#would anyone around here like a nice block button in this trying time

[blessphemy]

once in a while when i'm in the murderbot fandom tag i see a shark fin of ship discourse and i'm like wrow... i guess there's shipping out there. so anyways.

[dreaming-medium]

Language Barrier

Pairing: Lee Minho x Reader

Word Count: 7K

Tags: fluff, first meeting, first kiss, strangers to lovers

Summary: When the power goes out while you’re in an ATM vestibule, you come to realize you’re stuck inside until the police come to open the door. But there’s one problem, you don’t speak a lick of Korean, and the man inside doesn’t seem to speak an ounce of English.

———

A/N: Please note that sentences that are Italicized are meant to be in Korean and sentences that are regular text are in English.

‘How are you?’ - English

‘I’m fine thank you, and you?’ - Korean

—————————————————————————

Luck was not on your side today.

It’s not like you’re an unlucky person as a whole, no, that’s not it. Today was just one of those days that when you say ‘How could this get any worse?’, the universe takes it as a challenge.

Perhaps you should’ve just kept your mouth shut after you spilled coffee on your blouse this morning. But, you’ve always been such a ‘glass-half-full’ sort of person that you tried to take every inconvenience in stride. Everyone has their limit, though.

Before you came here on a business trip, you had heard about the Korean Monsoon season.

Everyone and their mother told you about how much it would pour, how it would feel like the skies suddenly opened up. But, you didn’t take anyone’s warning seriously. You would wave them off with a scoff.

“It’s just rain,” you thought. “How bad could it be?”

You’re eating those words now as you run through the streets in your nice, newly-soaked, professional heels. Your slacks are sticking to your legs, making the fabric ten times heavier. With your bag held over your head, you look around frantically for the bank.

It doesn’t help that it’s close to 10 PM and visibility is already horrible at this time. Yes, you should have gone earlier, but you were distracted!

Where is it? Where is it?

There!

You spot the glass doors and practically sprint up to them, grab the handle, and rip the door open.

A giant sigh of relief comes out of your lips as you step inside the tiny vestibule.

The only other man inside the place jumps a bit at your noise. He glances over his shoulder at you, but immediately turns back to what he’s doing at the ATM. You pay him no mind as you shake the rainwater off of your bag.

It’s after hours at the bank, meaning the only thing open and available is one ATM inside the room between the bank itself and the streets of Seoul.

Soft beeping comes from the ATM as the other man presses a few buttons. There’s an umbrella on the floor at his feet.

After brushing the water off your jacket, you bring your bag in front of you and start fishing out your card. Countless items inside your bag are now completely soaked.

Ugh, there goes all those business cards you collected at the meeting. Most of the ink is bleeding off the cardstock. Maybe, if you try really hard, you can make out the phone numbers on the cards.

Is that a 6 or an 8?

Or maybe the email addresses will be easier to understand. Surely, it just their names and their company’s–

There’s a bright flash of lightning followed immediately by a booming clap of thunder at the same time the lights in the ATM vestibule flicker and go out completely.

You fight the yelp that bubbles in your throat. The man in front of you seems to lose the fight against his reactions and lets out a tiny yip.

His shoulders come up and he seems to bristle like a cat.

“You’re kidding,” you mumble, looking up at the lights. It was almost pitch black inside now, save for the tiny emergency lights that kick on on either side of the glowing Exit sign.

The man lets out a grumble and a sigh.

You look over and see that the ATM has completely shut off. Figures.

The storm must’ve triggered some sort of power outage. Great. Now you’ll have to find some other ATM.

Why, oh why, did the restaurant that your boss wanted to take you to tomorrow morning have to be cash only?

Whatever, there should be a bank a few blocks from here.

Your heels click on the tile as you make your way to the door. When you grab the handle and pull, it doesn’t budge.

There’s a beat.

You try again, really putting your back into it this time.

“Am I stupid or what?” you whisper to yourself, trying the other door and pulling equally as hard.

“They’re not going to open,” the man behind you says. “The fail-safe locks probably kicked in once the power went out. It’s a security measure.”

You turn around and look at him with a blank look on your face. “Oh, ah, um… s-sorry, no… no Korean.”

The man blinks at you. “You don’t speak Korean?”

You blink right back at him. “Um…” All you can do is shake your head with wide eyes and a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry,” you repeat.

Another series of blinks are exchanged.

“No… Korean?” he asks slowly. His English sounds so unsure.

You nod. “No… no Korean.”

A tiny, exasperated sigh comes from his lips and he looks around, as if anything inside this tiny little room would be able to help him communicate with you. Meanwhile, you turn back to the door and give it another sharp tug to no avail.

“No,” he says firmly, drawing your attention back to him. He motions down to the door handles and then shakes his head.

“No?” you repeat, a bit confused.

“No.”

Honestly, the primitive conversation between the two of you would be somewhat laughable if you didn’t feel frustrated beyond belief.

“Why?” you ask, becoming annoyed. Obviously, he knows something that you don’t.

The man blinks at you and shifts around nervously on his feet. His hands motion around as he tries to conjure up a sentence in English. “N… No. Closed?... Closed.” He nods, saying the word rather confidently.

Yes, you know the door is closed. But, why?

After a second, he sees that whatever he said evidently isn’t good enough, so he points back to the ATM, to the light that is now off due to no power, and then to the locks. You follow his pointing and the cogs in your brain start turning slowly.

“Fail-safe locks,” you state and then finally release the door handles.

“Fail… Fail-safe locks,” he repeats slowly. “Fail-safe locks.”

“Fail-safe locks?” you parrot his Korean back to him and he nods.

A small hum comes from your chest and you take a step back from the door finally. “How long do you think–” you cut yourself off when you look over at him. The man is staring at you, not following a word you’re saying.

Your hand comes up and you brush some wet hair off your forehead and then scratch the back of your head as a nervous tick. There’s no point in even asking the question, he won’t be able to understand anything you’re saying.

If you were in his shoes, you’d probably be a bit annoyed too. But at the same time, he’s already been kinder than most would be in this situation.

He’s locked in an ATM vestibule with someone who doesn’t speak the same language as him– in his own country. He’s been more than kind. Most people would just wave you off and forget trying to communicate at all.

But here he was, talking slowly and making sure you can understand what he’s saying. He’s going so far as to point around the room to make sure you understand.

The man notices you give up and he lets out a tiny sigh, turning to then peer out the glass doors at the streets of Seoul. There’s basically no one out there, everyone has taken shelter from the squall.

“We’ll have to wait until the police come to open the door.” He pats at his pockets, searching for his phone.

Even with how terrible your Korean is, you still pick up on a few words. “Police?” A beat. “Police?”

“Yes,” he answers in English, taking his phone out and tapping the screen a few times before holding it up to his ear. The man continues to look through the glass doors, watching all the different cars drive by, none of them police cars.

You decide to turn around, walking around the tiny room.

All of the lights are off except for the emergency lights. They cast a dull glow through the entirety of the vestibule. There's barely enough light to see from one side of the room to the other.

Rain starts hammering against the glass as the man speaks into his phone. “Yes, hi, hello. I am currently trapped with another woman inside the ATM vestibule of Metrobank Seoul… Namdaemunno… Yes, that one.”

Your ears perk up when he mentions the name of the bank and the address. Ah, he must have called the police. His face pulls into a slightly annoyed look, but he doesn’t speak with a hint of it through the phone, at least, not that you’re really able to tell.

The man says a few more words into the phone before he hangs up with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair and then down his face in an exasperated fashion before turning to look at you. His mouth opens to say something, but he thinks better of it and he grimaces even more.

Your own features pull into a sympathetic expression and you look away, slightly embarrassed. Should you have learned more of the language before coming here? Absolutely. But at the same time, you didn’t have much time to prepare once you were told you had to travel here for business.

He shuffles from foot to foot and looks around, shoving his hands in his pockets and desperately trying to remember every English class he took in school.

“Police…” he says slowly, thinking through every word he wants to try and say. “Police are… busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yes. Busy. Busy with… car…” He brings both of his hands together and claps and then makes an explosion noise with his hands.

“A car accident?”

He snaps his fingers and points to you, as if you’re a team during a game of charades.

“Car accident,” he says in Korean.

“Car accident,” you repeat and he nods.

Despite the reality of the situation, you smile. The humor in all of this does not escape you. You decide to try and meet him halfway, even with your butchered pronunciation.

“Police… time… long?” Your head cocks to the side and you point to your watch. He shakes his head and shrugs in exaggerated movements.

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. The accident was that bad, huh? No wonder the power went out then, the car must have smashed into electrical lines after that loud clap of thunder. This probably means all of the traffic lights and such are out too.

The police are most likely directing traffic and making sure no one gets injured; two idiots stranded in an ATM vestibule are the least of their concerns. Honestly, you can’t be in a safer place. Well, unless this guy is a murderer, but you haven’t gotten a harsh vibe yet.

You sigh and lean against the wall near the corner across from the ATM. Your body slides down to the floor and you stare straight ahead. It seems like you’re going to be in here for a while then.

The man takes one last look outside the doors before walking in your direction. He leans against the adjacent wall and takes a seat on the floor with you. His shoes almost touch the side of yours. It’s at this time that you let yourself take a moment to really look at him.

He has to be around your age; older than a college graduate but younger than someone settled into their career. Something that definitely doesn’t escape your attention is how… pretty he is. His skin is near perfect and so is his hair. Everything, down to the clothes he’s wearing, is absolutely flawless– and he’s only in sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie!

Next to him, especially in your current drowned rat state, you probably look like something worse than a hot mess. You quickly comb your hair off your forehead once more and pull at your soaking wet clothes sticking to your skin.

The man’s lips purse for a moment and he opens his mouth as if to say something, then promptly stops, opting for a grumble of frustration.

After a moment, an idea flickers through your mind and you hold up one finger to him to say ‘one moment’. You reach down into your pocket for your phone and take it out, tapping at a few screens and bringing up the Translate app.

‘What’s your name?’ you type into the phone and it immediately translates it into Korean below it. You turn your phone around and hold it up to him.

The man looks at you, then your phone, and his eyes light up. If you’re not mistaken, you even see a little bit of relief flash over his features. A tiny smirk pulls at one corner of his lips before he looks back at you.

“Minho,” he answers and motions to you.

“Y/N,” you reply. “Nice to meet you, Minho.” You hold your hand out for a handshake.

Minho looks at your hand and his smirk gets wider before he grabs your hand and shakes it gently. The skin on his palm is so soft. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

After shaking his hand, you bring your phone back up to your face and type another sentence into the translate app.

‘I’m very sorry for not knowing Korean, I’m here on business.’

Minho looks at your phone, reading the statement before shaking his head and pulling out his own phone. He types away and then holds it up for you to read.

‘No need to apologize. With my line of work, my English should be better. It’s a very hard language to learn.’

A little laugh huffs from your nose and you nod and type.

‘Try learning Korean.’

Minho laughs with you and his smirk grows into a playful smile. Jesus Christ, this man is gorgeous. He looks down and taps a bit on his phone and then he holds it up to you. With the way his smirk pulls at his lips, it almost reminds you of a devious little cat.

‘I could tell you were a foreigner when you first came into the bank.’

Your eyebrow raises. “Oh, really?”

He’s chuckling when he brings his phone back to type more and then hold it up for you to read.

‘You don’t have an umbrella.’

Laughter leaves your lips when you read that and your head tilts back to rest against the wall. The wetness from your clothes is beginning to seep into your bones. Plus, the feeling of the fabric sticking to your skin is starting to become overstimulating.

But, you try and keep it together. You don’t really have another option at the moment.

You type a message back to Minho.

‘People tried to warn me about the Monsoon Season. As you can see, I didn’t listen.’

He reads your message and sucks his teeth with a smirk. Minho shakes his head and motions to the glass doors, as if to say ‘Look!’.

“I know, I know!” you laugh and look outside at the sheets of rain pouring from the sky. Puddles have turned into small ravines flowing down the sides of the road. Any car that passes by creates a huge splash as they pass through them.

Every once in a while, the sky will light up and thunder will follow it quickly.

Minho laughs with you. “Next time… you listen.” He nudges your leg with his foot.

You look over at him. “I will, trust me.”

A long look is shared between the two of you. There’s this tiny nagging feeling at the back of your mind, it’s that same feeling you get when you see someone in public that you swear you’ve seen before. Maybe he just has one of those faces?

No, you definitely haven’t met him before. You would remember if he was someone you shook hands with in the last few days. A man that gorgeous would never slip under your radar, you’re certain.

Minho stares back at you, eyes flitting about at your soaking wet hair matting to your skin. It looks like his one hand twitches for a moment and then he shifts in his seat.

Back to the app.

The two of you type away on your phones and hold them up at the same time with the exact same question on them.

‘What do you do for work?’

‘What do you do for work?’

Again, the two of you let out little huffs of laughter and he motions to you as if to tell you to go first.

So you do, you type down on your phone a little answer for him.

‘Right now, I’m only the assistant to a CEO for a huge company. Wherever he goes, I go. I write all his contracts; everything he does goes through me first. I’m more of an administrator than an assistant, though.’

Minho reads your answer carefully and then types out a small response with a tiny crease in between his brows.

‘Why do you say ‘right now’?’

A sad smile spreads on your face as you look down at your phone to type out a response.

‘I studied hard and have a Mathematics degree. But no matter where I apply, they say I don’t have enough experience. Back in America, the job market is absolutely horrible. So, I’m stuck.’

Minho’s eyes scan through your message and a frown pulls at his lips. He looks back up at you, meeting your eyes and then back to your phone before he begins to type his own message.

Your silent communication warms your heart a little bit. The glow from his phone lights up his features and you study him carefully. His teeth poke out from his top lip– it’s absolutely adorable.

He seems to think for a long moment before his thumbs fly over his screen.

Rain is coming down in sheets outside the door, it’s the only other sound inside the room besides the light clicking of the haptics on his phone.

You reach back and once more run your fingers through your hair– it seems to be drying now, but not in a good way. The humidity of the rain is apparent in the way it's starting to frizz up.

Minho turns his phone around after a moment of typing.

‘I’ve heard about how hard it is to get a job in America, I’m very sorry it’s so unfair. For what it’s worth, I think there’s nothing wrong with the job you have now. Hard work is hard work no matter if it's an assistant or a scientist.’

His words strike a chord within your heart, they tug at your chest and at the corner of your lips which twitch into a wistful smile on your face.

“Thank you,” you say to him in Korean, looking directly into his eyes. Minho smiles back at you when he hears it.

“You are welcome,” he answers in English.

His smile seems so warm for a stranger. He looks at you as if you’re an old friend, not like a woman, still soaking wet from the rain, sitting on the floor with him inside an ATM vestibule. He’s so genuine.

After a few seconds of just looking at him, you bring your phone up to type once more.

‘Your turn. What do you do?’

Minho stares at your phone for a long time, seemingly reading the sentence over and over again. His bottom lip pulls between his teeth and he seems to weigh something in his mind.

His brown eyes flick to yours, then back to the phone, then back to you again before he looks down at his phone.

You never realized how much just body language alone can convey.

He types slower, his thumbs not moving as quickly as before. Why does he seem so apprehensive?

Eventually, he turns the phone around.

‘I’m an idol.’

“Oh,” you say softly. Your shoulders shrug a bit and you cock your head to the side. “Like a K-pop idol?”

Minho nods in response. “Stray Kids.”

The name rings a bell, it’s just one you’ve heard floating around for a few months now. You think one of your friends is into them, but you can’t remember. She’s into so many different groups, it’s hard to keep track anymore.

You type in your phone.

‘I’ve heard the name before. Weren’t you guys at the MET Gala?’

With a breathy chuckle, he nods. A smile spreads across your face.

‘Wow, I’m trapped in a room with a celebrity then. You know, people write stories like this.’

Your joke definitely lands because he snorts a huff of laughter as you type on your phone a little bit more after that.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t take pictures and post them all over Twitter or anything. This will just be a funny story for me to tell my friends when I get back home to America.’

“Thank you,” Minho says softly with genuine gratitude in his voice. God, you can’t even imagine what it’s like being an idol. There probably wasn’t a single place he felt safe going to anymore. There are always cameras just waiting to take his picture.

‘When do you go back to America?’

‘In a few days. My boss loves to extend his business trips at the last minute. So, I could be here three more days or seven more days. It’s very hard to pack to come on these trips.’

A bittersweet expression settles on his handsome face.

You think for a long moment before typing away at your phone and showing it to him.

‘Have you ever been to New Jersey? That’s the state I’m from.’

Minho’s lips purse as he thinks for a long few moments. Very slowly, he nods, almost unsure. He types in his phone, then thinks for a moment, then types again.

‘I think we’ve been there twice. Is Newark in New Jersey?’

Excitedly, you nod. “Yes, that’s up in North Jersey!” You’re so excited that you forget to type down on your phone. “Oh!” you say with a laugh, looking back down at your phone.

‘Yes, that’s in the northern part of the state, about an hour or so from my hometown. I grew up in the central region, right on the beach. It only takes ten minutes to get to the beach from my house.’

Minho’s smile widens and he looks at you with a slightly envious look in his eyes. You giggle in response.

‘Two other members love the beach, but they’re from Australia.’

‘Australian beaches are probably not that different from American beaches. But I’ve never been to Australia. Have you?’

Minho nods and you see him close his translation app and switch over to his camera roll. His fingers quickly begin scrolling up through the countless amount of photos he has on his phone.

Not wanting to invade his privacy, you look away from his phone and out the doors in the vestibule once more. Not a single soul is walking– or running– along the sidewalks anymore.

Due to the power outage, there’s not even street lights illuminating in the puddles, it’s almost eerie looking. But, surprisingly, you don’t feel uneasy at all. Especially not with Minho sitting at your side.

Said man hums to get your attention, shuffling closer to you, and you look down at his phone. The picture is absolutely gorgeous.

It’s a photo of the beach, you’re assuming in Australia. The red sun is peeking above the horizon and painting the sky a beautiful wash of reds, pinks, and purples, all of the colors melting into one another. The clouds are wispy and glow in the morning sun.

The ocean seems so beautifully blue, even the foam at the crash of the waves is beautiful.

In front of the ocean is a gaggle of boys, it looks like there’s about seven of them. Each of them have bright, beautiful smiles on their faces reaching their eyes.

You’ve never been able to feel joy radiating from a photo like this, it seems to be contagious since you find a smile pulling at your own lips.

“This photo is beautiful,” you whisper, not taking your eyes off of it.

Minho hums, maybe he understood what you said. His thumb moves and he scrolls to the next picture where two of the boys have taken one of the others by his legs and arms and seem to be pretending to toss him into the surf.

A soft giggle comes from your lips and you find yourself leaning towards him a bit to get a better look at the photo. Truly, you didn’t even notice your shoulders brushing against each other, and by his lack of reaction, it seems Minho didn’t either.

“Friends?” you ask him in your choppy Korean.

Minho looks over at you, his face closer to you than before. His eyes widen a bit at your proximity, but he doesn’t back up at all.

“Family,” he corrects you in his soft English.

An even warmer feeling spreads through your chest and you look back down at the photo. They must be his band members, but they just look so much closer than that. It reminds you of all of your friends back home.

Before you can even think twice, you’re opening your own camera roll, scrolling through an endless sea of memories before finding one specific morning you woke up to go watch the sunrise on the beach.

A tiny, awe-struck noise comes from Minho when he looks down at it.

“Sunrise,” you say and then think for a moment. You’re not sure of the Korean you want to say. “Favorite… time.”

He’s so patient when you speak, it absolutely melts your heart. There’s a different air about his softness with you too. He’s not treating you like a child just learning how to speak, no, he’s just being… nice. He’s being sweet and genuine and it speaks volumes about his character.

“Sunrise,” he says in Korean.

“Sunrise,” you repeat, looking up at him. His eyes were already trained on your face by the time you looked up. A tiny dusting of pink covers your cheeks. How long has he been looking at you?

A happy smile spreads over his lips, the edges curl up playfully. He nods. “Sunrise. Sunrise.”

“Sunrise.” Your voice says softly once more before looking back down at your phone.

Swiping through a few more pictures, you show him the boardwalk that runs down the beaches by your house. Everything from shops, to amusement park rides, to lemonade and ice cream stands litter the entirety of the shore.

He points down at the ferris wheel and shakes his head. “No,” he says simply.

“No?” you ask with a laugh. “Why not?”

“No… no high,” he shakes his head and motions his hands around to emphasize his point.

“Best picture,” you giggle holding your hand up in the air to emphasize the height aspect, then you’re swiping to the next picture taken from the top of the ferris wheel. This time, it was sunset. “Sunset.”

“Sunset.” A pause. “My… My… favorite time.”

A soft hum bubbles up in your throat. He loves sunset whereas you love sunrise. How cute.

“Sunset is beautiful,” you say slowly. Your eyes are still on your phone when you swipe to another photo.

“Beautiful,” Minho whispers softly.

Humming, you nod. “Yes, beautiful.”

A soft puff of air comes out of his nose and fans out over your cheek. When did he get this close? You look up at him and almost bump his nose with yours.

Minho’s head flinches back a bit at your sudden movement, but he makes no move to get further away from you.

He sighs softly, his eyes flitting all over your face, taking in every one of your features. “Beautiful,” he murmurs.

Your eyes widen, that pink blush making its way back to your face. You can’t even help the tiny, giddy giggle that bubbles in your throat. You look down shyly, biting your bottom lip.

Tender, gentle fingers lift your chin back up. Truly, you didn’t notice how cold your skin was until his warm touch spread on your skin.

Is this really happening?

A shiver races down your spine and a soft shudder comes out of your lips. Minho’s eyes look down at your lips and then down at your arm where goosebumps begin to raise.

He pulls away gently, making your brows furrow. Did you do something wrong? Maybe you misread his–

He’s shrugging off his hoodie.

Oh, he thinks you're cold.

Before you can even think to tell him you’re okay, he’s pulling your shoulder forward a bit so he can drape it over your back, bundling you up in such a pleasant, soft warmth. With small, fussy movements, he’s closing the hoodie around your body.

Perhaps you didn’t even notice how cold you were until you were suddenly surrounded in a warmth that can be compared to the fuzziest blanket you own. Not to mention the absolutely delightful scent that wafts upwards into your nose from the fabric.

It’s such a clean, cozy, calming scent. It’s like you buried your nose into the Mahogany Teakwood candle at Bath and Body Works.

Your eyes stay trained on his face while he bundles you up tightly. His hands gently grab your arms and rub up and down a few times to create even more warmth.

“Better,” he murmurs, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

How is it that a stranger has wormed himself into your heart like this? His tender gaze makes your soul feel calm, like those pictures of the morning surf under the sunrise.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to him. Your hands come up to grab at the hoodie, curling into the fabric.

Minho smiles back at you, you can see how his smile grows as he watches you relax into his clothing. There’s no space between your shoulders as you rest against adjacent walls, your two bodies have melted into the corner.

There’s a clap of thunder outside, but neither of you move. Your feet shuffle on the floor as you bring your knees closer to your chest. His legs adjust around yours, feeding them under your bent knees and tangling your limbs up further.

It’s so hard to break Minho’s eye contact, but you do it slowly, looking down at your phone and opening up the translate app once more. His soft breathing hits your cheek with every exhale.

‘You’re too nice to a stranger.’

Minho hums, almost in agreement. He picks up his phone and types back.

‘I’m usually not.’

You read the statement and then look at him, your head cocked to the side. Your brows furrow in confusion, but he types more before you can even ask another question.

‘I don’t know why I feel drawn to you.’

The text looks right back at you. Your heart flutters in your chest and you know that your cheeks get redder and redder by the second. Still, you can’t contain the giddy laugh that makes its way past your lips.

You bite the inside of your cheek to try and hide the smile, but it only makes Minho smile wider. His hand slowly comes up towards your cheek. Right before he’s able to make contact, he stops, hovering over your skin and gazing into your eyes.

A silent question is asked through his eyes. It’s a language that you don’t need any sort of app for. An answer is communicated right back.

Soft, tender warmth spreads over your cheek, radiating all throughout your body in the most gentle glow. His thumb caresses over your cheek bone, swiping gentle strokes back and forth.

You feel the same as him, that’s the strange part. There’s something so alluring about him that you just can’t put your finger on it. He’s pulling you in like a magnet and you don’t even want to fight against it.

There’s so many words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you know that each and every one of them would fall on deaf ears. Nothing that you can say in the moment would make sense to him.

Exhales are shared and mingled together in the minimal space between your faces,

“Beautiful,” he whispers for your ears only. Not like there’s anyone else to hear it except the ATM sitting dormant in the corner of the vestibule. Not even the mice in the walls would have been able to hear his murmur.

Love at first sight was something you always gawked and scoffed at. You always thought that it was such a Hallmark invention, that there was no way you would be able to just look at someone once and immediately fall head over heels for them.

But here you were, sitting on a dirty floor, feeling your heart beating faster and faster in your chest. Letting your face be cradled by a man you didn’t know two hours ago. By the man who patiently worked with you to communicate.

How is this even possible?

You can count on one hand the amount of things you know about one another.

Minho, who is a famous idol in Korea, who loves sunset and hates heights, who has the most expressive brown eyes you’ve ever seen.

Minho, who did whatever he could just to talk to you when he could have just as easily sat in silence on the other side of the vestibule.

His hand slowly drags down your cheek, each finger gliding down your skin towards your jawline to lift under your chin.

Another silent question passes through both of you in the one language you seem to both be fluent in.

Your eyes flick down to his lips and he hears you loud and clear.

Minho leans in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight touch. But, despite how soft the kiss is, heat spreads through your body in a grand wave, rushing through your fingertips and into your toes.

The first press is long and sweet, the two of you simply melting into the sensation of being locked together.

He pulls away only for a moment, his eyes gazing down at your lips before he swoops in again, this time his movements a bit quicker.

His hand returns to your cheek, guiding your head to tilt to the side to gain better access to your lips.

A soft sigh leaves your nose and your own hand travels up to grab at his shirt gently, just needing to hold onto him in any way possible.

Minho responds to your sigh, his lips moving a bit faster against yours. Both of your lips part and close, moving like mirror images of one another. Every few kisses, your noses brush against one another, but it doesn’t deter you from your actions at all.

Slowly, your hand travels from his shirt up to his neck, running up the side of his flushed skin. He feels feverish to the touch and it only spurs you on to keep moving. At the contact on his own body, Minho lets out a tiny grunt against your lips, his kisses stutter for a moment but he’s back to kissing you after just a moment.

Up, up, up, your hand travels over his moving jaw, to his cheek, then moving back to thread in his soft, brown trusses of hair. God, everything about him is just so perfect. It’s like you’re combing your fingers through the softest of cotton.

His kisses are getting deeper, little sighs come from both of your mouths as the passion continues on. Minho’s body turns towards yours a bit more, his knees canting up and almost forcing your legs onto his lap.

Tentatively, you feel his tongue poke out from between his lips, licking gently at your lower lip. You don’t even hesitate to give him access to your mouth. A gentle moan claws its way up your throat as his tongue licks into your mouth.

The hand on your cheek grips you a bit tighter, holding your face to his– as if you would want to try and move away from Minho and his addicting kisses.

“I just can’t help it,” he whispers in Korean against your spit, soaked lips before capturing them once more. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Y/N.”

All you catch is your name and it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t even need to know what else he said, his tone says it all. The way it comes out in a breathy exhale is enough to send your mind reeling.

“Please,” you murmur into his mouth before he presses his lips to yours once more with the same amount of passion and need in his actions.

More and more rain hits the glass doors, becoming the only sound that can be heard in the room except for your shared exhales, pants, and breathy moans.

Slowly, the kisses begin to calm down. Minho pulls away for a moment to take a long breath. His thumb moves to brush against your lower lip like a butterfly landing on a flower.

His eyes open just a crack, gazing down at your mouth with a hazy look in his eye. As he slowly catches his breath, he presses his forehead against yours, his fingers brushing along the heated skin on your face.

“Forgive me, I didn’t do things in order,” he whispers. “I should’ve taken you out first.”

Your eyes open and you look at him in confusion. “Hm?”

His jaw clenches before he swallows and he takes another long moment to look over your face, his features soft and welcoming.

There’s some movement as his other hand blindly pats around his lap for his phone. He can’t physically tear himself away from you long enough to even look down.

Another tiny laugh comes from your lips.

Your fingers move out of his hair to come around and gently run over his features, brushing against his jawline, to then trace up to his lips and up the length of his nose, memorizing each and every detail.

Minho melts into your touch, his face moving closer to your touch, seeking you out.

His hand finally finds his phone and he grabs it blindly, flipping it around in his lap and tearing his gaze away from your face to glance down at it.

Thumbs are flying across the screen to type at his translate app. He’s typing so quickly on his phone that you can't help but laugh a bit.

Before he’s able to turn the phone around, there are a few sharp knocks against the glass of the vestibule. The two of you practically jump out of your skin and your heads whip over to the doors.

Red and blue lights are flashing outside and it looks like two police officers are standing outside, peering in at you both. They wave when they see they’ve caught your attention.

Minho looks at the police officers, then to you, then back to the officers, and then back to you once more. His mouth opens and closes a few times and he tries to form a few words but you’re untangling your limbs from one another.

In a moment, you’re both on your feet as the officers work on unlocking the doors from the outside.

Minho gently grabs at your arm and you look down where he’s touching and your heart sinks a little. His eyes look a little questioning and desperate.

“Oh,” you say sadly. You shrug off his jacket, and hand it back to him. Minho’s eyebrows pull together and his lips part. He looks down at the jacket and then up at you.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Are you two alright?” The police officer calls inside in Korean.

“We’re okay,” Minho responds without breaking eye contact with you. He puts a hand on his jacket still dangling over your arm and pushes it back towards you.

“Minho?” you ask, looking at him and then at the officer approaching you both.

“We apologize for the delay, but we knew you two were safe, so we had to prioritize,” the officer says.

You blink at him blankly for a moment before then looking back at Minho.

“She’s a foreigner,” he says to the officer, finally looking away from you. “She doesn’t know Korean.”

“Ah,” the officer responds. “My apologies. You can tell her that she’s free to go.” He nods at the two of you and motions towards the door. You take his hint and slowly begin follow him.

Once again, Minho tugs on your arm and you pause, turning around to look at him. He’s holding his phone up to your face with a pleading look in his eye.

‘Can I please buy you a drink?’

A wide smile spreads across your cheeks and you can’t deny the relief that you feel inside your chest. The moment your lips twitch upwards, Minho immediately mirrors it.

“Yes,” you respond. “I love to go.”

He chuckles at your choppy Korean once more before taking his jacket out of your hands and wrapping you inside it once more. This time, he grabs the hood and pulls it up over your head.

With a satisfied hum, he nods and laces your fingers together.

“Come,” he says confidently.

“Lead way.”

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

With Me Forever

Dark!Mommy!Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Word count: 1.3K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Stockholm syndrome, Dubcon, kidnapping/confinement, psychological conditioning/manipulation, Mommy kink, emotional manipulation, pet play, loss of autonomy, magical manipulation, breeding kink, objectification, power play

Authors notes: Man Idk who took over while writing this one, but they were amazing.

The room is dim, heavy velvet curtains drawn over the windows, allowing only slivers of muted sunlight to filter through. You’ve been here for days—weeks, maybe even months. Time feels warped in this house, your new prison. Every surface is lavish, grand even, but that doesn’t dull the sharp edge of fear that grips your heart.

Agatha is watching you again. Her presence is unmistakable—she's never too far from you, whether you see her or not. You’d taken notice of a cicada in the room she kept you in. It never got too close to you, but always somewhere you could see it.

 Her deep, sultry voice curls around your senses like smoke as she enters the room, heels clicking against the hardwood floor. She’s dressed impeccably, as usual, in a pair of dark purple suit pants, a white button up and a navy blue overcoat, her sharp eyes glittering with amusement as she watches you on the bed.

"Good morning, my little bunny," she purrs, her voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Have you decided to behave today?"

You turn your head away, trying to ignore the way your body reacts to her. Every fiber of your being wants to resist her, to fight back against the constant manipulation, but it’s hard—too hard—especially when your body betrays you. You hate how she’s gotten under your skin, how her touch has become something you crave, even as your mind rebels.

Her hands are the only touch you’ve felt in a long time let alone a nice touch, something tender that doesn’t leave a mark on you. Your body wanted more of it even though you knew this was all wrong. She kidnapped you. She’s keeping you here for her own amusement and pleasure. 

Agatha chuckles darkly, sensing your internal struggle. She moves closer, her fingers trailing lightly along the curve of your neck. You flinch, but you don’t pull away. You can't.

"My sweet girl," she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear, "it’s only a matter of time before you stop fighting. You’ll see that everything I do is for you, for us. I could give you so much more than anyone else ever could including that other little witch you were so fond of. All you have to do is surrender."

Her words are a poison, dripping into your thoughts, planting seeds of doubt. She’s always been careful, never harsh and certainly never violent. Instead, she plays with your mind, with your desires, making you question everything. 

Is it really so bad to want her? 

To give in?

"You and I could be so much together," Agatha continues, her hand sliding down your arm, her nails grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver. "I know what you can do and I could teach you things that would make the world bow at your feet."

You close your eyes, trying to block her out, but it’s impossible. She’s everywhere, inside your head, inside your heart. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you feel yourself breaking, crumbling under the weight of her words, her presence.

"You’ll never leave," she says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Not because I won’t let you, but because you won’t want to."

And the terrifying part is that you know she’s right.

You feel her hand move over the curves of your body, goosebumps running over your whole body. Her fingers were always freezing as she somehow made your skin feel like it was on fire. The only movement you were allowed was to arch into her touch. Your body once again betraying you as it did just that, asking for more from her as you don’t dare look her in the eyes. She chuckles, dark and low, at the action. 

“Your body doesn’t lie to me bunny. Look at me. Look at Mommy.” She’d started to call herself that. Mommy, you thought it was just a jab at all the Mommy issues you have and it very well might be the case, but fuck you just wanted to make Mommy happy. Yet you still want to fight against her. You don’t want to give her the satisfaction. Not yet at least. 

Her hand starts rubbing your thigh, each stroke drawing closer to your heated core. You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. You feel her movement and the bed dips down between your legs. You’re moved slightly with where her weight is and you feel a hand on each thigh. 

Her strokes are gentle as she leans down, her heated mouth meaning your skin. A rush of heat to your core hits and a needy whine comes out of you.

“All you have to do is ask, bunny.” She mumbles against your skin. This was the game that was played every time. Like some even more twisted form of conditioning. She’d wait until you were all needy, begging for her cock, begging to be bred by her. It wasn’t fair. You bite your lip debating if you want to hold out this time, you’ve done it a few times, but you’d always regret it because she’d work you up and ruin your orgasm each time. 

“Please Mommy…need you…need you inside of me…” You manage out and Agatha looks down at you, slowly rubbing around your overly sensitive nub, but not actually touching it. You swallow hard before continuing. You know what she’s waiting for and you want to say it. You want her to know, need her to know. 

“I’m yours Mommy please I’ll be your good bunny! Need Mommy’s cock inside of me. Only yours makes me feel good. No one else could make me feel good like you Mommy. No one could make me cum like you do Mommy!” You feel tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

A smirk appears on Agatha’s face, a snap of her fingers and your clothes are gone. She has her purple enchanted strap out and ready. It was already pushing at your soaked entrance. Making it easy for Agatha to slip inside of you. 

“F-fuck…” You arch into her, not realizing how much you needed her. 

“You’re so tight, bunny. You feel amazing. Mommy’s going to make sure you feel amazing.” She manages out, you can tell she’s breathless just from entering you. Feeling how tight and wet you were. 

“Please Mommy I’ll be your best bunny ever!” 

She simply smirks as she grips your hips and before you can say anything else she’s pounding into you relentlessly. You can’t help but moan as she hits your spot over and over again. You don’t feel one of her hands move up to your head, it isn’t until you hear the Latin come out her mouth that you know she’s using her magic she’s making you more fuzzy, more needy for her. Another form of conditioning, her magic. 

You watch her fingers, watching her hand flex and fingers move. It isn’t her magic making you fuzzy and needy. You grab her wrists and don’t think about it as you take her fingers into your mouth, sucking on them eagerly. 

You look up at her with half lidded eyes, dark and lustful. You were ready to be completely hers. She could see it in your eyes. 

“That’s my good bunny. Just like that. You’re Mommy’s bunny aren’t you?” She asks, her voice full of lust, her heated breath you could swear you saw. You nod and mumble an ‘mhmm’ around her fingers. 

You don’t think it’s possible but she speeds up. You’re moaning around her fingers and she can tell you’re close. She keeps her pace, letting you fall over the edge as you let her fingers go, choosing to lunge forward to hold onto her as you rocked your hips into her. Her hands find their way to your back, her natural nails clawing down your back. 

“My bunny.” You feel her fill you, her hot cum hitting against your walls. You were hers completely and you had been for a while, you knew that. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be, you don’t even remember that other witch’s name.

“Your bunny Mommy forever.”

[golden-rolling-hills]

When Darry realized...

I wrote this yesterday and I figured I'd post it on here before I went and turned it into a full fic. If I do, it will mostly be a darbit fic and this would just be the intro. Please tell me what y'all think so I know if anyone is interested in reading more :)

Darry first realized he was different at 15 years old. He never participated in the lewd lock room talk the rest of the football team bonded over. he always made sure to keep his eyes down and not let his gaze linger too long on any of his sweaty or freshly showered teammates who milled about the locker room and various stages of undress. he never got distracted during games, ogling at the cheerleaders on the sidelines the way that most of his teammates did. His father always told him that once he got a little older, he’d develop an interest in girls and he’d become a lady’s man, just like his dad used to be. A chip off the old block. 

Darry was 15 when he realized the way he thought about the boys in the locker room was the same way his father always told him he’d think about girls. A sick feeling rushed from his head to his stomach at the realization that he’d never be normal. He vowed then and there to keep this secret tucked so far inside of him that maybe it would go away. 

He threw himself into football and studying. He smiled and shook hands and played nice with his classmates to make sure that they all liked him. He got straight A’s and made football captain and was voted boy of the year. Everyone just assumed that he didn’t have time for girls. He accepted an invite to the Sadie Hawkins dance from a nice girl named Susan from his math class. He picked her up at 6, kissed her on the cheek, and told her she looked pretty. His father had never been more proud. 

Paul Holden was the only other sophomore on the football team. He was all golden hair and twinkling eyes and a mischievous smile that made Darry’s stomach do backflips. 

After each practice, Paul would pat Darry on the back and tell him he did a good job. His hand would always linger and he’d smile as soon as he met Darry’s eyes. 

They started hanging out after practice. “we’re just buddying around,” Darry would tell himself. No matter how much he told himself that Paul was just his best friend

and he didn’t think of him as anything more, that didn’t stop the pang he’d feel in his heart when Paul remembered his milkshake order at the dingo or the butterflies he got when Paul would let his hand linger on Darry’s shoulder a little too long, squeezing and rubbing out the tension in his body.there was absolutely nothing going on between him and Paul when they would wake up in Paul’s bed together after a sleepover, facing away from each other, trying so hard not to accidentally touch. Not even when Paul gifted Darry that purple and gold madras shirt for his 16th birthday. 

He stopped being able to ignore it when he woke up naked and sore in the back of Paul’s car with Paul cuddled up and cramped behind him. 

He knew he couldn’t hide from himself anymore when Paul pushed him against the wall and kissed him so hard he forgot that he wasn’t supposed to be doing this. 

When Paul reached for the button on his pants and pushed Darry back onto his bed, he briefly let all his thoughts slip away. For just a minute, he could forget all about football and grades and taking Susan Thompson to the Sadie Hawkins dance. He could forget all about making his father proud and being a role model for his younger brothers. The only thing that mattered was Paul. Paul touching him and Paul kissing him and running his fingers through his hair. The soft words of encouragement that Paul would whisper in his ear when they were alone and were sure that no one could hear what they were doing. 

Darry couldn’t quite figure out when it all fell apart. It could have been the night that his parents sat him down to tell him that college just wasn’t in the picture, even with his scholarship money. He sobbed in his mother’s arms that night. She held him close and stroked his hair, making him feel like a little kid again. 

It might have been the day that Paul left for school. He stopped by Darry’s house to say goodbye, his car packed up. the back seat where he and Darry first woke up together covered in boxes. 

It could have happened slowly, when daily phone calls turned to weekly and then slowly stopped all together. Darry waited by the phone for hours each night waiting for calls that never came.

It was definitely over by the time summer rolled around and Paul wouldn’t even look in Darry’s direction when they ran into each other at the drive in. 

But if you ask Darry, he’ll say that something in him was still hanging on until the day his parents died. Grief stricken and confused, he called Paul. The second he heard his voice on the other end of the line he burst into tears. Paul told him that he was sorry for his loss and to never call his number again. That’s when Darry knew it was over.

[libraryofneith]

Out of Mind - Chapter 10 (Joel Miller x Female Reader)

@hiroikegawa @evyiione @orcasoul @taz-97

I'm baaaaaack! Apologies for yet another delay but I have finished my finals, all set to graduate (hopefully) and that means I have more time for you lovely people. Thank you once again for your patience, please enjoy. Also I'm going to compile a series list with all the chapters since some seem to be harder to find than others.

If anyone else wants to be the first to know when this fic is updated let me know and I'll add you to the taglist.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Summary: You and Joel deal with the fallout of what happened with Marcus

Warnings: [whole fic is 18+ minors DNI], it puts its age in the bio or it gets the block button, cursing, allusions to PTSD due SA but no actual descriptions of SA, hurt/comfort, Joel is nice for once

You wanted to push him away, to fight him, to tell him to go to hell, but the warmth encompassing you, the soothing words in your ear and the smooth circles on the small of your back were too good to resist.

You

You were on your back. That much you knew. You were in utter darkness, couldn't even see your hand in front of your face, the oppressive weight of nothing surrounding you. There were only two things you knew: you were lying on your back, and somebody's hands were on you. You tried to crawl away but they snuck around your waist and pulled you back. In the darkness you could hear voices whispering.

This'll go a lot easier if you don't fight back…

I'm gonna enjoy this so much more…

This'll go a lot easier…

Sweetheart…

Don't fight back…

Don't…

Fight back…

Hands were grabbing your shoulders now and shaking you violently. You tried to scream, to tell them to stop but your throat was raw and nothing would come out. Instead you thrashed wildly, hands flailing everywhere, connecting with something - chest, arms, face? You didn't care you just wanted out. Then you heard another voice in the darkness.

Kid. Stop.

You turned away, the fear replaced by anger burning hot and sore in your chest. You didn't want him either.

It's OK.

The voice was so soft and so close, right in your ear. You shook your head, your hands still flailing in the dark, looking for anything to grasp, then they found two other hands, holding yours in a firm but gentle grip.

I'm here.

I don't want you here was what you wanted to say, but when you tried to speak nothing came out but sobs, and suddenly you could feel heat and moisture on your face as tears gushed out of your eyes.

Arms were encircling you now and you could feel a hand rubbing slow and even circles on your back. You knew who it was. As the blackness gave way to dark blue, white, grey and the nothingness became trees and bushed and rocks, you remembered where you were and who you were with. You wanted to push him away, to fight him, to tell him to go to hell, but the warmth encompassing you, the soothing words in your ear and the smooth circles on the small of your back were too good to resist. So you allowed yourself to fall into his embrace, head resting in the crook of his neck as your tears continued to fall.

"You awake now hon?"

"Shut up."

"OK."

Joel

It wasn't the first time she'd woken him up. That first night after, well, it had happened, she had slammed her sleeping bag down as far away from him as safety would allow and he hadn't objected, even as they fell asleep to the sound of each other's teeth chattering. He'd woken up who-knows-how-long later to the sound of her crying out. He'd jumped up, thinking they were being attacked by infected or more of Marcus' men but instead it was just her crying in her sleep. She looked like she was trying to hit something or someone but her arms were trapped by her sleeping bag.

He hadn't meant to scare her, he just wanted to wake her, or help get her arms free because at this rate she was going to hurt herself. But the minute his hand made contact with her shoulder, her eyes snapped open and her fist made contact with his nose.

"Ow, shit, what was that for?"

"Don't. Touch me" She spat, eyes filled with venom.

"I was only trying to.."

"I don't need your help. I don't want your help. I don't want anything from you." Joel flinched.

Her words had cut him deeper than he'd admit even to himself. But he didn't want to sleep with a broken nose every night so he did as she said, he didn't go near her. Even when the sound of her teeth chattering kept him up, even when she thrashed about so wildly she had bruises the next day, even when he could hear her crying in her sleep, and even when he could see bags under her eyes and her skin grow pale from exhaustion.

Until tonight. He was astonished when she put her sleeping bag next to him, but she'd simply glowered and said "it's too cold to sleep separately. This is just so I don't have to listen to you shivering all night. Got it?" He'd nodded. Got it.

And that's how he'd woken up to an elbow in his gut as she flailed helplessly. He'd tried to leave her alone, but this didn't seem to be going away, and he realised, with a stab of guilt, that it was probably worse because she was making prolonged physical contact for the first time since the attack. And that's when he decided, screw it. He couldn't leave her like this anymore. She could hit him if she wanted, which she did as he tried to wake her up. Shaking her only made it worse so he did the only other thing he could think of, something that he was sure would earn him a verbal or physical lashing later, and he took her into his arms, held her, stroked her back and whispered "it's OK" over and over again until her body relaxed and he could feel a wet patch where her face met his shoulder.

"You awake now hon?"

"Shut up."

"OK."

There she stayed, not saying or doing anything. He wasn't sure what to do, what she wanted, but when he slowed his circles on her back, she mumbled "don't stop" into his chest, so he kept going until her breathing evened out and her quiet snores indicated that she had finally fallen into deep and undisturbed sleep, but even then he didn't stop. He just held her, listening to her snores, crickets chirping, birds starting to sing in the early hours of the morning. He was almost starting to fall asleep himself when he spotted the first snowflake.

Shit.

"Get up." She gave a muffled groan of protest. "C'mon, we gotta move." She blinked slowly then shot up.

"What is it, what's wrong?" Her face was panicked.

"It's just snow. We'll live but we have to keep moving, maybe find some real shelter." If Joel remembered right there was a cabin not too far away that was (usually) abandoned.

She groaned and he could see her trying to gather her strength. That must have been the first decent sleep she'd had in days and he'd cut it short. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she glanced at it but didn't shrug him off.

"I know you're tired but we can't stay." She nodded and took the hand that he offered, allowing him to pull her to her feet. His stomach lurched as she swayed slightly before gathering her things. This was not going to be a good day.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Snow Day Part 2

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: none for this part either :)

Pairings: logince

Word Count: 5462

Unknown number: Roman, this is Logan. Are you free the evening of the 15th?

Roman blinks at his phone.

Me: How did you get my number?

Logan: I asked Patton. You do remember that we work together, yes?

Me: Yeah i remember but why did you want my number

Logan: To ask if you're free on the 15th, for starters.

Me: i think so, why?

Logan: The firm is throwing a holiday party and I've been instructed to bring someone who, quote: 'Won't cause a disruption but will add to the seasonal atmosphere.'

Me: is this supposed to be a compliment? also what kind of invitation says that?

Logan: I've certainly never met anyone as determined to preserve the holiday spirit as you. And no, that was a special instruction from my boss.

Me: still don't know if that's a compliment

Logan: Take it as you like. The dress code is black tie, so no terrible sweaters for you.

Me: i can't do that

Logan: Surely the holiday will survive if you're not in a hideous sweater for one evening

Me: no i don't have anything to wear to a black tie thing

His phone is silent for a long time and Roman's…fine about that. He was gonna enjoy that evening off, actually. Watch some of his favorite Christmas movies, listen to his favorite album, maybe actually get around to baking himself that thing he wanted to try ages ago…

Then his phone buzzes again. He picks it up and blinks to see an address.

Logan: Meet me here at 9 tomorrow.

Me: why?

Logan: To find you something appropriate to wear, of course.

Me: Logan, you don't need to do that.

Logan: I'm aware. 9 on the dot, don't be late.

Well.

Okay.

He's going shopping with Logan tomorrow, apparently. He also definitely needs to ask Patton why the hell he gave Logan his number.

At 8:55 the next morning, he's standing outside one of those department stores that just feels like it's the setting of some cliché rich person montage. He'd picked out a loose-fitting tee and a pair of decent sweatpants because, you know, shopping typically involves trying things on, but now he's wondering if he should've put on his nice slacks and a button down because holy shit does he feel underdressed right now.

"Ah, good. You are on time."

And sure enough, here comes Logan in his goddamned suit. Does the man own casual clothes? Logan gives him another look up and down and no, Roman doesn't imagine the way his nose turns up ever so slightly before fixing him with a stern expression.

"Am I right in thinking you don't have much experience buying formal wear?"

"Not for a black tie event, no."

"Lovely," he says, tone indicating this is anything but, "I expect you to pay attention."

"Logan," he says quickly before Logan can actually make it to the door, "I can't—I can't afford anything here."

"Don't worry, I'll pay."

"You'll—what?"

"I said I'll pay for it, Roman, now come on—"

"Why would you do that?"

"Aside from the fact that you've just said you can't afford it?"

"You don't—" Roman pinches the bridge of his nose— "look, I don't know what game this is or what point you're trying to prove, but it's not—I don't need your charity, okay?"

"It's not charity, Roman. Every man should have at least three well-fitting suits."

"Three? It's one night, Logan, I'm not—I can't do this."

Logan's looking at him strangely, like he's the one being weird about this—which he's not, he's being very reasonably suspicious and Logan shouldn't be looking at him like that—before he turns on his heel and heads down the block. After a moment of realizing that Roman's not walking with him, he reaches back and tucks his hand into the crook of Roman's arm the way he did at the party, which Roman still isn't thinking about, thank you very much, leading him around the corner to a coffee shop that also looks too expensive. He holds his tongue this time, resigning himself to whatever it is Logan's decided they're doing, taking the cup pushed into his hand and following Logan back outside.

Logan leads them to a bench in a more secluded area of the street, sitting down and nodding for Roman to sit next to him. "What's making you uncomfortable?"

Roman scoffs, but then Logan furrows his brow and…shit, he's actually being sincere. He swallows. "Aside from the fact that everyone in there looks like they're wearing my rent?"

"They're only clothes, Roman."

He doesn't register the surprisingly gentle tone Logan's using. "They're not just clothes, they're—they're—I don't belong in that world, Logan. I'm not gonna try to force myself into it."

"What world?"

"The world where I can spent rent on a suit and have that be fine. The world where people are that rich and that—that—" he suddenly remembers that Logan is one of said rich people, or at least is acting like it right now— "I just can't do it."

Logan's quiet for a moment, still just looking at him. Roman looks away, sipping at his coffee. Shit, it's good coffee too. Logan's probably thinking about how much of a waste of time this was, and he wasted his time the other day with buying the gifts too…and now with the whole party thing, maybe it's better to just leave.

That's not very seasonally gracious of you.

The memory of Logan's voice in his head shocks him into realizing how much of a dick he's being. Logan's doing this—presumably—out of the goodness of his heart, or at the very least he's not expecting Roman to pay him back or anything. And here Roman is, practically throwing a tantrum about it.

"Sorry," he says quietly, bowing his head, "I'm being an asshole, aren't I?"

"Being uncomfortable doesn't make you an asshole, Roman."

"Yeah, but…"

"No buts. I'd rather you tell me than suffer through it." The sincerity in his tone makes him look up again to see Logan still watching him. "What is it about it that's making it worse? Is it the money? I really don't mind paying for you. At the risk of sounding, well, like that, it's not that big of a deal to me."

He's gonna put that aside for now, yeah. "I just—I know how those people look at me."

"And how is that?"

He scuffs his toe through some of the salt congealing under the bench. "Like I'm not supposed to be there. Like I have the gall to be in the same room as them, or like I don't exist. I don't like it."

There's a pause. Then: "Do you think that's how I look at you?"

His head jerks over. Logan's hands are still around the coffee cup, but there's a bit of tension in them now. He adjusts his glasses even though there's really no need for it. He swallows.

"I don't��I really don't know how you look at me, Logan," he admits, "I thought that's what you were doing at first, but it's…I don't know, okay? Is that what you want to hear?"

"I'm not your enemy, Roman," he says with an unmistakable hurt that makes Roman want to throw up, "nor am I interrogating you."

"I know, I'm sorry. I…I didn't mean it like that."

Logan just looks at him for a few more seconds. He fidgets under it and looks away.

"Why're you doing this," he asks quietly, "surely there's an easier way to get around your boss's instructions?"

Another long pause. A car drives by and nearly splashes them with gray sludge. A dog barks at a pigeon taking flight.

"You're the first person who's successfully gotten me to buy actual presents for my family in almost ten years," Logan says suddenly, "and you managed it on the second time we'd ever met."

Hold on, Roman was what? He did what, now?

"And I thought about how my family would react to those presents and I found myself actually getting excited about it," he continues, like he isn't blowing Roman's mind right now, "so…perhaps there's something to this whole gift-giving, caring thing people like to peddle this time of year."

"They do say Christmas is the joy of giving."

"Quite, but I have no interest in making you out to be a charity case."

"You don't?"

Logan shakes his head. "No. If anything, this is my reward for myself. A selfish act to balance out the selfless one."

Roman frowns. "You…buying me a suit is you being selfish?"

A familiarly smug smirk curls up Logan's face and Roman will deny the way he swallows when he sees it until the day he dies. "No, me inviting the one person I'm genuinely fascinated by to an otherwise boring event of schmoozing and networking is the selfish act. The suit, well…aside from the fact that it is a crime that you've never been properly fitted for a suit before—"

"Hey! Again, not all of us are going to galas all the time!"

"—you managed to captivate me in a cheap sweater and worn jeans," Logan continues as if he hadn't spoken, voice suddenly a lot, lot lower, "and I can hardly pass up the opportunity to see you in something better."

Roman does not squeak. He does not turn bright pink, he does not shuffle like a schoolboy, he does not go all wide-eyed like some little fawn caught in the jaws of the Big Bad Wolf. He doesn't do any of those things because there's no way Logan just said that to him like it was nothing in the middle of the day while they're in public.

Logan's smirk just grows.

"You what?"

"Come, now, there's no need to be shy. You certainly have a healthy appreciation for my suits—" goddamnit— "can you truly begrudge me for having the same interest?"

"I—that's not—I didn't—shut up!"

He just chuckles, like an asshole, as Roman hides his splutter behind another sip of coffee. Thank God he's wearing a hat so Logan can't see how red his ears are right now.

"I don't need three suits," he manages with a remarkably steady voice, "not if the party's just one night."

"You never know, you might have the chance to attend another in the future."

Nope. Not thinking about that. Absolutely not, no, thank you. "I think sticking with just the one is fine for me right now."

"Very well." Logan stands with a swish of his coat. "One suit it is."

It takes until Logan's halfway down the block that Roman realizes he's been tricked into agreeing to let Logan pay for a suit, and the bastard doesn't even look sorry about it when Roman hollers after him.

Dick.

Of course, as soon as they get inside, part of him wants to leave immediately, but then Logan's hand is curling around his arm and he swallows, letting himself be guided across the sales floor to a section with a lot of black and navy fabric. He stares at the racks with what must be some form of abject terror because Logan's chuckling at him and leaning close.

"Don't worry, I'm not about to leave you on your own."

"You'd better not," he shoots back, but his voice comes out all high and thready.

Logan waves over a sales associate who's dressed better than Roman's ever been in his entire life and explains that Roman needs a suit. At least that's what he assumes just happened. In reality, there's a dull buzz in his head right now that's making it hard to focus on anything other than staying upright, not having a panic attack, and on the warmth of Logan's hand holding onto his arm through his coat. He does notice the associate eyeing his clothes a little disdainfully and quickly forces out: "Easier to change."

"Ah, how sensible. If only all of our clients were as considerate. Now, what sort of styles do you like?"

"I have absolutely no idea and I'm mostly scared to touch anything."

Both of them laugh and somehow manage to do it without sounding mean. "Do not worry, nothing in here bites, I assure you."

Roman can't help the way his gaze darts to Logan. Logan, because he is apparently determined to kill Roman today, winks at him.

"You're not helping," he hisses as the associate turns to pull something from a nearby rack.

"I don't recall promising to help, only that I wouldn't leave you alone."

"You're buying me another hot chocolate after this."

He does, and it's way too expensive and it tastes way too good and he wants to be mad about it and the garment bag he has to haul home, but then Logan's threatening to get him a cab as well and he high-tails it out of there before he makes good on it.

When he gets home, he just sort of…stands there for a moment, looking at the bag. In a daze, he reaches up and traces the emblem of the store embroidered into the black fabric. This is his suit. He actually owns it, it's made for him, it's something that he just has now. And yeah, maybe Logan was right: more than a small part of him is dancing at the idea of such a thing.

Before he can tell it to stop, that part of him whirls him through a set of doors and he's picturing himself in a grand ballroom with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, music overflowing into the gardens, the balconies, as it should for any spectacular party. With this suit, he belongs there, just as much as anyone else, amidst the swirling skirts and glittering tidings, where he could stand on his own and be welcome, celebrated, even, as much as anyone else. Where a hand might extend to him and mean it, where he could look up at Logan's face and smile, and not have to worry that a kiss would be refused—

The garment bag hits the floor with a crumpled thud.

Roman blinks rapidly, giving himself a good shake. What the hell was that? How did Logan manage to sneak in there? What's that got to do with—

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no—no, shit, he is not doing this again. He knows better now, he's not that young or naive or stupid anymore, he is not getting caught up in some ridiculous thing that will only end with his heart in pieces on the floor and a wobbling smile on his face. He is not going to start doing that.

With a muffled groan, he snags the bag off the floor and stomps to the closet, hanging it up and shoving the door closed again. This is stupid. This is the third time he's met Logan, there's no reason for him to be doing this. Even if by some Christmas miracle Logan doesn't find out about this—because Roman wears his heart on his sleeve and Logan keeps doing that thing where he sees him—his traitor of a heart flutters again and he shoves a pin through its wings—he's still going to have to look at him at this stupid party and—and—

And his mind flashes back to that little bit of hurt he'd heard in Logan's voice when he asked if Roman thought he looked at him the way all those fucking rich people do. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. Would Logan look at him the same way now, knowing he was assuming the worst of him?

No, no, that's not right. Accurately predicting the rejection of his sudden and really very stupid feelings was not assuming the worst of him. If anything, Logan might complement him on his very mature and reasonable handling of unrequited emotions. Yeah, that was it. He just has to be an adult about this, the way everyone else has said the same thing his entire life. It's a good thing he realized these feelings now, actually, and not at the party where there will be other people and he'll be in that suit and Logan will be there too, because he's invited Roman of all people, going so far as to make sure he has something to wear…

He snaps himself out of it, almost glaring at the closet door. No. Not doing that. He's just going to go to this party as Logan's friend, spend the time being there the way a friend would, and not think about what would happen if Logan had asked him there as more than a friend.

He can do this.

***

4.

He can't do this.

He's been standing outside the lobby of this big slab of glass and steel in the middle of downtown for about ten minutes now and he has no idea of how to move forward. He's on the list, he knows, because Logan sent him a confirmation email yesterday, so he doesn't have to wait here for someone else to show up and let him in, he definitely doesn't have to wait for Logan to show up so they can go inside, but here he is. Loitering. He's pretty sure it's only because of the suit that the front desk person hasn't called the cops or whatever.

"You've truly a wonderful sense of timing."

He whirls around to see Logan getting out of a sleek black town car. His mouth goes dry a little at the sight and he'll deny it forever. Take the fifth, or whichever amendment is the one that means you don't have to say shit. Logan's smirking at him by the time they're standing next to each other, though, so he's pretty sure he has some idea of what's running through his head.

"Hey," he croaks, clearing his throat, "thought about going in, but then I realized I'd have no idea of where I'm going."

"They could've told you."

Don't bring your logic here while I'm having a crisis. "Yeah, well, isn't it bad form to show up separately from the person who invited you?"

Logan gives him that look like he's being nice to him by letting it go—and hey, he is a lawyer, maybe that counts as being nice—and takes his elbow. "Come on, then. We're getting dangerously close to being disastrously late instead of fashionably late."

They walk through the door and Logan waves a card at the person behind the desk—ID badge, Roman's brain supplies helpfully. The elevator is just a normal elevator, thank God, but then it opens onto a floor of way too many people in expensive clothing and more of that pretentious not-Christmas music and it's all he can do not to immediately slam the 'down' button again.

"Relax," Logan says quietly, "it's just a party."

"Easy for you to say, you work here."

"Actually, that makes it worse for me: I have to see these people again after tonight."

A somewhat hysterical giggle bubbles up in Roman's throat but he steps out of the elevator all the same. There's a large booth off to one side where racks have been set up for people's coats, two smartly-dressed people manning a small desk. Logan walks up and passes over his coat without hesitating, which means Roman has to hustle a little bit to not get left behind in the crowd.

"So, what're we supposed to do?"

"Mingle," Logan sighs, like he's just been asked to hold up the heavens, "I am responsible for following up with a few of our more…anxious clients, but you just have to walk around and look pretty."

Roman snags an offered glass of champagne and downs about half of it in one go to avoid thinking about that too much. Logan just chuckles and starts leading his way through the masses, Roman trudging along behind him.

The first set of people they come across must be other people Logan works with on a regular basis; they react like Logan's the cool kid coming to join them at the lunch table when he strolls closer, one of them giving him a slap on the shoulder and the others raising their glasses in toast. A change comes over him, growing taller and sleeker as Roman watches before he realizes hey, this is probably one of those things Logan wants him to talk at. Sure enough, as he approaches, one of them spots him over Logan's shoulder.

"Is this the lucky man with you tonight?"

"Yes," Logan says, turning and extending a hand to gather Roman in close, "this is Roman. Roman, these are some of the insufferable colleagues I mentioned before."

"Hello, nice to meet you."

"Look, Logan, someone with manners," a woman says, dark eyes flashing over the rim of her glass, "you could learn something from him."

"You must be the one that threatened to stab him if he didn't get the right presents," he says, without thinking, only for the others to burst out laughing. The woman just grins.

"That would be me, yes." She holds out her hand. "Ava Nath. Pleasure to suffer through knowing Logan along with you."

"Roman."

"Claws to yourself, Ava," Logan says lowly and fuck, Logan being all weirdly possessive around his friends—are they friends? Roman's really gonna hope they're friends—is doing things to Roman.

"How'd you manage to meet this one, Roman?" asks another man, nudging Logan with his elbow. "Can't have been through work, otherwise we'd've warned you away ages ago."

Roman swallows another mouthful of champagne. "Mutual friend."

"Oh? Which friend would that be?"

"You guys realize we're not in a court room, right? You don't have to interrogate me if you don't want to."

Again, thank God they took that as a joke, laughing again even as Logan's hand lands warmly on his upper back. The man waves his hand in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry. Ask anyone here, it's hard to turn off."

"No, it's fine, I…should've expected it. I'm friends with Patton, that's how we met."

"Patton…from down on the 16th floor, yes. Sweet guy. Makes sense." He gives himself a shake. "Here I am forgetting my manners too. Scott Kensington, pleased to meet you."

Roman shakes his hand. Logan's hand is still on his back, thumb slightly stroking the material of suit. He should not be paying attention to that, he should be paying attention to the conversation.

He takes another gulp.

"Well, you just got here, so you've still got your rounds to do."

Logan groans. "Don't remind me. Just tell me that Forstby isn't here yet."

"Oh, God, no, he'll probably stumble in about an hour from now."

"Small mercies. Well, it was lovely catching up with you, but I'm afraid we're needed elsewhere. Roman?"

"Yep, I'm coming."

"Pleasure meeting you," Ava calls as he's ushered away, "come back when you're done!"

"Will we be doing that?"

Logan rolls his eyes. "If we must. Come on, now, we've more hands to shake."

It turns out that meeting people in rapid succession is not a good way for him to remember names, or faces, instead he just gets more and more through this glass of champagne with a pasted-on smile and a few comments he doesn't think about that thankfully just make everyone else laugh. He's pretty sure Logan can tell, though, judging by the way his hand never leaves his back or his shoulder for longer than about ten seconds at a time. He'd like to resent him for that. He really would. He'd also like to resent him for feeding the fantasy Roman's brain has been helpfully pushing at him all night but he's ignoring that one like a champ.

They end up in a conversation with one of the firm's clients, not that he really knows what that means—okay, no, he does know what that means, he just doesn't know what he's supposed to do about it. The couple is a striking older duo, a man with ginger hair flecked with salt and pepper, as is his beard, introducing himself as Ben, and a stunning blonde woman with high cheekbones and a piercing green stare who tells him call me Sadie. They'd both spoken warmly to Logan upon seeing him, gathering him in for a hug—which he hadn't been shocked by, nope, not at all—before turning to Roman. He'd stumbled his way through an intro, belatedly offering his hand, only for them to…well, basically coo at how adorable he is. He minds a little less than he'd thought. They explain how they met through a mutual friend again and the three of them have been talking about something business related ever since. Which means Roman can just nod in the right places, laugh in the right places, and not think about anything else.

Nope.

Not at all.

"But that's enough business talk," Ben sighs, "this is supposed to be a party."

"That doesn't typically stop you," Sadie says, to which Ben huffs and she turns her smile to Roman. "Forgive us."

"Nothing to forgive, I get it."

"I suppose we have you to thank for this evening?"

"Uh, what? Sorry, I, um…how so?"

"Come now, there's no need to be coy about it. We all know Logan's a bit of a Grinch when it comes to the holidays," Ben says with a wink at Logan.

"If being practical makes me a Grinch, then yes, I suppose so."

"See what I mean?"

"We weren't sure he was even going to be here," Sadie continues, "so I presume I have you to thank for getting him in the spirit?"

Which…is not how Roman thought this worked out. Logan told him about the party, told him he needed a guest to bring, like it was a mandatory work thing that he had to go to. Not…what he's currently being told. But before he can say that, or something to that effect, Logan's rolling his eyes again. Seriously, the man puts in a full eyeball workout every hour, it looks like.

"Ava's already declared her allegiance for him after learning he helped me with gift-getting, I don't need you two doing the same."

"You, willingly buying presents that aren't run-of-the-mill?" Ben says. "You are a miracle worker, Roman."

"It wasn't that big of a deal."

"It was," Logan corrects gently, looking at him with actual affection, "and I don't believe I ever properly thanked you for it, so thank you."

"Um…you're welcome?"

Sadie laughs. "Next thing you know, you'll be throwing your own Christmas party."

Roman laughs along with her. The idea of cynical, practical Logan throwing a Christmas party will do that. He can just imagine Logan's face at the idea too—

"I've actually been considering it."

He knows his head is not the only one that snaps around to stare when Logan says that. Ben recovers first, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Not this, obviously," Logan continues, gesturing about, "but something with a few friends, certainly."

"Will wonders never cease…I never thought I'd see the day where you willingly get into the festive spirit."

"What can I say? It's that time of year."

"It certainly is," Sadie says, her gaze sliding far too neatly to Roman for a little too long. "Well, I hope that if you do deign to throw such a party, the two of us will be invited?"

"Naturally."

And then there are polite excuses being made as to why everyone has to be elsewhere and they're back to mingling again. Roman's brain is still stuck on the idea of Logan at a Christmas party. An actual Christmas party, where there's cheap alcohol and shitty music and terrible sweaters. He manages to get through a few more brief conversations before he's mumbling to Logan about needing a break and wandering off in search of the nearest window.

He manages to find one far enough away from the pounding music—and open bar—but close enough that Logan won't have to look around forever to find him. He leans against the edge, watching the snow drift between the skyscrapers. Absentmindedly, he tugs at his collar, as if it could get his mind away from the thoughts still swirling around and around his brain.

This is going fine. This is going great, even. It's just like what he normally does at parties: socialize for a little bit, find and hang on to the people he actually knows, and then find a quiet corner to just be by himself. He didn't even check to see if Patton would be here—no, no, Patton's with his partner now, he left last week. Well, that makes it only Logan that he knows here, not counting the few people whose names he's managed to remember.

That's fine too. Completely, totally fine. Absolutely nothing to worry about.

He takes another drink and finds the glass empty. Well, sallying forth to try and procure another one sounds like a bad idea, so he's just gonna have to deal with it.

"You," comes an amused voice from behind him, "are far too sober to be looking so worried."

He huffs a laugh, turning to see Logan holding out a fresh glass of…something that definitely isn't champagne. He takes it, eyes it warily, and at Logan's pointed stare, takes a sip. He doesn't cough, because he's not that bad at this, but he does make quite the face.

"You'd think I just handed you a glass of cyanide, it's just whisky, there's no need for all of that."

"Don't think it's quite to my taste." But he's also not in the habit of refusing a drink, so he tries another sip. This time he lets it sit on his tongue for a few moments before swallowing and it's…mildly better. "Thanks."

"I felt obligated to do a morale check." Logan glances over his shoulder. "The wolves haven't torn you to shreds yet, have they?"

"I thought sharks were the lawyer metaphor animal."

"Both suffice in their own ways. Both have a reputation for being particularly ruthless or determined, an association with chasing bloodshed. Keen senses, for noticing when someone's deflecting."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it," he grumbles, "I'm fine. Just…needed a minute."

"No one's looking at you funny, are they?"

He's about to give Logan a hard time for teasing him about something that he knows is a sore spot, he made his point already, but when he looks up, Logan's looking at him with a small furrow between his brows and the retort shrivels up. He shakes his head. Logan's shoulders relax.

"Good."

"Ava and Scott seemed cool. So did Ben and Sadie."

Logan hums, still watching him. He shuffles under it.

"What?"

"Is there something else bothering you? You seem upset still."

"I'm fine, really, just…not used to all of this," he finishes, somewhat lamely, "most of the parties I go to are more low-key. You know, bunch of people in a house, food, drink…that's it. Kind of like what you were describing."

"I hope you know that you'd be invited too."

"R-really?" He can't help the slight laugh of disbelief. "But we barely know each other."

"And yet, you're the only one who's managed to convince me that there might be something to all this holiday nonsense. You think I'd do something festive and not make you suffer through it with me?"

"See, you say there might be something to it, then you call it nonsense that you have to suffer through."

"Just because there's something redeeming about it doesn't mean I suddenly have to enjoy it."

"You really are a lawyer."

Logan laughs at that, a proper laugh, and that's just fucking unfair that he's a gorgeous bastard when he laughs too. He shakes his head, and Roman quickly looks back out the window. Nope. Not thinking about it. Not thinking about anything at all. No thoughts, head empty, that's him.

"You would come, though."

"Huh?"

"If I did have a party. You would come?"

"Of course I would," he says before his brain catches up to what he's saying and realizes that…yes, he actually would. He'd be happy to. "Just let me know when and where."

Logan smiles. Then it fades slightly, and Roman stands up a little more, about to ask what's wrong. His mouth opens and that, of course, is when someone comes up to talk to Logan and the moment's gone almost as quickly as it came.

"I have to go," Logan says, "don't run off this time, would you?"

"I'll be here."

Logan touches his arm again and turns, touch lingering just a bit on the edge of his bare wrist and Roman takes a huge gulp of the whisky.

Shit.

Unknown number: Roman, this is Logan. Are you free the evening of the 15th?

Roman blinks at his phone.

Me: How did you get my number?

Logan: I asked Patton. You do remember that we work together, yes?

Me: Yeah i remember but why did you want my number

Logan: To ask if you're free on the 15th, for starters.

Me: i think so, why?

Logan: The firm is throwing a holiday party and I've been instructed to bring someone who, quote: 'Won't cause a disruption but will add to the seasonal atmosphere.'

Me: is this supposed to be a compliment? also what kind of invitation says that?

Logan: I've certainly never met anyone as determined to preserve the holiday spirit as you. And no, that was a special instruction from my boss.

Me: still don't know if that's a compliment

Logan: Take it as you like. The dress code is black tie, so no terrible sweaters for you.

Me: i can't do that

Logan: Surely the holiday will survive if you're not in a hideous sweater for one evening

Me: no i don't have anything to wear to a black tie thing

His phone is silent for a long time and Roman's…fine about that. He was gonna enjoy that evening off, actually. Watch some of his favorite Christmas movies, listen to his favorite album, maybe actually get around to baking himself that thing he wanted to try ages ago…

Then his phone buzzes again. He picks it up and blinks to see an address.

Logan: Meet me here at 9 tomorrow.

Me: why?

Logan: To find you something appropriate to wear, of course.

Me: Logan, you don't need to do that.

Logan: I'm aware. 9 on the dot, don't be late.

Well.

Okay.

He's going shopping with Logan tomorrow, apparently. He also definitely needs to ask Patton why the hell he gave Logan his number.

At 8:55 the next morning, he's standing outside one of those department stores that just feels like it's the setting of some cliché rich person montage. He'd picked out a loose-fitting tee and a pair of decent sweatpants because, you know, shopping typically involves trying things on, but now he's wondering if he should've put on his nice slacks and a button down because holy shit does he feel underdressed right now.

"Ah, good. You are on time."

And sure enough, here comes Logan in his goddamned suit. Does the man own casual clothes? Logan gives him another look up and down and no, Roman doesn't imagine the way his nose turns up ever so slightly before fixing him with a stern expression.

"Am I right in thinking you don't have much experience buying formal wear?"

"Not for a black tie event, no."

"Lovely," he says, tone indicating this is anything but, "I expect you to pay attention."

"Logan," he says quickly before Logan can actually make it to the door, "I can't—I can't afford anything here."

"Don't worry, I'll pay."

"You'll—what?"

"I said I'll pay for it, Roman, now come on—"

"Why would you do that?"

"Aside from the fact that you've just said you can't afford it?"

"You don't—" Roman pinches the bridge of his nose— "look, I don't know what game this is or what point you're trying to prove, but it's not—I don't need your charity, okay?"

"It's not charity, Roman. Every man should have at least three well-fitting suits."

"Three? It's one night, Logan, I'm not—I can't do this."

Logan's looking at him strangely, like he's the one being weird about this—which he's not, he's being very reasonably suspicious and Logan shouldn't be looking at him like that—before he turns on his heel and heads down the block. After a moment of realizing that Roman's not walking with him, he reaches back and tucks his hand into the crook of Roman's arm the way he did at the party, which Roman still isn't thinking about, thank you very much, leading him around the corner to a coffee shop that also looks too expensive. He holds his tongue this time, resigning himself to whatever it is Logan's decided they're doing, taking the cup pushed into his hand and following Logan back outside.

Logan leads them to a bench in a more secluded area of the street, sitting down and nodding for Roman to sit next to him. "What's making you uncomfortable?"

Roman scoffs, but then Logan furrows his brow and…shit, he's actually being sincere. He swallows. "Aside from the fact that everyone in there looks like they're wearing my rent?"

"They're only clothes, Roman."

He doesn't register the surprisingly gentle tone Logan's using. "They're not just clothes, they're—they're—I don't belong in that world, Logan. I'm not gonna try to force myself into it."

"What world?"

"The world where I can spent rent on a suit and have that be fine. The world where people are that rich and that—that—" he suddenly remembers that Logan is one of said rich people, or at least is acting like it right now— "I just can't do it."

Logan's quiet for a moment, still just looking at him. Roman looks away, sipping at his coffee. Shit, it's good coffee too. Logan's probably thinking about how much of a waste of time this was, and he wasted his time the other day with buying the gifts too…and now with the whole party thing, maybe it's better to just leave.

That's not very seasonally gracious of you.

The memory of Logan's voice in his head shocks him into realizing how much of a dick he's being. Logan's doing this—presumably—out of the goodness of his heart, or at the very least he's not expecting Roman to pay him back or anything. And here Roman is, practically throwing a tantrum about it.

"Sorry," he says quietly, bowing his head, "I'm being an asshole, aren't I?"

"Being uncomfortable doesn't make you an asshole, Roman."

"Yeah, but…"

"No buts. I'd rather you tell me than suffer through it." The sincerity in his tone makes him look up again to see Logan still watching him. "What is it about it that's making it worse? Is it the money? I really don't mind paying for you. At the risk of sounding, well, like that, it's not that big of a deal to me."

He's gonna put that aside for now, yeah. "I just—I know how those people look at me."

"And how is that?"

He scuffs his toe through some of the salt congealing under the bench. "Like I'm not supposed to be there. Like I have the gall to be in the same room as them, or like I don't exist. I don't like it."

There's a pause. Then: "Do you think that's how I look at you?"

His head jerks over. Logan's hands are still around the coffee cup, but there's a bit of tension in them now. He adjusts his glasses even though there's really no need for it. He swallows.

"I don't…I really don't know how you look at me, Logan," he admits, "I thought that's what you were doing at first, but it's…I don't know, okay? Is that what you want to hear?"

"I'm not your enemy, Roman," he says with an unmistakable hurt that makes Roman want to throw up, "nor am I interrogating you."

"I know, I'm sorry. I…I didn't mean it like that."

Logan just looks at him for a few more seconds. He fidgets under it and looks away.

"Why're you doing this," he asks quietly, "surely there's an easier way to get around your boss's instructions?"

Another long pause. A car drives by and nearly splashes them with gray sludge. A dog barks at a pigeon taking flight.

"You're the first person who's successfully gotten me to buy actual presents for my family in almost ten years," Logan says suddenly, "and you managed it on the second time we'd ever met."

Hold on, Roman was what? He did what, now?

"And I thought about how my family would react to those presents and I found myself actually getting excited about it," he continues, like he isn't blowing Roman's mind right now, "so…perhaps there's something to this whole gift-giving, caring thing people like to peddle this time of year."

"They do say Christmas is the joy of giving."

"Quite, but I have no interest in making you out to be a charity case."

"You don't?"

Logan shakes his head. "No. If anything, this is my reward for myself. A selfish act to balance out the selfless one."

Roman frowns. "You…buying me a suit is you being selfish?"

A familiarly smug smirk curls up Logan's face and Roman will deny the way he swallows when he sees it until the day he dies. "No, me inviting the one person I'm genuinely fascinated by to an otherwise boring event of schmoozing and networking is the selfish act. The suit, well…aside from the fact that it is a crime that you've never been properly fitted for a suit before—"

"Hey! Again, not all of us are going to galas all the time!"

"—you managed to captivate me in a cheap sweater and worn jeans," Logan continues as if he hadn't spoken, voice suddenly a lot, lot lower, "and I can hardly pass up the opportunity to see you in something better."

Roman does not squeak. He does not turn bright pink, he does not shuffle like a schoolboy, he does not go all wide-eyed like some little fawn caught in the jaws of the Big Bad Wolf. He doesn't do any of those things because there's no way Logan just said that to him like it was nothing in the middle of the day while they're in public.

Logan's smirk just grows.

"You what?"

"Come, now, there's no need to be shy. You certainly have a healthy appreciation for my suits—" goddamnit— "can you truly begrudge me for having the same interest?"

"I—that's not—I didn't—shut up!"

He just chuckles, like an asshole, as Roman hides his splutter behind another sip of coffee. Thank God he's wearing a hat so Logan can't see how red his ears are right now.

"I don't need three suits," he manages with a remarkably steady voice, "not if the party's just one night."

"You never know, you might have the chance to attend another in the future."

Nope. Not thinking about that. Absolutely not, no, thank you. "I think sticking with just the one is fine for me right now."

"Very well." Logan stands with a swish of his coat. "One suit it is."

It takes until Logan's halfway down the block that Roman realizes he's been tricked into agreeing to let Logan pay for a suit, and the bastard doesn't even look sorry about it when Roman hollers after him.

Dick.

Of course, as soon as they get inside, part of him wants to leave immediately, but then Logan's hand is curling around his arm and he swallows, letting himself be guided across the sales floor to a section with a lot of black and navy fabric. He stares at the racks with what must be some form of abject terror because Logan's chuckling at him and leaning close.

"Don't worry, I'm not about to leave you on your own."

"You'd better not," he shoots back, but his voice comes out all high and thready.

Logan waves over a sales associate who's dressed better than Roman's ever been in his entire life and explains that Roman needs a suit. At least that's what he assumes just happened. In reality, there's a dull buzz in his head right now that's making it hard to focus on anything other than staying upright, not having a panic attack, and on the warmth of Logan's hand holding onto his arm through his coat. He does notice the associate eyeing his clothes a little disdainfully and quickly forces out: "Easier to change."

"Ah, how sensible. If only all of our clients were as considerate. Now, what sort of styles do you like?"

"I have absolutely no idea and I'm mostly scared to touch anything."

Both of them laugh and somehow manage to do it without sounding mean. "Do not worry, nothing in here bites, I assure you."

Roman can't help the way his gaze darts to Logan. Logan, because he is apparently determined to kill Roman today, winks at him.

"You're not helping," he hisses as the associate turns to pull something from a nearby rack.

"I don't recall promising to help, only that I wouldn't leave you alone."

"You're buying me another hot chocolate after this."

He does, and it's way too expensive and it tastes way too good and he wants to be mad about it and the garment bag he has to haul home, but then Logan's threatening to get him a cab as well and he high-tails it out of there before he makes good on it.

When he gets home, he just sort of…stands there for a moment, looking at the bag. In a daze, he reaches up and traces the emblem of the store embroidered into the black fabric. This is his suit. He actually owns it, it's made for him, it's something that he just has now. And yeah, maybe Logan was right: more than a small part of him is dancing at the idea of such a thing.

Before he can tell it to stop, that part of him whirls him through a set of doors and he's picturing himself in a grand ballroom with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, music overflowing into the gardens, the balconies, as it should for any spectacular party. With this suit, he belongs there, just as much as anyone else, amidst the swirling skirts and glittering tidings, where he could stand on his own and be welcome, celebrated, even, as much as anyone else. Where a hand might extend to him and mean it, where he could look up at Logan's face and smile, and not have to worry that a kiss would be refused—

The garment bag hits the floor with a crumpled thud.

Roman blinks rapidly, giving himself a good shake. What the hell was that? How did Logan manage to sneak in there? What's that got to do with—

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no—no, shit, he is not doing this again. He knows better now, he's not that young or naive or stupid anymore, he is not getting caught up in some ridiculous thing that will only end with his heart in pieces on the floor and a wobbling smile on his face. He is not going to start doing that.

With a muffled groan, he snags the bag off the floor and stomps to the closet, hanging it up and shoving the door closed again. This is stupid. This is the third time he's met Logan, there's no reason for him to be doing this. Even if by some Christmas miracle Logan doesn't find out about this—because Roman wears his heart on his sleeve and Logan keeps doing that thing where he sees him—his traitor of a heart flutters again and he shoves a pin through its wings—he's still going to have to look at him at this stupid party and—and—

And his mind flashes back to that little bit of hurt he'd heard in Logan's voice when he asked if Roman thought he looked at him the way all those fucking rich people do. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. Would Logan look at him the same way now, knowing he was assuming the worst of him?

No, no, that's not right. Accurately predicting the rejection of his sudden and really very stupid feelings was not assuming the worst of him. If anything, Logan might complement him on his very mature and reasonable handling of unrequited emotions. Yeah, that was it. He just has to be an adult about this, the way everyone else has said the same thing his entire life. It's a good thing he realized these feelings now, actually, and not at the party where there will be other people and he'll be in that suit and Logan will be there too, because he's invited Roman of all people, going so far as to make sure he has something to wear…

He snaps himself out of it, almost glaring at the closet door. No. Not doing that. He's just going to go to this party as Logan's friend, spend the time being there the way a friend would, and not think about what would happen if Logan had asked him there as more than a friend.

He can do this.

***

He can't do this.

He's been standing outside the lobby of this big slab of glass and steel in the middle of downtown for about ten minutes now and he has no idea of how to move forward. He's on the list, he knows, because Logan sent him a confirmation email yesterday, so he doesn't have to wait here for someone else to show up and let him in, he definitely doesn't have to wait for Logan to show up so they can go inside, but here he is. Loitering. He's pretty sure it's only because of the suit that the front desk person hasn't called the cops or whatever.

"You've truly a wonderful sense of timing."

He whirls around to see Logan getting out of a sleek black town car. His mouth goes dry a little at the sight and he'll deny it forever. Take the fifth, or whichever amendment is the one that means you don't have to say shit. Logan's smirking at him by the time they're standing next to each other, though, so he's pretty sure he has some idea of what's running through his head.

"Hey," he croaks, clearing his throat, "thought about going in, but then I realized I'd have no idea of where I'm going."

"They could've told you."

Don't bring your logic here while I'm having a crisis. "Yeah, well, isn't it bad form to show up separately from the person who invited you?"

Logan gives him that look like he's being nice to him by letting it go—and hey, he is a lawyer, maybe that counts as being nice—and takes his elbow. "Come on, then. We're getting dangerously close to being disastrously late instead of fashionably late."

They walk through the door and Logan waves a card at the person behind the desk—ID badge, Roman's brain supplies helpfully. The elevator is just a normal elevator, thank God, but then it opens onto a floor of way too many people in expensive clothing and more of that pretentious not-Christmas music and it's all he can do not to immediately slam the 'down' button again.

"Relax," Logan says quietly, "it's just a party."

"Easy for you to say, you work here."

"Actually, that makes it worse for me: I have to see these people again after tonight."

A somewhat hysterical giggle bubbles up in Roman's throat but he steps out of the elevator all the same. There's a large booth off to one side where racks have been set up for people's coats, two smartly-dressed people manning a small desk. Logan walks up and passes over his coat without hesitating, which means Roman has to hustle a little bit to not get left behind in the crowd.

"So, what're we supposed to do?"

"Mingle," Logan sighs, like he's just been asked to hold up the heavens, "I am responsible for following up with a few of our more…anxious clients, but you just have to walk around and look pretty."

Roman snags an offered glass of champagne and downs about half of it in one go to avoid thinking about that too much. Logan just chuckles and starts leading his way through the masses, Roman trudging along behind him.

The first set of people they come across must be other people Logan works with on a regular basis; they react like Logan's the cool kid coming to join them at the lunch table when he strolls closer, one of them giving him a slap on the shoulder and the others raising their glasses in toast. A change comes over him, growing taller and sleeker as Roman watches before he realizes hey, this is probably one of those things Logan wants him to talk at. Sure enough, as he approaches, one of them spots him over Logan's shoulder.

"Is this the lucky man with you tonight?"

"Yes," Logan says, turning and extending a hand to gather Roman in close, "this is Roman. Roman, these are some of the insufferable colleagues I mentioned before."

"Hello, nice to meet you."

"Look, Logan, someone with manners," a woman says, dark eyes flashing over the rim of her glass, "you could learn something from him."

"You must be the one that threatened to stab him if he didn't get the right presents," he says, without thinking, only for the others to burst out laughing. The woman just grins.

"That would be me, yes." She holds out her hand. "Ava Nath. Pleasure to suffer through knowing Logan along with you."

"Roman."

"Claws to yourself, Ava," Logan says lowly and fuck, Logan being all weirdly possessive around his friends—are they friends? Roman's really gonna hope they're friends—is doing things to Roman.

"How'd you manage to meet this one, Roman?" asks another man, nudging Logan with his elbow. "Can't have been through work, otherwise we'd've warned you away ages ago."

Roman swallows another mouthful of champagne. "Mutual friend."

"Oh? Which friend would that be?"

"You guys realize we're not in a court room, right? You don't have to interrogate me if you don't want to."

Again, thank God they took that as a joke, laughing again even as Logan's hand lands warmly on his upper back. The man waves his hand in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry. Ask anyone here, it's hard to turn off."

"No, it's fine, I…should've expected it. I'm friends with Patton, that's how we met."

"Patton…from down on the 16th floor, yes. Sweet guy. Makes sense." He gives himself a shake. "Here I am forgetting my manners too. Scott Kensington, pleased to meet you."

Roman shakes his hand. Logan's hand is still on his back, thumb slightly stroking the material of suit. He should not be paying attention to that, he should be paying attention to the conversation.

He takes another gulp.

"Well, you just got here, so you've still got your rounds to do."

Logan groans. "Don't remind me. Just tell me that Forstby isn't here yet."

"Oh, God, no, he'll probably stumble in about an hour from now."

"Small mercies. Well, it was lovely catching up with you, but I'm afraid we're needed elsewhere. Roman?"

"Yep, I'm coming."

"Pleasure meeting you," Ava calls as he's ushered away, "come back when you're done!"

"Will we be doing that?"

Logan rolls his eyes. "If we must. Come on, now, we've more hands to shake."

It turns out that meeting people in rapid succession is not a good way for him to remember names, or faces, instead he just gets more and more through this glass of champagne with a pasted-on smile and a few comments he doesn't think about that thankfully just make everyone else laugh. He's pretty sure Logan can tell, though, judging by the way his hand never leaves his back or his shoulder for longer than about ten seconds at a time. He'd like to resent him for that. He really would. He'd also like to resent him for feeding the fantasy Roman's brain has been helpfully pushing at him all night but he's ignoring that one like a champ.

They end up in a conversation with one of the firm's clients, not that he really knows what that means—okay, no, he does know what that means, he just doesn't know what he's supposed to do about it. The couple is a striking older duo, a man with ginger hair flecked with salt and pepper, as is his beard, introducing himself as Ben, and a stunning blonde woman with high cheekbones and a piercing green stare who tells him call me Sadie. They'd both spoken warmly to Logan upon seeing him, gathering him in for a hug—which he hadn't been shocked by, nope, not at all—before turning to Roman. He'd stumbled his way through an intro, belatedly offering his hand, only for them to…well, basically coo at how adorable he is. He minds a little less than he'd thought. They explain how they met through a mutual friend again and the three of them have been talking about something business related ever since. Which means Roman can just nod in the right places, laugh in the right places, and not think about anything else.

Nope.

Not at all.

"But that's enough business talk," Ben sighs, "this is supposed to be a party."

"That doesn't typically stop you," Sadie says, to which Ben huffs and she turns her smile to Roman. "Forgive us."

"Nothing to forgive, I get it."

"I suppose we have you to thank for this evening?"

"Uh, what? Sorry, I, um…how so?"

"Come now, there's no need to be coy about it. We all know Logan's a bit of a Grinch when it comes to the holidays," Ben says with a wink at Logan.

"If being practical makes me a Grinch, then yes, I suppose so."

"See what I mean?"

"We weren't sure he was even going to be here," Sadie continues, "so I presume I have you to thank for getting him in the spirit?"

Which…is not how Roman thought this worked out. Logan told him about the party, told him he needed a guest to bring, like it was a mandatory work thing that he had to go to. Not…what he's currently being told. But before he can say that, or something to that effect, Logan's rolling his eyes again. Seriously, the man puts in a full eyeball workout every hour, it looks like.

"Ava's already declared her allegiance for him after learning he helped me with gift-getting, I don't need you two doing the same."

"You, willingly buying presents that aren't run-of-the-mill?" Ben says. "You are a miracle worker, Roman."

"It wasn't that big of a deal."

"It was," Logan corrects gently, looking at him with actual affection, "and I don't believe I ever properly thanked you for it, so thank you."

"Um…you're welcome?"

Sadie laughs. "Next thing you know, you'll be throwing your own Christmas party."

Roman laughs along with her. The idea of cynical, practical Logan throwing a Christmas party will do that. He can just imagine Logan's face at the idea too—

"I've actually been considering it."

He knows his head is not the only one that snaps around to stare when Logan says that. Ben recovers first, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Not this, obviously," Logan continues, gesturing about, "but something with a few friends, certainly."

"Will wonders never cease…I never thought I'd see the day where you willingly get into the festive spirit."

"What can I say? It's that time of year."

"It certainly is," Sadie says, her gaze sliding far too neatly to Roman for a little too long. "Well, I hope that if you do deign to throw such a party, the two of us will be invited?"

"Naturally."

And then there are polite excuses being made as to why everyone has to be elsewhere and they're back to mingling again. Roman's brain is still stuck on the idea of Logan at a Christmas party. An actual Christmas party, where there's cheap alcohol and shitty music and terrible sweaters. He manages to get through a few more brief conversations before he's mumbling to Logan about needing a break and wandering off in search of the nearest window.

He manages to find one far enough away from the pounding music—and open bar—but close enough that Logan won't have to look around forever to find him. He leans against the edge, watching the snow drift between the skyscrapers. Absentmindedly, he tugs at his collar, as if it could get his mind away from the thoughts still swirling around and around his brain.

This is going fine. This is going great, even. It's just like what he normally does at parties: socialize for a little bit, find and hang on to the people he actually knows, and then find a quiet corner to just be by himself. He didn't even check to see if Patton would be here—no, no, Patton's with his partner now, he left last week. Well, that makes it only Logan that he knows here, not counting the few people whose names he's managed to remember.

That's fine too. Completely, totally fine. Absolutely nothing to worry about.

He takes another drink and finds the glass empty. Well, sallying forth to try and procure another one sounds like a bad idea, so he's just gonna have to deal with it.

"You," comes an amused voice from behind him, "are far too sober to be looking so worried."

He huffs a laugh, turning to see Logan holding out a fresh glass of…something that definitely isn't champagne. He takes it, eyes it warily, and at Logan's pointed stare, takes a sip. He doesn't cough, because he's not that bad at this, but he does make quite the face.

"You'd think I just handed you a glass of cyanide, it's just whisky, there's no need for all of that."

"Don't think it's quite to my taste." But he's also not in the habit of refusing a drink, so he tries another sip. This time he lets it sit on his tongue for a few moments before swallowing and it's…mildly better. "Thanks."

"I felt obligated to do a morale check." Logan glances over his shoulder. "The wolves haven't torn you to shreds yet, have they?"

"I thought sharks were the lawyer metaphor animal."

"Both suffice in their own ways. Both have a reputation for being particularly ruthless or determined, an association with chasing bloodshed. Keen senses, for noticing when someone's deflecting."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it," he grumbles, "I'm fine. Just…needed a minute."

"No one's looking at you funny, are they?"

He's about to give Logan a hard time for teasing him about something that he knows is a sore spot, he made his point already, but when he looks up, Logan's looking at him with a small furrow between his brows and the retort shrivels up. He shakes his head. Logan's shoulders relax.

"Good."

"Ava and Scott seemed cool. So did Ben and Sadie."

Logan hums, still watching him. He shuffles under it.

"What?"

"Is there something else bothering you? You seem upset still."

"I'm fine, really, just…not used to all of this," he finishes, somewhat lamely, "most of the parties I go to are more low-key. You know, bunch of people in a house, food, drink…that's it. Kind of like what you were describing."

"I hope you know that you'd be invited too."

"R-really?" He can't help the slight laugh of disbelief. "But we barely know each other."

"And yet, you're the only one who's managed to convince me that there might be something to all this holiday nonsense. You think I'd do something festive and not make you suffer through it with me?"

"See, you say there might be something to it, then you call it nonsense that you have to suffer through."

"Just because there's something redeeming about it doesn't mean I suddenly have to enjoy it."

"You really are a lawyer."

Logan laughs at that, a proper laugh, and that's just fucking unfair that he's a gorgeous bastard when he laughs too. He shakes his head, and Roman quickly looks back out the window. Nope. Not thinking about it. Not thinking about anything at all. No thoughts, head empty, that's him.

"You would come, though."

"Huh?"

"If I did have a party. You would come?"

"Of course I would," he says before his brain catches up to what he's saying and realizes that…yes, he actually would. He'd be happy to. "Just let me know when and where."

Logan smiles. Then it fades slightly, and Roman stands up a little more, about to ask what's wrong. His mouth opens and that, of course, is when someone comes up to talk to Logan and the moment's gone almost as quickly as it came.

"I have to go," Logan says, "don't run off this time, would you?"

"I'll be here."

Logan touches his arm again and turns, touch lingering just a bit on the edge of his bare wrist and Roman takes a huge gulp of the whisky.

Shit.

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Forbidden Fruit

Pairing:Aris x female reader

Summary:To finally escape WICKED you try to flirt your way out with their worker, Aris.

The plan was simple. We already found their stash of uniforms in a closet. Now to get out of our facility we needed a way around that WICKED worker, Aris. While we had talked about it, just knocking him out and running probably wasn't the best idea. We had nothing to bait him with, which we no doubt he would have accepted if we did. We sure as hell weren't going to trust that he’d let us stroll on by.

So that’s when Sonya suggested the worst idea in the history of ideas.

“None of us know how to flirt. I mean the only guy we’ve been around is your older brother,”I pointed out.

“I know, but it just has to throw him off for a minute. That's all,”She justified.

“Well I’m not doing it on account of I was the one who suggested violence,”Harriet stated.

“I’m the youngest therefore that would be weird,”Sonya pointed out.

“I’m socially awkward, meaning it would just look really sad,”I defended.

“Again, we just need to confuse him,”Harriet repeated.

“But I don't want to try and flirt with the WICKED worker,”I complained. “Or anyone.”

“Just take one for the team, okay? Then, we’ll never have to deal with them after this,”Sonya promised.

“But-”

“Just go. We’re wasting time,”Harriet reminded me.

With a frustrated sigh, I put a smile on my face, attempted to fix my hair with my hands, and walked straight towards him. At my footsteps he glanced up and almost cocked his head. That's definitely confusion at least.

“Hey,”I greeted, standing just close enough to him that my skin didn't crawl.

“Uh, hey?”

“Are you new? I’ve never seen you around, and I would definitely remember you,”I drew out, looking at him as I leaned against the wall. He just stared at me with a blank expression before doing the same.

“Apparently, you would not,”He responded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Strange. I don't know how someone like you could slip my mind,”I shrugged, giving him a grin which he didn't return. If anything, I seemed to be psyching him out as he messed with the sleeves of his shirt.

“So you aren't new here?”He asked, looking me up and down.

“I just barely got here. Not that it makes a difference. After all, I know you now,”I said, subtly moving closer to the door. Daring to glance at the keys on his belt, I worked out how I would get them before quickly meeting his gaze.

“Not officially. I’m Aris,”He ‘introduced’, holding out his hand.

“I’m Y/N,”I actually introduced, accepting it. Before I could react he kissed the back of it making my face flush. No longer seeming to think anything of it, he moved just a little closer, making me see that he was around an inch taller than me. Taking in his tan skin, short hair, and fit figure from who knows what, being next to someone on the other side was almost surreal. He just looks so much like the regular subjects that if it weren't for the suit he actually would blend in. Still, the thought of him doing that just seemed like some sort of crime. The thought of actually flirting or being with one, now that would just straight up be forbidden from both sides.

Trying to block out those thoughts, I averted my gaze as he leaned so close to me that I swore I could feel his breath on my neck. This was absolutely not part of the plan.

“Nice try, love. Though, if you want to flirt to sneak out at least be ready for someone to happily play along,”He whispered in my ear, making my heart beat faster.

“I don't-”

“They’re already back in their dorms, you know? There are very handy forms of communication in this place. Just enough for some tricks up the sleeve,”He grinned, pulling away and showing me this little wire device with a button that was in fact hidden up his sleeve. Without a word he pushed it, and a little light I didn't notice was there dimmed to nothing. “Impressive, isn't it?”

“So you just let me keep wasting time?”I snapped.

“More or less. They’ve been good for about five minutes.”

“You were just screwing with me? For what?”

“What else was I going to do tonight? I may as well play along with the pretty girl thinking she's slick,”He shrugged.

“I’m not-”

“So what do you say I personally walk you back, love? Make sure my girl doesn't stop and flirt with someone else on your way?”He suggested.

“Shove off,”I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at the ground.

“Is that a yes?”

“I can walk back by myself,”I pointed out.

“Actually, you can't. I wouldn't be very good at my job if I let you leave like that. Or a gentleman.”

“You are not a gentleman,”I promised, rolling my eyes.

“I disagree. Now do you want to get going or stay here and keep being flustered?”

“Fine. Let’s just go,”I gave in.

“By the way, I’m here quite often. You should drop by again. Preferably, soon. It’d be nice to see my girl again,”He nonchalantly said, winking at me.

“Like I would ever be your girl,”I scoffed.

“Really? We could be like Romeo and Juliet. Minus the constant murder and joint suicide.

“I am not acting out any story involving love with one of you,”I promised.

“Awe. Why not?”

“What the hell do you mean why not? You're just the other sides, cruel, cold, manipulative, lying, guinea pig,”I listed.

“And you gathered all of that from five minutes of trying to flirt your way out of here?”

“I don't even need that."

“If anything Y/N, you should spend a little more time with the other side. Maybe I could even get you flustered again.”

“Ew.”

“Ouch. After everything we had?”

“All five minutes of pretend flirting?”

“Pretend flirting from you. From me, I’ll let you decide that, love.”

“I’ve decided that it was stupid.”

“Really?”He questioned.

“Yes, really.”

“So if I got really close to you again, that would be really stupid?”

“Extremely stupid.”

“Interesting,”He said in a tone that I didn't like. Before I could blink he drummed his fingers on the tip of the door frame above him as he leaned forward just to test my theory, which I was definitely right about.

“Aah,”He nodded.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just enjoying watching you blush again.”

“It's really hot in here, okay?”I defended.

“Actually, they keep this place cold, almost freezing. That's how the Chancellor likes it.”

“Your uniforms are hot.”

“Well you certainly seemed to think so recently,”He remarked.

“Not like that,”I snapped.

“If you say so, love.”

“Stop calling me love,”I demanded.

“Of course. I’ll have another name for when I see you again. We could go through the list.”

“I will not be seeing you again.”

“Are you sure? You seem to like this little thing we have going on, and I know I do.”

“There is no thing, and there sure as hell is no we.”

“Right. Because of the forbidden love story we have going on.”

“There is no love story.”

“Not with that attitude.”

“Aren't you supposed to be walking me back to my prison cell?”I reminded him.

“Yeah, but you don't seem to be moving anytime soon,”He shrugged.

“Well I am now so let's just go,”I repeated.

“Of course. Anything for you, darling,”He agreed, leading me down the path I hadn't come. When I tried to point that out he just gave me the smartass explanation of taking the long way. With a huff I walked alongside him a few feet away. Still, the idiot moved closer so that our shoulders brushed against each other. I threw him a glare but didn't bother to move.

Without a word he turned a corner to my room, a way shorter destination than I had used. He also must have noticed my confusion as he started talking.

“I’m not actually stupid. You obviously don't like me so here's the shortcut,”He explained. While I knew this should be what I wanted as he held the key card to the door I pulled his hand away without actually thinking. Still, I hesitantly asked the dumbest question.

“Just out of curiosity, are you at that spot tomorrow?”

“Every Thursday and Friday so yeah. I will be,”He answered.

“Okay,”I nodded, waiting for him to let me in. As he glanced down though, I followed his gaze and realized that I had never let go of his hand. As quickly as humanly possible, I pulled away, almost like his touch had burned my skin.

Staring at me for a moment, he waited a moment before doing so.

“I guess I’ll see you around, darling,”He whispered.

“Yeah. I think you will, love,”I agreed. Then, I gave him a small smile as I walked into my prison cell.

[maxedes]

PSA: STOP REPOSTING MY POSTS ON TWITTER

i‘ve seen quite a few of my posts floating around on there without credit & i don‘t like that at all, i‘m sorry. if you want to use a post please ask first & give credit, thank you.

—————————————————————————

hello, nice to see you here <3

thought it was time for you to get to know me!

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ this is me ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

- my name is senta

- pronouns are she/her

- i‘m 21

- german (unfortunately)

- for more infos check out my "main" blog @sentaluise (follows, likes ect. do come from @allmyfriendsareficti0nal though)

- @/maxcedesbenz on twt

- @/sentamental on ao3

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ about my blog ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

- this is chaotic, if i have something to say i will (this is like my little f1 diary)

- mainly opinions

- sometimes drawing or textposts/edits, if i find the time

- i also try to translate/summarize things from sky germany that i think people would find interesting

- i do tag for drivers/races but the rest may be chaotic

- asks i‘ve gotten can be found under „asked & answered“

- f1 related but personal shenanigans are tagged #personal

- fair warning: there will be a typo in every other post, i apologize

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ my f1 opinions ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

(boy oh boy do i have fucked opinions)

- starting of with a tier list for the current grid:

2025 version coming soon

(opinions aren‘t set in stone & i could write essays about my opinions on each of them, so fitting them in this thing might not be the most accurate way, but just to give you an idea. this is also not based on how i rate their talent as a driver, but how much i generally like them!)

- george is my undefeated favorite, max is a very close second

- i‘m a merc girly (doesn‘t mean i like everything they do)

- i really really hate red bull & everything they stand for (even though i do really like max & yuki)

- this is also probably not a safe place for mclaren & especially lando norris fans (i do tag all my anti stuff but just dni & block me if this bothers you)

- my favorite former drivers are:

- nico rosberg

- sebastian vettel

- michael schumacher

- jenson button

- lella lombardi

- about shipping (this is mostly for fun, all rpf „rules“ apply)

- brocedes for life

- gax

- lestappen

- galex

- side of versainz

- also kinda got on the haasband train

- others too sometimes, i ain‘t picky if the vibes are right i‘m in

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ disclaimer ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

- this blog is a safe space (for more see @sentaluise )

- this blog will mainly be sfw except for some crude language but interact at your own risk

- i know my opinions are kinda controversial, please don‘t come for me. i get along well with people who may see things differently but if something here is really bothering you please use the block button liberally (or reach out to me if you feel like a line’s being crossed)

- i am a strong believer in just not liking people purely based on vibes. i don‘t own anyone liking someone, so don‘t come for me.

- my pfp is inspired by the ferrari snoopy that schumisnoopy on twitter made :)

- i do enjoy asks so reach out if you want to :)

[taperwolf]

Hasbro released a toy "smart" R2-D2 back in 2016. It has three basic modes: one where it beeps and flashes lights in response to various stimuli, one where it does that and also moves about, and one where it acts as a motion-detecting alarm. But the big draw was the Bluetooth-connected smartphone app, developed by Sphero, that let you drive it around or program various behaviors into it.

I picked one up a few years ago, and played with it a little, but then it sat for some time. I decided to try playing with it today.

First problem: the app has not been available for download since 2018. Okay, I've got an old copy, it's on my phone now. Second problem: the toy won't connect to the phone. Indeed, according to reports, it won't connect over Bluetooth on any Android version newer than Android 8.

(The app screenshots are from an old PC Magazine review.)

I mean, boo and curses, right? Now, it's not a pure brick without the app. The standalone toy modes still work. But obviously, there's a lot less you can do with it, and so the proper recourse is to hack the thing. Unfortunately, a quick search didn't turn up anyone who'd already done this, so I'd be starting from scratch, and obviously you don't expect a product that had a two-page PDF manual to have a lot of manufacturer's notes on the wiring.

But!

This thing spoke Bluetooth, so it's a radio. And if you sell a radio in the US, it has to have certification testing done for FCC approval, and that testing is done by folks who want to know what they're testing. So they often get a bunch of internal documentation, and all the data is saved in the FCC's database. So we look at the lettering on R2's back that says "FCC ID: RS4B7493", and that turns up not just that tiny manual, but a block diagram, the complete schematics, and photos of all the internal parts. Hooray!

Back to unfortunately, one thing the schematic makes clear is that the processor is not reprogrammable, so making the thing connect to new devices or run arbitrary code would require a brain transplant. Probably the most compelling hacked mode would be to have the new microcontroller have a WiFi connection and host a web server, which would then either show the same sort of remote control buttons as the original's "drive" mode or expose its own programming environment. Maybe both a graphical language like the app and something classic like Logo?

I'm really blue-skying here, and this project isn't gonna be at the top of my priority list, but I'm more positive about the prospects than I was originally. Sometimes it's really nice having a signals bureaucracy.

[corpseaten]

nodding, nodding.... being a shut-in definitely is enjoyable, and if i could live like this forever i would, but alas! it definitely does make those few times i have to leave the house a week a lot more stressful and frustrating though.. for me, i do both fear and dislike people, it just depends on the context of the scenario? online i am more fearful, while in real life my dislike is stronger. probably due to the fact that online you can block people you do not want to see. if only there was a block or mute button in real life..

insomniac twins! i typically wake up sometime in the morning to take some medicine though, and then i go back right back to sleep until evening.... i too am always sleepy. although i am more energized at night, it is a sleepy energy. hard to describe. and i understand your thing with just Knowing about being angelkin, that is me with a few other things.. so i suppose my vampirism is the outlier here! - ⚰️

You could always try, I mean. it certainly is my dream to live inside forever so, why not go for it? I am used to being outside, I just would like to change that fact. I do not hate it any less than I did the first day I realised that I didn’t want to see the outside world. I understand ! I am kind of the same, then. I am very afraid of people on here unless they interact with me first, I am not one to approach . . . I have pretty bad anxiety, once I know someone though it becomes a lot less difficult ! I take it you haven’t taken a disliking to me then if I am not blocked, I must be one of few ! That would be nice , I wish I could just never see anyone again. Every person I meet would be blocked I believe , I am heartless to all but one, I suppose.

I don’t have any reason like that to wake me up, so, unless I have class I wakeup, later, around eleven, then just stay up until my body decides it will he merciful on me and sleep. I think I understand, thoigh, when I’m too sleepy, I have no energy at all, it is the worst ! Other things ? Such as what, if, that isn’t too intrusive.

Speaking of sleep, I intend to put my phone down now, so, you will not recieve a reply for a little bit, Coffin.

[monst]

Da rules

     I go by Monst and I partake in slow updates here unfortunately: I do read faster than I write so enjoy all the reblogs lol

I like the color orange it's not relevant, just thought I'd put it out there

Uh the bnha master list is definitely not up to date and needs a revamp (I will probably get to that eventually, someday...soon...) Speaking of it Here's the DC one

Here's the BHNA one.

Here's the Kinktober2024 one

Anyways if you're interested below is basically the what's what. Stick around if you want.

 Okay cool! Let’s get to it:

All characters for nsfw stuff are aged up 18+ (If you’re one of those (Can't separate reality from fiction/fantasy) then the unfollow/block buttons haven’t moved from their location and you are free to use them at your discretion )  

If you're a minor while I can't stop you from reading I will block you if I catch you interacting with any of my 18+ content posts. As a matter of fact for my peace of mind and your safety I would prefer you didn't reblog/comment on my sfw stuff too, they're are dangerous people on the internet so please understand and don't take it personally-Thanks💕

Moving on-

     I’m cool with: 

Requests- Hcs, Scenarios, thirst posts, Ya sending ideas and recommendations👀

For requests I might not get to all of them in a timely manner and I might not do some I’m not feeling. I write for F. Reader, GN. reader and M. Reader. Ships are cool too so you can request Character x character or poly reader- character x character x reader.-Genre: all of them tbh

I’m okay with dark content- (Dubcon, noncon, yandere, somno, etc.) and everything should be labeled appropriately. You can always ask that I tag something if it is missing. I do like a challenge/learning so even if I'm not personally into something I'll definitely give it a whirl (Kinks and or tropes)

Sfw- Fluff, angst basically anything that tickles my fancy and isn't risque or full on smut.

* In regards to requests the things I do fuck w might be prioritized 👉👈

    I’m not cool with: 

Scat

Underage/PDF

I'm generally cool w being uncomfortable, especially in regards to what I read or write whether it be by being grossed out or scared. I've always been ridiculously curious mostly to my determent but fiction is a safe way to explore shit so I'll give most things a fair shake in other words the sky's the limit but use your discernment⁉️

Extra:

Random shit- You telling me about your day, thoughts, opinions on whatever ig. ask for advice (trust me bro I got you✌️) or info dump👀 I love to chat. 

Music! Tell me what your listening too! (Yes I'm one of those 'I listen to everything' I need new stuff to listen to)

Also! I miss the whole deviant art/Quizzilla shit so I might do a whole seven minutes in heaven thing lmao (This doesn’t belong here but scream at me about it cause I need it to happen for nostalgia’s sake) 

Also, I'm kinda using this space as a chill/fun mostly nsfw diary? lmao so it's just mostly gonna be vibes :p That being said keep your fandom discourse and weirdo hate bs to yourself cause I will clown/ignore you if you come at me w some sideways ass energy. I'm just as nice as I am mean so don't try me ☯️❤️

So here’s the fandoms&Characters if you wanna request: 

Mha- 

Shocker, but I do have some old asks that are too good to just let’em go ya know?  

Shinsou (I started this blog cause of him so.. yeah) 

Villain/Yandere Deku sorry

Bakugou

Endeavour 

Dabi

Hawks

Tokoyami 

Shoto

Dc- 

Please, please, please send me shit about Tim Drake. (Need him biblically) Literally hopped back on for him. 

Jason Todd

Dick Grayson

Bruce Wayne

Selina Kyle 

Poison Ivy 

Joker (Nothing good is coming out of anyone requesting this I just know it) 

Constantine 

Diana (Wonder woman my beloved) 

Amanda Waller 

Cheetah 

Slade Wilson… 

JJK-

Nanamin 

Gojo  (He's like crack to me istg)

Inumaki 

Invincible- 

Mark Grayson 

…Nolan...

Debbie

Alan! 

Naruto-

Kakashi ‘blow my back out’ Hatake

Itachi 

Shisui (My love)

Madara

Tobirama’s messy ass

Ask for more but these are my faves 

D- gray man-

Yuu Kanda!

Tyki Mikk

Kingdom Hearts-

Riku

Vanitas 

Most of the organization tbh

FF7-

All of them. 

But especially Sephiroth 

Any type of monster lmao 

Kenji Sato lmao

You can ask for others not listed in different fandoms I just think this has gotten a bit too long  

And Yeah, Let’s have fun! ^^

New Tags: 

         This bitch is yapping - Any asks answered or just general shit

         Thirsty bitch juice - Small scenarios, thirst,

         Pretty things- Art 

         Oh la la that’s some good shit right there- Fic recs & reblogs

         On my monster fucking bs - Monster fucking lol 

         Lock that shit up in the basement pls- cursed asks and stuff 

Uh random bullshit go! - My newer writing

And if you made it this far down here's a cookie 🍪

[kloss-karliee]

giving a shrug that showed a bit of cockiness. "i know how to make things taste good!" her smile beamed at him. "you can have that bed any time you'd like. you're the first person whose slept in it so... yeah. i honestly haven't slept that hard in a long time. it was peaceful to say the least. i'm glad you slept comfortably. i would've hated for you to get all the way out here only to put you in an uncomfortable bed."

feeling his arms around her she drank in the moment. it really was as if they had been together for years as if this whole action was natural & easy. "okay okay, you can make breakfast. i'll drink my greens & get out of your way.... pans are in the cabinet under the island, any kind of utensils are going to be in the far drawer by the fridge & knives are in the butchers block over there." pointing to the mahogany butchers block sitting by the stove. "have fun!!" she grabbed her cup & pushed the button on the coffee maker so that she could have her fresh iced coffee when she was done with her greens.

wandering into the living room she sat down on the couch, pulling her feet up under herself. "i'll be right here if you need any help. the bacon is in the fridge." it was so casual the way she just gave over her kitchen to him. opening up her home to what her friends & family would consider a total stranger was off book for her but she was entirely happy that she did. this could've proven to be one of the best decisions she had made.

"i think after spending a night with you, i can rule out you possibly being a serial killer. but then again... it could all be just a ruse. you might just be really good at hiding it. trying to get me to trust you so you can smother me in my sleep at a later point in time." she leaned back over the back side of the couch, speaking in towards the kitchen while he cooked. it was so nice to see a man in her kitchen again, honestly it was nice to not have to actually cook for herself for once.

when she couldn't take it anymore she stood up & gingerly walked into the kitchen on her toes. "it smells wonderful in here. i haven't had anyone cook for me in ages." she beamed with excitement. she stood behind him & carefully placed her arms around him, giving him a peck on the cheek. "it's really nice."

Taking the cup from her, he smiled “Sure, I do come from the land of green juice.” He took a sip. “You know out of all the green juices I’ve had that one is a lot better than most.” He gave her a kiss after putting the cup on the counter. Rubbing a hand through his messy curls he yawned “Normally I’m pretty good with the jet lag but your bed is so damn comfy and having you laying near me was the extra that just put me over.”

Leaning back on the counter with a smile on his face as he watched her. “You are the cutest and yes that sounds really good to me.” Moving closer to her to wrap his arms around her waist and give her a kiss like they had done this every day instead of it being the first time.

The ease that he felt with her made him nervous, but excited. He could see this life with her. Granted he knew that at one point there would be two toddlers running around, as well as his dogs and his cat but he thought that would add to the fun.

Oliver took the eggs and bacon from her. “I got this, you are making dinner tonight, let me make you breakfast.” He gave her another kiss. “You just have to tell me where your pans are and then you get your sweet butt out of here.” He put his hands up as he cutely spun around the kitchen to try and find the pans.

[crypticjackal13]

Hi can I request a macaque wukong x fem cat reader

Like reader has fore cat ears like two normal cat ears and two small ears and she has super sensitive hearing and like she’s loving towards anyone and wants attention like a cat but back at what I want is that reader was playing fnaf in her room until macaque and wukong entered the room and scared her as reader let out a screach as she died in the game and they tried to comfort her for her loss in the game as she died in the game as macaque and wukong tried to play the game as reader watched them suffer as she smiled

I want some comfort because I’m sick and I tried beating the game in hard mode in fnaf

(ಡ‸ಡ)

I don't think I ever made it past night 3 in FNAF 1 tbh

“Jumpscare!” (697 w.c)

Wukong x Macaque x Fem!Neko!Reader

Funny romantic one shot

pronouns: she/her

CW: getting scared, general FNAF description stuff

Okay, only a fewwww more minutes, then it’ll be six AM!” Y/n muttered to herself, eyes trained on the cameras. She had been trying to beat this part of the game for ages now, and hadn’t really left the game room. She had snacks, a drink, and a nice blanket with her…so theoretically, she could try all day if she wanted to.

The one detail she forgot about was her two boyfriends.

They had indeed all woken up together that morning, with Macaque running some errands early on and Wukong stopping at Pigsy’s for a visit with MK. But now they were both home, and neither had really heard from y/n.

With his six ears, Macaque could tell she was playing that creepy game again. He didn’t mind the horror, but the noises that the animatronics made when they killed the player hurt his head. Wukong thought it was just a weird game, but wasn’t opposed to when she would invite him to watch her.

“I have an idea.” Macaque said, knowing y/n was too immersed to try and eavesdrop right now. 

“Oh? Do tell!” Wukong’s tail wagged.

“Here’s the plan…”

Y/n’s ears perked up, thinking she was hearing whispering. But she also figured it was the odd ambience of the game, so she paid it no mind. The power went out in the game; this now had her anxious as to whether Freddy would be quick to finish her off or if he would let her progress to the next night. Just as his song ended, she screamed as a pair of hands grabbed her shoulders and a different pair of hands covered her eyes. And through her headphones, the animatronic bear screamed too.

She had lost. Again!

“Ughhhh not fair! You’re both lucky I didn’t try scratching at you!” She whined, spinning the chair around and playfully pushing her boyfriends away from her. Wukong laughed and Macaque appeared through one of his portals. He ruffled the hair that was close to her four ears. 

“You’re funny when you get angry! Just like a pouty kitten!” He teased. Y/n narrowed her eyes.

“C’mon, we were just having fun! No need to be upset!” Wukong tried to back the shadow up on this, but Y/n wasn’t having it. She unplugged the headphones and got up from the chair.

“If you two wanna play games,” she smiled with a glint of mischief in her voice “then you can sit down and play.”

This was less of an actual invitation, and more of a challenge. The monkeys looked at each other, weighing their options. There was a good chance she’d let this all go if they humored her on this one.

Wukong took the seat first, leaving Macaque to find a different chair. Y/n, however, was already getting comfortable in Wukong’s lap, so that option was gone too. He supposed he’d just stand. 

Wukong clicked the “continue from night 3” button, and let it begin again.

Several tries later, and they had managed to get to 4 AM without losing power. Y/n happily munched away on her snacks, even with Wukong growing more afraid each time he saw one of the robots. Macaque had put on his sensory headphones to block out the noise, but was still giving his opinions and directions. 

“No, you need to check the cove! He could’ve moved!” He said, tugging on Wukong’s sleeve.

“I just checked on him! I’m trying to find the rabbit!” Wukong clicked onto camera 2B, and his tail puffed up. “WHAT IS THAT?!”

Y/n glanced at the screen, seeing the telltale sign of an incoming golden Freddy jumpscare. She shrugged.

“Ah, probably just a glitch.” 

“If you’re sure….” He put down the tablet to check the doors, but was instead met with the yellow bear. His screen flashed and a loud scream rang out, causing him to flail and knock over the chair by accident. Y/n landed on her feet and was laughing at him. 

“Now you know how it feels!” She crossed her arms. Macaque couldn’t help but laugh too. He was just glad he wasn’t in the chair.

[dawninlatin]

Prepare for landing

Manon is stuck on a plane next to an unaccompanied minor. A very talktive one, belonging to one single, sapphire-eyed father...

Words: 2,5k

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Manon had been waiting for this moment all weekend, finally able to sit down and block out the rest of the world, knowing she would be home in a few hours. 

She’d been at a science conference for her job, and while she loved going to lectures and hearing about fancy new research, she hated having to talk to other people and pretending that she enjoyed it. «Networking», as her boss liked to call it, was honestly Manon’s worst nightmare.

Thankfully, she now had two full hours to herself on a flight that didn’t look like it would be too full, where she could read or sleep or just not talk to anyone.

Closing her eyes, Manon simply listened to the quiet bustling of everyone finding their seats, hoping the one next to her would remain empty.

That was, until the voice of one of the overly cheerful flight attendants sounded much too close.

«Alright sweetheart, you can sit here, next to this nice lady, and if you need anything, just press this button and I’ll come!»

Oh, no.

Opening her eyes again, Manon looked straight at a little girl, no older than six, too busy openly gawking at Manon to answer the flight attendant.

Her dark-brown hair was pulled into two neat pigtails, her eyes were a deep, sapphire blue, and around her neck was a lanyard with a note telling Manon she was an unaccompanied minor.

Manon gave her what was probably the most awkward smile ever, all tight-lipped and stiff, and shifted her attention over to some report she was meant to read for work.

The girl still hadn’t answered the flight attendant, so she tried once more, impatience shining through the awfully chirpy demeanor this time. «Why don’t I hold your backpack while you get seated!»

She reluctantly sat down at last, fastening her seatbelt, and silently accepted her pink, glittery backpack from the flight attendant.

«Is everything all right then?»

A mumbled «Uh-huh» was the only answer, but it seemed good enough for the flight attendant, who quickly turned on her heel and left. 

Manon could feel the girl staring at her again, but didn’t do anything to acknowledge her. She tried to remind herself that as uncomfortable as this was, it was only for two hours.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like kids, she just had no idea how to act around them. She didn’t know what she could talk about, or how she could talk about it. Was she supposed to alter her voice, or was this girl already way too old for that? Could Manon use her normal vocabulary? What about grammar?

Luckily, this one didn’t seem too talkative, and Manon could handle a little staring. She’d probably get bored soon, anyway, and pull out an iPad or something.

The peace and quiet lasted for a full three seconds before the girl tapped her shoulder.«What’s your name?»

Trying not to sigh, Manon put on a tight smile and said, «It’s Manon.»

«I’m Beatrice, but everyone just calls me Bea. Only my dad uses Beatrice, and that’s just when he yells at me.»

The girl, Beatrice, held out her hand, nails, and fingertips, painted in all colours of the rainbow. She was waiting for Manon to shake it, which Manon halfheartedly did. «Nice to meet you, Bea.»

She might be uncomfortable around kids, but she wasn’t a monster either.

«Are you flying alone too? Have you been on vacation?»

So much for not being the talkative kind, Manon thought to herself, but that stiff smile remained plastered to her face, and she answered best as she could. «I’ve been on a work trip.»

Bea thought for a moment, then said, «My dad goes on those sometimes! I stay with my aunt Aelin or uncle Chaol when he does, but they’re both super nice, and aunty Aelin always lets me have ice cream and stay up past my bedtime! I’ve been visiting my Nana and Pops because it’s my birthday next week and I turn six years old!» She held up six fingers for emphasis, then kept going. 

«My dad usually goes with me but he had to work this weekend so I’m flying all by myself but that means I can get as much apple juice as I want. And crackers!»

Manon sat frozen for a moment, trying to process all that information. At last, she just went with «How nice!»

It sounded forced, even to her own ears, but Bea luckily didn’t catch on to it. Instead, she lifted one of her legs, and asked, «Do you like my shoes? They were a birthday gift from Nana!»

The shoes in question were nice, Manon supposed, for a five-year-old. They were bright pink with stars and rainbows and a unicorn on the side.

«Look! They can even do this!» She then kicked her feet, which didn’t even reach the floor, together, and the shoes lit up with blue and purple flashing lights.

«Wow,» Manon responded, thankfully sounding a little more genuine now. At least she wasn’t stuck next to any of the annoying scientists she’d been forced to interact with all weekend, too many of them way past retirement-age, and obsessed with how things were better «back in the day» (a.k.a when women barely had rights).

After hearing the long and way too detailed story of Bea’s Nana’s hip-replacement surgery, the plane finally got ready for take-off. Next to her, Bea had gone quiet, chewing her lip as she stared out the window.

«You don’t like this part, do you?» Manon carefully asked, wondering why she cared, all of a sudden.

Bea just shook her head, bottom lip quivering slightly. «My ears always hurt,» she whispered.

«Mine usually does too,» Manon said in an effort to comfort her. She tried to remember if she had any chewing gum in her bag, but when she found she didn’t, she instead suggested trying to yawn or swallow a lot.

But the plane had already taken off by then, shaking as they got higher and higher up, so Bea only nodded absentmindedly, seemingly lost in fear.

Eyes glistening, she once more looked at Manon, and whispered, «Can you hold my hand?»

Heart breaking a little, Manon offered her hand, and Bea was quick to grab it, squeezing tightly, which only made Manon’s heart break a little more. 

When the seatbelt-sign went off, and it was once again calm and quiet, Bea let go of Manon’s hand, back to her usual spirits. To Manon’s joy or suffering, she didn’t know.

«Your hair is really pretty!»

«Thanks.»

«Do you braid it often?»

«Sometimes, I guess.»

«Do you know how to make a fishtail braid?»

«I think so.»

«My dad watches YouTube videos to learn new braids. He promised me we would try a waterfall braid when I got home, like the one Lily S. wears!»

Manon had no idea what a waterfall braid was, or who Lily S. were, but judging by the stars in Bea’s eyes, they were both considered pretty cool. Before Manon could even answer, Bea continued listing all the other kinds of braids her dad had taught himself from YouTube.

After a while, the flight attendant from earlier came over with a juice box and some crackers, which Bea happily accepted. She even offered Manon some, but she politely declined. 

With the kid busy eating and humming some tune, Manon tried to get started on that report, but she only got to read half a page, before she could feel Bea leaning over her in an effort to see what she was reading. When she couldn’t make sense of it, she asked, «What’s that?»

«Something for my job,» Manon answered, giving up the idea of even a moment of peace on this flight.

«What do you do for your job? My dad reads a lot for his job too. He leaves books all over the house.» Bea then proceeded to roll her eyes, which made Manon chuckle.

«I um…» She had to think for a moment, not knowing how to explain molecular medicine to a preschooler. In the end, she just went with, «I try to invent new types of medicine.»

Bea’s eyes widened. «Coooool! Are you married? Do you have kids?»

There it was, Manon thought. She wasn’t even thirty, yet she’d already gotten tired of that question.

«No, I don’t.»

«Why?»

For fuck’s sake…

She knew she should just keep it simple, but she might as well teach the kid some valuable life wisdom while she was at it. «I don’t need a husband, or kids, to be happy, and neither do you, when you’re older.»

Manon had expected even more questions, but Bea’s eyes lit up. «That’s what my aunty Aelin always said too! She’s a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man.» Bea placed her hands on her hips, probably imitating her aunt word for word, and Manon simply had to laugh.

«Now she has a boyfriend named Rowan though, and my dad tells her she’s in-fa-tu-at-ed,» Bea shrugged, saying that last word slowly, syllable by syllable, as if she didn’t quite know what it meant.

«My dad is also single, and aunty Aelin says he needs to get a girlfriend soon, so he starts wearing proper clothes and shaving every day.»

Slowly, Manon formed a picture of a tired, single father trying his very best to answer a million questions a day. She smiled at the thought, even if she felt a little sorry for the chaos that had to be this man’s life.

«I want him to get a girlfriend too, so I can have a mommy like all the other kids at school. Mine died when I was a baby, but I’ve seen lots of pictures of her and she was very pretty.»

Manon had no idea what to answer to that, and she felt herself panicking slightly, trying to come up with something, but of course she didn’t need to. Bea quickly changed subjects, now talking about her collection of barbie dolls.

Before she knew it, the seatbelt-light went back on, Bea once more clutched her hand, and they had landed, back home at last.

While they waited to exit the plane, Bea turned to Manon. «Me and my dad are gonna get ice cream before we go home. Do you wanna come too? You have to try the chocolate fudge ice cream, it’s the best!»

Bea looked at Manon with the saddest, most hopeful eyes she had ever seen, and Manon had no idea how she could kindly break this kid’s heart. «I’m sorry, but I’ve been gone all weekend and have a lot to do when I get home.»

It was kinda true, Manon figured, though she was very likely to procrastinate all those things.

Thankfully, Bea didn’t start crying. She simply shrugged, as happy as ever. «Okay, you can come with us another time then!»

Manon let out a sigh of relief when the flight attendant approached, ready to escort Bea off the plane, and Manon didn’t have to make any promises for another ice cream date. 

Bea picked up her backpack and jumped out of her seat. She was about to leave, but turned around at the last minute and flung herself around Manon. «Bye, Manon! It was very nice to meet you!»

Then she took the flight attendants hand, and practically skipped off the plane, leaving Manon with a soft smile on her face. These past two hours hadn’t been that bad, after all.

-

Waiting to claim her baggage, Manon suddenly heard a high, cheerful voice, calling out from the other end of the hall. «DADDY LOOK! THERE’S MY FRIEND FROM THE PLANE! MANON!»

Manon turned to find Bea waving eagerly at her. Next to her, trying to keep her from taking off, was a man that looked to be around Manon’s age. He had dark, messy hair that would have looked like it desperately needed to be cut on anyone else, and his eyes were a sapphire blue, like his daughter’s.

He was handsome, Manon mused, in a…slightly sleep-deprived way, but she tried to forget that thought as soon as it hit her. She was not ready for a relationship, and she was definitely not ready to be someone’s step mom.

At last, Bea managed to wriggle loose, and she sprinted towards Manon, her dad calling after her. 

«Bea, wait-» The poor man looked mortified, but also somehow like he was used to this happening several times a day. 

«Manon, you have to come say hi to my dad!» Bea exclaimed, already grabbing Manon’s hand and pulling her after her, towards her father, who was making his way towards them to save Manon.

As they met in the middle, he chuckled nervously, face blushing. «I’m Dorian, Bea’s dad, as you’ve probably gathered.»

«Manon,» she replied, shaking his hand. It was stronger than she’d expected from the slightly frazzled man in front of her. 

«I’m so sorry for all the questions you’ve probably had to answer in the past hours. We’re working on not sharing every detail of your life with strangers.» Dorian cringed as he said the last part, and Manon found herself laughing again.

Looking at Bea for a moment, who was now busy jumping from square to square on the tiled floor, Manon said, «Oh, don’t worry! She made sure I never got bored.»

After a moment, Manon added, «She’s a really bright kid,» not knowing where these conversation-skills suddenly came from.

Dorian’s eyes softened with both love and exasperation as he looked over at his daughter. «Yeah, she really is.»

Bea ran back over to the two of them then, grabbing her father’s hand. «Can Manon please get ice cream with us?» 

She took turns looking at them both with those puppy eyes, and Manon tried to think of a way she could politely decline, again.

Sighing, Dorian glanced at Manon. «I mean, you’re more than welcome, if you want to.» He lifted a hand to his neck, clearly as uncomfortable as Manon by his daughters antics.

«I, uh…» Manon started, but she didn’t know what to say next.

«It’s, uh, my treat. That’s the least I owe you for keeping up with this chatterbox for two hours.» He chuckled nervously again, but that was hope shining in his eyes.

From between them, Bea looked up at him. «What’s a chatterbox?»

«Someone who talks very, very much.»

«Hey! That’s kinda rude!»

As father and daughter bickered, Manon thought about the offer. If she declined, she’d be going home to an empty house and a night of scrolling through Netflix. It had been her dream earlier that day, but now it seemed kinda sad. And lonely.

And if she said yes, what was the worst that could happen?

Smiling, she looked at Bea, then Dorian. «I’ll take that ice cream. I hear rumour of some chocolate fudge I just had to try!»

Taglist: @fireheartfaery @bookishwitchling @gwynethhberdara @darklingswhxore @onfma @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sayosdreams @rowaelinismyotp @rainbowcheetah512 @mirubyjane​

I keep a separate taglist for each ship, so let me know if you want to be added to any of them!

[fromchishiya]

Drunken Haze

Chishiya x g/n Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend looks after you whilst you’re drunk

Warnings: Alcohol, drunk Reader, Chishiya is once again whipped for you, ignore the title I had no idea what to call it lmfao

“And what’re we celebrating tonight, hmm?” Kuina laughs, tapping the side of your cocktail.

“I beat a game,” you pat the seat next to you, inviting her to sit down, “a tough one.”

She shakes her head, sliding onto the seat, “what type?”

“9 of diamonds,” you gloat.

Kuina lets out a pleasant yet surprised noise, “now that,” she points her finger at you, “is a reason to celebrate.”

Calling for a drink of her own, she takes the miniature umbrella out of yours, rolling it between her fingers a few times before looking back at you.

“So, you and Chishiya,” she starts.

You tilt your head curiously, “what about us?”

A loud scoff escapes her lips, her drink finally being placed before her, “you really expected me not to notice?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you take another sip of your cocktail, a mischievous smile crawling up your face.

“Oh come on,” she groans, “you practically drool every time he enters the room, not to mention the time he accidentally called you "Honey" in front of me.”

You lean your head on the counter, still grinning up at her, “really not like Chishiya to mess up, is it?”

“Stop avoiding the question,” she huffs, swirling the liquid of her drink around in its glass.

“Okay, okay,” you look around nervously, checking to see if anyone else is listening before leaning in, “we’ve been dating for quite a while now.”

Her jaw drops, hands reaching over to shake your shoulders, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” you wriggle out of her grasp, “he said I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone apart from you, and I was only allowed to tell you if you asked about it directly. He wants to keep us hidden from everyone, y’know?”

She squeals, “how cute, he wants to protect you.”

Scrunching your nose up, you try to ignore the warmth rushing to your cheeks, “I’d want to protect me too if I made enemies with practically everybody who owns a gun in this place.”

A loud laugh escapes her lips, “touché.”

Ordering another drink, you watch Kuina tap the side of the counter, bobbing her head to the tune of the song blaring out of the speakers across the room from you.

“What about you?” you wonder aloud, “have you got your eyes on anyone?”

She looks startled, almost like she wasn’t expecting the question, “I’m more focused on getting out of here than anything else. No time for love for me!”

The constant stuttering and shakiness of her voice prove to you that she’s lying. You’ve known her for too long for her to be able to get anything past you.

“Really?” you raise your eyebrows, “cause I thought I saw you and Ann looking at each other quite a lot today.”

Her face morphs into a look of pure surprise and humiliation, “is it that obvious?”

“No, no it’s not,” you’re quick to comfort her, “I just notice these things.”

She calms down a bit at your words, fiddling her thumbs slightly.

“I do think you should ask her out, though, if you haven’t already.”

Her hands reach up to grab the counter edge, “maybe I will.”

Suddenly she stands up, downing the rest of her drink before facing you, “don’t get too hammered, okay?”

“I won’t,” you lie, eyes following her body as she walks away.

Nobody would mind if you went a bit overboard, would they?

๑♡๑☆๑♡๑☆๑

The door to Chishiya’s room swings open as you stumble in. You giggle when you see his brown eyes analysing you, eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

“Are you drunk?”

“What? No, of course not,” your words are slurred, and it takes Chishiya all but 3 seconds to make his way to your side, nudging you gently onto the bed before walking back to shut his door.

The sheets smell nice, you think, a grin creeping up your face as you bask in the Chishiya-scented bed coverings.

“Here,” Chishiya tosses you a pair of pyjamas; cute, soft button-ups that you usually would’ve loved to wear, but not tonight.

“No,” you whine, a pout replacing the smile previously on your face, “want your clothes.”

His unwavering eyes bore into yours for a few seconds before a loud sigh escapes his lips and he turns away.

Blocking out the sound of the wardrobe opening, you instead focus your attention on how soft his hair looks. You want to play with it so bad, put it into pigtails and attach pretty bows and butterfly clips to them. You doubt he’ll let you, though.

“If you throw up on these, I swear to God I will kill you,” Chishiya threatens, moving over to you swiftly.

You shake your head playfully, “I won’t, I promise!”

After a full 15 minutes, Chishiya finally finished helping you get dressed, which proved much more difficult than he originally anticipated due to your constant attempts of cuddling him. Thankfully, brushing your teeth wasn’t as bad as he thought, you had just sat there calmly whilst he brushed them for you. You had tried to swallow the mouthwash he gave you, though.

“Bedtime for you now,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you out of the bathroom.

“Not yet,” you protest, “I’m not tired.”

Chishiya turns his head to you, arching an eyebrow with the same unfazed look in his eye, “I don’t care.”

You let out a whine, finally laying down on the bed as he pulls the blanket over you and kisses your forehead. Ignoring your sulking, he turns on his heels and begins to walk away.

You shoot up immediately, hand reaching out to grab the back of his hoodie, “please stay, please.”

Chishiya freezes in his movements, a conflicted puff of air leaving his lips after a few moments as he climbs into bed next to you.

Beaming, you shuffle closer before attacking him with a hug. He tenses up slightly, but due to your drunken haze you don’t notice.

“I love you,” you nuzzle your nose against his, kissing the tip of it along with his cheeks.

He does nothing but stare for a few seconds, blinking as if he was trying to figure out your words.

Eventually, he speaks up, “I love you too.”

Scoffing at your overly enthusiastic reaction, Chishiya shifts your body until you’re in a position he knows you’ll both be comfortable in.

“Now be quiet and go to sleep.”

[the-atlas-sister]

The First Date (Damian Wayne X Reader)

So in this, you are the daughter of Green Arrow, Oliver Queen (NOT THE ARROW VERSION!! THE ANIMATED AND COMIC VERSION), and Black Canary, Dinah Lance. Also in this Dinah is dead and you have taken on the role of Black Canary

"Done!" Abby (moi!!!) exclaimed, tying the hair tie in my hair. "Aw, you look so good!" She backed up, admiring her work.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, smiling slightly. "I mean, I usually look beautiful but now I look even more beautiful," I joked.

"I know," Abby said, making me chuckle.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "What time is it?" I asked.

"Six on the dot," Abby said, looking impressed. "Wow."

"It is Damian," I shrugged before my eyes widened. "I'm going on a date with Damian Wayne."

"Chill," y/b/f said, noticing my panic. "You asked him out, remember?"

"But-"

"Hey Damian," y/b/f said from the living room.

I looked at Abby, a panicked expression on my face. "You're okay," she whispered before leading me out of the bathroom.

Damian looked at me before mumbling something in Arabic. I was rusty when it came to other languages but I thought I caught "Beautiful..." which was enough to make my entire face turn red.

"Hey," I said, putting on a confident face. "You look good." My eyes scanned him. He wore a pair of nice black jeans and a matching skin-tight turtle-neck.

"You look..." His eyes scanned me.

"Gorgeous? Beautiful? Sexy?" I guessed, smirking at Damian blushed.

"Yes," Damian said, making me blush.

"Okay... well," Abby said, pushing me forward. "You two have fun," she said as I slipped on my shoes. "But not too much fun." She eyeballed Damian in a very best friend way. "And have her back by 10."

"And be safe!" Myloh added.

"Bye guys," I said, quickly ushering Damian out the door before closing it. "Sorry."

"I had a similar conversation with my brothers before I left," Damian said before cringing slightly. "Although it was a bit more-"

"I don't want to know," I said, shaking my head. "So, what do you have planned, Mr. Wayne?" I asked, walking down the apartment hallway.

"That's a surprise," Damian said with a stoic face.

"Not a huge fan of surprises," I said as we reached the elevator.

"You'll like this one," Damian stated matter-of-factly, pressing the button to the last level.

"Is that a fact?" I challenged as the elevator lowered.

"Yes," Damian stated, making me tilt my head. "I did some research and I'm sure you'll enjoy this."

"I don't know if that was meant to be sweet but it came off as creepy," I chuckled, leaning on the elevator wall.

"I just meant- I asked Abby what you're interested in," Damian explained, slowly going pink.

"What'd she say?" I asked, both worried and curious.

"She explained your love of movies, books, the stars, and food," Damian stated as the doors slid open.

"So, which did you choose?" I questioned, walking backward out of the elevator.

"Still a surprise," Damian smirked, following me.

"Mhm, game on Mr. Wayne," I said, turning around and walking out the apartment building's front doors. My eyes widened a bit as I saw Damian's motorcycle parked in front of the building. "Seriously?" I asked, looking at him as he stood next to me.

"Complaining?" he asked, looking at me sideways.

"Not as long as I get to drive," I chuckled, approaching the motorcycle.

"No," Damian said, standing next to me. He grabbed one of the helmets before handing me the second one.

"I know how," I frowned.

"No," Damian repeated before blinking. "Strange, that felt familiar." He then shook his head before getting on the bike. "Come on," he said looking at me. I rolled my eyes but climbed on the bike behind him. "Hold on," he said before putting on his helmet.

"You sure you don't want to drive as a way to get me to hold on to you?" I teased, resting my head on Damian's shoulder. Damian tensed up, making me chuckle. "I was kidding," I reassured him, putting on the helmet and grabbing his shoulders.

Damian cleared his throat. "I-I respect you, but for your own safety, I suggest you put your arms around my waist."

I blushed, wrapping my arms around his waist. Damian started the bike and drove out of his parking spot. My grip tightened as Damian sped up and we reached the highway. I grinned under the helmet as the adrenaline rushed through me due to the speed.

***

"You have to take me on your motorcycle more often," I said, letting out a breathy laugh and taking off my helmet.

"It's not really mine," Damian corrected, taking off his helmet and getting off the bike.

"But with Promythous-" I furrowed my brows, placing the helmet on the bike's seat.

"That was Robin's bike," Damian explained, leading me to the secret destination. He had parked a block away from the surprise place, just to keep the secrecy. "Damian Wayne does not have a motorcycle."

"Who's-" I continued, getting into pace next to Damian.

"My brother's," he shrugged with a small smug smile.

"You stole your brother's motorcycle?" I asked, laughing slightly.

"He told me, women love men with motorcycles," Damian said. "So I took that as an invitation for me to 'borrow' his." He smirked to himself at the thought. "Also, my other brother said I should. I'm not one to listen to him but, I did enjoy the idea of stealing Jason's bike." I smiled at his mini-rant. He seemed to notice. "I'm sorry for oversharing," he said, his face returning to it's neutral state.

"No, it's fine," I reassured him as we turned a corner. "It's nice hearing you talk more."

Damian blinked, obviously surprised by my answer. "What... would you like to talk about?" he asked slowly.

"You," I said. "I don't know much about you."

"O-oh," Damian stuttered, which was a rare sound. "I grew up with the League of Assassins."

"The group your father trained with?" I asked, interested to learn more. "Lead by Ra AlGugl?"

"My grandfather," Damian confirmed. "When my father was training, he met my mother. She- she tricked him into having... intercourse with her. That's how I was created. My father left before I was born and I was raised by my grandfather and mother. I was trained from birth to be the master assassin. I was supposed to be the best. There was no room for error."

"That doesn't sound like a fun childhood," I said.

"I suppose not," Damian hummed. "I loved my grandfather very much, or more admired him. He told me we would destroy the world and rebuild it in our own image." He scanned our surroundings, almost as if he was imagining how he could make each detail superior.

"That's still partly your mindset isn't it?" I asked, making Damian's gaze turn to me. "You see the world and people and just imagine how you can make them better." Damian blinked. "You even yourself believe you're better than everyone. You think you'll be a better Batman, a better hero."

"I don't-"

"I'm not critiquing, just observing," I stated. I blushed under Damian's intense stare. "I-I interrupted, I'm sorry. What about your mother?"

"She's dead," Damian said.

"Oh," I said.

"She wasn't a mother anyway," Damian continued. "Last I saw her she tried to create an adult 'perfect' clone of me and killed him."

"And I thought my dad was hardcore," I mumbled. "How did she...?"

"Helicopter crashed after trying to kill me, my father, and Grayson," Damian said almost casually.

My eyes widened. "You didn't deserve it," I said as we turned yet another corner. Damian turned to me. "You deserved a loving childhood. Not one with a group of assassins and Batman."

Damian's eyes softened. "I did get, what you call, a loving childhood with my father," he said. "He would set up movie nights. And my brothers are... overly loving, at least Grayson."

"He's Nightwing, right?" I asked, grinning a bit. Damian nodded. "I've met him. He has a bit of an older brother feel. And I'm sure he understands how hard it is to grow up with someone like Bruce."

"He has made it very clear he does," Damian scoffed. "As had Todd." I gave him a questioning look. "Red Hood."

"Oh, never met him," I mumbled.

We walked in comfortable silence for a minute.

"Here," Damian said, stopping in front of a small and quaint ice cream shop.

"Ice cream?" I asked, giving him a lopsided grin. "On Friday."

"You said you and your mother used to always had ice cream on Fridays," Damian said shyly.

I let out a small laugh. "You- this is really sweet," I said, a bit surprised. I remembered when I told him that detail about my childhood.

***Flashback***

"Tell me more about your mother," Damian said after a while of silence. "I assume she's where you got your power?"

"Yeah," I said quietly, looking up at the ceiling. "She was- awesome. She was the first Black Canary. Trained in thousands of martial art styles."

"You're telling me things I already know," Damian stated, making me look at him.

"She was a pretty cool mom," I chuckled, crossing my legs on the bed. "She couldn't cook though. That was something she wasn't taught. She'd always make time for us to have an ice cream night. Every Friday." I smiled at the memory. "Sometimes she'd come back from patrol at midnight then wake me up, just so we could still eat ice cream."

"Do you still do it?" Damian questioned, turning to face me fully. "With your father?"

"Not usually," I stated, trying not to sound bitter. "He's usually busy with the Justice League and his company."

"How did she die?" Damian asked softly, making me go stiff.

"I was thirteen," I recited. "She and my dad went to face Prometheus. It was just in the early stages of my training-at least for the Canary cry, so I wasn't allowed to go. I- I remember my dad calling the house. He told me he'd be home soon, but something happened to Mom. Apparently, Prometheus slit her throat. She didn't want anyone to find out her identity so she insisted that only Martian Manhunter or Batman operated on her."

"But it was too late," Damian assumed. I nodded.

"Dad and I hardly even spoke after that," I sighed. "It hit us both- hard, but after a year, we got through it. He's still protective though."

"What about your powers?"

"I don't use them," I stated. "My mom died before we got far in training."

"Why don't you continue?" Damian asked. "I assume the league would be open to help or your friends."

"I can't," I sighed. "My vocal cords are too old."

"That sounds like an excuse," Damian stated. "I was unaware you were a quitter, Queen."

***End of flashback***

"I just figured you'd enjoy it," Damian shrugged, turning his head to the side to hide his smile.

"I do," I chuckled. "Although this is very cliche."

"I have seen as such in many of the movies Grayson forced me to watch," Damian admitted.

"Thank you, Damian," I smiled before rushing towards the outside counter, Damian following. "Hello!" I said to the person at the counter.

"Hello," the person said. She was a pretty girl, seemingly teen age with flawless makeup. She looked like she belonged at Dutch Brothers.

"I would like two scoops of y/f/i.c (your favirote ice cream) in a cup, please," I said before turning to Damian.

"Awesome," the girl said. "And you?"

Damian glanced at me. "None for me," he answered.

"You're not going to get anything?" I asked.

"I've never had ice cream," Damian admitted.

"Never?" I asked in shock.

"No," Damian said, his face showing me he didn't understand the problem. I scanned his face before turning to the girl.

"He'll have one scoop of almond in a cup," I stated.

"Alright," the girl smiled. "Be right with you."

"I said I didn't want any," Damian said, looking at me.

"You've never had it and you can't just sit there watching me eat," I protested. "Plus, I think you'll like it."

"Why is that?" Damian challenged.

"I'm an observer of people and you seem like an almond guy," I summarized.

"Explain your thinking Miss Queen," Damian said.

"Well, almond is more of a traditional Arabic ice cream flavor (please correct me if I'm wrong, I got this off the internet), and knowing you, you prefer salty and savory over sweet," I explained before leaning back and spreading my hands like I was presenting an amazing discovery.

"We shall see," Damian just said.

"Here," the girl chimed in, interrupting our discussion. She handed us our ice cream.

"Thank you," I said. I placed my ice cream on the counter before pulling out my wallet, but Damian had already paid. "I was going to pay," I said as he handed me my ice cream.

"It's proper etiquette for the man to pay," Damian said, leading me away from the ice cream shop.

"But it's not required," I chuckled. "Besides, we're both the children of billionaires." Damian didn't answer as he led me to a small park beside the shop. "I'll just pay next time."

"Next time?" Damian asked, stopping in front of a blanket with a projector on it.

"Yeah," I smirked. "If I haven't scared you away."

"Not at all," Damian said, sitting on the blanket. He motioned for me to sit down and I obliged.

"Try the ice cream," I said excitedly. Damian glanced at the tan-colored ice cream before taking a scoop and eating it. I stared at him, waiting for some type of reaction. His eyes widened before he took another scoop. "I told you!" I smirked.

"Coincidence," Damian scoffed but took more bites.

"Mhm," I hummed, leaning back on my free hand. I looked around, noticing a screen across from the projector. "You set this up?"

"Pennyworth did," Damian corrected. "Although I choose the film."

"Oh really?" I asked. "What'd you choose?"

"y/f/a/m (your favirote animated movie)," Damian stated. My face lit up. "Abby told me it was your favorite. Although I don't understand how or why a film made for children would be your favorite."

"You've never seen it have you?" I asked. Damian shook his head. "Then you'll figure out that it's not really a children's film. And you'll discover the superior soundtrack."