… Aidan Quinn
If there's one thing life taught me real quick, it's that no one invites you to dinner without an ulterior motive.
Literal, metaphorical, or strategic — depends on the lighting and the wine list.
In Maria Hill's case, the main course was clearly information.
And maybe — just maybe — a bit of my attention.
Raven walked beside me, as always. Floating without floating. Dressed in subtle shadows and that delicate brand of disdain for the world around her. Elegant, dark, and completely uninterested in anything that wasn't the ground I stepped on.
Hill was already seated.
And yeah — gorgeous, of course.
Pulling off that look like "I'm way too professional for this, but I will arrest you if you flirt wrong."
Dark blazer, hair in a bun that begged to be undone by reckless fingers.
Perfect posture. Sharp eyes. And a subtle smile. Cold but cutting. Like a razor run across lips.
She stood up as we approached.
"Aidan. Raven. Glad you came."
"The word is curious, not glad", I said, pulling out the chair for Raven — yes, I'm that kind of charming jerk — and then sitting down with a lazy half-smile. "Gotta say… nice place. Love restaurants where every waiter looks like they could shoot with their eyes closed."
She didn't respond, but the flicker in her eyes gave her away.
Caught that.
These "customers" scattered around the room? Laughing, eating, slicing steaks? Under the Six Eyes, the illusion was paper-thin.
The tension in their shoulders. The consistent hand placement on cutlery. Micro facial scans.
Even the fake couple in the corner — her in a dress, him in a suit — had their feet lined up in perfect covert-fire stance.
Amateurs in black tie.
But hey. I enjoy dinner with an audience.
We ordered wine. Something red and smooth, with unspoken intentions. Hill didn't even pretend to offer menus — she already knew what we'd eat.
"Rare steak is the house specialty", she said. "Felt like a match."
"I appreciate the pre-judgment", I replied, leaning back. "But you're underestimating me. I'm rawer than that."
Raven said nothing. As usual. Didn't need to speak to take up space.
Hill took a sip. Slow. Watching.
"I'm impressed by your confidence."
"It's called natural charm. Tastes like arrogance, melts in your mouth."
She smiled. For real, this time. First crack in the mask.
"You know why we're here, Aidan."
"I have a guess. You're gonna try seducing answers out of me while pretending this is just a classy dinner?" I tilted my head, locking eyes with her. "If so… you're very welcome to try. But fair warning — I'm immune to interrogations and pretty brown eyes."
She crossed her legs. Deliberately. Her blazer shifted just the right amount.
"You're young, Aidan. But definitely not average."
"Thanks. I aim for consistency. Premium genetics, questionable life choices, and a powerful goth as my personal shadow."
She glanced at Raven, still silent. Still alert.
Always alert.
"Your companion doesn't talk much."
"She talks enough. Acts even better."
"But she never leaves. You two have… a unique dynamic."
"Or perfect. Depends how you see it."
Hill leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers laced under her chin.
"And you? Where are you from?"
The wine arrived. Smiling waiter. Too smiley.
Agent. Gun under the shirt. Left hand tremor — barely visible.
I answered after a sip:
"From an average neighborhood. With an above-average mind. And now? I'm a work in progress."
"With powers we can't identify. And mental blocks not even Jean Grey can break."
Oh? So they know that too?
"Wow… you're really into me. I thought it was just the pretty face."
She smiled again. Almost playful.
"It's part of the package."
"You should see what comes with it."
Hill leaned back, like she was already having too much fun.
But I knew what this was.
She was testing me.
And me?
I just wanted to see how far she'd go.
"You really think you can walk away from this dinner without giving me a single answer?"
"Depends. You think you can leave without inviting me to the next one?"
She laughed. Softly.
Raven spun her wine glass with precise elegance. Still silent. But her eyes were locked on Hill now. No rush. No filter.
The tension was subtle.
But not just at our table.
Micro-movements. People slowly getting closer.
Agents. All of them.
But… not from the same playbook.
I tilted my head slightly and gave a soft smile.
"Before you try to kiss me… or kill me… how about you ask your Avenger friend to come join us?"
I looked sideways, toward the back of the room.
Sunglasses. Sculpted frame. Wig too perfect.
"It's rude to leave our heroic savior eating alone."
And just like that — she moved. As if she'd heard every word.
I watched her stand up.
No noise. No big show. Just smooth, effortless movement, like she was heading to the restroom or grabbing another glass of wine.
But my eyes locked on her.
Tight dress, clinging like a second skin. Medium heels, nothing flashy. Hair in a slightly messy bun — probably perfectly calculated. Sunglasses indoors? Personality signature or tactical flex?
She walked like she didn't owe anyone an explanation.
And when she reached the table, she took off her glasses with lazy elegance, revealing those dangerously green eyes, and said with a teasing tone:
"How'd you recognize me?"
I smiled. Slowly.
"Your disguise was flawless. Acting on point. Civilian expression tuned for maximum invisibility."
Pause for effect. Tilted my head.
"But you've got this aura that screams: 'I could crush your skull between my thighs if I wanted to.' Unmistakable."
A glorious way to die, honestly.
Natasha Romanoff.
Black Widow.
The woman, the legend, half the world's collective erotic nightmare — and for good reason.
She glanced at Hill, raising a brow like: "He's your problem now." Then crossed her arms and stared at Raven, who didn't flinch — but her fingers did tighten ever so slightly around the wine glass.
I took a breath. Let the smile stretch.
"Well… guess it's time for the main event."
I raised two fingers and shaped cursed energy with the precision of a Six Eyes user.
"Emerge from the shadows, blacker than darkness. Cleanse what is impure."
The form expanded instantly, invisible to regular eyes but heavy in the air. A perfect dome — dense, firm, enclosing.
A Curtain. Classic Jujutsu Kaisen style. Tweaked with binding vows.
Let the world see what's inside, but don't let anyone in — or out.
Subtle. Stylish. Deadly.
Like me.
Raven slowly looked up, shooting me that look — half warning, half judgment, 100% silent shadow on the verge of apocalypse.
Hill and Natasha reacted instantly. Tense. Ready. Even if they didn't understand what I just did.
"Give me five seconds."
They didn't answer — but they didn't object either.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
The door slammed open.
Agents.
Weapons.
Cold eyes.
Trained movements.
And then… the whole room went hot.
The "customers" rose in sync.
Many drew weapons instantly.
Most aimed at me. But more than a few… aimed at Raven.
She didn't even blink.
Wine still in hand.
My voice cut through the air before the first shot.
"Wow. That's fast for someone who just wanted to eat steak."
The first bullets flew.
And I smiled.
"Looks like this dinner just got interesting."
… Maria Hill
Maria Hill knew the weight of a bad decision.
She understood that one misstep could start a war, topple a government — or at the very least, ruin a good dress on an expensive night.
But nothing in Aidan Quinn's file had prepared her for this.
Up until now, he'd just been… weird.
Charming, sure. Annoying, absolutely. But still within understandable bounds.
Until he raised his hand.
It was subtle. A lazy gesture. But Hill felt it.
Not with normal senses, but with that trained instinct you develop after dealing with gods, aliens, and politicians who smile way too much.
The restaurant changed. The air changed.
No lights, no sound, no visible distortion.
But everything around them felt heavier. The space smaller. The silence too complete.
And for just a second, Hill got the uneasy feeling that the outside world had simply vanished.
Beside her, Natasha Romanoff didn't ask questions. She straightened her posture, shifted her stance, and her eyes narrowed into a lethal, silent warning.
Hill's hand moved to her waist. The cold metal of her pistol against her skin was enough to kick every survival reflex into high gear.
Five seconds later… the door exploded.
And chaos stormed in.
Agents. Guns raised. Movements rehearsed. Synchronized fire.
It was an ambush — Hill knew the second the "customers" started standing up in sync, pulling hidden weapons and forming into position.
But what caught her attention most wasn't the attack. Even though half of those people had been personally handpicked by her and S.H.I.E.L.D.
It was the reaction.
Aidan didn't reach for a weapon. He didn't flinch. He didn't duck for cover.
He just moved his hand again.
And then… the bullets missed.
Not like something blocked them visibly.
Not like a force field was deflecting them.
Worse.
They just… didn't hit.
One round stopped midair for half a second before dropping to the floor.
Another curved off-course, like something invisible nudged it with impossible precision.
Aidan kept smiling. Calm. Like this was all part of the plan.
Hill fired instinctively — two quick shots. One to the shoulder, one to the leg. She spun, kicking out the legs of a third attacker coming in from the side.
Training. Reflex. Survival.
Natasha was already in motion. She leapt onto a table, used her heel to push off, spun midair and drove a blade into someone's thigh. Then, in a single fluid motion, she knocked two more flat with a kick that could steal breath and break ribs.
And that's when Raven… let go.
Hill didn't see shadows.
She didn't see energy.
But she saw the air leave the room.
The lights flickered. The atmosphere darkened without dimming. And one man — the one closest to the girl — just vanished.
He didn't fall. He didn't scream. He wasn't hit.
He disappeared.
Like the world had decided he no longer existed.
Hill felt her spine lock up.
She'd dealt with mutants. Alien tech. Super soldiers.
But this?
This had no name.
It wasn't telekinesis. It wasn't gravity distortion. It wasn't alien hardware.
It was nothing S.H.I.E.L.D. had ever classified.
She fired again, covering Natasha as she finished subduing another target. Aidan stretched his hand toward her, and a table went flying — no sound, no wind, no visible force.
As if the space around it chose to move.
There was total silence. No sound escaped whatever bubble they were in.
Even the gunfire was mute.
Hill turned in the middle of the chaos and looked at him. At the boy who, minutes ago, was cracking jokes about steak and brown eyes.
He didn't look scared. Didn't look surprised. He looked like he was having fun.
At that moment, he locked eyes with her — those stupidly gorgeous eyes — and it felt like he picked that exact second just to charm and annoy her on purpose.
And that little beauty mark under his left eye just made it worse.
"This is why I don't share secrets with you guys~" he said with a lazy, borderline smug smile. "A spy organization… being spied on by other spies. Tsk. Embarrassing."
She felt the sting more than she heard the words.
A direct jab — right in the pride.
...
The last body hit the floor with a dull thud.
Hill kept her weapon steady, pivoting on her heel with automatic precision, her eyes sweeping the room with the kind of cold detachment you only gain from doing this far too many times.
Half the restaurant was wrecked. Tables flipped, chairs shattered, glasses broken into tiny shards. Glass scattered across the floor like glittery dust.
The other half? Bodies.
Some fell with clean hits — well-placed shots, surgical cuts, neutralizing shocks.
Others… not so much.
One had his eyes open but unfocused. His face blank, like his soul had left before his body even hit the ground. Another looked like he'd been crushed by something invisible — his arm twisted in a way that was just wrong.
She recognized two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents — hers — among them.
The others? Ghosts. Names that didn't show up in databases. Faces that vanished when scanned. People who weren't supposed to exist... but did.
And they had managed to infiltrate her operation.
Hill pressed her lips together, rage slowly bubbling in her gut.
This wasn't just an attack. It was a message.
Natasha was already moving, crouched beside one of the survivors. She cuffed him with clinical precision, the sound of cold metal snapping into place cutting through the quiet.
She dragged him across the floor like dead weight, dumping him with the others, her face making it clear she didn't need permission.
Hill stepped closer, eyes narrowed, body tense — trying to pull answers from a scene that made no sense.
And then she looked at him.
Aidan Quinn.
Lounging in his chair like he'd just walked out of a spa. Arms relaxed, expression satisfied, eyes gleaming with a little too much amusement.
"Are you going to shut this thing down?" she asked, flatly — motioning toward the space that, though invisible, still pressed down on them like a second atmosphere.
Aidan raised one hand with lazy flair, mumbled something Hill didn't catch, and… it was like the world exhaled.
Sound snapped back into place. Air moved again. Comms came online with a burst of static.
The pressure… vanished.
The restaurant was still a mess. But now it felt like real chaos. Tangible. With rules.
"All set~", he said, smiling like he'd just pulled off a party trick. "Curtain's down. Sound, light, signal... all back on."
Raven stood beside him, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always — but her eyes were still dark. Still dangerous.
Hill gave Natasha a nod. She was already calling in backup over comms.
"We're taking the survivors in for questioning. I want every ID scrubbed. Names, origins, connections. I want to know how they passed our screening… and who let them in."
"Someone very dumb…" Natasha said, checking another guy's pulse, "…or very good."
She turned to Aidan. "Did you know this was coming?"
He raised an eyebrow, still grinning. "Nope. But I'm flattered. All this effort just for me? Makes a guy feel special."
She didn't flinch, but didn't look away either.
He stepped closer — close enough to be annoying.
Then said, low and laced with that sweet sarcasm of his:
"But since you're digging deep… if you happen to find out where their base is…"
He paused. The smile shifted. Darkened.
"Let me know. I'd like to send a gift."
"A gift."
"Of course. Something sweet. Symbolic. Maybe a box."
"What's inside?"
"A head. Or two. Haven't decided yet."
Hill kept her face neutral. But inside... her stomach turned.
He wasn't bluffing.
That calm, almost bored look carried a promise. Like someone offering flowers… or a hit list.
"Well…" she replied, carefully. "If it helps the cause, I might just send coordinates."
Aidan gave her a slow nod, like she'd just recommended a really good wine.
"Courtesy means everything."
And with that, he turned.
Raven followed him like a living shadow, her steps soft, her face blank — still deadly.
The two of them walked out of the ruined restaurant like they were leaving behind a bad dessert.
Like none of it mattered.
Like their minds were already somewhere else. One step ahead.
Maria Hill watched them disappear into the city lights.
Just as backup finally arrived.
… Mary Jane "MJ" Watson
Late afternoon in New York was golden and lazy — the kind of moment that made the city feel just a little less chaotic, if only for a second. MJ and Gwen were sitting on the rooftop of Gwen's building, legs stretched out, cold drinks in hand, their conversation bouncing between random stuff and personal thoughts. A light breeze played with MJ's red hair, while Gwen's blonde strands danced like they had a life of their own.
"So… you gonna tell me or not?" Gwen teased, taking a sip from her drink. "'Cause you've got that look. Like you're hiding the ending to some spicy fanfic."
MJ bit the straw from her bottle, trying to play it cool. But her eyes gave it away — yeah, she was definitely thinking about Aidan.
"There's no ending. Just two false starts."
"Two?"
"Yep. Two."
She let out a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second as the memory hit her. His lips, just inches from hers… and then, nothing. The first time, interrupted by a woman in a suit. The second, by Peter.
And yet…
"Our lips barely touched, Gwen", she said, opening her eyes and staring at the orange sky. "But I swear I can still taste him. Like… it stuck."
Gwen raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Are we still talking about the kiss, or is this some kind of erotic metaphor I should pretend not to get?"
MJ laughed, tilting her head. "Maybe a bit of both."
She twirled the straw between her fingers, distracted, her smile slowly fading.
"He's different. There's just something about him… like, he walks into a room and everything shifts. You feel it."
"That's his ego", Gwen said dryly.
"Not just that. It's like... energy. He's chill, sarcastic, kinda a jerk. But for some reason, you still wanna know what he's gonna do next."
Gwen looked at her for a moment, then looked away, biting her lip.
"And you think this could actually go somewhere? Even with him being... him?"
"What do you mean?"
Gwen rested her arms on her knees, eyes focused straight ahead.
"He flirts with everyone, MJ. Everyone. Last week, he called me 'prime cut with explosive personality' in the hallway. I wasn't even wearing makeup."
"Well, he's not wrong." MJ grinned with a little shrug.
"That's not what I'm saying", Gwen said, her tone more serious now. "Do you really think he's the kind of guy who… stops? Who picks just one person and stay?"
MJ didn't answer right away. Just the thought made her heart beat faster.
"I don't know", she said with a shrug. "But if he's not… maybe I'll find that out for myself."
Gwen huffed a laugh, but smiled anyway.
"You've always been brave. Or impulsive. Haven't figured out which."
"Both work."
They both laughed, and the mood eased again. MJ rested her chin on her bent knee and said, almost like thinking out loud:
"I think I'm gonna invite him to the party."
"Party?"
"Harry's throwing one of those parties. Probably with sketchy booze and a terrible DJ, but… could be fun."
Gwen gave her a curious look.
"You're inviting Aidan to the party… the one everyone's going to?"
"Uh-huh."
"That sounds less like a kissing opportunity and more like a warzone."
"Maybe." MJ smirked, eyes lighting up. "But this time, I want him alone. No interruptions."
Gwen didn't respond right away. Just watched her. Then she smiled too.
"So it's official."
"What is?"
"You've entered the 'dumb decisions that give you butterflies' phase."
MJ laughed.
"And you'll hold my hand if it all goes to hell?"
"Nope. I'm recording it."
They both cracked up — the kind of carefree, teenage laughter that felt almost impossible after alien invasions.