematically perfect proportions, and you plucked another glass from her tray, trading it with your empty one. The sudden fluctuation in weight distribution on the tray would have made the average attendant spill the remaining refreshments, but she adjusted beautifully. Of course she did.

“Are you enjoying your evening, miss?” the server blinked at you from behind lush lashes, her wide eyes bright, her plump lips open at just the right degree.

You peeled your eyes away from the display you’d been failing to avoid across the room, letting them land heavily on the smiling, overpriced piece of equipment in front of you. One manicured finger tapped against the glass you’d snatched as you considered how to answer her, Logan’s hand sliding slowly over the shoulder of the man whose ear he was whispering into catching the corner of your eye. Not at all, but my job requires me to be here so here the fuck I am. “Yeah, sweetheart, it’s a real blast.” You wondered if these fuckbots spoke sarcasm.

She smiled, her round cheeks shrinking her eyes as her lips drew up into a bow. Wonder if he designed this one. Picked out the tits or the mouth or… You didn’t want to think about what else Logan may or may not have requested on the particular model in front of you. “Well if there’s anything you need,” she gave a little giggle that matched the bubbles in the champagne.

This time you didn’t bother trying to hide your eyeroll. “Yeah. If there’s anything I need, doll, I’ll let you know.” She doesn’t speak sarcasm, but I’m fucking fluent. Her saccharine smile left a sour taste in your mouth. You took another sip of champagne to counter it as she flounced off, not a drop spilled as she swayed through the crowded ballroom, hips and ass trailing behind her, barely concealed beneath the shimmering white fabric. Who even falls for that shit anyway? A quick glance in either direction yielded at least seven pairs of eyes glued hungrily to her curves. You wanted to be surprised, but you’d shared a conference table with some of these men, and so you couldn’t be. Come on, Tom, you’re married for fuck’s sake.

You reluctantly returned your eyes to the far side of the palatial space, and were met with Logan’s, waiting for yours. His eyes were brown, you knew, the color of coffee without cream. But right now, his teeth flashing in a grin before clamping around the earlobe he’d just shared a secret with, they were coal black, embers flickering dangerously in their depths. Logan’s grin curved around the man’s flesh as he maintained eye contact with you. The recipient of the bite let his eyes roll closed and you felt your nostrils flare. Oh, come on Logan, really? You drained the contents of your glass and set it on a credenza as your heels clicked across the marble floor, finally unable to just sit back and watch.

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

It had been almost six months to the day that you’d met Logan Delos. His family attorney had hired you to help “protect his image” after incriminating photos that hinted at a sex scandal were leaked to the press alongside damaging accusations that had been proven false, but still threatened to mar Logan’s- and by extension, Delos’- reputation. You thought you’d known what to expect when it came to Logan; in fact, you had even gone so far as to argue with your boss about taking him on as a client. But Delos Inc. and its subsidiaries had been using your firm for years.

“They’re one of our oldest and most important clients,” Cynthia, your boss had said in an even tone from behind her coffee mug. “And you’re one of the best we’ve got now.” She looked at you, the power in her green eyes magnified by the black rimmed glasses that were perched high on her nose. You let out a miniscule breath and clenched your jaw. You’d just received a promotion that came with a substantial raise due to the work you’d done on the last case you’d been assigned to- a pop star coming back to a wavering fan base after a stint in rehab- and you knew that Cynthia assigning you to the Delos account meant that she was reinforcing her faith in your ability to represent her firm. “This is the sort of thing you’re going to be handling now,” she told you seriously. “Playboys and pill poppers in the public eye with too much money and a penchant for extraordinary mistakes. That something you can handle?” She set her coffee down on the polished mahogany desk between you, observing every little tick and twitch in the muscles of your cheeks and lips. She’d always been good at reading people, you knew, which was why she’d been able to climb as high as she had in her profession.

You knew it was fruitless to try to hide what you were thinking. You shook your head, resigned to the fact that you’d have to take on the case. “Cyn, just tell me if you think he’s guilty before I get into this, okay? I know what the court verdict was but… what do you think?”

Cynthia flattened her hands on the desk and tilted her head. “I’d never send you into a lie, you know that.” You nodded. Yeah, I know, just… “And I have personally worked with Logan Delos in the past, and I can tell you with 100% certainty that there is no way that he is guilty. He takes his work and his career and his company far too seriously to ever jeopardize it. Is he a sharp tongued asshole who loves to flirt and dives headfirst into excess? Absolutely, so you’ll have your hands full. But under all that…” she looked for a more professional term but came up short, rolling her eyes. “Under all that bullshit, he’s a decent man. Smart, too.” She sighed. “Actually one of the few that I like to work with, because he values a professional opinion.”

“Alright, Cyn,” you smoothed your hair back. Guess this is happening. “When do I leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. You’re on the 9am to Los Angeles.” Cynthia slid a packet of information across the desk to you, your travel itinerary on top. “It’s a six month assignment, so we rented out an apartment for you.” Six months? Damn. The longest assignment you’d had prior to this one had been half that time, and you’d been able to stay in NYC for most of it, only travelling with your client when necessary. You flipped through the file as Cynthia continued speaking. “Because of the circumstances, you’ll have a temporary office within the Delos Inc. building. You’ll be working closely with Mr. Delos and several other entities, and you will be expected to attend all public appearances and events.” Working closely with Mr. Delos? You looked up from the information then, hands frozen midway through flipping the page. Usually you worked behind the scenes, putting out fires before they had a chance to spark. Actually attending events and getting that much face time with your clients was something completely new for you. You recovered, looking back down at the file in your hand, eyes scanning the printed packet and going wide when they landed on the keywords: sexual indiscretion, abuse of power, sexual assault.

It’s not true. You reminded yourself. The accuser was found to be lying, and the whole situation had been fabricated or spun grossly out of control; some assistant claiming that Logan had forced himself on her, holding her career over her head in exchange for sexual favors. You flipped another page in the packet and landed on a profile of Logan’s past relationships- a model, an actor, an heiress, another model, a member of the Russian ballet- none of them were Delos employees. Even without having met him, you knew that the accusation didn't fit his M.O.

Another flip of the pages in your hand uncovered photos that made your breath catch slightly. Oh, damn. Yeah this isn’t a man that has to force himself on...anyone. They were tabloid shots, one of Logan getting out of a gleaming black limo, long legs in perfectly tailored dress pants, one hand in the pocket of his jacket, arm bent at an angle that showed off his trim figure. His nutty brown eyes were warm above the blinding smile he wore, and even though it was just a photo you could tell that he moved with confidence from the stance that he took. The second photo was taken in a restaurant, Logan’s long fingers wrapped around a glass that he was using to gesture with. He was speaking animatedly about something to two men and a woman, his eyebrows raised and his mouth open. All three at the table with him were Delos employees according to the notes that were paperclipped to the photo page, and the female intern pictured was the one who had launched the accusations. The two men present had been called on to share their side of the story, both of them making it clear that they had not witnessed any inappropriate behavior at that dinner or at any other time. Your eyes went back to Logan, to the magnetic way that he drew the attention of those around him. Again, it was just a photo, but you could feel his energy coming through the page in the way that he so comfortably carried himself.

You looked up at Cynthia and found her studying your reactions to the photos. “As you can see, he’s quite the catch.” You cursed yourself for the color you felt rising to your cheeks. “And combined with his net worth, you can see why someone would get the idea into their head that he could be threatened for not giving them what they wanted.” You glanced back down at the pictures, and felt a twinge of sympathy for the overwhelmingly attractive young man in them. “The accusations were dismissed, and the intern has been fired and is being sued for defamation of character, but the connotations of a situation like this stick. Delos is concerned that the public memory of this incident will be that Logan can’t be trusted with female employees.” Cynthia rolled her eyes once more. “No one’s worried about his male employees apparently. Sexist fucking country we live in.” You let out a small laugh. From the list of relationships you’d reviewed, it was clear that Logan spent just as much time with men as he did with women. “So, part of the reason why you will be working so closely with him, is to improve that public memory. Of course you’ll offer advice about how he should behave for the next few months to shake this story, tell him to tone down the flirting and all that. But the other benefit is that you’ll prove that Logan Delos can work with a woman without making an advance on her.”

“Well, since I’m not on billboards or runways I’m not really his type, so that should be no problem.” You closed the information packet and set it on the desk. “Thanks for trusting me with this one, Cyn. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. And we’ll have weekly conferences so you can let me know what’s going on. I’m always available if you need advice, but,” she stood and you did the same. “I have no doubts that you can handle this one like a pro.” She’d walked you out of her office then, and the next morning your bags were packed and you were boarding a flight out of the cold and into the sunshine.

The first meeting with Logan confirmed what you’d read in those photos- his confidence was off the charts. He was entirely comfortable in any setting, because he was entirely comfortable in his own skin. He knew who he was and he made no apologies for it. He was equally as proud of his business dealings as he was of his three months of sobriety from heroin and painkillers, and as eager to leave the mess of this situation behind him as he seemed to be to show you around the building. At the end of the tour he’d shown you to your office, just two doors down from his own. You thanked him, and set your things down, starting to settle in. You thought he’d left, but when you turned back around he was still standing in the doorway, an almost tentative look crossing his handsome features. That’s different.

“Can I talk to you for a minute? About all this…” he gestured to the briefcase you’d opened on the desk.

You nodded, holding a hand out to indicate that he should go on. “Sure Mr. Delos-��

“You can call me Logan, it’s fine,” he waved you off, pulling the door closed behind him. You made sure to keep the desk between you, as even though the door was shut, the large window allowed anyone passing through the hall to peek in, and you didn’t want any of them getting any ideas about what was going on.

You nodded again. “Okay, Logan. Look, if you’re worried about my qualifications, I can assure you that-”

He cut you off again by holding up one hand, pointer finger extended. “No, that’s not… Delos has been using your firm forever. I trust Cynthia, so I trust you. I’m sure we’re gonna butt heads, but I know you’re gonna do a great job with this fucking mess.”

You cleared your throat as he kept his eyes on you. “Well, I’m glad to hear that Mr. Del- Logan.”

He took a step closer, and that tentative look was still there. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter and you were struck by the seriousness in his eyes. “I want you to know that none of it was true. I didn’t...I’d never do what she said I did.” I know… You had been skeptical only for a few minutes, before Cynthia put your doubts to rest, before you read through the packet, before you met the man in front of you. “This company means...everything to me, so I’d never do anything that would…” he shook his head, a piece of hair falling loose. He swiped it back and out of his eyes. “But more than that, I’d never use my position to manipulate someone… I’ve been on the other end of that...I respect my employees. And I’d never do anything like that to someone I respect...Hell I’d never do anything like that to anyone, respect or not.” He blinked, but you could see how much he wanted you to believe him in those dark chocolate eyes. “Look, I’ve… I’ve been with people who I’ve worked with before, but only after they’d left the company or after their services ended. I’m...careful about it…” he let out a derisive laugh. “Even if that’s the only thing I’m careful about.”

He was showing you a small crack in the confident facade with this honesty, and even though you suspected that he was right- you’d likely butt heads plenty of times over the next few months as you helped him repair the public opinion of him- you found yourself growing angry that someone would throw such damaging lies at someone as honest and sincere as Logan. You gave him a small smile that you hoped was reassuring. “I know, Logan. I believe you fully. It’s despicable, the lengths some people are willing to go to for a little attention. I truly am sorry that this happened to you, and we’re going to do everything we can to make sure that it’s entirely behind you.”

He nodded, hands in his pockets. “Good. Well, I’ll let you get settled. You know where my office is if you need anything.”

You thanked him, and he left the door to your office open as he left, turning down the hall to go to his own office, double the size of yours as it should be. He’s intense… this is going to be quite the assignment… You blew air out through your lips as you sunk into your desk chair, wasting no time in getting to work on a blueprint for this project: Cut back on the flirting in public, show up to any and all press releases to show that he’s more invested in the business than the business interns, strong emphasis on giving back to the community, large donations to foundations that support equality in the workplace, etc.

The six months had passed much more quickly than you would have guessed. The first fundraising event that you’d attended had left you feeling like Cinderella at the ball… combined with a little bit of fairy godmother as you reminded Logan not to get too physical with his date for the event, and that he should make a speech to draw attention to the cause that was being supported. He’d groaned and called you a buzzkill, but he’d done what you’d asked, and that had pretty much set the tone for every interaction. “You’re no fun,” was a commonly used phrase, and he’d taken to introducing you to certain people as his “own personal killjoy”. You rolled your eyes and played along, but you knew that he appreciated the work that you were doing, because he heeded your every suggestion. Your private meetings with him had become less and less daunting as time went on and the two of you got to know one another, allowing for less walking on eggshells and more nitty gritty facts, eventually causing Logan to eye you suspiciously from across your desk one afternoon, and say “Ya know, I think you know more about my personal life than anyone I’ve ever dated.”

You swallowed the coffee you’d just sipped and stared at him. Despite the sometimes cocky way he’d behaved, and the seemingly unquenchable sex drive, you had to admit that you liked Logan. As a person. He happened to be the most physically appealing person you’d ever laid eyes on, but you were learning things about him that you liked, too. “It’s my job to know these things, Logan.” But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t also enjoy it.

“It won’t be your job forever,” he pointed out. “You gonna just forget all that stuff when you leave? File it away in some cabinet somewhere until I make my next big mistake?” There was a mischievous spark in his eye as he asked.

Couldn’t forget you if I wanted to and you know it. You shook your head. “Still have a few weeks here.”

“Too bad,” he muttered, and you couldn’t tell what he meant- too bad that you were leaving soon? Too bad that you’d have to move on to another client? Too bad that you were still an employee and therefore off limits? Don’t be stupid, he can’t be interested in you when he’s got runway models on speed dial.

You cleared your throat. Change the subject. “Let’s talk about the Delos anniversary party. It’s coming up, and it’s the last event I’ll be on for. I’ve outlined some points that I think are important to stick to…” You watched the twitch of his lips as you brought it back to business. Is that...disappointment?

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

When it was finally time for the anniversary gala, the unofficial end to your contract with Delos Inc. and your time with Logan, you’d felt tense in a way you’d never felt at the end of an assignment before. Everything had gone perfectly, and Cynthia was more than pleased with the updates that you’d been giving her. But the last week leading up to the gala had been the most contentious with Logan. You’d reminded him that he shouldn’t worry about who to bring, that he should focus on celebrating the Delos brand and the success that the company has enjoyed, to which he replied that he wanted you to be his date.

“Logan. That would destroy everything we’ve been working on this whole time.” Is he fucking serious?

“Would just be nice to take someone to one of these things that actually knew me, that gave a fuck about more than my money.” He shrugged. “Can’t tell me you’re not interested.”

Son of a bitch. “Logan.” Of course I’m interested but that would ruin everything for both of us. “Come on, don’t be ridiculous.”

He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together. “No. Wouldn’t want to be ridiculous. Alright then, I’ll see you at the party. You can take one of the Hosts as your date if you want.” Hitting the “want” with a little more aggression than necessary, he turned on his heel and exited your office then, leaving you speechless and confused. What the fuck was that about?

For the most part, he’d stuck to the plan for the party. He’d chosen a tried and true date- a model named Raife that he’d been seen with plenty of times and who had never tried to exploit him or use him or do or say anything damaging. He’d made the speech that you’d written, he’d shook all the right hands and refrained from drinking too heavily. He hadn’t occupied the same square foot as you the entire evening, though you’d felt his eyes on you plenty of times, and they seemed pleased that you hadn’t come with anyone- even more pleased at your seeming distaste for the perfection of the Hosts that were present. All in all, he’d been behaving perfectly all night. But now that the party was winding down, getting into its final hour, he seemed hell-bent on raising a red flag. The intimate way he was interacting with Raife finally got your attention, and you’d seen him grin as you set your empty glass down on your way across the room.

You cleared your throat as you came to stand before him, arms crossed over your chest. “Logan, can I have a word with you?”

He remained seated, one arm draped over Raife’s shoulder. Instead of answering you, he nudged his date and turned to him. “See? What’d I tell you? She’s here to yell at me.” He looked up at you, shit eating grin on his face. “Go ahead, then.”

“A private word, please, Logan?” You arched one eyebrow to show that you meant business.

“I am in trouble,” he joked to Raife, who matched Logan’s smile with one of his own. Despite the teasing and the hard time he was obviously trying to give you, Logan stood and followed you out a nearby door into the empty hallway. A clock on the wall showed that it was just minutes to midnight and the end of the event.

“Logan, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” You asked, thoroughly annoyed with him for how he’d been acting ever since you told him that you couldn’t be his date a few days prior. “You’re just throwing everything we worked on away? Why?”

“So it worked?” His eyes flicked up to the clock and then back to you as a smirk grew on his face.

You sighed, utterly exasperated. You liked Logan. You’d come to think of him more as a friend than a client, learning about him, learning how to deal with him- how to deal with him when he was being a shit like he was now. But you also liked Logan, and because of that, you couldn’t wait for this job to be over, to be back in New York and far away from the thing you wanted most but couldn’t have. “What are you talking about? What worked?”

He watched the second hand tick up towards the twelve on the clock before taking a step towards you. “You’re jealous.” He licked his bottom lip, running his tongue along it.

“Jealous? Logan, what-”

Another step. “Raife knows I just needed someone for the night, you know. And technically,” the clock chimed midnight as he pointed to it, eyes firmly on you. “Technically, your services are no longer required here. You don’t work for me or with me or…”

“Logan. You can’t just…” you shook your head. Is he serious? He wanted my attention? Because he… “Logan, we can’t.” I want to, though.

He took one more step until there were only inches between you. He was careful not to touch you, but you felt your skin tingle at the thought that he was close enough to. “Why not?” he asked softly, softer than you’d heard him speak for the entire six months, much softer than the tone he’d taken with you in the past few days. “Why can’t we… I like you...you...you know me…”

I do know you, Logan, I know you too well. “Logan…”

He stood straight and put on his boardroom face, speaking your name in an authoritative tone. “Your services at Delos are no longer required.” He held the face for a few seconds, then let his smirk slide back across his lips. “And as such, I’d like to take you out.”

You swallowed, head spinning. What would Cynthia say? Is this even happening? I can’t, he’s...I mean, he’s...goddamnit. “Logan, I… my career, I… I can’t see my clients, I-”

“I’m not your client anymore. And I don’t plan to need your company’s services ever again...As boring as the last six months have been,” you rolled your eyes and so did he and despite yourself you felt a grin forming. “I’ve learned a lot from you...not just about how to save face, but about how I deserve to be treated and talked to and…”

“You deserve respect, Logan, and happiness and-”

“Then come out with me. Please. No one’s ever treated me like you have and...you didn’t just do what the job required, you bothered to get to know me. You gave a shit about me and not just the bottom line. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think you were gorgeous.” He dropped his voice. “And I never lie.”

“Logan, you don’t know how much I want to say yes, it’s just-”

“Then say yes. We don’t have to go out right away, you can go back to New York and then I can-” he shook his head. “I don’t know, I’ll come out there in a few weeks and it won’t be connected to work at all. Just...just say yes.”

You thought it through as much as you could with two glasses of champagne and Logan’s intense stare swirling through your brain. If we wait a while...if I go back home first… if I’m no longer connected to him for work… fuck it. He was over the top and loud and unapologetic. He was magnetic and attractive and you were just as enamoured by his personality as you were by his smile and his eyes. You liked Logan Delos, more than you thought possible when you first heard that you’d be working with him, and he was standing before you telling you the exact same thing. “Yes, Logan.”

His mouth dropped open but he snapped it shut, eyes warming and smile growing. “Yes?”

You laughed and nodded. “Yes. I’ll go out with you. In two weeks. In New York. And Logan?”

“Yeah?” His smile changed the tone of his voice with how genuine it was.

“I never want to work for you again.”

He laughed then, checking both sides of the hall before taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. They lingered on your knuckles and you felt warmth spread from your hand, up your arm and throughout your chest. It was the most chaste kiss he’d ever given anyone, but the way he kept his eyes locked on yours as he let his teeth graze your skin told you that he was capable of much more. “Deal,” he promised as he pulled away, fingertips brushing your palm before letting go of your hand.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @agent-bossypants @lexxierave @thesumofmychoices @belladonnarey @ymariejp @obscurilicious @ms-delos @songtoyou @gollyderek @traeumerinwitzhelden @breanime @drinix

Dial-a-priest (2/2)

A man slips his phone number into our favourite Fleabag’s back pocket, but it turns out to be a wrong number, connecting her directly to a priest. Chapter 2 of 2. Click here to read Chapter 1. Also on ao3.

"Is this the part where you ask me what I'm wearing?"

"What are you wearing?"

He looked down at himself. "Pyjamas."

"It's 7PM."

"They're comfy."

One night when he was just settling down with a cup of tea and another book, his phone rang.

"Hi," he said when he picked up.

"Hello, Father," said her voice at the other end of the line. English accent, a bit posh, wryly amused.

"You make voice calls? I thought you were a millennial."

"I'm old school. You're Irish."

"I know."

"I should have known. I was curious."

"Is this the part where you ask me what I'm wearing?"

"What are you wearing?"

He looked down at himself. "Pyjamas."

"It's 7PM."

"They're comfy."

"Aren't you going to ask me what I'm wearing?"

"OK, but we're not having phone sex."

"I'm wearing the world's least comfortable cocktail dress and about three rolls of tit tape."

"Do I want to know what tit tape is?"

"Probably not. I went to a bar again."

Interesting. "Why?"

"I don't know. The last time I talked to someone in a bar he clearly thought I was in dire need of the phone number of an Irish Catholic priest."

"What did you say to him?"

"I think I was probably charming. I usually am."

He chuckled. "You're not wrong. Did you have a good time?"

"No. Someone grabbed my arse and I left. Didn't even have a drink."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Usually I would have ended up going home with him. I didn't want that. I think I just wanted to... make a friend?"

"Do you have other friends? Family?"

"Not really. My sister lives in Finland half the time. I haven't talked to her in a long time. Do you have a sister?"

"No. Why haven't you talked to her?"

"She thinks I tried to shag her husband, which is patently ridiculous because her husband is loathsome."

The urge to give priestly advice was too difficult to overcome. "Why don't you try calling her? If it's been a while, she might be glad to hear from you."

"I guess. Do you have a brother?"

"Yes. Why does she think you tried to fuck her husband?"

"Are you close with your brother?"

He laughed. "No. You didn't answer my question."

"Why aren't you close with your brother?"

"Come on."

"I fucked my best friend's boyfriend and then she walked into traffic and that's why she's dead," she said in a rush. He could hear the wince in her voice.

"Fuck."

"So when I told my sister that her husband tried to kiss me on her birthday and he told her that it was the other way around, she chose to believe that slimy bastard instead of me."

He took a long moment to digest this new information before responding. "You're walking around with a lot of pain inside you, aren't you?" he said gently, his heart aching in sympathy.

"Yeah, but..."

"What?"

"I just..."

"What?"

"It's my fault," she said simply. "All of it, I caused it. That's why I'm trying... to be better. I don't want to do that any more."

"Everyone makes mistakes."

She huffed a laugh. "That's why they put rubbers on the end of pencils."

"I like that."

"You can have it for free. My next witticism will be priced on a sliding scale."

"You're funny."

"For the right price."

Unknown number: I texted my sister

Unknown number: we're going to have coffee

"I think I might be going crazy," he said without preamble when she picked up the phone.

"Well, you do have bats in the belfry."

"They're in the attic, and that's a bit of a sore spot at the moment, so fuck off."

"Why do you think you're going crazy?"

"OK so I was on a train."

"Yes?"

"We were delayed at East Croydon and I looked out the window."

"Sane so far, continue."

"There was a fucking fox! In the window! It was looking right at me! Nobody else seemed to notice it but I know I saw it."

"That's not outside the realms of possibility. There are a lot of foxes about."

He shuddered. "Don't remind me. But it was looking right at me. Right in my eyes."

"You're cute, why wouldn't it look at you?"

"We were there for half an hour and it didn't stop staring at me!"

"Why were you at East Croydon for half an hour?"

"Southern Rail."

"Ah, I take it back. Southern Rail? You are completely insane."

"Fuck you." He paused, backtracking a few sentences in the conversation. "Wait, I'm cute?"

"Goodnight, Father."

"Uh, goodnight then, I guess."

"Don't let the foxes bite."

"You don't need to tell me twice."

After a few weeks of this, he was ready to admit that theirs was the closest friendship he had.

She knew that he was really grateful for Pam's help but that he also found her annoying nearly all the time. She knew about his parents, and his brother, and his weird cousin who kept sending him conspiracy theories on Facebook. She knew about the puns he made in the parish newsletter, and she knew where he hid the G&Ts.

He knew about her dead best friend, and her family, and the way her guinea pig was kind of a jerk sometimes. He knew that she tended to call late at night or just after the lunch rush was over. He even looked up her café online (there weren't that many guinea pig-themed cafés in the world, it turned out) and it was only a few streets away.

Which was a total fucking disaster.

He was a priest, for fuck's sake. He'd made a vow to love only God and to love God's people as a father, and most certainly not to pin beautiful, witty, acerbic women to the nearest flat surface and kiss them until he can't breathe.

It was imperative that they never meet in person. He was careful not to tell her which church was his, never to mention local shops and restaurants. He very conscientiously avoided going within a mile of the café.

There was no way they were ever going to meet, and he'd nearly convinced himself that it was a good thing.

The priest was leafing through the hymnals to see which ones needed to be replaced and trying very hard not to think about his problems, when he noticed one of the Youthie Band loitering in the doorway.

"Hi Jake," he called. "Are you alright?"

"I forgot my bassoon," he said in a mournful tone. "My aunt is bringing it."

Strange kid, but probably harmless. "Oh, fun. How are your bassoon lessons going?"

Jake trained his attention on someone over the priest's shoulder, ignoring the question entirely.

"Where's Claire?" he asked plaintively.

"Hi, Jake," said a woman's voice, strangely familiar. "She didn't want to come with me because she thinks you're creepy."

"What?"

"I'm joking, she's at work."

The priest turned around to greet the new arrival (and possibly to stand up for Jake, although his creepiness was undeniable and probably deserved to be addressed), and his heart just about stopped. Standing before him was the physical manifestation of his ungodly desires made flesh, walking around as though his world wasn't about to explode.

"Here's your clarinet," she said, handing Jake the case.

"It's a bassoon," he protested.

"It's a birth control device."

"You must be Jake's aunt," said the priest, regaining the ability to speak.

"Step-aunt," she corrected, turning to him. She gave a little start when she made eye contact but other than that managed to maintain her composure. "Hello, Father," she said with a smirk, holding out her hand.

He shook it, noticing distantly that her slender hand had a firm grip. "So Claire's your sister?" he managed, drinking in the sight of her, even more lovely in reality, a walking temptation.

A complicated series of emotions flashed across her face, all of which he could actually decipher given all of their long conversations about her family situation - and isn't that weird? Being able to completely read someone when you're meeting them in person for the first time?

"Yeah, Claire's my sister."

Jake made a little squeaking sound on hearing the word "Claire", making the priest remember that he was still standing there.

"Do you have a rehearsal to get to, Jake?" he prompted gently.

Jake nodded and walked away without a word.

"OK, good talk," said the priest to Jake's retreating back. He turned back to her, suddenly nervous. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Uh, welcome to my church. Do you like tea?"

In answer, she gave him an incredulous look and made a bee-line for the third pew from the back of the church, bending over to retrieve the cache of G&Ts that he'd mentioned in passing the other day.

"I'd think we need something stronger than tea given the situation, don't you?" she said, throwing one to him.

He fumbled to catch the can and dropped it on the floor inelegantly with a few murmured curses.

"Now I think of it, I remember you mentioning that you were bad at sports," she said with an apologetic grimace.

He picked up the can and opened it gingerly, took a large and restorative swig, then ushered her into a side room for some privacy. They perched on rickety folding chairs opposite each other, and she stared into his eyes, studying him in a way that made him feel uncomfortably exposed.

"So you live ten minutes from my café," she stated flatly. He nodded. "Did you know this the whole time?"

He winced. "I figured it out a few weeks ago. I can't, I'm sorry, I didn't want to intrude," he lied. He had wanted to intrude, in so many ways.

She shrugged, amenably accepting his explanation. "I just assumed you lived in Ireland. I didn't know we still had Catholics here."

"We send a few over every year as a punishment for when you enslaved our whole country."

They laughed together, such an easy connection, and his fingers itched with the urge to grab her and kiss her.

"The photos didn't do you justice," she said, giving him a thorough and obvious once-over. The blood thrummed in his veins as his eyes drifted down her body in return.

He sucked in a breath and tried very hard to keep his cool.

"You're the single most beautiful human being I've ever seen, and the fact that you're in my church right now is ruining my fucking life," he blurted out.

Fuck.

She softened visibly and stood up, draining the rest of her drink. "I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do. We can just talk on the phone." She was watching him with immense gentleness, seeing right through into his very soul. "I like talking to you. It's OK."

"Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that, I don't want to send you away, I just-" He stood up, rubbing his temples with one hand. "I like talking to you, too," he said softly, looking utterly lost.

She crossed the room and took his face in her hands, bringing their foreheads to rest together. "I'm glad I met you," she whispered, slipping her fingers to card through his hair. He leaned into the touch like a needy cat and let out a shuddering breath.

She pulled away to press a chaste kiss to his forehead, getting ready to leave, and something inside him snapped. He backed her up against the crumbling brick wall, and finally let himself taste the ruby-red lips that had been whispering in his ear for weeks. She made a pleased noise and kissed him back, her arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

"Are you sure?" she asked as they broke for air.

"I'm sure," he panted, hiking up her legs to wrap around his waist, and let the life he'd built crash down around them.

Angel Squad component list:

 “The Saviors”

 Rosie Valentine

Age: 37

Codename:  The Sphinx, Juliet, Lady Moon, Hello Kitty

Status: Living

Not only one of the two leaders of the team, but the founder of the Angel Project. While initially founding the project in order to spare Kasimir and his group of heroes from being divided and deported back for their sudden “Vigilante” appearance after showing up and making a mess with fighting another demon that had surfaced, Rosie’s choice came from an impulsive drive within her to carry on Kasimir’s idealistic of being a “Hero”. It was a vow he had made in their youth as a couple, when he promised to return to her when they were divided in the Calvary, and although he returned with no actual remorse for not keeping his promise (Which broke her heart, despite having an unspoken relationship with Rocky), Rosie is driven nonetheless to try to maintain the symbolic goal as the last remaining shard of a girl she once was. No matter how much it hurt her to keep it up. 

Getting the permission to run the project, it is privately funded by a sponsor, with government approval. They run their own missions in accordance to supernatural phenomena that need to be investigated. As the public desired, they don't deal with the average human issues like robberies or muggings lest asked for by officials (Rosie does not make these orders, but the other members may do so at their own free will ). At times, at the request of government officials, they are sent out of state to investigate phenomenons for Rosie to fix with the group. Typically tears in dimensions that are letting demons in, which would be Rosie’s specialty in handling. 

When the project first started, Rosie was only human, and therefore remained as a simple overseer to the Angel’s activities and director in battle from an outside perspective. After gaining her powers and becoming a mother, not only did her perspective and goals change with the project, but her job as well. Gaining the powers of an Imperial Angel (Ancient Angel), That alone puts Rosie at a tier with dangerous and unstable power far above others because of the matter and dimensional properties they are able to manipulate. Fueled by her emotions and still in a stage of learning, Rosie chooses to remain as an overseer lest the team really needs her heavy hitting to complete a mission. When she gained her new powers, that was the beginning of out of state missions being introduced. Since becoming a parent, Rosie has slowly come to terms with the goal of her project – no longer for just Kasimir and the team,  but for ALL Angels that live in fear because humans are unwelcoming to the supernatural. For the future her kids are gonna live in. To make a better world. As well as other underlying personal reasons 

In the Death of Rocky, her powers grew unstable for a time. She deals with grief, with being left alone with her kids and being mentally unstable to an extent, all the while managing the legal matters of her Project, and keeping the Angels out of trouble. 

Abilities: 

- Naturally heightened feline senses + Increased strength + Durability + Agility

-  Regeneration ( to an extent, even using the life force of another to heal herself/others should her power reserves run slim. )

-  Opening/Closing portals( Dimensional manipulation)

-  Future sight (Because of her ability to manipulate dimensional properties to open portals, future sight is an aspect that happens in her dreams in which, because of the multiple dimensional timelines, she can see multiple versions of timelines. Takes a trained eye to notice the differences between them. )

- Matter manipulation ( outwardly appears like psychokinesis, down to an atomic level. )

- Soul manipulation. (To completely separate the soul from the physical body and hold them in hand. This is especially useful in dispelling a spirit from a possessed host, or even separating two bonded individuals. If its a soul, she can pull it out. )

- Flight + Aerokinesis (Used to create jet streams of air for easier flight, as well as using winds for combat purposes– both qualities learned from Rocky. Eventually, learning to manipulate the atmosphere around her, she learns to fly even without having to flap her wings. Utilizes her wings more for direction and combat.) + winged combat

- Astral projection ( going hand in hand with the soul manipulation, this projection-- with physical contact to a person’s head-- is able to augment the reality of a person’s perception. To even allow her to go through their memories, change their perception of them, or even insert herself or an idea into their mind. Used for calming an individual, more often than not. )

- Conjuring energized balls with the explosive power of a hydrogen bomb. Connected to her moon abilities, the energy is deadly to any kind of supernatural being (Namely those like demons and others on the darker side of the spectrum )

 Kasimir Everhart

▪ Age: 44

▪Codename:  Sunshine, Snowflake, Romeo, The Sun

▪ Status: Living

The original leader of “The Saviors” before they became the angel project, Kasimir is a man with the powers of a supernova in his body, although he himself isn't that bright despite his raw power. Kasimir is childlike in his idealistic world of being a hero everyone can look up to. A beacon of light for the lost, which is how he gained many of the members in the group. He is no stranger to selling dreams, and he is really good at it, but practicality and the essentials is not his strong point. Similar to Rosie, he is the Sun guardian which took a physical form in a mortal, lesser angel boy who had died in an attack on him and his mother when he was a child. Kasimir, similar to Rosie, had lost all his previous memories as the Sun, and awoke an orphan in a bloody mess in Germany. He was a quiet and scared boy in his youth, living in an orphanage and keeping his flaming powers a secret. It was while he was in an orphanage that he would meet his future villain, Nathair, who fixated on the little kasimir because of his angel abilities. When Kasimir, at age 7, rejected in becoming friends with the 12 year old Nathair who urged him to use his powers with him, Nathair was enraged and discovered his powers at last by burning down the Orphanage.

In the Ashes, young Kasimir had been rescued and adopted by the angel who would later be the source of Rosie’s abilities, Vassago. He grew up loved, but always seemed to have his head in the clouds. Vassago homeschooled him, but he grew up with a fascination and love of heroes. Namely, a legend called “ The Dogboy of San Francisco”. When he became an adult had gone for the police academy, but failed the academics. Dropped out, this would eventually lead to the albino joining the Calvary, where he would meet Rosie and spend 3 years with her before eventually being shipped to another base because his nationality as a German, and then later discharged because of the revelation of his angel genetics. Left with absolutely nothing to his name, and no real home given the wandering habits of his old angel father, Kasimir set out on an adventure with a simple idea in mind: he would become a hero everyone would know and look up to. Nothing could sway that dream, no person or thing.

His warm and charismatic personality makes him likeable, but too much time with him is obnoxious, as most would say. His greatest strong point lies in his welcoming sympathetic nature, although he lacks the ability to truly empathize because he doesnt let the past shaped him. He often thinks that everyone can just get over their experiences and make something better, and people who can't, generally confuse him. He drew most of the members of the angel squad by giving them a purpose and a goal in becoming great heroes. While he is the original leader of “The Saviors”, he really undermines Rosie with infield battle. Who is the perceived leader is often split between the members of the team. The younger members tend to view Kasimir as their leader more than Rosie, while the older members may vary.

Abilities: 

- Pyrokinesis produced from himself, and able to manipulate his environment. Given he is an angel, it makes his own flame a divine one which can effectively be used against the supernatural. He is also able to manipulate outside flames to an extent but can't extinguish them at will. 

- Heightened abilities such as strength, endurance, agility, etc. 

- Winged flight + Combat

- Supernova, in which he is able to reach extreme levels of heat, and combust himself with the release of energy without any harm to himself. This move is mostly emotionally driven, and exhausting to overuse.

Zoey Winters

Age: 35

Codename: Hellcat, Cinderella, huntress

Status: Living

Zoey is the wife of Kasimir , and one of the sassiest members on the team. She is most recognizable for her blue ombre dyed hair, provocative fashion sense, and her sharp fiery personality. Originally a member of the Branches of virtue (A tab to look for in the lore page, for elaboration), she was a vampire hunter, born into the role with little choice. Originally from Miami, as she grew older, her youth and beauty were an asset which was used by her step father to further their goals for the branches, though done with malicious intent against his step daughter after the death of Zoey’s mother.  Zoey was trained at a young age to slay the vampires, and when she was 16 she was used as one of the dancers in her step father’s strip club. While she saw her deeds of vampire slaying as helpful, she felt disgusted in the fashion she was forced to do so. Her clothing style is a sense of reclaiming what was taken from her, she dresses herself with pride in herself, not for anyone else’s entertainment.

Her eventual escape came in the shape of a familiar man who would be the one to tie Rosie, Kasimir, and Zoey together in a twist of fate, and with the fated meeting was the coined nicknamed of Romeo, Juliet, and Cinderella. Damon promised her freedom with the help of a demon, and in exchange, she was given a task. Though in the end she had failed the mission, she had her freedom in rags, and she would not go back to her former life. In this meeting she initially met Kasimir, and they would not cross paths again until years later. Zoey was the first person he recruited in forming the angel squad, charming her with his goofy and optimistic outlook in everything, she felt a fondness in him as something she could look up to, and eventually joined him on his journey through the world that eventually formed ‘The Saviors’ before they came back to America.

Zoey is highly skilled, but only human when it comes to strength. She relies on wits, looks, and weapon skills to get the job done. She's one of the smarter members on the team, but she too –like most members of the team – lives in Kasimir’s shadow. As the threat levels of most demons continue to grow with bigger and bigger monsters, she unfortunately gets sidelined a lot. While she and Rosie are a lot alike in many aspects, there is an unspoken animosity between the two, most on Rosie’s part. Rosie holds resentment that Zoey was the woman that replaced her, but it's animosity they try to work to. Overtime their dynamics change, and Zoey would become one of the main people to help train Rosie for hand to hand combat once Rosie has gained her angelic abilities.

Abilities:

-Extensive knowledge of Vampirism and how to slay them

-Extensive knowledge in bladed weapons and firearms

-Highly trained in hand to hand combat

-Highly agile and flexible

-Great sense of fashion

Ashley Vega

Age: 25

Codename: Roxanne Pink

Status: Living

The most colorful of all the squadron members. Hailing from the poor parts of Chicago, Ashley grew up originally with only her dad and  older sister. Hardship was no stranger to their family, with their dad working himself to death practically to sustain the two girls, but it was nonetheless a pleasant childhood. The fondest memory Ashley holds is the personal time spent as a family out in the baseball field, the sisters picking up a love for the same game their father adored in the time they were able to spend together, which inevitably plays a large part of her future character role as Roxanne Pink. 

Unfortunately for the girls, tragedy strikes when their father’s overworking habits takes a rapid decline in his health, and with so little funds, it would eventually lead to his death when they could not afford the medicine to even diagnose or treat his condition. At the tender age of 16 and 10, young Ashley and her older sister Roxanne were left on their own to fend for themselves with no other family to turn to. Roxanne, while still in highschool, was quick to take the role of guardian for her sister. Roxanne had been working in a paid internship in engineering and biotechnology while in highschool, and continued diligently until they were willing to hire her full time. Roxanne had given up much of her teenage life to take care of Ashley, but happily did so for her sister’s sake. Asheley was encouraged to blossom despite their tragedy, taking on a love for the vibrancy of pop and punk look and developing it into her own trending style. Ashley was a smart girl, however she often slacked off in school to indulge in her own activities. Roxanne often dabbled in making little gadgets to have her sister test run, and taught Ashley some of the basics to make her own minor gadgets to splash color in Ashley fashion.

Roxanne Pink was born after a traumatic moment of tragedy, when the 16 year old Ashley and her older sister had been caught in what was assumed to be a terrorist attack on the lab building Roxanne worked in. Sacrificing herself to save Ashley and throwing her body over the younger sister; The lost of her sister sparked the birth of the alter ego vigilante in Ashley upon having no one but herself in the cruel cruel world. Roxanne Pink is thought to be a kind of split personality, combining Roxanne’s clever smarts with Ashley’s punk style in a way for Ashley to keep her alive in herself. With no real well paying job, Ashley turned to vigilante work to survive, with nothing but her hand made color bombs and her father’s baseball bat. She’d rob criminals after they make a hit-- sometimes return stolen goods, but she’d take the cash. Kasimir had been making a pass when he came across Roxanne Pink in an alleyway after pursuing a purse thief, which Roxanne had gotten to first. Kasimir, in the process of recruiting heroes for his team, was absolutely delighted to meet her. He and the team were in  the city for a good amount of time looking for the opportunity to get themselves out there, and within those few days it was all it took for Kasi to convince Ashley to join their little family of misfits. Since then, Ashley has been undying loyal to Kasimir and the team. They are her new family, and if it weren’t for them, she'd be living on the streets.

Shes incredibly playful in battle, in fact very childlike and bubbly. She and Jay both share that trouble making trait, but are incredibly smart about landing blows in battle. 

Jay Wilde

Age: 26

Codename: Speedy, Speedster, Lucky Charms

Status: Living

A former rock star dropout straight from Ireland, Jay joined the Angel Squad in a similar fashion as Ashley-- which set the stage for their long time friendship, as both members are the youngest on the team from similarly troubled backgrounds.

Jay, unlike all other members of the team, still has his parents in the image. As a boy, the family was far from wealthy, but nonetheless they were comfortable with their lives. Jay’s mother was a musician and music teacher, while his father was a pilot in the Irish Air Corps. The source of his inherited Deviant abilities comes from his mother, whose abilities were more along the lines of manipulating sound waves, and very well kept a secret to everyone but her son and her husband. Growing up, Jay was taught the wonders of music , and from very early on showed a talent for songwriting and musical instruments; however, he remained torn in the career he wanted to pursue, between a rock star, or to utilize his abilities to be a hero like the father he idolized. In his teens, Jay tried his hand at the climb for fame as the electric guitarist in a band of a few of his trouble making friends all looking for a ticket off the little rock they called home. Though popular in their hometown , the group got very little beyond that, with nowhere near enough popularity to get them noticed on the scale they wanted. Disappointed and irritated, the group fell apart, and turned to bad habits ( Vandalism, thieving, drugs, etc.)  to make up for the fallen dream that devastated them. Much to the dismay of Jay’s parents.

It was at this time, in that iconic Kasimir fashion, that the Saviors in the making showed up. They came originally for a vacation , or at least they called it that because realistically they didn’t have much money for anything nice. The money they made was thanks to Ashley, though they had no idea where she’d been getting it. Nobody bothered to ask her how she did it. Lives entwine when, by sheer chance, it was Kasimir that the hooligans had attempted to rob. They had never encountered another super-powered being besides Jay, and been entirely knocked off guard when faced with Kasimir’s inhuman strength and combat skill. Upon Jay’s attempt to use his powers to stop Kasimir and take him down, Kasimir stopped the fight and was absolutely delighted at the fact that Jay had the speedster powers. Jay was bewildered, but just as equally fascinated by Kasimir. Seeing the potential in Jay as an asset to their team, Kasimir worked his magic and offered the teen an opportunity of tagging along with their growing team. With his mind split, he went home to mull it over, and even discussed it with his parents. Truth be told, they were more thrilled to have him do anything beyond what he was doing now, but naturally showed some hesitance in letting him go. Still, with Jay being a young man, his father encouraged he take the chance.

Jay joined the team, and quickly hit it off with Ashley as his partner in crime. He still actively sends letters to update his parents on how he is doing. He is playful but most important, a pretty boy that likes to impress the ladies.

Abilities: 

- Super speed - Hyper-metabolism (which keeps him slim and fit)

IMPORTANT MISSION NOTE:

* Never should Ashley and Jay be teamed up on mission without the supervision of one of the older members of the team. Without supervision, they will cause mayhem. Specific reminder set by Rosie after they paint bombed multiple alley ways in the business district, claiming it was ‘too plain’ 

Lyaksandro Troy

Age: N/A, Physically appears in his 60s, though physically  maintained

Codename: The Blacksmith, Old man, Grandpops

Status: Living

Not much is known about Lyaksandro’s history, besides being incredibly old, and a talented metal-smith. He is undoubtedly the oldest member of the angel team, being a Lesser Angel himself, and acts like a voice of reason with Fei as they manage their young leader and the other members. Lyaksandro proves to be skilled in his craft, and it the mastermind which keeps the tools and weapons in ship-shape after every battle. He often keeps to himself, observant of the world and fatherly to his younger associates, with some duality behind his reason for choosing to follow Kasimir on his journey of becoming a hero. 

Abilities: 

- Ferrokinesis (Metal Manipulation of all kinds, in use of combat as well as forging )

- Heightened physical capabilities + Endurance ( as well as the other standards enhancements of being an angel )

- Minor healing ability ( heals a little quicker than the average human but cannot regenerate entirely. Also able to heal small wounds of others )

Fei de Ren

Age: N/A, seems to be in his 50′s. 

Codename: The Archer, The Dragon

Status: Living

Just as with Lyaksandro, Fei’s history remains unknown besides the fact that the two men know each other, which is what wound up bringing Fei into the developing group of heroes. While not an Angel, he seems to be endowed with talents for magic and a talisman relic which seems to preserve his physical capabilities.  As far as anything is known, it is thought that Fei was alive during World War 2, in which he had met Lyaksandro, but there is no confirmation or rejection of the theory. Fei does not speak of his past and refuses to explain anything of his abilities or his relics. 

He tends to keep to himself and spends most of his time either meditating or analyzing the world around him. Or helping the members of the team with their children, along with Lyaksandro 

Abilities:

- Master Archer

- Master in swordsmanship and bladed weapons 

- Skilled in the use of poisons and knowledgeable in herbalism

- Master martial artist in traditional Chinese fighting techniques.

 Jacob Alvin McCool

Age: 45

Codename: Abbadon

Status: Living

If Alex Mercer fused with Superman, you get the walking apocalypse that is Jacob. Jacob Alvin Mccool is thought to be the physically strongest angel in existence at the moment, seemingly immortal with a near invincible body as far as any government knows. He able to withstand heavy artillery blasts with nothing more than slight bruising if it manages to hit just right, and that's if they're lucky to even get that marked on him. Has shown high tolerance for direct fire and can take on demons the size of office buildings without even flinching-- his true limits are unknown. Jacob was considered a menace despite his actions being that of a heroic nature, solely because of the costly collateral damage he leaves in his wake after the brawls. It’s hard keeping track of him, as he appears for these battles, then disappears before he can get bashed at or hassled by the public or officials. Because of his hostility and threat level, all attempts to capture him had been put off to cut back any losses on personnel until further notice. He remained on watch, but never approached.  Jacob was an orphan as a child, and was kidnapped in his adolescence by an unknown organization that tormented him to trigger and study his powers. He was their final project, which failed when he escaped in his teens, and the organization fell apart without a trace. Jacob remains traumatized from it, with avid hatred for laboratories, doctors, and military personnel. 

He is put under the guide of Rosie, and is the main reason her project was given a green light when she offered to put Jacob under control. Jacob is aggressive and constantly irritable, but selectively listens to those close to him. 

Abilities: 

- Heightened senses + Physical abilities (Strength, endurance, etc) 

- Regenerative healing abilities, though nearly impossible to actually hurt him when his muscle and bones are fortified for battle. Has not had a break since he was a child, before his abilities were fully triggered. Can even survive without his head for a while. 

- Bodily mutations (His muscles swell, harden, and change color to metallic like armor mainly on his limbs -- able to form massive clawed hands and shield, and generally protect major body parts. However, cannot completely mutate himself at once. Can only do parts. ) + small tendrils from his back. Strong, but not very good reach. It strains him to push it. 

- Resilience to superheat + pressure. Could take a supernova blast and still survive. 

Notes: 

 - Jacob suffers from mild psychosis that mainly causes auditory hallucination + his heightened senses leave him in a state of almost constant overload when hes in the city or around large groups. It leaves him constantly angry and on a hairline trigger to strike someone for being in the way. His patience tends to be incredibly thin, and despite what people may think of him, he does try to cooperate and act like a normal person. But his range of friends is limited for this reason, as his snapping and his strength tends to make people avoid him. Afraid of his feelings being hurt or being rejected, he is more prone to rejecting friendship lest someone really persists. 

- He was an orphan for as long as he could remember, his childhood a vague memory of who his parents really are, but there is some memory of his dad being a hero of legend, the Dog Boy of San Francisco that saved humanity from a deity and his hell spawn. Though it's written off as a legend, and in that legend the Dog Boy never had a family, Jacob feels like it's his father. And it further makes him angrier when it's written off as part of his delusions, especially when he believes it real (Important story point )

- Rocky was Jacob's best friend and the two often play as sparring buddies, and even tag team to fight demons before disappearing.

- Rosie's abilities are a major key in why Jacob cooperates. Her ability to bond to minds grants her the ability to augment and sooth his mental distress and dampen his super senses for periods of time to the point he can feel like a normal man for a good while. Rosie also conditioned him at the start of their "friendship" by consistently bringing him his favourite candies and pastries when she would see him, until he liked her. Now, while she doesnt have to, she still bribes him to do work by offering to buy him meals. Jacob is heavily food oriented and you're almost always likely to find him eating. Rosie proves to be not only his friend but even a kind of therapist when he is not sure how to handle things with Nikki, or when he vents about the thoughts in his head that grate at him.

 - The only people who Jacob actively shows weakness for is his wife Nikki, who was his (or rather, her) teenage sweetheart. And their twins, Kaiya and Ericiel(Or Eric). Kaiya is most like her dad in standoffish and aggressive personality, but Eric looks most like him. Eric is the peacekeeper among the family of chaotic monster people. They have his heart, and he loves his wife, but she doesn't always understand him very well. 

- Pretends Zoey doesn't exists. Like outright ignores her just to annoy her 

- Despite his super abilities, he has a phobia of deep water because of a fear of drowning. Anothing that his head can go under with makes him highly defensive and uncomfortable. 

Rocky Nathan Blagrove

Age: 40

Codename: Skeiron, Black Stallion, Cookies and Creme, 

Status: Verse dependent, Deceased

Rocky is one of the more sensible and laid back of all the Angel members. Hes incredibly friendly and flexible no matter the situation. As the lover to Rosie, he often helps her make plans and directs the team alongside her as a second opinion -- mainly in helping monitor Jacob, as well as keep her stable. He was the one to teach her to fly and how to use her abilities when she first became an Angel. When Mia was born, he became a stay at home dad to take care of Mia and Malakaid while Rosie had to focus on maintaining the angel project. He still, however, occasionally tagged along when Rosie insisted his powers were needed, and when that happened it was Nikki, Jacob's wife, or Dakota who is left with the kids.

Rocky was originally born in Kingston, Jamaica , The Blagrove family is a long lineage of demon slayers of both human and angel origins. He was the only child from his mother, however his family loved together in a close knit group- he grew up with well over 7 cousins like brothers and sisters. From the moment he was able, he and all his cousins were taught to fight and handle weapons and themselves in battle. Not all of them had angel blood in them, and not all of them had powers. Rocky grew up without a father in his life, however, he had plenty of uncles to make up for it. From his own understanding, his father was also an angel and the source of his aerokinesis abilities.  

Although he had a loving family, life confined to the islands or a fate of traveling to fight monsters was not the ideal dream he had ever wanted for himself. He had a passion for music, just as much as he did fighting, and he wanted to pursue it. By the time he was 18, Rocky left home to make himself a life in the United states. Though naturally rough at the start, with getting his identification and citizenship in place, Rocky made a living doing odd jobs and playing the saxophone in Jazz clubs and shows for a quick buck. On his down time he took up boxing and mma fighting tournaments, keeping his superhuman abilities a secret, as angel kind were still very much unwelcomed to the world. There was a time he even crossed paths with Rosie while living in New Orleans, Louisiana, on New years eve. Though it was a single night, it was meaningful, and he had never imagined he'd meet her again nearly 6 years later when he was living in New York.  For a time he traveled the world, studied different cultures for fun by taking up an assortment of jobs (one including blacksmithing and swordsmithing while he was in Japan, where he got his Katana), until eventually settling back in New York city, once again taking whatever job he could, and pursuing MMA and boxing tournaments under the table for a pass time.

Rocky met jacob by sheer coincidence when they happened to Team up when a demon decided to surface and wreak havoc in a farmer's market they both happened to be in, and they hit it off pretty well afterwards despite Jacob's tense personality. Been best friends ever since. 

In reality, Rocky never wanted to be a hero like his family. He didn't mind fighting and saving people, but it wasn't something he wanted to dedicate his life to, up until Rosie happened. Why they got together still goes back to the first time he saw her; she was interesting, and she looked like she needed the company. She needed someone to save her, even if she didn't say it. Rocky in fact did save her life from her own hand on multiple occasions, and theyve been together ever since. Truthfully, he liked the side that was revealed when she was comforted and was able to soften. He admired her tenacity when it came to the few things she was passionate about, especially when it came to her perception of the world and what she wanted to change in it. One way or another, he ended up becoming a hero because of her, and hers wasn't so bad. 

His Death( dependent on the time playing him): 

The angel project had been established for a good 5 years now, and they were given a particular mission out in the midwest to investigate what seemed to be a demonic pest problem with an opening they couldn't find the source to. While Rosie herself already had a bad feeling about the case, what should have only been a small dilemma blew up and was completely underestimated. With more monsters and a rift larger than they had anticipated, they were ill prepared with the Angels she had taken with her, and had been overrun by them. Rosie, being the strongest at the time, blew out all her energy in trying to close the dimensional rift and at the same time trying to save her Angels from fatal injury. She was split between closing rifts, healing injuries, opening portals(and keeping the demons from jumping through as well) and getting the Angels out. In the end, with only she and Rocky left, overexertion would eventually overwhelm her and completely knocked her out in the middle of battle in an comatose state. 

Refusing to leave her behind, Rocky pushed his way through and had to carry her out on his own to safety, though in the process receiving a fatal bite to the leg that severed a major artery. He continued to make his escape with her despite bleeding out, and only came down when they finally did escape to the safety of the facility. By the time they arrived, he had already lost too much blood for anything to be done, and passed still holding onto Rosie in his arms. 

Rosie remained in a comatose state for 2 weeks afterwards. She awoke in time to attend the funeral, and took a leave from Angel Project shortly after for 6 months to grieve. Mia was only 3 years old at the time and only has vague memories of her father, and Malakaid didn't hasn't entirely processed that Rocky is entirely gone.

 Abilities: 

- Heightened physical abilities (strength, endurance, etc.) 

- Aerokinesis ( Extetension of his Atmokineses, which is utilized mainly for flight and combat) 

- Atmokineses  

- Extensive knowledge on Demon slaying 

- Masterful MMA fighter 

- Master swordsman (Mainly uses a Katana) 

Notes: 

- The tattoos that cover his body are a symbol to remind him of the angel warrior he is. They're tribal tattoos with heavy significance to him, and he got them shortly after coming to America so he'd never forget his roots.

- He's a chill guy. Likes to smoke to relax on his down time, but he isnt the type to make it a necessity if money is tight. Because of this, the smell tends to linger on his clothes, especially his jacket, and he tends to hide it under cologne.

- His demon familiar Is a tiny baby albino crocodile named crocky, who's actually thousands of years old and has been passed down from father to son for centuries. This was the only creature left to him by his dad, and Crocky is in fact an asshole monster if given the chance. He rides inside of Rocky's jacket pocket inside against his chest. They've made little schemes of selling Crocky for a quick buck and then Crocky escaping and returning to him later. 

- Heavily music inclined, his instruments of choice are saxophone and acoustic guitar, but he also capable of playing the typical reggae as well. 

~Accessory Members~

These members are not officially on the payroll. This later goes into tidbits about other figures associated with the Angel Project

Dakota Ryder

Age: 40

Codename: The Dark Messenger, The Reaper

Status: Living

     Dakota hails from the Branches of Virtue just as Zoey did, specializing in the assassins branch from which he had long since abandoned. Part of a project in which scientists had been trying to endow and enhance angelic abilities into humans using angel genetics, Dakota was one of the few successful cases of the project in which the splicing did not kill it. From it, his childhood health issues and fragility had been overcome, and is abilities to surpass the average human capabilities put him at a high ranking position at the side of the original Branchian’s leader. Though, It was never his intention to stay. Only serve his purpose, learn, make his father proud, and then move on after the corruption of the branches was too far gone. Dakota had truly been trained by a rogue master who, after breaking away from the branches upon the growing corruption, started his own camp to carry on the initial mission of the branches by cleansing the world of the corrupted human beings. It was here where Dakota would have gained his codename as “ The Dark Messenger” and meet his soon to be adopted sister, Nikki, after Dakota himself was taken in by the master. His relations to Nikki makes Dakota Jacob’s brother-in-law, although Dakota doesn’t particularly come around much nor speaks much with Jacob. It was with the Angels that Dakota eventually met his ex-girlfriend, Amy , and they had a son, but the relationship did not last.

Dakota is the occasional ally when he does happen to be around, but has long since settled in the city taking up odd jobs while taking care of his son D’angelo with the help of Nikki. He and Rosie share a funky history way back when she was a teenager, Dakota being one of the few people aware of the former relationship she shared with Kasimir, but now he and Rosie get along quite well.

Abilities:

- Master of Stealth

- Masterful swordsman and weapons specialist

- Highly trained assassin, talented martial artist 

- Okay dad 

- Enhanced physical capabilities (strength, speed, endurance, healing, etc) 

Amy Smith 

Age: 32

Codename: Curiosity

Status: Living

The other cat member within their squadron, Amy tends to be their spy and scout for possible cases they can investigate. As well as playing as a lookout for trouble that could be looking to harm the reputation of the angels. Amy came from  the Branches of Virtue in the same fashion as Dakota and Zoey, although she came specifically from the same branch as Dakota. She was trained for infiltration and information tunneling, While Dakota had been an assassin. It was in the branches that the two had been young lovers, and had eventually escaped the Branches’ influence side by side. They eventually even had a son together, however the love did not last the test of time.

They got older, and Amy was free from the rigidity of the branches to do as she wished, however old habits die hard with Dakota. As time goes by, people change, and her personality did not mesh well with the stoicism and negativity of Dakota’s own personality. He had a problem with letting go of his past, and simply couldn’t adapt to domestic life that Amy had wanted. They had initially tried to make it work for their son, but eventually parted ways for the better. They shared custody of their son, however the love simply never rekindled.

She had found a job under Ed’s company to keep him informed on the nature of his different assets of business, and had eventually been assigned as an asset of the Angel squad when the project was sponsored. She was the one to invite Dakota in for an odd job here and there, and that eventually reintroduced him to Rosie and the squad. His history with Rosie eventually makes him a go-to choice when an extra hand is needed.

Abilities:

- Highly trained in Infiltration and Information tunneling

- Skilled in hand to hand combat

- Skilled in the use of small bladed weapons and poisons

Sophia Song 

Age: 36

Status: Living

The Korean attorney for Ed’s company, she handles all the legalities for the Angel Squadron alongside Rosie. She is a first generation child living in America, first generation Lawyer building her status to make her family proud. Although, there tends to be some tension between she and Rosie when publicity starts getting heated for the angels. 

Nova Von Ritter

Age: 50

Species: Human-turned-Vampire

Status: Living

Nova von ritter, former government bounty hunter, former mercenary, former mentor to Rosie, and now the wife of a rich man.  Nova is an entirely abhorrent and difficult to be around for long periods of time, mostly because of her poor morality and overpowering personality. Having spent her entire life with the military and given a free range to carry out the deeds required of her without question, she is used to living a lawless life as she pleased. Going where the best money goes, she had loyalty to no one else but herself, but was nonetheless a reliable asset when the work needed to be done. 

Nova does not shy away from taking what she wants, no matter if it's from a man or a woman, with little respect for people's wishes lest it suits her goals at the time. Ed showers her with primarily military goods to keep her pleased, and the Angel Project was sponsored by Ed because of Nova's affiliation with Rosie. She and Ed have a very odd relationship, but are nonetheless loving of one another. Nova is pretty open about checking out younger men and women, despite having a son with Ed. However, she doesnt actively makes moves on them, as far as anyone knows. 

Note on becoming a Vampire: 

Nova was not always a vampire, and became one in order to save her life. In her history with Rosie, Nova was her mentor, but had incredibly unorthodox and violating methods in training the young Rosie in a way she believed "would make her a better soldier". At the time, Rosie was not aware that what Nova did would be called sexual and emotional abuse until she was well into her adult life. Although Nova's intentions were not truly for getting off, it was her perception of preparing Rosie for the worst in the world. As Nova herself had experienced. 

Nonetheless, the awareness of what was done to her fills Rosie with a certain disgust and resentment for Nova, but because Nova is the reason the project is sponsored and paid for, Rosie has no choice but to compromise and make nice. Internally Rosie's feelings are conflicted towards Nova, and she's uncertain if she hates her or loves her , with Nova being the closest thing to a female figure she had in her life. Nova likes to push her buttons and tease her, and on one occasion she had taunted that Rosie wouldn't have the guts to kill her , and to her surprise, the enraged Rosie did in fact shoot her 

Unfortunately, because of her own conflicted feelings and the possible consequences that would come from Nova's death, Rosie did save her- or rather, reanimated her, by calling in a mutual vampire friend who was willing to go through a blood transfusion to save her.  It remains unknown to everyone what really happened, and Nova doesn't hold it against Rosie.

In fact, shes thankful she gained a whole arsenal of new strength and abilities from it.

Edward “Ed” Scott

Age: 53

Status: Living 

The man who ties everyone together, the sponsoring provider of the Angel project, Edward Scott is a multibillionaire tycoon and Philanthropist. He has his hand in all fields of business as a source of income, although not much is known about him. He is of Egyptian descent, inheriting a family company originally in the oil industry which he has long expanded from, and is the only known member of his lineage now, besides his son. While he is older, he is well groomed and taken care off, looking more in his earthly 30s than a man in his 50s. Ed’s choice in funding the project had to do with his wife Nova, who he often spends money on whatever she likes to keep her pleased. He seemed to do it because Nova happened to know Rosie, however there is some alternate Agenda he does not speak of which drives his motives. He makes a profit off the angels, as they gain popularity, by selling merchandise of the team.

Serabi Watson

Age: Physically appears 35, actually in his 80s.

Species: Full blooded Atrolian 

Status: Living

Originally a full blooded Atrolian, brilliant scientist/Doctor, and inventor that helped design many of the armored technology from his homeworld, and that of the angel squad, Serabi is a good friend of Jacob’s wife, Nikki. Knowing her from their childhood on their homeworld, he had paid a visit to earth in the past once before when he initially came to find Nikki and take her back home while she was with Jacob, and another time years later to check up on her in the time where she lived with Rosie. In that time while visiting, he would have come across the woman who would be his wife in the future, May. Although he could not stay, he had developed quite the feelings for her, and vowed he’d return if fate should have it so. In time, when homeworld turmoil and  drama within the family monarchy became even too much for his liking, he abandoned the homeworld  with his best friend to return to Earth; As he promised, he sought out May, and shortly after moved to the city again where he was closer to Nikki. With the help of Rosie and the others, he was able to get naturalized and legal papers set up for himself, and quickly picked up in the fields of medicine and engineering. He landed a job with Ed’s company as a scientist to study possible medical breakthroughs, as well as some engineering work on the side, and since then that has kept him happily busy with a plethora of resources for him to work with. He happily settled down with his wife, May, and  is now the happy father to a bouncy baby boy, Alistair. 

Anthony “Tony” Capello

Age: 46

Status: Living  

Ex-Military and former narcotics detective, Tony was Rosie’s first partner when she originally transferred to the City as a detective.From Navy SEAL to civilian, to Officer, Tony has had a hard life; Transferring from Narcotics after an undercover case cost him his wife by pursuing a high profile druglord in the city. While he did eventually make the bust, it left him a single father of their triplets, and with a growing resentment for all criminals and the city that was more than he had already had to begin with. He is often an impatient, cut and dry kind of man that simply wants to get his shit done. When he was initially partnered with Rosie, he absolutely hated her and found her beyond obnoxious. He had always worked best alone, and the fact that Seth had saddled him with a small town rookie pissed him off, but he had no choice but to accept it. Eventually, she did grow on him, and he begrudgingly accepted her when she showed to be a diligent worker who could take hits and keep getting up. She became a sort of aunt to his kids and helped him as a parent, offering a soft nurturing voice in things in a way he wasn’t sure how to be soft with. 

Tony doesn’t particularly like nor care for the Angels, especially because of the costly collateral damage Jacob had a notorious history for. He dislikes Ed and his company because he sees it as a kind of super powered monopoly, but he does trust Rosie. He remains a man inside the force to let Rosie know whats going on, and they continue to interact with play dates for the kids.

Abilities:

-Experienced detective, knowledgeable of Narcotics, the criminal underground, and the criminal justice system 

- Extensive military training in artillery, strategic tactics, and combat 

Seth Johnson

Age: 55

Status: Living

Chief of Police in New York City and Rosie’s long time friend, Seth is one of the major assets Rosie has within the city. He has been the chief of police for years, since transferring from Tennessee where he was the sheriff in the small town Rosie originally lived in, taking up the mantle as his father did before him. What was originally a middle ground town used for illegal smuggling and other criminal activities, Seth completely turned around in an act of vengeance for his father who died in the line of duty pursuing the case of bringing the activities to light. Endowed with supernatural abilities since birth, inherited from his mother, he keeps them under tight wraps with very few people knowing about them. He only ever used them for police work, and that was only when there was no one to see it. He happens to be the brother in law to Jacob’s wife, Nikki, who was Seth’s deceased wife’s proclaimed sister. Mia(Seth’s wife) died in a car accident while driving in a car with Nikki and their younger sister Misa while Nikki had been staying with them, in the period where she had broken up with Jacob. Nikki disappeared without a trace in weeks to follow, assumingly because of the guilt of being the sole survivor of the accident, which left Seth a single father to his 5 year old son, Spencer . When Rosie had first appeared into town with Nikki, who seemed to have no full recollection of Seth or his family besides in bits and pieces, he had first been suspicious of the whole setup until Rosie stressed her situation and sold him a false story of being under conditions which could not be spoken about. Eventually, Rosie had worked her way into his good graces, and has been a friend ever since.

Since then, Seth has done all that he could to ensure the best life for his son. He moved to New York for the sake of opportunity for his growing boy, and the chance to take on a bigger case of corruption he felt needed to be handled. He has been living in the city for years, trying his best to unravel the corruption in the system and lower the crime rates in the city, all the while trying to raise his now teenage son who inherited his abilities. He remains in close contact with Rosie and her angel project despite the differences in their fields.

Abilities:

(Although it is known that his mother had the abilities, she died in childbirth. There was no explanation to the source of her powers, but Seth inherited those same abilities )

-Flight

- Super Strength + speed (That pushes the limits of human durability– based in flight)

-Heightened sense of hearing + Endurance (Not invincible, however) 

the end of the world tour (kiss/endgame crossover, r) (part 1/4)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

“Peter, c’mon, you’re saying we should just waltz right in to their place and tell them what, exactly? ‘Hi, we’re KISS. We haven’t done anything heroic in forty years, but—’”

“I wouldn’t say we haven’t done anything heroic in forty years. We all got married.”

Or,  four washed-up former rockstar superheroes don the spandex of old in a last-ditch effort to save an already half-gone world. They just need a little support from a billionaire who's not too keen on KISS interrupting his private life. Somewhat Endgame compliant.

Notes: Most of this probably goes without saying given the general content of this tumblr, but in case anyone MCU wanders in-- KISS has been a part of Marvel Comics since 1977, and, in fact, starred in Marvel’s first full-color, magazine-sized comic book from that same year (in an infamous publicity stunt, the band members added their own blood to the ink of the first issue). Their characterization, history, and powers vary from run to run, and to be honest, it was easier just to pull from KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park and a bit of Scooby-Doo Meets KISS for powers, and actual band history for most of the rest. (Pulling from comic history, well, would have entailed messily trying to make canon ’70’s teamups with Spider-man and the Avengers work out with MCU—impractical at best!) Mistakes are mine.

Intimations of your typical usual suspect pairings, but nothing explicit.’

Looking back, the signs had been there all along. The KISS memorabilia starting to spread out like a fungus to all parts of the mansion they’d moved into five years prior. The cold cream that had found its way back to the bathroom counters.

The abrupt shift in mood of half the household.

The gloomier half. Except that wasn’t much of a specification. Ace tried to be upbeat, but he spent the bulk of his time alone, tinkering with the fifty-year-old remnants of his spaceship, though each assurance that he was going back to Jendell (“you guys’ll come with me, it’ll be great, we’ll just stay there forever”) seemed hollower with every passing year. Gene had put on an incredibly gutsy show in public for the first several months after the decimation, donating millions to clean up efforts around the greater New York area, only to falter in private. Paul had only started recovering enough to shave regularly over the past six or seven months.

Peter wasn’t in great shape himself. He knew it, too. But he was surviving. They were all doing that much. They had a daily routine down, one they stuck to as strictly as cloistered monks. Cooking duties divvied up; chores divvied up. Shopping divvied up. They could’ve hired help easily. The battered remnants of the KISS juggernaut were still enough for generations to live off of, like a bastard version of the Vanderbilts. But doing the chores themselves gave everything a sense of purpose. Meaning.

They weren’t doing poorly for four widowers. Coping a whole lot better than most guys their age who’d lost everyone but each other.

Deep down, Peter knew they couldn’t have made it any other way. They would’ve all been driven out of their minds with grief. Just cracked up. Especially those first few months after moving in together. In a sick kind of desperation, they’d spent that time sleeping in the basement together, the four of them, on a pair of pull-out couches. The prospect of waking up alone was just that awful. The craving for normalcy just that deep. Waking up to Ace’s morning wood (Christ, the guy was sixty-eight; his ability to maintain a hard-on had to just be alien biology at this point) had become a strange, nostalgic kind of comfort.

They were still sharing rooms sometimes. It felt really juvenile, at least to Peter, crawling into one of the other guys’ rooms at night, like a kid with a nightmare, but it helped. Touch helped. Living together brought them some focus beyond themselves. Forced them to look out for each other. Keep each other from doing something stupid. Funny how without any contract or tour bullshit to worry about, they could stand each other again.

Sometimes a little more than that. Sometimes a lot.

But Peter really didn’t connect the dots for awhile. One morning, he stumbled downstairs to see Paul making pancakes from scratch. He hadn’t made any pretenses of being a chef in years, but there he was, even tossing chocolate chips and strawberries into the batter.

“I decided every day was a good day,” he said, shrugging, when Peter asked him about it.

“He got laid,” Ace had called out from the living room. Peter, staring from an abashed Paul to an oddly-silent Gene, hadn’t asked for any elaboration, figuring he had a fair idea. Well, whatever. If they wanted to go back to fooling around with each other at this late a date, at least there was plenty of Viagra and K-Y to be had.

A few days later, Gene bought about three gallons of ice cream, an exorbitant amount of toppings, and a stash of his Moneybags signature root beer and they all spent the afternoon making and devouring sundaes and floats. Nobody bitched about lactose intolerance. Then they’d sat around and watched Godzilla movies on DVD and played each other on the old KISS pinball machine. It was like old times—really old times.

Peter had just figured things were finally starting to settle into a new normal. A devastating normal, sure, but they were all learning to cope.

He had no idea the coping methods they’d picked involved a lot more than self-help platitudes and dairy products, and a lot less Viagra.

Not until about a month later, on his assigned day to do the shopping—though they were all more flexible on who did the shopping than any other aspect of their chore board. Paul still hated to go anywhere by himself, invariably dragging someone else with him. Usually Gene, sometimes Ace. On his own days, Peter usually tried to invite Ace along, just to get him out of the backyard, even though Ace’s penchant for Arizona Green Tea still far outstripped the supply at the closest grocery store, and Peter would still have to make a dozen weird maneuvers around the place just so they’d avoid the liquor.

This time, though, Peter went alone. Stuffed the old Porsche full of a mix of canned and dried goods, mostly. Still the easiest, cheapest stuff to find, with or without the world half-gone. Almost bizarre to see things start to get in demand again. The first few days—the first few months, after, the grocery store had been hell to go to. Just the smell of all that food rotting for want of people to buy it. The look of it, mold everywhere, flies buzzing, maggots crawling—and not as many as all that.

A fifty-fifty split in all forms of life. Existence was just a coin toss.

He’d pulled into the driveway and gotten out, lugging a couple grocery bags out with him as he headed toward the door, pushing the doorbell with his elbow. No answer.

Another push. Nothing.

Ace was probably out back somewhere. Paul and Gene were probably upstairs, too close to deaf to have heard him away from the main floor. Goddammit. Peter sighed and set down one of the grocery bags, digging through his pockets for the house key, pulling it out and unlocking the door, only to be greeted by an odd, clinking sound and a low groan as he stepped inside.

“Gene?”

Peter dropped the grocery bags and hurried towards the noise, mouth pursed. No panicking. He couldn’t afford to panic. Still, it could be anything. Gene never had taken care of himself that well—sure, he’d never done drugs, but he had the diet of an emancipated six-year-old—prime candidate for a heart attack, for sure—

“…. What’re you…”

“Peter?”

Gene was lying on his back on the kitchen tile, mostly-obscured by the girl straddling him. She was leaning forward, blonde hair like streamers over his face as she kissed him, his hands clasping her wrists, holding them above his head, against the floor. Her white dress was bunched up enough it was obvious there was nothing beneath.

It was a scene Peter had first witnessed out of Gene around 1974, and it hadn’t gotten any more appealing in forty-five years. Just a lot more curious. No, fucking bewildering. Normally, Gene was—had been—infamous for stripping off as few clothes as possible in his rush to get to the main event. It was like the man thought a groupie couldn’t wait for him to get his jeans more than five inches past his hips. But this time was beyond bizarre. Gene wasn’t in his usual jeans and cowboy boots and button-down. He was in costume.

More specifically, he was in every ignoble inch of his Destroyer costume, except for the codpiece. His black leotard was hiked down to the tops of his scaly, silver monster boots, chest armor stretched over his torso, black leather gauntlets on. The last time Peter had seen any of that particular outfit, Clinton was still president.

The blonde gave him a brief look, then Gene, who whispered something Peter couldn’t quite hear. Then she started rolling her hips against his again, Gene dropping his hold on her wrists to cup his hands around her face, her hair sweeping over them both, preventing Peter from getting a great look at either of them. Peter just stared, unsure of whether his eyes could afford a closer vantage point.

“Really, Gene?”

“I’m—ngh, doing my duty as an American citizen here.”

“Your duty?”

“FER. Federal Emergency Repopulation.” Gene paused, glancing at the blonde. “If he’s bothering you, we can take it upstairs—"

“Jesus Christ, Gene, you’re seventy years old! And why the fuck are you in the costume?”

“Well, that aspect wasn’t really up to me.”

“Gene, sit the fuck up and look at me.”

“Peter—”

Gene raised up a few inches as every bit of color drained out from Peter’s face.

He looked better than he had in forty years. No, that wasn’t right. He looked like he had forty years ago. The Demon makeup couldn’t obscure it. The lines around his eyes and forehead were gone. The fullness that age and weight had left in his face and neck and chest had vanished utterly. He looked healthy. He looked young, terrifyingly young.

“Gene, what the hell did you do?”

“I—"

Before Peter could manage a single syllable, a loud, shrill cry from upstairs interrupted everything.

“Paul?”

“Oh, shit. Let’s not continue this upstairs.” Gene’s attention was back on the blonde, who rolled her hips up against his invitingly. “Better check on Paul, Pe—ohh, fuck, yeah…”

Peter darted upstairs, yanking open the door to Paul’s room to find almost the exact same scenario. One he hadn’t seen in decades. Paul, halfway in costume, rhinestone-covered black jumpsuit hanging somewhere around his hips, with a girl up against the wall, her bare legs wrapped around his waist. Three hip replacements, two knee replacements, and at least one rotator cuff replacement and yet Paul didn’t seem to be having any issues holding her there. Or plowing her.

Probably because he, too, looked to be about forty years younger.

---

Half an hour later, both girls were gone and Paul and Gene were back to a semblance of normal. The makeup had, weirdly, lingered when they’d reverted back—Peter couldn’t remember that ever happening when they were actively in the superhero business—though neither of them seemed particularly surprised by that, just a bit disappointed. Paul had darted over to the bathroom to get some cold cream and washcloths, like that would head Peter off at the pass, before returning to sit down at the table with Gene and Peter.

Peter was still fuming.

“Look, Peter, I can explain—” Gene started.

“You don’t need to. It’s obvious. You used the talismans.”

“Well, yeah.” Paul looked about as apologetic as a kid who hadn’t been caught until after eating the entire bag of Oreos.

“I didn’t know they could do that.”

“We didn’t, either.”

“Bullshit, that’s the only reason you were fucking—”

“No, really! We got them out for old time’s sake a couple months ago.”

“It makes sense, I mean, mystical artifacts from Victor Von Doom’s mom, supposed to reveal the true self of the holder…” Paul trailed.

“True self, my ass. Your true self is a bottle of Aquanet.”

Gene was starting to smirk. Paul elbowed him in the ribs.

“So you decided you were gonna use the talismans of Khyscz to make yourselves younger so you could fuck random girls. Christ. I knew you didn’t have any dignity, but—” Peter paused, unsure of how to even state the rest of his tirade. For once.

It was just too damn bizarre. They’d left that shit behind years ago. Decades ago. Their last real superhero stints had been in cancer wards, letting kids with lymphoma and leukemia jam with them from their beds and wheelchairs. Their first had been—well, they’d caught some burglars in the Bronx and Queens a couple of times, between band practice, before they were even signed to a record company. Once they’d started touring, they’d tried to keep the double lives up, and for awhile, it had worked to their advantage. People didn’t know whether seeing KISS on the street meant a concert was coming to town or a gang was about to get busted. And the merchandising…. Christ, what a frenzy. The public had eaten it up. Lunchboxes and the pinball machine had only been the beginning.

The biggest criminal they’d ever stopped was some amusement park tyrant, Abner Devereaux. Naturally, they’d turned it into a movie a year later. Hadn’t even been allowed to put most of their powers on display for fear of wrecking the sets and camera equipment. Paul couldn’t fire off any laser beams; Ace’s teleporting barely got a mention. Peter was lucky they didn’t try to trim his claws down. Even Gene’s fire-breathing had to be faked for the camera. He’d had to swill kerosene in his mouth and just spit at the torch like he was from the circus.

Really humiliating, looking back, but they hadn’t quite realized it. The movie had seemed like a natural next step. They were giving the fans what they wanted. A superhero group that could do anything, be anything. Role models. Rockstars. Sex symbols. Entrepreneurs. The four most recognizable faces in the world, faces of a corporation worth a hundred million. Not bad for 1978. Not Stark Industries levels, but not bad.

But the movie had started the blowback. No one under twelve even watched the damn thing. The press was coming out with hit pieces on the daily. Headlines like “Shilling Superheroes” and “Crimefighting Doesn’t Pay—But Capitalism Does” started dotting the supermarket stands. When they retreated back into making records, the bottom had already dropped out. KISS didn’t come off as superheroes or even musicians anymore, just a bunch of guys out for a quick buck. No amount of charity work—and certainly not a long stretch of tail-between-their-legs touring in Australia and Europe, where their superhero antics weren’t as big a part of their mystique—could’ve brought them back from that.

Peter had left KISS before things completely crashed. Been fired, more accurately. What that’d mean for the dwindling state of their superhero gig should’ve been obvious, but looking back, Peter couldn’t remember thinking about it or anyone even mentioning it when he’d left. Ace hadn’t talked about it when he quit the band a couple years later, either. KISS still performed with the outfits and makeup for awhile after. But the crimefighting was over. Any superhuman powers were done with. Gene ended up having to spit kerosene to breathe fire onstage for the rest of his career. The talismans just wouldn’t work without the four of them as some kind of unit.

Apparently, their current living arrangement counted as some kind of unit. Good enough for the talismans. And apparently, the talismans didn’t even care whether Paul and Gene were using them for the right reasons. Peter shoved his hands through his hair before slamming his palm against the table. True to form, Paul and Gene didn’t even blink. Gene, in fact, took it as an opportunity to continue.

“We thought it’d be a better sell to FER if we could offer them something a little more exciting than—”

           “Than a bunch of old assholes.”

           “More or less, yeah.” Paul rubbed at the star on his eye with a dollop of cold cream, carefully. “It’s not any kind of PR stunt. Just makes for better lays and healthier sperm.”

           “We’ve had 53 successful pregnancies just over the last two months,” Gene offered. His phone buzzed, and he picked it up. “Make that 54.”

           “54? Was that mine or yours?”

“Mine. That was, uh…” Gene scrolled up on his phone. “Tori Friedmann. Remember, the one with the tattoos right around her hips?”

“Gene, I didn’t see her anywhere near naked.”

“She had her hair dyed green. It was in ringlets.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah…” Paul trailed, before turning his attention back to Peter. “We’re really helping things out.”

“Helping things out?” Gene snorted. “Don’t be modest. We’ve got the best track record for pregnancies in the entire state of Connecticut. Eighty percent success rate after four sessions or less. Amazing.”

“Who’s supposed to be raising—” Peter started, but he was cut off almost immediately by a laugh.

“Seriously? The government’s paying the girls out the nose. Prenatal up through college. All we had to do was participate.” Gene shifted, pushed his washcloth into the jar of cold cream, and started wiping off his face. “Of course, FER pays the guys doing it, too, but it’s not our main motivation.”

“Why the hell aren’t you jacking it into a cup? What’s so wrong about artificial insemination? Is FER Catholic?”

“This world’s starved for the human touch. Sex drives are lower than the Dow right now.” Gene cleared his throat, tilted his head as if he were about to start on an interview-worthy set of sound bites. “Now, what we’re offering is only what KISS has always offered, an escape, a fantasy. But we sell it better than any fucking band before or since. We lift those girls up.”

“Yeah, I saw Paul lifting that girl up—” Peter started. Paul looked only a tinge embarrassed. “You could’ve been her grandfather, for Christ’s sake.”

“Hey, they know exactly who they’re getting with,” said Gene. “We aren’t pretending we’re a tribute band. And we cheer them up, Peter. Some of them haven’t slept with anyone in five years. Some of them haven’t touched anyone in five years. They forgot how to even be alive. We’re reminding them.”

“You’re selling your sperm, Gene, don’t act like it’s some grand gesture.” Peter paused. “Is Ace in on this, too?”

“I think Ace got in about four lays, but then he felt bad about it…”

“Because he’s got a conscience?”

“No, because he’s an alien. I mean, the girls kind of got off on it, I think, but…” Paul shrugged, finding a clean corner of his washcloth, patting away the traces of cold cream. “He thought Earth ought to be repopulated by regular humans.”

“No, because he’s an alien. I mean, the girls kind of got off on it, I think, but…” Paul shrugged, finding a clean corner of his washcloth, patting away the traces of cold cream. “He thought Earth ought to be repopulated by regular humans.”

“He didn’t care about that when we were touring.” God knew how many girls Ace had knocked up with half-Jendellian spawn back in the seventies. His kid with Jeanette, Monique, hadn’t ever exhibited anything weird that Peter had seen, but then again, Ace was pretty good at keeping his own alien oddities under wraps. At least in public. Online tabloids and shit still said he was a normal guy from the Bronx that had just watched too much Star Trek in high school. If he hadn’t toured off and on with the guy for years, and if the remnants of his spaceship weren’t currently in their backyard, Peter might’ve believed it, too.

“Yeah, but when we were touring, the world wasn’t in an apocalypse.” Another corner of the washcloth and Paul was wiping off his eyeliner. “I dunno. I told him if they didn’t care, he shouldn’t, either. It’s not like his dick is any different.”

“He’ll change his mind. Probably.” Gene set down the washcloth, face reddish but bare. He looked so appallingly confident that Peter almost wanted to punch him. No, he did want to punch him. Clearly, the repopulation gig had been Gene’s idea. Paul was far too depressed these days to be such an opportunist on his own, and Ace… Ace, clearly, just had gone along with it. Neither of them had ever been half as desperate for a lay as Gene, either. Peter settled for pushing back his chair and leaning over the table, yanking Gene by both arms.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Pete—”

“Don’t you even remember what we were supposed to use the talismans for?”

“Sure. Saving the world.” Gene tugged his arms out of Peter’s grasp. Utterly unmoved. He didn’t even have to stand up in order to wrench him away. It just made Peter all the more incensed. The blitheness of it. Shit, Gene used to care. Paul used to care.

“Fucking girls for some government program isn’t saving the world!”

“Then what the hell do you suggest? We’re a little fucking limited with half the population gone.”

“Fixing this mess!”

“How?” Paul started to laugh. “If the Avengers aren’t touching it, what makes you think we should?”

“When did that stop us before, huh? We were there before they even existed!”

“Most of them,” Gene put in dryly. “Captain America’s old enough that he could’ve even fathered you, Pete.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Peter rattled off. “Fuck both of you. You’ve finally got a real opportunity here and you’re too damn sorry to take it.”

“A real opportunity? You’re telling us about opportunities?” Paul snorted. “I should’ve known all you’d do was bitch and whine as soon as you found out. Mr. Misery never did fucking retire. Can’t let anybody else be even a little happy—”

“You’re not happy, asshole!”

The sound of the backdoor swinging open swallowed up any other comments. Ace, standing there in a ratty screenprinted Betty Boop t-shirt and jeans, looking sweaty and vaguely perturbed.

“Y’know, contrary to popular belief, I’m still not deaf.”

Peter spun around to face him.

“Ace! You knew what these bastards were doing this whole time and you didn’t tell me!”

Ace raised his palm in what might’ve been surrender, then shut the door behind him. He didn’t cross over to the dining room where the others were seated, surprisingly—just headed straight for the kitchen.

“Sit down, Pete. ’M gonna get us some water.”

Peter sat down. He wasn’t mollified, not in the slightest, but he stayed quiet until Ace returned, four water bottles in hand. Gene and Paul didn’t say anything, either. The only real sound was Paul screwing the lid back on the jar of cold cream.

Ace pushed a water bottle towards each of them before sitting down next to Peter. Peter eyed him warily. It felt like a band meeting, the tension thick as concrete, only for once, they weren’t arguing over solos or setlists. And Bill Aucoin, of course, wasn’t there to make sure they shook hands and shared a joint by the end. Not quite the kind of nostalgia Peter craved.

“Okay, so,” Ace started, conversationally, “I get why you’re pissed off, man.”

“You should’ve told me—”

“I tried! I told you Paul got laid! But you didn’t wanna hear anymore.”

“That’s because I thought he was back to fucking around with Gene!”

“I did not—" Paul’s face was going from pallid to pink to red at an alarming rate. Beside him, Gene was rubbing his forehead with a wince. “Look, let’s just address the issue at hand.”

“You’re right,” Peter snapped back. “Ace, listen. What they’re doing’s fucked-up.”

“Peter, we’re all still in kind of a bad place right now, I dunno if it’s the time to—”

“It’s not the time to be trying to repopulate like—like tigers in the zoo.” Peter exhaled. “Not when we could be doing a lot more. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you assholes.”

Ace unscrewed Peter’s water bottle before opening his own. He took a long swallow, then let out a sigh.

“Just wait. I’ll be getting us to Jendell in another three months, easy. Then we won’t have to worry about any of this shit.”

“That’s been your answer the last five years, Ace! You can’t fix your ship! We all know we’re not getting off this planet!”

“I mean it this time! I really got it cracked. Three months or less.” Ace took another swallow of water. “It’ll be great. My ma—aw, man, you’ll love her. She’s great. I tried sending her our records once we got big, I still had this little portable, y’know, for shipping off small stuff, don’t know if she ever got it…”

“Still having family must be great, Ace.”

Ace flinched visibly.

“I haven’t seen her in fifty years, man, I don’t know for sure. We’re all in the same boat there.”

“We’re fucking not, Ace. You just proved it.” Peter swallowed thickly. It was a lower blow than he’d meant to take. But he couldn’t help it. Fifty-fifty shot, and they’d all managed to lose. All that grief the sickest, saddest equalizer. Gigi had beaten cancer. Monique had been clean for a couple years now. Gene’s kids had careers… Paul’s youngest three weren’t out of elementary school. All of them a million times more deserving of being alive than they were. Peter’s gut roiled, and he grabbed his water bottle, forcing several gulps down just to quell the lump in his throat. He still had to take a few more breaths before he was half-positive his voice wouldn’t quaver too much, and by then, Paul had already begun talking again.

“Okay, okay. Let’s say we wanted to do something. Where would we even start? What would we even be fighting against?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly. Now—”

“I know where we’d start.”

Pete’s gaze shot over to Gene. He couldn’t keep the bare, hopeful note out of his voice.

“Where?”

“Avengers headquarters. That or Stark’s place.” At Paul’s indignant glance, Gene shrugged. “What, it’s obvious. And it’s only a hypothetical. For all we know, they could be working on the solution right now.”

“They’re not doing a damn thing,” Paul insisted.

“How do we know that, though?” Ace said it slowly. “I mean, really. They haven’t given everything up. The Hulk’s still around… you get reports of some of the other guys sometimes, taking down drug cartels, that sort of thing…”

“So it’s worth a shot!”

“Peter, c’mon, you’re saying we should just waltz right in to their place and tell them what, exactly? ‘Hi, we’re KISS. We haven’t done anything heroic in forty years, but—’”

“I wouldn’t say we haven’t done anything heroic in forty years. We all got married.”

“You know what I mean, Gene.” Paul paused. “You really think they’re gonna buy that? You really think they won’t laugh in our faces?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Paul let out a long sigh and gave Gene a look of utter betrayal Peter hadn’t fully witnessed since the disastrous Reunion Tour about twenty years back. The I-kept-this-band-alive look. The why-don’t-you-ever-listen-to-me look. The I-told-you-KISS-condoms-were-a-bad-idea look. Gene just shook his head in return.

“It’s worth a shot. The worst they could say is no.” Gene took a swig of water. “And if they do, so what? My ego can take it. We can go back to helping with repopulation efforts here in New Haven.” He paused. “Actually, we could probably introduce the Avengers to the program, I’m sure the country could use some super-sperm to—”

“God, no.”

Ace started laughing. Really laughing, that awful, unsettling, but infectious cackle that used to embarrass the rest of them during interviews. Peter caught sight of Gene’s lips twitching and then he lost it himself. Totally helpless. Paul had his hand over his mouth, but Peter was pretty sure he was laughing behind it.

It had been so long since they’d found anything funny. So long since they’d had any kind of idea in mind beyond surviving from day to day. Sure, Paul wasn’t sold on it, and Peter wasn’t sure if Ace was, either, not exactly, but—they were getting there. There was energy there, buzzing through his veins, making him feel fidgety and anxious and alive, really alive, for the first time in five years. He knew it was the same for the others. All the four-who-are-one superhero mysticism they’d tried to blow off as bullshit as tempers had flared in the studio and onstage and in their hotel rooms—shit, there was something to it. There had to have been or they wouldn’t still be together now.

“All right, fine, we won’t advertise it,” Gene finally said, once the laughter had died down. “If they went on the market, we’d probably be out of luck. But if we head to Manhattan… that’ll take us, what, couple hours if we drive, depending on how many highways they’ve finally cleaned up…”

“I’m not driving,” Peter said flatly.

“We could teleport,” Ace offered. “If you got better coordinates than just Manhattan, anyway.”

“Right, yeah, we could—” Gene considered. “Actually, I think we might be better off heading to Stark’s directly.”

“Why?”

“Because he holds the purse strings. And because he’s the one person out of all of them I’ve actually spoken to.” Gene was nodding to himself. “I don’t think he lives in the city anymore, but I’m sure we can—"

“I didn’t agree to any of this.”

“Paul, c’mon. It’s not hurting anything.”

“It’s been forty years. We’re gonna be laughed out of town.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been laughed out of town since we started. ’S fine.” Ace looked over at Paul, mouth uncharacteristically pursed, on the verge of dissolving into giggles again. Peter could tell by the way Ace had his hand cupped around his thigh, underneath the table. He couldn’t remember the last time Ace had done that to him. Peter reached out to put his hand on top of Ace’s, absently tapping against the rings. Ace crooked a slow smile, and half-spoke, half-warbled, “Y’know, we’ve got nothing to lose…”

“That song was about anal, not stomping up to the Avengers headquarters asking for a job application.”

“Same difference. Well, one’s a little sexier.”

“This isn’t a joke, Ace. It’s just stupid.” Paul exhaled, staring at each of them in turn before shaking his head. “God, why the hell am I even still entertaining this shit?”

He started to get up, only for Gene to grab his arm before he’d done much more than push his chair back. Paul sat back down, glare fixed on his face.

“Paul, c’mon. We can’t do this without you.” Gene hadn’t let go of his arm yet, but Paul wasn’t relaxing into the touch. “What’s the real issue here? Are you that afraid of being turned down?”

“Let go of me,” Paul rattled off impatiently, brushing at Gene’s arm. “And no, I’m not. I—fuck, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?”

“What if you’re wrong? What if they aren’t trying? What if busting up drug cartels is all the Avengers are good for these days, too?” Paul tried to laugh but couldn’t seem to manage it, coughing, then draining the rest of his bottled water. “Nothing to lose—like hell we have nothing to lose. If we go over there, and we find out this world really is all we have left, no… no do-overs, no—saving anybody, no bringing anyone back… then that’s it. We’re done. We’ve got nothing anymore. Not even hope.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Peter watched as Gene reached over again, clasping Paul’s wrist before, almost hesitantly, taking his hand. Paul winced, but didn’t pull back. “We’ve got something left. We’re KISS. We’re family.”

“Gene—”

“And that’s not going to change, all right? Don’t get me wrong. It’ll hurt like hell if they say there’s nothing that can be done.” Gene paused. “But that doesn’t make it true. Look, whatever life ever had in store, we’ve kept going. We’ll keep going regardless.”

Paul didn’t say anything for awhile. Long enough that Ace had stopped just resting his hand on Peter’s thigh and started actively trying to pick the lint off his slacks instead. Peter batted his hand away, then, before Paul finally spoke back up.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’m in, I’ll do it.” Gene was still holding Paul’s hand. Neither had let go yet. “But don’t get too excited. And don’t think we’re just gonna pop over there tomorrow.” Paul finally tugged his hand away, but not until after a brief squeeze.

“We’re not? Oh, c’mon, Paulie, if I get some coordinates, I know I can teleport us there!”

“Because,” Paul said, grinning almost wolfishly, “we’re gonna train first.”

Sing For Me - Chapter Thirty-seven

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X OFC (Sasha)

Characters: Bucky Barnes, OFC Sasha, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, OFC Zoe, OFC Kat, OFC Maddie, Princess Shuri

Author: @amandaoftherosemire​

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2400

Format: Series (Complete)

Warning: Language, angst.

Summary: Sasha tries to wake up. Kat has a chance to talk to Zoe.

A/N: Not consistent with Marvel canon. The first chapter of Sing For Me went up at the end of February 2018. I’m trying to get the story completed by that anniversary. To that end, the next chapter is almost finished and should be up within a few days. I never intended for this to become a novel, but here we are. If you’re still reading, I love you.

Banner by @hellzzzbelle

Sing For Me Masterlist

Chapter Thirty-six here

Chapter Thirty-seven

Sasha had no idea how long she'd been hacking away at vines and branches when she finally broke through. All she knew was that she was hot, sweaty, and exhausted. The dress she'd started in was torn near to shreds, thanks to the rapiers disguised as thorns lining the pythons masquerading as briars. Between that and the time she'd taken to cut the skirt as short as possible to give her more freedom of movement, not to mention tearing off the sleeves, she was almost nude. Her bare skin no longer pristine, she was covered mostly in head to toe scratches and welts.

What fabric was left kept changing from blue to pink, however. She figured the afterlife was either weirdly symbolic or her hallucinations were weirdly straightforward. As she wiped at the sweat on her forehead, she couldn't help but wonder at the sharpness and realism of the experience.

With a final burst of energy, and profanity, along with a few more swings of the now filthy and green-stained blade, she slashed through the last few branches that stood between her and freedom. Laughing with not a little relief, she stumbled on bare feet and legs into a wholly unfamiliar forest.

The laugh dying on her lips, she looked around in stunned and furious disbelief. "Son of a goddamn motherfucking piece of fucking garbage bitch! What's this fucking bullshit supposed to mean?" As she muttered further obscenities, she hefted the sword over her shoulder and took off into the forest.

Kat was looking down at the serene façade that cloaked Sasha as she ignored the debate that raged around her when she felt a small hand on her arm. She turned her head to look at Zoe and smiled gently.

She had a lot of complicated feelings regarding her half-sisters.

Katya had hated Sasha with a vicious and bitter envy. The eldest of Alexandra’s daughters had been given everything, a family, a life, a choice. The others were left with nothing but neglect and pain and, at least in Katya's case, utter subjugation. Knowing Sasha was not to blame for the agonies she'd endured had made no difference when she'd looked into her sister's eyes and found no more recognition than when she'd looked into her mother's.

That lack of recognition had allowed Katya to hold on to the resentment long enough to complete her mission. Using her version of their talent to manipulate Sasha into seeing her only as a romantic rival helped to keep that hate and resentment solid. Those hatefully familiar eyes had felt like wasp stings on her skin, watching her with hostility and distrust. It hadn’t been difficult to maintain an answering hostility.

Once Katya had been able to drop the manipulation and show something more closely resembling her true self to Sasha, however, she’d been shocked by the change. Rather than feeling like needles, the sensation of Sasha’s regard became like gentle, teasing nudges. As Sasha’s captivity had dragged on, the more charming Katya had found her.

Not that Sasha was charming in her captivity, far from it. As a matter of fact, she was a raging bitch the vast majority of the time and she only got worse the longer she remained under Valentin’s thumb. Katya had loved every fucking second of it.

Every clench of Valentin's jaw, every snarl that curled his lip, every flush of rage that stained his aristocratic cheekbones, once daily terrors, became sources of dark triumph under Sasha's influence. Even when he took his anger at Sasha's defiance out on her, Katya internally did an entire cheerleading routine every single time she heard her tell the tyrant no.

By the time Valentin had given her the mission to kidnap Zoe, she had seen him defied so many times in so many ways, she’d seriously considered doing so herself for the first time in over a decade. Though her courage had ultimately failed her, escape had started to seem not just possible, but necessary once Valentin had collected the set.

Because despite what she had wanted to believe, the younger Alexandra did not resemble their mother in anything but eye color. Aware they were being monitored, and thus unable to speak freely, they'd nonetheless developed a form of communication no less powerful for all it was silent.

One day a few weeks in, while guarding Sasha as she waited for Valentin to arrive with new torments, Katie was comforted, if only for a moment, that she was no longer alone in this nightmare when Sasha surprised a laugh out of her.

Sasha had been psyching herself up for the showdown with Val by complaining loudly and with her usual plethora of colorful profanity of her disappointment in her archnemesis. Not that he wasn’t evil, just broadly drawn, she assured with astringent condescension. It was just that she had hoped for a higher caliber of villain. That’s all.

That moment, able to laugh at the man who’d made her a slave, to tear him down and see him as human and thus vulnerable, was a seed planted in her mind.

Immediately following that feeling of comfort, the gratitude at no longer being alone, was a wave of guilt stronger than any she’d felt before. No one deserved this hell, let alone anyone decent, and her sister was a fucking decent human being. In Katie’s world, decency was a rarity more precious than diamonds.

That may have been part of why she had been so astonished to feel an answering sensation of compassion from Sasha in response to that wave of guilt. Her power was concerned with perception. She had the ability to not only see herself through the eyes of others, she could also manipulate how they saw her. Neither Sasha nor Wanda used their powers on Karen because she had manipulated their perceptions so that they saw her as utterly harmless.

Katya had felt Sasha's contempt. Katie felt her kindness. Kat was going to pay the debt.

As for Zoe, she couldn’t really explain it, but Kat had had a soft spot since the day they met for the little girl who now spoke quietly inside her mind.

They'll be at this all day. Kat was fascinated by Zoe's mental voice. It was an astoundingly unusual sensation to have thoughts form inside her mind to which she felt no connection. They can't agree on an acceptable level of safety for me. Bucky has the final say while Sasha's out, but he'll argue it to death with Nat and Steve first.

How do you think it'll go? Kat was entirely uncertain as to how this worked so she tried to think more loudly in response.

Nat'll say yes. Zoe’s face was still a little swollen and stained with the tears she’d shed as Sasha lay dying, but a fierce little smile played at the corners of her mouth. Steve will say it's too dangerous. An indulgent eye roll at that. If you can convince Bucky it’s safe enough, he’ll probably let me try.

Zoe’s palm skimmed down Kat’s arm to trace the gold lines that shimmered softly under her tattoo. The phoenix was fresh, the colors vibrant, the tail feathers covering the back of the hand and curling over the webbing between thumb and forefinger to her palm. The gold lines wove through and were several degrees warmer where they rested lightly on their still lost sister. Rather than the condemnation Kat expected, Zoe’s face held open curiosity and understanding under the conspiratorial smirk. Do you really need my help, or did you just want to talk to me?

Kat stifled a laugh and pushed out a little more power to keep the others’ attention away from their silent interaction. She didn't want to admit it, but she now needed this for more reason than just the care to keep secrets safe. She needed to know that she had ultimately done more good than harm in abducting her little sister at Valentin's direction, if for no other reason than that she’d brought Zoe and Sasha together. She smiled gently. I think I need your help, but I might be able to do it myself. I also want to talk to you.

What do you need? As she asked, Zoe tilted her head to rest it lightly against Kat’s arm in a gesture of affection and support. Zoe could hear the mutter of Kat’s worry, fear, and guilt and hoped to ease whatever she could.

Kat was stunned by the simplicity of the response, the trust it took to offer so openly. Her throat tightened as both grief and gratitude tangled inside her. Though she mourned their inevitable estrangement, she was nevertheless grateful for the chance to see Zoe assured, compassionate, and unafraid.

Even more confident that Zoe would have the answers she sought, Kat rushed to ask the most important question. I need to know how far I can trust King T’challa and Princess Shuri.

Kat was not disappointed. Rather than answering immediately, Zoe seemed to mull it over before her response slowly sounded in Kat’s mind. It depends. With what?

Kat scanned those in the room to see if anyone was paying attention to them. She pushed out a little more power, determined to finish this conversation. The gold lines warmed slightly, and Zoe’s mouth spread in a conspiratorial smile as she looked up at her sister, her quick brain putting the pieces together.

Kat shrugged a little and looked sheepish. I have all the data on Morozov's vibranium project. It could help the princess heal Sasha, but it could also be used to rebuild his weapon if someone had access to enough vibranium.

Sasha trusted them with what’s left of the weapon, even the intact part. Zoe’s face had fallen into serious lines, her memory of being strapped into the ghastly machine one of her most horrific and pernicious nightmares.

Okay. Kat took in that information slowly, already feeling better about what she'd revealed to Her Highness. Judging by the speed with which Shuri worked at a table along the opposite wall, Kat had already given the scientist more than enough information. Still… But what do you think?

Zoe turned a confused and slightly concerned expression on Kat, the mutters of Kat’s worry beginning to infect her. Kat responded with the truth, not sure she knew how to sugarcoat it even if she thought she should. The chair wasn’t made only for Sasha. Me in the chair caused fear. Sasha caused pain. What do you think you could do?

Zoe’s eyes widened and Kat could tell this was the first time anyone had considered the possibility. That alone made her feel better about trusting these people with the source of her worst nightmares.

Valentin had made Katya do terrible things.

Kat watched her little sister’s gaze turn inward and grieved a little at the entirely too adult expression on the child’s face. She wondered if Sasha also felt torn between the need to shield Zoe versus the reality of her ability to do so.

Zoe’s face was set and determined when she looked back to Kat. Shuri is smart and decent. I’d trust her with it, and I’d trust the King to protect it. Kat fought the urge to laugh out loud at the look of sly amusement Zoe shot her as the next words appeared her mind. And yes, Sasha worries about that all the time.

Kat didn’t quite suppress the snort. Good to know. Especially as the princess already has the scent. As she thought the last, she tilted her head in Shuri’s direction. Zoe’s eyes followed to find the princess already had the image of something that looked like a necklace spinning in the air in front of her. It was clear she was on a roll.

Zoe turned back to Kat, her face a study in confusion. Kat shrugged. I couldn’t let Sasha die when I knew how to save her. Maddie’s attention skimmed over her skin, leaving both comfort and exhilaration in its wake. She glanced up to meet her beloved’s warm whiskey eyes. She could never distract her Mads for long. I owe her everything.

So… what are we waiting for?

Kat turned to meet her sister’s gaze once more and couldn’t help but notice a definite tendency towards recklessness. Cooler heads to prevail?

You sound like you think there are cooler heads in this room. Zoe’s expression had become downright smug in her amusement.

Kat thought about it for approximately three seconds before giving in. She recognized an iron will when she saw one as she lived with it. There was no stopping Maddie when she put her mind to something. All that could be done was to either minimize the damage or mitigate the danger. Everything she’d seen or heard of her younger sister told her she’d found another of her kind.

Keep your palm on my tattoo and put your other hand on Bucky’s arm. DO NOT let go. I’m going to both boost and buffer. The vibranium is going to shield you so you don’t get dragged under again. You’re the conduit, though, so you need to reach out and call her back.

So casually Bucky barely glanced at her as her hand made contact with his metal arm, Zoe moved to stand between where Bucky stood at Sasha’s head with his hand on her neck, and where Kat stood at Sasha’s arm, holding her hand. She moved in the ways she’d been taught to avoid drawing attention, not that she’d needed to worry. Between the intensity of the argument raging around them and Kat’s talent working at almost full power to shield them from the attention of the others, no one in the room was giving them even the least thought. How?

How did Sasha wake you after the explosion?

Zoe thought back to that moment, when she heard Sasha calling her, promising she was safe. For the first time in her life, she’d trusted wholeheartedly and had started the ascent. It had felt like swimming up through molasses, or clawing through cotton, and she’d had to sink back down and rest a few times, but she’d been willing to try because of that voice drawing her on. She called for me. I heard her and climbed out.

Same channel. Only you’re doing the calling now.

Chapter Thirty-eight here

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The Deckhand and The Dagger

CHAPTER 10: A LAZY EVENING

Summary: Hook and Jones spend the remainder of the first day of their holiday together.

[Ao3]

The bathtub has plenty of room for two. Hook prepares the water and waves his clothing away with a flick of his wrist then steps in first, leaning back to watch Jones undress. The deckhand stands with his arms akimbo, ‘You remove your clothing with sorcery but I must undress in the conventional way?’ He complains shrugging off his vest. Hook nods and smirks, ‘One of the many benefits of being me, my love.’ His eyes focus on Jones as he pulls off his blouse and follow his breeches as they slide down his furred thighs. The deckhand sets his garments aside and climbs over the porcelain edge with vigor, purposely splashing his smug companion with his foot.

Hook playfully slaps a round cheek as Jones settles blissfully into the soapy water, tucking himself between Hook’s legs and relaxing against his chest, ‘Oh this is wonderful,’ he sighs watching the steam rise, then drops his head backward onto his lover’s shoulder, angling his head to kiss his partner’s jaw. ‘Yes it is, my sweet’ Hook whispers and wraps his arms around Jones, his fingers lazily gliding across his breast and over his abdomen.

‘It has been an age of sponge baths. You have magic, why have you not conjured a tub on the ship?’ Jones laments. ‘I have not considered it before,’ Hook shrugs, having no one to share it with until now ‘it does require a large amount of fresh water my love, not usually available on the average vessel.’ The deckhand can feel Hook’s erection pressing into his hip, but lovemaking while pleasurable, seems impractical here, at least at the moment. For now he prefers to soak and be close.

He drifts in and out of wakefulness for half an hour or more, thinking about the book and the object revealed within it. Could it be the answer? And will Acela have information that can guide them to its location? He wishes he knew more about its power and would study further if there were time to do so, as much as he has enjoyed this day, he is anxious to continue on. He worries that Hook will be overcome once again, perhaps it is not wise to wait. The darkness seems to be at bay for the time being and should they not take advantage of this reprieve? He decides against pressing for answers and massages Hook’s forearm while he muses.

Hook has controlled the temperature of the bath with small gestures to maintain the perfect degree of comfort, but it has been some minutes now and he is impatient. Jones smiles when fingers begin to brush and lightly pinch his nipples, his own hand has begun to prune, perhaps it is time to wash and dress for dinner. He can smell a delicious fragrance in the air, Sofia is preparing a meal for them and he is curious about what is in store, she had loudly shooed him from the kitchen earlier barking ‘fuera!’ at him and waving a large wooden spoon when he attempted to inquire, so he must be content to wait.

He sighs and leans away with regret. With much sloshing and considerable effort he turns around to face his love; Hook looks on with amusement as Jones twists himself into position then dunks his head beneath the surface of the water to wet his hair. Upon reappearance, the bathwater cascades off of his head and runs in rivulets down his face and body, his dark mane plastered to his skull. He swipes it from his eyes then peers at his lover from under his eyebrows.

Hook is overcome with the desire to kiss him and reaches out to embrace him and find his soft plump lips, his tongue peeks out to lick across the seal of Jones mouth, slipping briefly inside when they separate. Their eyes connect, Hook’s gaze is so intense as if he is memorizing every detail of his his face, The deckhand looks back quizzically, curious why his lover is so rapt.

‘Merely cherishing this moment my dear,’ Hook says in answer to Jones unspoken question. He breaks the kiss, sheepish at Jones’ scrutiny, smiling crookedly he follows suit, plunging his head into the warm water. The deckhand grasps the large bar of lightly scented soap and brings it to his nose, a subtle fragrance of Jasmine and something else he cannot put his finger on. His lover smelling of flowers seems a strange contradiction though he appears so vulnerable now, almost shy with long wet tresses hanging in his eyes.

He knows Hook shows this side of himself only to him and feels honored by it, a worldly and fierce warrior yet so gentle and kind despite the blackness that swirls within him, revealing the man beneath the armor he has built throughout a life filled with loss and hardship is not easy for such a person. Jones begins to lather Hook’s hair, massaging his scalp then working dark strands into peaks, laughing gleefully at his spiked visage. Hook narrows his eyes and returns the favor, they work together until they are both pink and floral and scrubbed.

Hook winces suddenly and tries to hide it, but Jones can see the shadow and turmoil in his lover’s expression as they step out of the tub, Hook is struggling to keep himself in check, distress etched on his face. ‘What do you think about?’ Jones asks reaching out to touch his face, ‘Are you in pain? Is there nothing I can do to ease it?’ Hook hesitates for a moment, ’It is not unbearable…’ he circles Jones waist with his arms and grins licentiously, ‘… I might think of a way you could cure my mood, but let us sup first and enjoy the evening.’ The deckhand nods in agreement, ‘Coffee and pie for dessert?’

‘Anything you desire my love.’

Hook will not say so yet, but he fears the darkness is mounting another attack, it has been increasingly difficult to manage his pain throughout the day. He wonders if these powerful emotions of late, a counterattack of sorts, have launched a war within him that he has no ability to command. He will discuss this with Jones in the morning, perhaps three days in peace was too ambitious a wish, but he will not spoil this night with talk of an early departure.

————————

As they dress a bell sounds to signal dinner is served, Jones insists Hook wear the burgundy coat with gold embellishment he found amongst his clothing and after helping him into it, stands back to admire him with a brilliant smile on his lips. Hook would not however concede to the ivory vest and stood firmly in favor of a black brocade and wool breeches. He looks so different wearing color Jones thinks, so grand and fancy and fine. Hook rolls his eyes at the deckhand’s perusal, ‘How could I have owned such a thing,’ he laughs, ‘but if it pleases you I shall wear it.’

’Thank you, and it does!’ Jones replies.

’So I am forced to be dressed as a dandy while you lounge in my old robe?’ He says wryly

Jones feigns injury, his hand smoothing the velvet collar of the black quilted dressing gown that he has silently claimed ownership of, ’This garment is more elegant than any I have owned! And it is so lovely and soft… but I will don something else if you prefer it,’ he says with an exaggerated frown, his lower lip extended in a pout.

‘Of course not my love, I would have you happy,’ Hook answers chagrined then pulls Jones into his embrace, nibbling the offended lip before bending to thoroughly kiss his neck and suck a brand at his collarbone. ‘Forgive me my teasing, let us enjoy some food and drink. I am hungry for nourishment, unfortunately my thirst for you must go unquenched until later, I fear those responsible for our meal await our arrival.’

Jones bounces and claps upon seeing the dining table so artfully arranged, a large centerpiece made up of wildflower cuttings from the garden and a candelabra at either end softly lighting the room, Sofia has set out the beautiful Delft plates and once seated the deckhand studies the delightful images baked into their surfaces. Garrett and the cook stand ready to serve them, the first course consisting of a mushroom broth and beetroot salad. They welcome the fresh greens having existed on salted pork, biscuits and wine for several weeks.

The main course; roasted pheasant with wild rice and raisins; an herbed pudding; cheese and potato casserole and sautéed green beans with almonds. They sit together at the corner of the table, laughing and tasting each glorious dish, exclaiming at the skill of its creator. The deckhand is careful not to overindulge, saving room to savor a slice of blackberry pie for dessert.

Unlike his partner, Hook is not overly fond of sweets though he does sample them on occasion. He takes only a few bites of his own slice content to watch Jones’ ecstasy at each forkful. He has maintained such youthful wonder at life. considering the difficulties he has faced, remaining positive and hopeful is a talent indeed, and his exuberance has rubbed off.

Hook knows it was not always the case with his companion, he has not pried too deeply into Jones’ past believing he will share what he wishes him to know in his own time… but many of the events he has confided were far from cheerful. He supposes dwelling in history is not in Jones’ nature, preferring to look forward rather than back, with a remarkable ability to forgive the transgressions of others.

When the meal is finished they push back their chairs and thank Garrett and Sofia profusely for their service this night and see them out, the caretaker will ensure the cook arrives safely at home.

————————

Jones takes Hook’s hand when they are alone again and presses his lips to his palm then kisses the pad of each fingertip. ’May we retire to the sofa?’ Jones asks.

‘Certainly my sweet, I would doff this coat in favor of something more to my liking…’

‘I suppose,’ Jones makes a face but acquiesces.

The deckhand pours them each a splash of brandy and studies the soft rug in front of the fireplace, if Hook would be more comfortable then he will as well and begins to remove his clothing, draping them over the loveseat as he peels off each piece. He tosses a few pillows from the sofa onto the rug and lies down, closing his eyes he revels in the plush comfort of the fur and the heat of the fire on his bare skin.

Hook returns a moment later in a blouse and breeches, his violin in hand and does not see Jones hidden behind the sofa when he enters the room until the deckhand’s grinning face pops up into view above its back. He beckons him with a crook of his finger and Hook wastes no time setting the instrument aside and divesting himself of his garments.

‘Had I known this was your intention my love, I would not have changed my clothing,’ he says grinning taking a sip of brandy and pausing to admire his lover before joining him. He lays before him so openly, one arm behind his head, his muscled chest covered with dark wiry hair. A trim waist but not overly so, his shape toned from hard work aboard ship, having sailed on his own for some time as Hook recovered his arms and thighs appear more chiseled with use. 

One leg bent, he props himself on his elbows at his lover’s examination, throwing his head back to expose his long neck, an invitation that Hook will not hesitate to indulge in. He lays down beside his love, forming himself to his body, his thigh moving between Jones’ legs and chafing against his groin.

Hook’s fingers spark with magic and roam over Jones body, then move to comb through his hair, clutching handfuls as they kiss roughly until their lips are swollen and red. The deckhand whispers I love you over and over again as their bodies move together, Hook positions himself and pushes inside gasping as he enters his tight opening. 

Jones’ long legs wrap around his waist, his hips buck in rhythm to meet each thrust. A sheen of sweat covers their bodies as they rut together in the firelight, Hook grasps Jones’ hard length his hand still humming with magic, stroking and tugging him as he drives inside, feeling his magic pulsing around him as he slides in and out.

His lips drift over his lover’s face then he hovers above to see him when he falls. Jones’ mouth hangs slack as he pants and moans with erotic fervor, his eyebrows arching as he concentrates on the sensations below, he opens his eyes when the warmth begins to spread up his torso, watching his lover's hair flop against his forehead. 

Hook’s hips swivel and grind on and on until sweat drips from his brow, his hand working between their bodies until Jones’s mewling sounds merge together into a moaning cry as he spills out. Hook smiles down at him then covers his mouth with his own, kissing him deeply until his own thickness throbs and pours its orgasm inside. When he is finally spent he collapses into Jones arms, breathing heavily and well satisfied, his body flushed and wet with perspiration.

‘I fear we will require another bath,’ Jones grins as he mops Hook’s face with his palm. ‘Indeed,’ Hook puffs rolling onto his back, he sees a fissure in the plaster ceiling that needs repair and cannot think of another time he has looked up from this perspective in front of the fire, but knowing the pleasure of it he imagines it will not be the last. 

He waves his hand and cleans away the evidence of their sex then sits up to reach for a brandy, handing a glass to Jones and taking a long swallow of his own, grimacing as it burns its way down his throat. Returning to his lover’s embrace, ’I would have you again and kiss you until morning,’ he says against Jones mouth. The deckhand’s lips curl into a sweet smile, he would not protest.

@laschatzi @hollyethecurious @ashley-knightingale @artistic-writer @suwya @therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones

Added a little lover boy art for your viewing pleasure. :)

The Offices of Hale & Hale - Round 1 - Stiles

- by @chubby-derek-and-friends

Stiles took a deep breath and let it all out before as he stood in front of the glass doors for the Hale & Hale offices. He did his best to calm and center himself, giving himself a quick once-over in the doors’ reflection. At 23, Stiles was interviewing for his dream job as “Happiness Producer” for Hale & Hale, a position he felt he was born to have, and at a company he really wanted to be a part of. His gray suit wasn’t tailored but it was still cut well enough to show off his trim waist and broad shoulders. Stiles knew for a fact his ass looked great in the pants he was wearing, and his hair was actually behaving for once instead of sticking up like a porcupine. If ever there was a day when Stiles needed everything to go right, this was that day. Steeling himself, Stiles pulled open the front doors and confidently strode across the marble-tiled lobby to the front desk. His messenger bag swung heavily against his thigh. A young man with dark hair and a crooked jaw sat smiling up at him from behind the desk, while a smartly-dressed blond man with razor sharp cheekbones stood to the side of the desk. The blond seemed to tower over Stiles and was smirking at him as if Stiles had just done something amusing. “Hi, welcome to Hale & Hale,” the brunet greeted. “Hey, uh, hi, my name is Stiles Stilinski? I have an appointment with Ms. Lydia Martin?” Stiles replied, his voice a little higher than normal. “Oh yeah, definitely! Lydia’s expecting you. I’m Scott, by the way, and this is Isaac.” The sitting man smiled broadly and Stiles couldn’t help but feel like the enthusiasm in his tone was kind of puppy-ish. The blond nodded at Stiles blandly, then looked back at Scott. “That explains the deep breathing exercises,” he said. Stiles froze, just now realizing that they could probably see him through the door before he came in. Scott shook his head at Isaac and then smiled more warmly at Stiles. “Don’t let him get to you. When Isaac interviewed with Lydia he was so nervous he dropped a cup of coffee down his shirt before the interview. He had to cover it up with his scarf.” Scott chortled as he said that last part, making Isaac frown at him. “I told you, I just liked that scarf and wanted to wear it. I didn’t spill anything!” Isaac protested. Scott chuckled, “so then why did you smell like dark roast the entire time you were here?” “Cologne,” Isaac replied, trying to look imperious. “Yeah, sure,” Scott dismissed. Isaac rolled his eyes and then looked back at Stiles. “Come on, I’ll show you the way to Ms. Martin’s office.” Isaac turned and headed off toward the elevators. “See you at lunch, Scott,” Isaac called over his shoulder. Stiles hurried after him. “Good luck, Stiles!” Scott called after him. Stiles turned and gave him a smiling salute, before spinning back around just in time to dash into the closing elevator Isaac was in. “Whoa, that was a close one. These elevators must close pretty quickly, eh?” Stiles said, moving to lean against the back wall. Isaac hummed non-commitally, his focus on the cell phone in his hand. Stiles nodded and looked around the elevator. It was a polished gold color with a deep red carpet and refined accents. The simple elegance made Stiles’s heart pound a little harder, reminding him that he was actually here, at the place he’s dreamed about working since he’d first read about their offices opening 6 years ago, when Derek and Peter Hale decided to revive the family business. Stiles gulped at the thought of running into either of them. “So any advice for my interview, one nervous guy to another?” Stiles asked. Isaac looked up at him, a bored expression on his face. After a moment, he said, “Don’t drink any more coffee.” Stiles laughed, then stood up straight as the elevator slowed. He shook out his sleeves and made sure his jacket was smoothed down. When the doors opened, he followed Isaac down a brightly lit, tastefully decorated hallway and up to a small waiting area. An Asian woman sat behind a desk that faced the area, her focus shifting from her computer to Isaac as they approached. “Hey, Isaac! How’s it going,” she asked bubbily, a beautiful smile breaking across her face. “Hey, Kira. I’ve got Ms. Martin’s interviewee here. Stiles something,” Isaac answered, his attention barely leaving his phone. Stiles barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Oh, yeah, hi, you must be Mr. Stilinski! I’m Kira Yukimura,” the woman said, rising and holding out her hand to Stiles. “Please, call me Stiles,” he responded, shaking her hand. Kira’s warmth was a drastic contrast to Isaac’s indifference. “I’ve got to go, Kira, Derek’s breathing down my neck. You got it from here?” Isaac asked, glancing up from his phone. “Of course! Thanks, Isaac,” Kira said. An idea sparked in Stiles’s head as he recognized the tense line of Isaac’s shoulders. Immediately Stiles flipped up the flap of his bag and pulled out a package of cookies he had gotten from one of his friends’ bakeries. “Hey, Isaac,” Stiles called as the taller man started walking away. He tossed the cookies to Isaac when he stopped, thankful when the blond was able to easily catch them. “Thanks for the advice, man. Have a great day!” Isaac looked down at the bag of cookies in his hand, then back up at Stiles. He blinked for a second, before turning and continuing on to the elevators. When he turned back to look at Kira, she had a Cheshire Cat grin on her face from watching the exchange. Stiles simply shrugged, “he seemed stressed, like he could use a cookie.” Kira laughed, “of course. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Lydia.” She gestured for him to follow her then walked down another short hallway to knock on a door with “Lydia Martin, HR Director” on the name plaque. “Come in,” came a voice from inside the office. Kira opened the door and leaned in, “Hey, Lydia, Stiles Stilinski is here for his interview.” “Of course, send him in, Kira. Thank you,” the voice answered. Kira smiled back at Stiles and gestures for him to go ahead. “Good luck,” she whispered as he walked past her. Stiles wasn’t sure if everyone here was either really nice, or if they really thought he’d need the luck. He walked in to the office that was styled extremely tastefully. Everything was elegant and somewhat expensive looking. The red headed woman sitting at the desk was styled in the same way, her appearance giving off the image of a classy executive with years of experience, even though she looked to be about the same age as Stiles. “Mr. Stilinski, thank you for coming in today.” Lydia stood and offered her hand to him. Stiles shook her hand firmly. “Thank you for having me,” he responded. “Please, have a seat,” Lydia gestured to the chairs in front of her desk. Stiles slid his bag from his shoulder and sat down on the edge of the chair. “So, Mr. Stilinski…” “Please, call me Stiles.” Stiles interrupted her. Lydia raised an eyebrow, but then continued, “…Stiles. What do you think you can bring to the offices of Hale & Hale that another applicant could not?” Stiles smiled and took a deep breath. This was the easy part. —- Several hours later, Stiles walked into his apartment and closed the door, leaning back against it. He felt wiped and emotionally drained. The interview had lasted for well over an hour, which most websites would seem to indicate was a good thing, but Stiles wasn’t so sure. Lydia Martin had been every bit the ball buster Stiles had expected, and he respected her for her ability to pick up on everything he didn’t say, but he also was pretty sure she didn’t like him. Yes, Stiles had the occasional bout of acerbity, but he also could be professional when it was required. Not that Lydia seemed to think anything about what he did was professional. Lydia had asked him to plan several events for a corporate environment before the interview so they could discuss his planning choices and experience. Stiles had decided to plan three events at varying levels of casualness to show off his wide experience and connections. Growing up with one parent who was a professional chef and another who was a police officer meant that he knew half the restauranteurs in the city and most of the people he would need to get a permit approved quickly for any sort of public venue. But Lydia seemed to question every single choice he’d made, from the food to the locations to the entertainment…nothing had seemed good enough. Stiles had maintained his cool, calmly explaining his reasoning behind each choice and also giving some of the alternate options he’d put in the plan as well, but nothing seemed to please Lydia. At the end of the interview, Stiles had felt like a balloon that had been punctured and left to deflate. Moving from the door, Stiles took off his bag and dropped onto the couch. He felt around in the bad for a minute before remembering that he’d given his cookies away to Isaac. Stiles groaned. A ping on Stiles’s phone alerted him to the reminder he’s set so he would make sure and send a thank you email after the interview. He almost felt like it wasn’t worth it, but Stiles would be damned if Lydia Martin got to him, so Stiles immediately pulled up the draft he had made previously and added a few things from the interview before sending it off. Rubbing his face, Stiles got up to start taking off his suit when his phone started ringing. He didn’t recognize the number. “Hello,” Stiles answered tiredly. “Hello, Stiles, this is Lydia Martin. Do you have a moment?” Stiles immediately sat up straighter, a pang Of hope flashing through his system. “Yeah, yes, of course.” “Good. Stiles, we here at Hale & Hale would like to offer you the position of Happiness Producer,” Lydia said. Stiles gaped, pulled his phone away to look at it, then put it back up to his ear. “…really?” Lydia chuckled. “Really, Stiles. You performed extremely well in your interview, handling the stress of your choices being questioned and explaining your reasoning very calmly and thoroughly. Your connections are quite extensive and your experience is varied as well. And you even sent a thank you letter after what had to have been a very difficult meeting.” Stiles huffed in surprise. “But do you know what really put you over the top, Stiles?” Lydia asked. “I…um…” Stiles stuttered. “The cookies, Stiles. You saw that an employee of Hale & Hale was having a difficult time and you acted to improve their day, at your own expense. You’re exactly the kind of person we want working as our Happiness Producer. Though of course you won’t have to spend your own money for us.” Stiles was speechless. Seriously? That had been the thing to put him over the top? “Stiles? Are you still there?” Stiles realized that he’d been quite for too long. “Yeah, yes, sorry, I’m still here! Sorry,” he rushed out. “Good. So when can you come back in and discuss everything?” Lydia asked. “Um, whenever you need me to.” Stiles answered. “Is tomorrow alright?” Lydia asked. “Tomorrow’s perfect.” “Good, then I will see you at 10 o’clock. Congratulations, Stiles.” “Lydia…Ms. Martin…thank you. Thank you so much.” “Don’t thank me, Stiles, you set yourself up for this success. Now you get to show us all what you can really do.” Lydia said. Stiles laughed. They ended the phone call, then Stiles leaned back against the sofa. He couldn’t stop the series of involuntary fist-bumps that followed, though he did resist literally crowing. He was going to be working at Hale & Hale! —- Stiles raced through the front doors of Hale & Hale, ignoring the blond kid sitting at Scott’s desk and dashing into the closing elevator. The huge bakery box in his arms barely cleared the doors in time. Stiles sagged against the elevator wall, gasping for breath. It took him a moment to notice the dark-haired man in the elevator with him. “Holy shit you’re Derek Hale,” Stiles blurted out, eliciting an eyebrow raise from the other man. Derek stared back at the gasping young man for several moments, before responding. “And you are?” “I’m…I’m Stiles Stilinski, Sir. Your new Happiness Producer.” Stiles said, finally starting to catch his breath. His heart was still racing at being in the elevator with the incredibly handsome CEO. Derek was someone Stiles had admired for years, both career-wise and aesthetically. To be this close to him on his second day of work was…a bit of a shock. “Derek,” the man said. Stiles blinked. “Call me Derek, I hate it when people call me sir.” Derek said. Stiles brain caught up with the conversation and stiles nodded, remembering an article he had read about how Derek didn’t like honorifics in the workplace. “Oh, yeah, sure…Derek. Can do, si…dude.” Derek’s eyebrows furrowed, but he didn’t respond to the comment. “Is that for the meeting?” Derek asked instead. “Oh, yeah,” Stiles said, shifting the box in his arms. “The bakery I ordered them from had an issue with their delivery driver so I had to run out and get them myself and then there was an accident on 3rd so that slowed everything WAY down and I basically had to run the last block because I wanted to make sure that I was here on time for the meeting, although I doubt they would start without you so running into you here was actually incredibly lucky for me so…thanks?” Derek blinked at the onslaught, his eyebrows rising toward his hairline. The elevator dinged and began to open, causing Derek to walk out. He kept his hand pressed to the doorway, though, standing off to the side so Stiles could exit. “Thanks, Dude,” Stiles said, making his way to the conference room. Derek huffed behind him as they both entered the room, already full of people. The chatter stopped as they entered, probably due to Derek’s presence more than Stiles’s. Stiles carefully placed the box in the middle of the conference table, doing his best to avoid knocking over any coffee mugs or papers that were already there. When he opened the box, the smell of the freshly baked muffins inside began to waft around the room, eliciting a hum of approval. Many people moved forward to take one. “Everyone, this is Stiles Stilinski, our new Happiness Producer,” Lydia introduced, leaning forward to gently pluck a muffin from the box. “Stiles, that is Jackson Whittemore, our lead council, and his assistant Theo Raeken” Lydia gestured to a sandy-haired man who was looking over the muffins with distain, and a darker-haired younger man behind him, who waved with a smirk. “…that’s Danny Mahelani, our head of IT,…” The Hawaiian man already had a muffin crammed in his mouth as he hunched over a laptop. He gave Stiles a dimpled grin and a short wave before returning to his computer. “…that’s Peter Hale, our CFO,…” The slightly older, highly fashionable man snatched a muffin from the box, raising an eyebrow at Stiles before ignoring him to peel the muffin cup. “…Derek Hale, our CEO,…” Derek nodded at Stiles. Stiles waved back. “…Chris Argent, our COO,…” The bearded man nodded as well, picking up two muffins and handing one of them to the woman standing next to him. “…Allison Argent, head of Research,…” The woman next to Chris smiled at Stiles as she began nibbling at the muffin he’d handed her. “…Vernon Boyd, our heads of Security, and his wife Erica Reyes-Boyd, head of Promotions…” The tall, dark man and scary looking blonde both gave Stiles passive nods as they munched on their own muffins. The blonde winked. “…Scott McCall, in charge of our inter-office communications,…” Stiles and Scott both waved at each other before Scott enthusiastically took a bite of muffin. “…that’s Mason Hewitt, one of our interns. Our other intern, Liam Dunbar, is manning the front desk,…” The young black man waved enthusiastically from the corner of the room. “…And I believe you know Isaac, Derek’s assistant.” Lydia motioned last to the tall blonde as he came scrambling into the room with an arm load of files. He quickly began passing them out to people, not really acknowledging Stiles except to hand him a folder. Once he was done, though, he did take two muffins and then took up a position behind Derek as he tore into them. “Uh, hi, everyone.” Stiles said. “Welcome, Mr. Stilinski,” Peter said, his tone slightly oily, “Please, have a seat.” Stiles quickly sat down in the chair next to Lydia. Looking around the room, Stiles silently did an inventory of names and tried to make connections in his brain. He made it a goal to re-introduce himself to everyone in this room, and to get I know all of them. He picked up a muffin for himself as Derek stood to begin the meeting. “Alright everyone, so as you know…”

Romeo and Juliet AU with Akashi please, don't worry about not doing it as exactly as the original one, I won't ask for that, only the general story line. About their family, can you put in some canon extras (GOM, or other minor charas that are not frequently requested here), and for the ending, rather than both Akashi and reader dying, can you make them run away together instead? Thanks and hopefully this is okay. ^^

Long overdue, I’m so sorry if this doesn’t turn out satisfying since I took a really different, more lighthearted route with slight comedy (and a vague ending, sorry anon)! 

This is a modern day Romeo and Juliet AU, where Reader and Akashi are both adults in a family of rich people. The companies that their parents own are rivals. I hope everybody enjoys it!

Female!Reader ahead

Business parties are an absolute bore, as you’d rather stay home and spend time doing your hobbies instead of faking interest for hours on end—until six months ago, when you started attending these events without a single peep of complaint or any specific signs of enthusiasm. Your parents didn’t question why the sudden change, perhaps due to the fear of having you retract back into your shell again.

Family appearance is important to them, which is why attending these parties are absolutely necessary: to show every important people that you are a happy family that get along together very well, all smiles and warm words, but it’s all for show. Your parents aren’t that bad, but regrettably a lot of the things that they do or expect you to do are to impress and maintain their social status.

“Being rich isn’t easy,” you start, sipping your drink as Momoi observes from across your seat, “everybody’s nice to you just to get on your good side or to use you to their advantage.” You pause, only to send a skeptic look at your pink-haired friend while she innocently drinks her latte from a straw. “You’re not doing that, are you?”

She laughs hard. You’re clearly joking, because you’re smiling at your own joke—Momoi’s family has been working in your family’s company for four generations, and relations are still tight today. She calms herself down after a mere few seconds of laughter because she’s got something in mind that she’s been dying to ask about.

“But no seriously,” she begins, leaning forward with both hands clasped like a journalist ready for her scoop of the year, “Mom told me she saw you at the partnership party last week and I was like, no way, again? What’s gotten into you?”

You groan quietly, cheeks involuntarily flushing at the answer you haven’t said out loud. Momoi takes this as a sign of major happenings behind her back that she didn’t know before, and is very eager to find out now.

“Come on, __________!”

“Can I trust you not to tell this to anybody?”

“Of course, who do you think I am?”

“Not even to your mom, okay?”

“…’kay.”

“Satsuki!!”

“Alright, alright, I won’t, I swear to anything that can be sworn to.” She says, offering you a handshake. It’s a sign of a deal she can’t break. “Now shoot.”

It takes you a full five seconds before you open your mouth to answer.

“It’s a guy.”

“I knew it!!” She shrieks, and at that moment all the innocent café customers turn their head to your table with faces that are either shocked or highly irritated. Momoi sends them an apologetic look before quickly looking at you, eyebrows scrunched. 

“Tell me more.”

“The thing is,” you sigh, cupping your forehead tiredly, “he’s… he’s the heir of a rival company, and if anyone ever finds out I am royally screwed.”

You don’t think Momoi remembers that her latte exists anymore upon her knowledge of this piece of scandalous news—the poor drink sits at the edge of the table, near the window, forgotten and cold. 

“Wait a second. Are you talking about the Akashi family?” Your companion replies, lowering her voice down to a whisper at the mention of the surname. You can only nod, looking at her with your palm propping your chin up. The next second is basically her jaw dropping.

Momoi mouthes oh my god and you form a silent I know with your lips, enough for her to read. She grips your other hand on top of the table with both of hers, purposely shaking it lightly in… excitement? Is that what you see in her eyes? 

Well, you can’t blame her—the thought of Akashi is also enough to put you into a level of excitement like Momoi’s right now. The only difference is that you’re good at covering up. More like you have to. It’s the kind of secret that will hurt a lot if anyone, especially your parents, finds out.

“How did it happen?” Momoi asks breathlessly.

“Evening.”

You turn upon hearing a male voice behind you, breaking the spell that had you staring at the bubbles in your drink in hand for minutes. It’s dim out in the balcony, and a little bit cold too, especially with you in your dress, but the lighting is just enough to let you see the visitor. That red hair captures attention even in the darkest of rooms, you think, because it also lets you know who he is.

“Evening,” you reply, sipping your drink as he walks until he’s standing next to you. “You know, I know who you are. Might not be a good idea for you to be seen with me.” The sentence is uttered with zero hostility, and Akashi, obviously, takes note. You smile, something that’s sad and cynical but at the same time uncaring and somehow undeniably attractive. He smiles back.

“Well, I know who you are, too,” he says, “and I know what you’re going to say.”

There’s a slightest raise in your eyebrows though you keep quiet.

“‘Fuck what people think’, right?”

Your lips fall open and you let out a small surprised laugh at the fact that Akashi Seijuurou, heir of the Akashi Group, your family’s biggest business rival, just used a cuss word. He chuckles, eyes crinkling charmingly at your baffled expression—you shake your head when you recover, leaning against the balcony.

“I take it that I’m more or less correct.”

“I didn’t know the Akashi family have telepathic abilities. No wonder they’re so successful.”

“I could say the same to yours,” he replies smoothly, “nobody can resist a deal with that kind of charm walking around.”

You look at him in the eye, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly and praying that he can’t see before shifting your gaze towards the golf course that stretched beyond the building, drink still in hand.

“Straightforward, aren’t we?”

He sighs a bit, turning to mimic you, scanning the stretch of green below, his hands laced together as he looks at you from his place by your side. It takes great courage for you to make eye contact.

“Why?” You ask.

“I don’t know, to be honest,” he answers casually, something you’re surprised (and is that delight brewing in your stomach?) an Akashi man could do, “I feel like I wanted to get to know you better.”

You give him a skeptical, cautionary glare, one that you’ve learned to do since you were young and learning the true nature of people. 

“This is not something along the lines of I’m-flirting-with-you-and-getting-you-drunk-to-get-some-company-secrets, right? Because that’s gonna turn out awful.”

Akashi makes a face as he stifles a laugh, which kind of makes you want to laugh too, but then you realize by the sound of it that he might actually be more similar to you than you think. A young man from a rich, well-known family… adding his excellent looks and charisma to that, how many girls have gotten in line just to satisfy their desires? He must have trust issues to a certain degree as well.

“No it’s not, though I don’t judge you for asking.” He answers. Did he just step in closer to you, or is it too much champagne already in your circulation?

“I suppose it’d be nice to have a friend that understands. My friends are nice, but I envy them from having a normal life,” you say, looking down at the golf course. There’s a rowdy cheer in the banquet hall and in the back of your mind you note that the party’s not going to end soon—something you never thought you would be grateful for.

Akashi rests his face on a palm, surveying your face with great interest and somehow managing not to look like a creepy dude. Maybe it’s just thanks to how good-looking he is? The earlier thought of how many girls have chased after him creeps back, and you take a wild guess in your head, distracting you from the conversation. Twenty wouldn’t be an exaggeration. He can certainly take twenty girls to bed: at the same time or one by one, doesn’t matter.

“Tell me.”

“What?”

“Tell me what you talk to your friends about.”

It takes only three seconds of silence until you tell him. About things: about the sad rich life, about trust, about boys and girls that love and hate you. About you. As the night turns darker, your connection to his becomes stronger, what with him telling you about him: about his family, about youth, about the fact that he rarely talks about everything he’s talked about to anyone except you. About how he sees a friend in you.

So you exchanged numbers.

“And then?” Momoi demands, like a child unsatisfied with her bedtime story.

“And then,” you fall into a pause, trying to find the right words. “We started texting each other. Occasional turned frequent. We met secretly during parties, making sure no one saw or noticed us.”

“And then??”

“And then what?” You ask back. “It’s been like that for six months.”

“Yeah but like you’ve kissed him, right??”

Instead of answering, you bury your face into your palms, and Momoi instantly knows the answer is affirmative. Why does she have to be so perceptive?

“That guy used to be my friend in middle school!” She says and you have to let out a small gasp. “Back then he was so much like a prince charming too, I tell you, but then he turned cold,” she pauses, “like you.” 

You pout.

“I guess that’s the defense system of the rich,” she jokes. You swat her hand but laugh along anyway. “I know that he’s a good person underneath, but I never thought he’d open up so fast to you. Dare I say he loves you, __________!”

“I’m in love with __________,” Akashi Seijuurou declares several miles away. His adviser, Midorima, does a double-take from his notebook to the heir’s face with an expression that only says one phrase: are you crazy?

“Are you crazy??” The green-haired male exclaims, snapping his small thin notebook shut so hard that it’s audible. “__________, the daughter of the group you are trying so hard to beat within the past couple of years??”

“Is there any other __________ you know of?” Akashi asks, ignoring his companion by attending to his necktie. A glance through the mirror tells him that Midorima is both dumbfounded and… just dumbfounded. 

“Why tell me.”

“I figure you need to know.”

“You made that clear, but why.”

Akashi stands up, grabbing his suit jacket and wears it, putting an arm in one sleeve.

“I’ve been secretly meeting her during parties for six long months. It’s a given that one of these days I want to sneak out.”

Midorima’s mind is spinning, he’s lightheaded, he’s dizzy, maybe he’s going to die from a heart attack in a few seconds, but he’s rational enough to acknowledge that these are merely effects of several secret breaking news revealed to him within such a short period of time. Not even years of his advisory training can help him solve this situation.

“Oh, and Midorima? Don’t tell a soul.”

Midorima’s eyes narrow at Akashi.

“I mean it.”

And with that, the redhead is gone, leaving Midorima alone in the hotel room as he slowly makes his way towards a chair to sit on. He needs to breathe.

The kiss that Akashi leaves on your lips makes you want more in its tenderness. He has you in public, exposed to the eyes of anyone who wants to look, arm around your shoulder as you sit side by side on a secluded couch in a bar at the edge of town. The two of you agreed for the first time to meet up outside of those ridiculous parties (he honestly doesn’t know how he could last half a year), each offering some sort of excuse to your parents as you’ll be out late. Yours was a sleepover at Momoi’s place, and she is more than happy to cover for you, especially since she doesn’t live with her parents anymore. Akashi’s was simply a gathering with friends.

Which is not entirely untrue, but the way he’s kissing you and putting his hand on your knee is more than just friendly.

If journalists were to be around, tomorrow’s headline will be all about two big companies’ children, one heir and the other a daughter, caught making out with each other and obviously can’t keep their hands to themselves. Which is also not entirely untrue—you’d like to think the two of do not act like you’re so sex depraved.

“God, I want you,” Akashi growls, begging you to think otherwise. Somehow you’re on his lap, a comfortable position for you to go on and pull him into another searing kiss, but there’s something in the back of your mind that’s been bothering you. Being the perceptive person he is, Akashi notes your silence and peers into your eyes questioningly.

“How long are we going to keep this a secret?”

The redhead senses this coming from you. He admits that he also has been asking the same question himself, but he supposes that you might as well talk about it sooner than later. With that, he helps you shuffle back to the seat next to him, his arm still around your shoulder and playing with your hair.

“Do you see a probability of your parents accepting our relationship?”

“To be honest… I don’t really know,” you reply, leaning into his touch for comfort. “But by the looks of how they’re working hard to, you know, outdo the Akashi Group, it’s sort of logical to assume they won’t. I mean, my mom’s been worrying about my dad overworking”

He hums.

“Right?”

“I see where you’re coming from.”

“What do you think they’ll do if they find out?” You ask, voice nothing above a whisper. Akashi’s eyes are half-lidded, an expression of thinking. 

“I fail to see how this escapes my logic,” he begins, his tone a little bit more serious and suddenly you’re focusing everything into what he is saying, “but from a business point of view, our relationship, especially if taken to the next level,” at the mention of that your heart flutters—

“…is like a merger.”

Akashi can see the realization seeping into your expression.

“Of course it would have to be a horizontal or market extension merger to be fair, but what I mean to say is that it’s definitely a good possibility.”

“M-hmm.” You nod, dazed.

“Do you think so, too?”

“M-hmm.”

Akashi looks at you like he expects you to say something.

“How do you think they would feel about a merger, though? There are chances that one of us might be at a disadvantage, and I don’t know if our parents are willing to take that risk.”

“Risk is the basis of progress in business, sweetheart,” he says, going back to stroking your hair, “like investing and developing new products. Those are risks. You need to take it to reap the harvest.”

“But how do we convince them to take it?”

Akashi smiles, lifting you up by the waist to situate you on his lap again, pressing his lips to your forehead. You can only hide your face in his neck, and he chuckles.

“It’s simple—we build a business proposal.”

You might not entirely understand his vague answer, though the rough ideas floating in your head (including another kind of proposal) are quickly thrown out the window at the sensation of his lips meeting yours for the umpteenth time that night. You don’t know if Akashi really has the solution to get you out of this secret relationship without doing any harm, but the way his tongue asks for entrance is too sweet to ignore.

You tell yourself you can think about it tomorrow.