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hongjoongspoetry · 2 days ago

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LET'S GO, BABY! A FIC FOR MY BIAS MADE BY THE ONE AND ONLY ARI??? Life is looking bright again, the grass is greener, and it’s raining money—Okay, so I was actually going to read your Yunho stories first, buuuuut I couldn’t hold back, and you can’t blame me. Hongjoong’s my bias, what was I supposed to do?

Anyways, I don’t even know where to start. Whenever I read something new of yours, it feels like you outdo your previous work, which is crazy because I always think, “This is it, this is the story!” But then you go ahead and prove me wrong by creating a new masterpiece that won’t leave my head for an X amount of time.

Both the MC and Hongjoong were really interesting characters in this story and for a good chunk into the fic, I didn't know what to think about Hongjoong. He was quite annoying in the beginning with his "know it all" talk and I feel like his attempt at cheering up the MC was so poorly done on his part, like what was he thinking talking sweet to her when another douchebag was already getting on her nerves? 😭

“Don’t we all wish to have a piece of the pretty barista?”

It wasn't even anything remotely nice, he literally talked about her as if she was an object. what is this shitshow of a man? 👹 I also like how you made his appearance give a hint of "I'm a mysterious guy" but he still turned out to be a douche. I feel like in most stories nowadays, the mysterious character is almost always flawless or perfect. They never get to fuck up.

Your eyebrows furrowed as the guy reached for his Cosmo, your fingers brushing together since you hadn’t retracted your hand yet. You ignored how warm his fingers felt, the softness of them as they lightly brushed against yours, “It’s just sad to see talented people waste their lives away in places like this one, you know? I mean, we all go to college to make something of ourselves, but then we end up in a dimly lit and smelly bar, selling alcohol to entitled pricks, forced to listen to their attempts at flirting, or them berating us for ‘not’ doing our job. Sure, it’s honest work, but at the end of the day, when you walk home after an ungodly long shift, you still hate yourself, so…”

Oh, this shit got me fucked up. Lord knows I would've lost my job that night if a customer ever talked to me in that way. Matter of fact, I'd be put on a blacklist and be unemployed for the rest of my life because not only would I jump over the counter, but I'd beat the shit out of him until he wouldn't know the simplicity of the alphabet. And although this made me furious and angry at Hongjoong's character, I still love how you made him into an entitled prick 😭 Like yes, give me something else than the woke artist who thinks good of everyone. Give me a douchebag who wears a million bucks and gives his honest opinion about others, without thinking if he's going to get his ass beaten to a pulp.

“Hey, yesterday…what I said at the bar, I didn’t mean to berate you.” The guy gulped, his eyebrows furrowing as you looked back at him, slightly taken aback to see such sincerity on his face. You’ve never met someone so easily readable before, “My intention wasn’t to hurt you, I was smoked out too so I was just running my mouth, I do that when I’m high, sorry…”

While I love to drag out on the angst, I really enjoyed his apology. It wasn't anything grand, just him owning up to his mistakes and taking responsibility. It makes the story feel a little more like real life, just two adults talking it out.

The guy hummed, a smile slowly appearing on his lips before he took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes boring into yours again, “I’m glad the pretty barista doesn’t hate my guts anymore.”

THE WAY I SCREAMED, LIKE FUUUUUCK!?!?!?!? WE GOT MULLET!JOONG CALLING ME A PRETTY BARISTA?????? THAT's ANOTHER THING — WE GOT MULLET JOONG BACK!!?! He can psycho analazye me all he wants baby- *GUNSHOT*

Ahem... Anyways!

“Humans are easily susceptible, you know? We judge without knowing first, and we rarely apologise and recognise our mistakes. I hate people like that, rude people for no reason too. I don’t stand for all that bullshit, so I’m glad you told me to fuck myself instead of smiling at me like you do with all the other assholes. I appreciate your hard work, we all have to make due somehow and you aren’t less for working in this pub, pretty barista.”

Man, this lil dude really loves running his mouth, doesn't he? Like NO ONE ASKED what you think of people. WHY IS HE LIKE THAT????? But at the same time, I LOVE HIS JOONG VERS. YOU'VE CREATED?!!? He's not plain and boring and all nice, he actually has some color on his canvas.

It's crazy how they haven't exchanged names until much later into the story :0 That's another thing that makes this story so real, their interactions aren't long enough for them to just stop and ask for each other's names, but they aren't that short to not have grown into some form of acquaintances.

“Pretty barista from the pub!”

HE'S SO SMOOTH AND SHAMELESS WITH IT OMG. If a man (hongjoong) would call me that every time we saw each other, I'd be giggling like Lisa Simpsons, WHICH REMINDS ME. WHY IS THIS (0:34) LITERALLY THROUGH YOUR COLORS HONGJOONG?????

“Sorry, I saw you’re buying The Hobbit. It’s a pretty famous reprint, the covers are gorgeous, my best friend is collecting them so I assumed you are too.”

Is this said best friend perhaps Park Seonghwa? 👀

“We can’t smoke weed with closed windows, so it’ll get colder.” Hongjoong suddenly explained, shrugging on a cardigan that looked very soft, “Wear my hoodie, it’ll keep you warm.”

I would call her out for following a stranger home and getting high on his weed, but he gave her his hoodie 🥹🥹 (the bar is in hell, is it not?)

The scene where Hongjoong and MC talk about their "dreams" /goals is so... nice and so real (again). How Hongjoong won't give his art to just anyone mirrors his irl personality too; how they value their works (songs and paintings) and just how much effort is put into it. We can clearly see the moment he "fell" in love with the MC. It wasn't the first night when she served him a Cosmopolitan or when she called him out on his bullshit, no that just caught his attention. The moment he knew MC was the possible one for him was when she saw him through his paintings. The MC subconsciously showed that she could see beyond Hongjoong's exterior and actually understand his soul. It's quite intimate, at least to me it felt like an intimate scene filled with a lot of emotions and to be frank, it's the best type of intimacy I've read in a while.

And perhaps not just in the city, but also in foreign countries while you attended Hongjoong’s art expositions, an expensive bottle of wine waiting for the two of you back at the hotel.

I always say this, but it won't become less of a truth the more times I repeat myself: Your writing is one of a kind. Both your creativity and the ability to come up with amazing ideas that makes the reader yearn for more, and your writing style that gets better and better with each fic/story you publish. You really outdo yourself Ari and I can't wait to see your next project 🩷

Through your colours

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: artist!Kim Hongjoong x barista!reader

੭ Warning: recreational drug use (weed), alcohol consumption, swearing ੭ Word count: 11k ੭ Rating: nc-17 ੭ Genre: fluff, angst-ish, slice of life, strangers to lovers, a hint of simp Joong? post university setting ੭ Summary: A broke barista and a broke artist meet in a student infested dingy pub, what do they have in common? The desire to make something great of themselves, to live a fulfilled life. But first impressions can go wrong, deterring people from each other. You're probably lucky that's not how your story with Hongjoong goes, though.

A/N: Hello, hello, my lovelies! I present you another story that was supposed to be a drabble but instead turned into...a smaller oneshot?? I consider anything that's below 15k a drabble because my oneshots just go over 20k all the time, save me! This idea came on a random whim while my pinterest suggested three photos lol, and it took me some time to write it, but it's here at last. Your feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you thought of this little story, and I hope you enjoy it! divider

Gustav Klimt had once, sometime during the nineteenth century, stated that, “Art is a line around your thoughts”. This could be interpreted many ways, of course, but for an artist it was just as plain and simple as Mr Klimt had said. Whatever was on your mind, you could give it life by putting it on a piece of paper by the brush of ink and feather against the parchment, or by the swift twist of one’s wrist as their brush coloured their canvas. Art comes in many forms, many thoughts, and many interpretations. After all, everyone relates to it based by their own experiences, based on the emotions they feel and have felt before…and overall, their capacity of seeing beyond what’s shoved in front of their eyes. Maybe that’s why Hongjoong would stare at a painting or picture for hours on end without growing tired. He liked to see everything, he wanted to understand every stroke of brush, or why the lightning fell in that specific way on the item in the picture. Hongjoong wanted to feel the same emotions the author of the creation had felt while creating their piece. It helped him draw inspiration, expand his horizons towards new possibilities. Hongjoong liked new challenges as long as they were about his art. In life, he preferred the steady and sure lifestyle, the one that was predictable enough that it wouldn’t send him into an existential crisis over the smallest inconvenience.

Hongjoong needed order in his life since his art was all over the place, judged by many and often misunderstood. He didn’t paint just for the fun of it, sure, there were passion projects he started on a whim without much of a goal in mind, and usually those were well received by his professors, by his colleagues. But whenever Hongjoong wanted to say something through his art, he’d get scrutinized for it. He yet had to find that one person that saw beyond what others called a mess. He’s never thrived for attention or validation, but it had gotten lonely after a while when he realised nobody really understood him. He felt like he was the odd one even in a crowd full of odd people. He’d always been different, more open-minded and receptive to the changes in the world, and he’d always been judged for it. Here, instead of being frowned upon due to his character, he was sometimes ignored because his art was either dull or not good enough. Nobody seemed to understand that art is relative and subjective, that whatever lay on the canvas made by Hongjoong was his and would always be. That he had dipped his brush into a touch of colour from his soul, displaying it for the world to see on the once blank canvas. He became vulnerable for them and yet nobody had appreciated it yet. And so, Hongjoong got used to not being seen for his art, but for who he was.

Quirky with questionable fashion taste to many, bold because he wasn’t afraid to try out new styles—much like with his paintings—and intimidating because no matter how many times he tried out something new, he’d instantly make it his, owning whatever concept he had in mind. Hongjoong knew not everyone was against him out there, but it was easy to fall hostage to such thoughts when he was alone. It would make sense for an artist to have a mind clouded by questions and rarely answers, a mind that worked too fast and yet never good enough. Doubts and fears pulling one down, Hongjoong loved expressing it through his paintings, his hand nothing but a guide to the brush clutched tightly between his fingers, calling out to him even when he chose to step away. Hongjoong was in it for life, and he wondered whether the weeping willow tree by the river bank in his framed painting was a premonition for how his life would look like.

The bar was busy like every other night in this student-infested town. It wasn’t even a surprise anymore, you should have known better than to wear your boots with high heels. There were no seconds to waste and even less time for breaks between preparing drinks, cleaning the bar, and running around the room to clean the tables too. Nobody wanted their hands sticky because someone had previously spilt their drink, and you were more than ready to clock out for the night. The only problem was, however, that you still had three hours left of your shift. You sighed as you averted your eyes from the clock, realising you hadn’t started preparing the drink the drunk college student had asked for on the other side of the bar. His eyes were glossy and he was swaying in his spot, you debated filling his cup with water rather than Vodka, but you couldn’t risk getting a complaint since your boss was a stinky little fucker. Your hands worked fast, and years spent doing this kind of work were showing as you did a few tricks, hoping you’d get a nice tip. You doubted the college guy would leave a huge tip, if anything at all, but at least you tried. It was all about trying in places like this one. Trying to stay calm when a customer was rude, trying to remain sane when night after night the DJ played the same playlist for the drunken students, trying to smile and hide the fact that you hated when these frat boys flirted with you. And also try and hide the fact that you were fed up with people, and needed at least a month away from civilisation.

But if one wanted to achieve something in life, one had to work for it to happen since it wouldn’t fall from the sky. Going abroad and starting a new life over there wasn’t for free, and it especially wouldn’t happen overnight. You were well aware of that, that’s why you were working day and night, taking up shifts that were probably too long to be healthy. But the dream you had in mind demanded such sacrifices, and if it meant working hard right now for a comfortable life in the future, you were willing to spend your nights sleepless and surrounded by annoying college students. You had been like them once, after all, but that was a few years ago, and since then, the harsh reality has awoken you. What was the purpose of a degree you couldn’t do anything with? Yeah, you could’ve laughed at yourself, but then it would soon turn into hysterical crying and you weren’t strong enough to deal with such emotions. You’ve cried enough, it was time you took action now. You sighed as another rush of bodies crowded the bar, asking for shots and long cocktails. You weren’t a fancy place by any means, but you served the usual sweet cocktails that could be found in every other place. Your hands worked fast as you catered to everyone’s likes, your coworker, Hanni, was somewhere lost between the students as she had gone to clean up the tables. And even in your rush, it seemed like you couldn’t satisfy everyone. It shouldn’t have phased you, but you’ve had a rough day today.

“Hey, babe, think you could work those hands faster, maybe?” You ignored the question and smiled as a group of girls paid for their pink cocktails, leaving a bigger tip than most men would. You felt grateful and felt your smile turn genuine when the tallest in the group winked at you before they became part of the rowdy crowd again. Then, you could face your impatient customer. He didn’t look like a student, way too old to be in a crowd filled with students, but who were you to judge? Some people go to college at a later age, maybe he wanted to get the full student experience. Although, you doubted a thirty-year-old had anything in common with young adults on the brink of maturing, if they managed to mature during their upper-level study days.

“What can I get for you?” Your voice was raised since the music was booming, and unfortunately, you also had to lean over the counter to hear the man better. For some reason, that made the man smirk as he leaned forward as well, eyeing you up as if you were a piece of meat. You ignored it as your teeth ground together, you’ve seen men like him before, he wasn’t the first to act like this and you knew he wouldn’t be the last one either.

“How about…you, sugar?” Your expression didn’t budge as his smirk became shit eating as if he had accomplished anything by saying that. You waited, without blinking or reacting to what he’s said, hoping he’d catch on that he wasn’t hilarious nor flirty.

“Don’t we all wish to have a piece of the pretty barista?” That managed to throw you off as your head whipped to the side, eyebrows furrowing as you just now noticed the newcomer. He was…well, something else for sure. He wore no casual or ordinary clothes, nothing you could compare to the annoying frat boys or just the other dudes with a regular fashion sense. His hair was dark but it looked a little fried, as if it had been bleached already one too many times before. His white blouse was loose and tucked in at the waist, his black pants wide and reaching below his ankles. A thick belt was secured around the guy’s petit waist, and if you looked harder, you swore you could see a dark blue bow tied to it. His brown vest seemed to elevate the outfit even more, the pleated brown choker sitting at the base of his throat with a few other silver chains, a ruby pendant hitting his pecks as he was leaning against the counter lazily. His hip was jutted out and his painted nails tapped against the side of his head, cat-like eyes blinking slowly as he watched you. The hat he wore looked something like you’ve only seen in Peaky Blinders, and for a second, you almost chuckled. He looked peculiar but not in a negative sense, it’s just that you haven’t seen someone like him stumble inside the pub before. He didn’t seem to belong with the crowd and that would’ve been something you’d appreciate on any other day than today.

“I don’t think we were talking to you, no?” The cocky man in front of you raised a mocking eyebrow at the other guy, and you rolled your eyes for a second. But before you could answer, the other guy did for you.

“You threatened my game is better than yours?” The artsy-looking guy asked with a chuckle, his tone was more on the higher side, and you found yourself not irked by it too much. But you weren’t here to have men measure their cocks by who can get the barista’s phone number faster, so you interrupted them before they could piss you off even more.

“Listen, fellas, I don’t have all night. What do you want?” Your tone was sharp, straight to the point, and shut down all attempts at flirting as the man in front of you scoffed, shooting a dirty look at the peculiar-looking one. You tilted your head as the older man finally faced you, trying to downplay his irritation as he plastered on a charming smile again. It made your jaw tick again, but you said nothing more.

“Do you have whiskey?” You were already reaching for the bottle of Whiskey before the man was finished talking, your other hand grabbing a glass as Hanni finally returned to the bar, her tray filled with dirty glasses.

“I’ll just wash these and come help.” She said as she passed by you and you nodded, filling the man’s glass with ice and whiskey, not too much but not too little either. Who even drinks Whiskey in a place like this one? But you didn’t care as long as he’d be out of your hair, so you placed the glass on the counter, but before you could tell the guy how much it was, he had already slid a bill on the counter, sauntering away. You grabbed it and pushed it into your fanny pack, taking a step back to take a deep breath. You could do this, Hanni was back and maybe you could ask her to cover for you for five minutes. A bathroom break was allowed at any time, after all. Your small moment, however, was interrupted by a scoff. You blinked your eyes open and looked towards where the sound came from, eyes narrowing when you realised the other guy was still lingering around.

“What a pig, he didn’t even tip you.” You had to agree with his slurred words but instead walked over with an impassive expression. You weren’t here to be nice or to make friends, and you never failed to make it clear to your customers. These entitled dudes thought they could get your number and get in your pants with just a few—fake—nice words, you could confidently say you hated them all and that they made you wish you never again encountered their species. But alas, that wouldn’t happen tonight, so you headed over to the pompous guy, raising an eyebrow. He was intriguing, you couldn’t deny that, but you also knew not to mingle with guys who frequented the pub. So, even if one sparked your interest, at the end of the day, you’d still walk home alone and relish in the quiet of your room.

“What can I get for you?” You tried to keep your tone level as your hip pressed into the counter, feet aching now even more. You were ready to chuck your damn boots at the wall and call it a night, but as Hanni flashed you her typical sweet smile, you knew you couldn’t leave her alone in the wolf's den. She was too sweet and too naïve, smiling and laughing along to the shitty jokes of the frat boys who were eyeing her up with little regard for the fact that she was visibly uncomfortable.

“Something sweet like you.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, telling yourself to keep your cool. He wasn’t saying anything offensive, unlike many other men, he just kept calling you sweet and pretty. That could be considered even nice, but not tonight.

“The menu is literally behind me, you can choose anything from it.” You pointed a finger behind yourself, where you knew the menu was hung high on the wall so that everyone could see it. The peculiar guy just gave you a look of confusion before looking past you, blinking his eyes lazily once again. You tapped your fingers against the counter, waiting for his choice, glad that you could take a breather now that nobody was crowding to get their drinks refilled. Hanni whizzed past you when she noticed a smaller group of girls approaching, her smile reaching her ears and already talking to them, beckoning them closer. Hanni was an excellent barista, she kept her customers entertained and always engaged with them…unlike you, but that’s why your duo worked so well. You were the stoic one and she was the sunshine, but you were both quick on your feet so your boss couldn’t complain.

“Uh, I’ll take a Cosmopolitan.” The guy finally decided and you quirked an eyebrow, grabbing the shaker.

“That’s not sweet.” It was unlike you to make conversation, but the words were on the tip of your tongue so you couldn’t ignore them. The guy chuckled, letting his elbows rest on the counter as he placed his chin in his palms. Your eyes raised for a second to look at him, and you were taken aback by how cute he looked. But as he blinked slowly again, a small smile spreading onto his lips as he watched you, you quickly focused your attention on his Cosmo.

“I know, I was just trying to make you feel better.” He sighed, tracing a manicured finger against the dirty counter. You had to clean that too. As you grabbed some olive to stash on a toothpick, you followed his finger with your eyes and noticed the two silver and shiny rings on his finger, his nail done a neon yellow with a black smiley face painted on top of it.

“What do you even know…” You scoffed to yourself, placing the martini glass on the counter for the guy to take. He was still looking at you, his eyes hazy, and you allowed yourself to take in his features. He had a petite and sharp nose, pretty and well-fitting with his sharp jawline and otherwise intimidating eyes if it wasn’t for the smile in them. His lips were more plump than thin with a pretty Cupid’s bow, slightly pouty as he gave you a small frown.

“Well, I bet you don’t plan on wasting your life away here.” The way he spoke had an airy feel to it, as if he wasn’t really thinking before speaking, “And by the looks of it, it seems as if your degree didn’t take you too far as of now, which is not a big deal, people change their minds all the time.”

Something in you broke at his last sentence, making you gulp hard. You still hate yourself, the guy had said with the most easy-going expression on his face, a slight smile pulling at his lips as he continued to blink lazily at you. What did he even know when he was clearly wearing designer clothes to a pub where alcohol could be spilt on you, among many other things? Who was he to assume you couldn’t do anything with your degree, rubbing it in your face that he knew people ended up like this when he clearly came from a rich background with all those accessories on him, his tone airy and almost mocking. Your jaw clenched again as you realised you had tears in your eyes, and your hand came down harshly on the counter as the guy slipped a bill towards you, way over the price of his damn Cosmopolitan.

“Go fuck yourself.” You snapped as you threw the change back at him, watching his expression fall, his eyebrows raising comically high. You didn’t sit around to listen to him trying to get your attention again, you brushed past Hanni and leaned down to tell her that you needed five minutes. She gave you a worried look before nodding, letting you head to the bathroom as a few tears spilt down your cheeks. Today was complete shit, you couldn’t wait to get home and ignore all the responsibilities and problems you had. You were doing this for a better future, this was just a small fragment of your life, and it wouldn’t last forever. At least you really hoped so.

You released a long sigh as the cool air hit your face, eyes stinging from the sudden coldness as the red backdoor slammed shut behind you. Hanni and you kept telling your boss to change the hinges, but he had more important things to take care of, of course. Stepping aside so that the door wouldn’t slam into your back if any staff member decided to come outside at this moment, you leaned against the cold wall, pushing your hands into your pockets. You didn’t bother grabbing your jacket, although you should have given the fact that your skin was now covered in goosebumps, teeth slightly chattering. It was always a whiplash coming outside from that parched pub, having to forcefully push through the bodies too busy to notice your approaching form. It was another busy night, the weekend was approaching so the students were coming in waves that the pub could barely house. You’ve been telling your boss that you should put a capacity limit, but he wouldn’t make as much money like that as he was making now, so of course, he said no. He was a greedy monster and he didn’t even try to hide it.

Just as you closed your eyes, you heard a loud tsk followed by a hiss, and your head jerked to the side, your eyes widening. You hadn’t realised there was someone else here with you, too taken by your own thoughts of wondering what you’d cook for dinner…if you make it home at a decent hour, which was looking less and less likely to be. With your eyes narrowed and head turned, you tried to find the source where the sound had come from, eyebrows furrowing when you noticed someone crouched down right by the door, their head lowered over their knees. It wasn’t your business what anyone was doing, really, but if a client was feeling unwell and would need assistance, you’d feel guilty if you just walked away without a word. So, sighing to yourself, you pushed off the wall and took a few steps to approach the person, eyes taking in the black messy curls on the top of his head. The person had a baby mullet growing out, framing his pale nape. You cleared your throat and reached down, gently poking at the guy’s shoulder.

“Hey, you good?” You asked unsure, eyebrows furrowing when the guy grunted only. Tilting your head, you realised he was shielding his left hand, his right thumb trying to roll the sparkwheel of his lighter, but to no avail.

“Yeah, this bloody thing won’t work.” The guy groaned, shaking his lighter as he tilted his head back, a hand-rolled cigarette hanging between his lips. Your eyes widened as you realised the face was familiar, having seen him just yesterday. The guy’s eyes looked innocent as they rounded, recognition flashing in his too. You gulped and straightened up, your expression slightly hardening as the guy’s harsh words from yesterday rang through your ears. He seemed pretty fine to you, but before you could step aside and go back inside, he spoke up.

“Hi there, pretty barista.” He then grinned, a lazy pull of his cherry-red lips, his tone easy. You didn’t expect him to be so easy-going after what you had said to him, but it almost looked like the guy wasn’t bothered by you cursing him out…maybe he really wasn’t, “You on a break?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, watching as he struggled to get his lighter to work. You had one in your pocket, but you found a bit of satisfaction in watching him struggle. Maybe if he asked whether you had one, you’d let him use yours. But people who didn’t ask wouldn’t get help, that’s what your father taught you, at least.

“Obviously.” You muttered matter of fact as the guy hummed, grinning wickedly when the lighter finally sparked to life, allowing him to light his cigarette. You watched as the flame danced in front of his face, making his dark eyes appear amber-like, sharper from this angle. You realised, alarmed, that you were appreciating his looks so you quickly stopped, looking away as the guy puffed out a whiff of smoke.

“You want some?” The guy asked, reaching his hand toward you as you eyed the cigarette, its smell hitting you. It was too herbal to be a normal cigarette, you belatedly realised as you watched the guy take another hit of his joint.

“What’s in it?” You decided to ask, just to make sure. If you were wrong and it was a regular cigarette, maybe you’d accept a smoke. You didn’t usually smoke but you were still tired from yesterday’s shift, and something that could loosen your nerves would be highly appreciated.

“Good stuff.” The guy grinned, giggling even a little, and the sound almost put a smile on your lips, but you caught yourself in time and instead shook your head, pushing your hands into your pockets again.

“I’m working, so, no.” The guy just hummed as he looked up at you again, taking a drag of his joint as you gulped and everted your eyes. It felt like he was gazing right through you and into your soul as your eyes had met, and given the fact that you were still butt-hurt over what he had said to you yesterday, you refused to look at him too long…you’d only admire his beauty, either way. He wore a fuzzy yellow and pink sweater today, his brown dress pants looking way too thin for this weather, but the guy didn’t seem to mind. His nails stood out with their unique design, and he wore fewer rings today but more earrings than yesterday.

A beat of silence passed as the two of you shared an apprehensive look, making you bite your bottom lip. You cleared your throat and at last averted your eyes, kicking a few pebbles towards the guy without meaning to, “Right, I shouldn’t have cursed you out either…I’m sorry too, I guess.”

You have no idea what took over you, but your cheeks were suddenly flushing as if you had been noticed by your crush for the first time, your skin prickling. You weren’t one to care about the compliments your clients gave since most of them were only trying to get in your pants, but this guy seemed to be genuine. He didn’t try to hit on you, he was just calling you pretty, and it was getting to you. You hummed and turned towards the door, hand reaching out for the knob when suddenly the guy spoke again, “Humans are easily susceptible, you know? We judge without knowing first, and we rarely apologise and recognise our mistakes. I hate people like that, rude people for no reason too. I don’t stand for all that bullshit, so I’m glad you told me to fuck myself instead of smiling at me like you do with all the other assholes. I appreciate your hard work, we all have to make due somehow and you aren’t less for working in this pub, pretty barista.”

There he was again, making your chest feel heavy as you huffed, a sarcastic smile pulling at your lips. Once again, what did he know about you? Maybe you loved this damned job, maybe being a barista in a shitty pub has been your lifelong dream. You almost scoffed at yourself, eyes narrowing as the guy took more drags of his joint, seemingly waiting for an answer that you didn’t exactly want to give. But you didn’t want him to have the last word, much like yesterday, so you plastered on a sarcastic smirk, “There you go again, blabbering your mouth when you’re smoked out.”

You didn’t expect the guy to start laughing loudly, his head falling back as it landed against the wall, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t mean to gape, but he was beautiful and painfully honest, it was refreshing in a world full of fakeness. He was an intriguing person, and you would’ve allowed yourself to become interested in him if only you had met in a different setting. With a hum and lingering eyes, you pushed the door open as the guy nodded at you in goodbye once he realised you were leaving for good. And with a faster beating heart, you willed yourself to focus on the few hours that you still had of your shift.

It’s been quite a while since you had the chance to wake up at the crack of dawn without feeling tired, or without having to rush in for an early shift. Through hard work, you had earned these two days of break, and while you wished you had been given a full week, you made sure to utilise these two days wisely. You had always been an early bird, wishing to wake with the sun, opening your windows to hear the song of the birds, but it was too cold for them to hunker down in front of your window today. You didn’t mind, you’d take a stroll after your breakfast and check out the new art store that’s opened not too far from your apartment. You’ve heard great things about it, the prices seemed to be reasonable, and it had an adjoint bookstore and a coffee shop as well. A quick check on the internet showed you just how cozy it was, so you thought you could buy a book from your to read list and settle down in the coffee shop. It sounded like a great plan to destress and forget for a bit about work and all the idiots that kept you up at night, quite literally.

Your scarf was thick as you buried your nose into it, trying to keep it warm from the cold chill of the early morning. The city was awake with you, orange sun rising on the horizon and blinding you as you were walking towards it, you couldn’t help but smile. It warmed your cheeks and body, feeling the sun on your skin during cold season always felt like a blessing, you would always relish in it as much as you could because you knew it wouldn’t last for long. You exhaled as your eyes remained squinted, watching the people around you as you walked towards your destination. Kids were rushing to school, parents by their sides guiding them, and traffic was as crazy as ever, impatient drivers honking and disturbing the little peace everyone had. You paid it no mind and felt thankful that you were able to wake up so early instead of just going to bed, all tired and wishing for your boss to fire you. But if he did fire you, you would be in trouble, so you didn’t actually wish for that to happen. And suddenly as you turned the corner, the guy’s words from the bar managed to ring through your ears once again. Working at the pub was just as much of an honest job as it would’ve been working anywhere else.

You sighed, realising you were thinking about him again. You’ve been doing this a lot lately, letting your mind wander to his peculiar fashion sense and even more peculiar way of thinking. He seemed almost raw with his words and thoughts, unafraid to say them to your face. It was refreshing and intriguing, but you couldn’t let yourself be sidetracked right now. You had a purpose, and that was working until you had enough money to move away. If somehow a guy came into the picture right now, you felt like that would mess up all your plans and vision of the future. Under no circumstance would you stay here, but you knew your heart would betray you and try to keep you here for longer, with your lover. You didn’t even want to think of the guy as a potential love interest, you didn’t even know each other, so you shoved these thoughts to the back of your mind as you reached the art store, eyes widening at its exterior.

You haven’t seen anything quite like it before, the windows reached from ceiling to floor, a clear view of what was going on inside. There was a spiral staircase that led to the higher level which was littered with bookcases and low hanging retro chandeliers, bean bags spaced out on the floor as people sat around with books in their hands. To the right was the coffee shop with a separate entrance if you were only here for coffee, but you could also enter through the art store. And the art store was gorgeous as you made your way inside, the double doors opening easily. A sweet scent hit your nostrils as you walked further inside, your eyes wide as you took in the whole place. Paintings were hung on the walls, blank canvas placed underneath as many shelves housed all kinds of art supplies. The clerks were all smiley and they welcomed you warmly once they noticed your arrival. Maybe you could find a nicer workplace, something like this one. The workload seemed less strenuous and the people that came here to shop were less rowdy and rude. As much as you loved admiring the fine arts, you didn’t have the talent for drawing or painting, you could mess up even something as simple as a cloud. It was embarrassing, but arts have never been your forte, so you headed for the staircase to look for the book you had on your mind.

Navigating around the many shelves seemed a bit intimidating at first, but then you noticed they were sectioned on different genres, the tags hanging low from the ceiling with an arrow pointing towards the section to help you out. You smiled to yourself as you unrolled your scarf from around your neck, the warmth of the store helping your frozen fingers as you turned down a corner, two tall bookshelves on your sides. At the end of the row sat a younger girl with a manga in her hand, another one pressed to her lips as she seemed to be giggling. You felt yourself smile as you came near her, looking at the titles of the books. Asking for a clerk to help you find the book you were looking for would’ve helped enormously, but you found yourself wanting to stroll around in the warmth, fingers grazing the spines of the books. The girl giggled just a bit louder and blushed when you glanced her way. This wasn’t a library, so she wasn’t disturbing anyone, but she was still mindful of those around her. You turned the corner once again, finding the High Fantasy section, having made your research beforehand, you knew you were in the right place. It took a bit more cruising down the row to finally find the book you were looking for, and you grinned when you found it, taking it off the shelf.

You thought about strolling around the store more just to discover it further, maybe they had cheap trinkets you could buy. You even thought about paying a visit the coffee shop as well, maybe they had one of your favourite patisserie delicacies. You wouldn’t turn down something sweet right now, you didn’t have a sweet tooth necessarily, but there were days when your cravings got the better of you. With that in mind, you headed back the way you had come, sneaking another glance at the younger girl as she gasped, manga now clutched tightly in both of her hands. You chuckled before you rounded the corner, now back on the main aisle that led to the spiral staircase. You noticed that most people who were inside the store looked to be college students, their outfits mismatched colours and patterns, hair coloured something vibrant as most of them had piercings you never even thought possible before. You really liked their style and found yourself staring at them, blushing when a girl caught you and raised an eyebrow before she smiled. You nodded your head and hurried down the stairs, flustered and a little embarrassed. They oddly reminded you of the guy from the bar, you thought he’d somehow fit right in with the people inside the store. It looked something he’d enjoy, not that you knew anything about him besides that he smoked weed, wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, and had a nice sense of fashion.

You were looking at the hard cover of your book as you got to the base of the staircase, taken by the pretty illustration and completely unaware that someone was headed straight towards you, just as taken by items in his hands as you were by your book. The collision could’ve been avoided if you both had been paying attention to where you were going, but alas, you gasped loudly as you felt a hard body collide into yours, items spilling loudly onto the floor. Your head shoot up, eyes wide as you looked at the equally startled man and—wait, it was the same guy from the bar! You gulped, suddenly feeling nervous as your cheeks burned, but the guy hadn’t noticed you yet as he had crouched down to collect his items off the floor. You felt bad and hoped the expensive palette on the ground hadn’t been broken, so you crouched down too and reached for it to inspect it. The guy still hadn’t quite noticed that it was you out of all people, but as you reached for the same brush, his head raised sharply. Your smile was apologetic as the guy’s eyes widened, recognition flashing on his face. This was the third time you met this week, the sheer coincidence of meeting outside the pub was a bit jarring…especially since you’ve been just thinking about him.

“Pretty barista from the pub!” He motioned towards you then chuckled, letting you pick up the brush. Your book was placed on the ground next to you so your hands were free to help.

“Hi,” Your voice came out a lot shier than you had intended it to be, and you chewed on your bottom lip awkwardly, “Sorry about this, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Don’t worry,” The guy chuckled, scooping up the small canvases, “I wasn’t either. If it makes you feel better, it was both of our faults.”

You hummed and grabbed the last item off the floor, standing at the same time as the guy. His arms were filled with his items, and you wondered if you handed over the four in your hands how he’d be able to carry everything. Despite the cold weather outside, he was underdressed. He wore a simple turtleneck with a brown knitted vest over it, long flowy plants and mismatched tennis shoes. As you both stepped aside from the staircase to make way for others, you cleared your throat and averted your eyes once you realised you were staring again. But you hadn’t seen him wearing glasses before, and with the curly strands falling over his forehead, he didn’t only look handsome but cute as well.

“What brings you here?” The guy made conversation as you tried to figure out how to hand him his items without making him drop them all again, “I say this without meaning to be rude, but you seem like the last person who’d be interested in art.”

You huffed, not bothered by his honesty, “While that statement is incorrect, I’m not here due to the art section of the store. I was looking for a book.”

“Right!” He exclaimed, glancing down at his own chest, “Oh, sorry, you can hand me those, I can carry them!”

“Are you sure?” You asked as he nodded enthusiastically, so you complied. You stepped closer to place the other four items in his arms, watching as he clinched the smaller canvas underneath his chin to keep it from falling. You would’ve laughed and offered to help until he got himself a bag or something, but the guy looked pretty content like this. Like it wasn’t his first time doing this…

“Are you collecting them?” The guy’s incomplete question left you raising a confused eyebrow at him, “Sorry, I saw you’re buying The Hobbit. It’s a pretty famous reprint, the covers are gorgeous, my best friend is collecting them so I assumed you are too.”

You glanced down at the book in your hand and bit your bottom lip, trying to brush off your embarrassment. Why were you feeling like this all of a sudden? It made no sense, but you didn’t want to leave a bad impression on the guy…even though his perception of you might already be fucked since this wasn’t your first time meeting.

“I’ve, uh, so, uhm, I have a to read list for books I’ve never read while growing up, so now I have a little tradition that I buy a book from the list each month and read it.” You spoke quickly, avoiding eye contact as the guy listened to your ramble. His intake of breath was sharp and you chanced a glance at his face, finding his eyes wide and his mouth rounded.

“Wait. Are you saying you haven’t read The Hobbit before?!” He sounded incredulous and alarmed, and your cheeks grew hot once again, actually managing to sour your mood a bit. Not having read the book didn’t make you less by any means, but you had a feeling this guy was well-versed in literature, so it felt like a jab and even a subtle scrutinising.

“Yeah, not everyone likes reading while growing up…” Your tone grew cold and voice snappish as you continued to avoid eye contact, looking towards the front desk so that maybe the guy would get the hint that you were done with this conversation. But it didn’t actually surprise you that he continued speaking without noticing you didn’t want to keep conversing anymore.

“That’s totally cool, my brother hated comic books growing up and now he’s obsessed with them.” The guy chuckled, expression innocent and tone genuinely excited, “I think you’ll love the book, it’s filled with adventure and otherworldly creatures. It’s a nice step back from our grim reality, I feel like you need that right now.”

Okay, there he was assuming again that he could just…psychoanalyse you or whatever, “Can you stop doing that? I’m not a painting you can interpret to your liking.”

The guy blinked, face going blank before his cheeks flushed, his gaze averted now from yours, “I…have I been doing it all this time?”

“Ever since we’ve met.” Your answer was sharp and quick and the guy blushed even more.

“Oh, sorry, I just…I’ll stop doing that,” Then he smiled awkwardly and held eye contact with you, “I’m Hongjoong, by the way, I don’t remember introducing myself.”

Because he hadn’t. You repeated his name in your head, finding yourself liking the sound of it, it seemed like a fitting name for him. You hummed, extending your hand.

“I’m Y/N.” But you and Hongjoong glanced down at your extended hand and then his occupied ones at the same time, chuckles leaving your mouths as he seemed flustered.

“I’m shake your hand the next time we see other.”

“If there will be a next time.”

“I quite like the pub you work at, pretty barista.” You cleared your throat and avoided looking at him because as corny as it was, it kind of made your heart flutter. What was happening? The chiming of the doorbell reminded you that it was time you left and took care of other errands you had in your schedule, but before you could say goodbye to Hongjoong, he asked a question that took you off guard, “Wanna grab a cup of coffee with me?”

Then he turned sideways, nodding towards the adjoined café, and you hesitated for a second. You could actually slip in a little time to have coffee with him, but you felt reluctant. You had met him at the pub, after all, and you still couldn’t decide what type of person he was. Of course, he was handsome, and so far, has showed a good character, but there were little moments when he somehow managed to ruin everything with his words. And he was still a complete stranger, so, listening to your rational mind, you slowly shook your head.

“I don’t like coffee, but thanks!” Your smile was easy, Hongjoong’s face morphed into something knowing as he hummed with a nod.

“Sure, I’m glad I caught you here.” Then, as you were about to take off, he added, “The pretty barista now has a name, I can say my morning was successful.”

You tried to huff and look irked, but the blush betrayed you. You just shook your head before heading for the front desk, “Goodbye, Hongjoong.”

“See ya!” His smile was radiant as he turned around and headed for the café instead, and you realised he was underdressed because he had come from the coffee shop, his things already there. And with Hongjoong on your mind, you followed his distinctive walk as he sauntered over to his table with an elegancy yet swagger you hadn’t seen before.

Now, a week ago you probably would have said no to a preposition that involved you following home a complete stranger whose name you had known for a maximum of four days, but tonight had been literal shit and you were on the verge of tears when Hongjoong had sauntered over to the bar, his Chesire like smile blinding. You had one more hour left of your shift and you’d be clocking out, not even staying behind to help Hani clean up. Your cramps were terrible and a guy who hit on you for the whole night had spilt his drink on your favourite blouse, calling you a bitch as well for shunning him away, so, when you saw Hongjoong approach the bar with mischief in his eyes, you were ready to scream at him and tell him to get lost. Except that you didn’t do all that because his question completely threw you off guard.

“Y/N, do you like art?” He had a rolled-up joint resting at his ear, his hair pulled to the side and clipped back with colourful hair clips. Your laugh that bubbled past your lips sounded incredulous and tired, but you nodded.

“I do, do you want something to drink?” Hongjoong shook his head, leaning across the bar despite it being wet from spilt alcohol.

“When does your shift end?”

“In an hour.”

“Wanna see some of my art?” Then Hongjoong grinned, looking proud of himself, “I’m a painter.”

Something came over you and didn’t even let you ponder over your decision, “Do you have weed?”

The answer was obvious as you glanced at the joint and Hongjoong laughed, tilting his head in a way that sharpened his features under the neon lights of the pub.

“Obviously, got some on me right now. Want some?” Not while you were working, afterwards, however, you were free to do whatever.

“After my shift, yeah.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you in the back. See ya.”

And that’s how you ended up at Hongjoong’s apartment, not even ten minutes away from the pub. Your feet ached and your cramps were so bad you felt like doubling over and emptying your already empty stomach, but you tried to hold yourself together in front of Hongjoong. There was a nervous flutter in your chest as you had followed him up the steel staircase, the building old and dodgy. However, the second you walked inside his studio apartment, it felt like you had entered a different realm. He was the true definition of an artist, you came to realise, with canvas strewn around the apartment, most finished but some blank, oil paint tainting the wooden floor and even the walls. The colours were neutral, beige with a slip of sage green here and there, the curtains sheer and pulled to the side as Hongjoong hurried over to the windows to push them open. There was an earthy smell in the air mixed with something sweet like vanilla, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the cosiness of Hongjoong’s studio. You recognised a few prints on the walls, they were the paintings of well-known painters who no longer lived, and the décor Hongjoong had used was rather vintage than modern. His huge wardrobe was open, and he pushed the door closed with little care as he picked up a hoodie off the floor. You were surprised he even owned one of those.

You flinched when it collided against your head, confused as to why he had thrown it at you. Hongjoong chuckled as he shrugged his coat off, trying to tidy his messy bed but quickly giving up when he realised you didn’t look like you cared. Truthfully, your apartment wasn’t in a better shape, the dishes in the sink had been there for three days and your bathroom was in dire need of a deep clean.

“We can’t smoke weed with closed windows, so it’ll get colder.” Hongjoong suddenly explained, shrugging on a cardigan that looked very soft, “Wear my hoodie, it’ll keep you warm.”

You hummed, glancing down at it before you stepped out of your shoes, shrugging your jacket off and wearing the hoodie. Its scent was sweet but potent with something musky, and you blushed as your nose buried into its fabric, drinking in its soft material.

“Make yourself feel at home!” Hongjoong grinned, walking over to the small kitchen section to grab two cups, “Do you want tea?”

You shook your head as you walked towards the small bean bag, pushing it with your leg to try and get it more gathered together. And then, just as you were about to sink into the chair, you heard a faint sound come from the kitchen. You turned your head and were met with a small black creature blinking at you in wonder.

“You have a cat?” You asked in surprise, staring back at the little pet. Hongjoong chuckled, looking down at his pet as the electric kettle started whistling.

“Is it so surprising? I found him near a dumpster a few years ago, he’s been by my side ever since.” You couldn’t help but gaze at Hongjoong with admiration as he spoke, pouring hot water into his cup for the tea, “His name is Woo ‘cuz he reminds me of my friend. They are both rascals and really loud.”

As if on cue, the cat meowed loudly and you chuckled, finally easing yourself into the bean bag. Your lower back protested and your spine cracked as you allowed yourself to lean back, arching your back. You could’ve cried at the relief, thankful to finally be off your feet. You couldn’t wait for the weed, it would dull your cramps and help you ease up after the day you’ve had. You were probably in dire need of a shower since you smelled like alcohol, but you didn’t feel comfortable showering at a guy’s place you barely knew. Which, now that you thought more about it, realisation started setting in. You weren’t too smart for following Hongjoong home, but he had never creeped you out, so you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt tonight. You stared at the cat as Hongjoong mixed honey into his berry-flavoured tea, the warm mist hogging up his glasses. The cat, still at Hongjoong’s side, stared back at you and then slowly walked towards you, its head tilted in wonder. You smiled at it and let it smell your fingers, taking you off guard when it unceremoniously climbed into your lap, starting to make biscuits against your lower abdomen.

“Ah, of course, you’re already in the lap of the pretty barista.” Hongjoong mused with an amused smile on his lips, “You take after Wooyoung more than one would think.”

You had no idea who this Wooyoung guy was, but it sounded like he was a flirt if Hongjoong wasn’t bluffing.

“I like your apartment,” You blurted out as you started petting the cat, smiling down at it when it started purring, “It’s got character, much like you.”

“That’s the first time you said something completely honest to me.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at Hongjoong, the joint from his ear now gone as he grabbed some matches to light it up. You didn’t think that was true, but you didn’t say anything as Hongjoong came nearer, sitting down on the floor across from you. You looked at him as he took a long whiff of his joint, then extended his arm for you to take the weed. It’s been quite a while since you smoked any, you knew it would hit you faster, but you hoped it wasn’t too strong or you’d become sick. You took a careful drag of it as Woo settled into a slumber in your lap, and the earthy taste of it made you grimace. But you kept the smoke in your lungs for a bit before exhaling, taking another drag as Hongjoong watched you with a lazy smile. He looked so…handsome. You’ve had a few days to yourself to think about Hongjoong after your encounter in the art store, and you realised you were attracted to him. It was mostly physical since you liked his looks, but his brutally honest character also had you intrigued even if you’d get offended at times by what he was saying.

“I find it hilarious that you decided to come home with me after you declined to have coffee.” Your eyes met Hongjoong’s quickly just as you were about to hand over the joint, “Do you really don’t drink coffee? Or did you just want to get rid of me that day?”

“I…” You licked your lips as Hongjoong took the joint from you, grinning as he took a long drag once again, “Both, actually. I just…I don’t know you well enough and we’ve also met at the pub, I don’t like meddling with clients. Those frat boys are horny and only want to sleep with me.”

“Good thing I’m not a frat boy then, right, Woo?” Hongjoong grinned and ruffled the slumbering cat’s fur, looking back at you with an understanding look, “I’ll be done with my master’s degree in just a few months.”

You hummed, picking at the sleeve of Hongjoong’s hoodie before you saw the joint handed to you again, “And after that? What do you plan on doing?”

Suddenly, Hongjoong had a pensive look on his face as he leaned back on his arms, staring up at the ceiling. You took shorter drags of the joint now but kept the smoke in your lungs until it started burning.

“I want to travel the world, visit art galleries and drink a lot of expensive wine.” That didn’t sound bad at all, Hongjoong continued before you could tell him, “It’s hard breaking into the industry as a painter even though some realtors have already approached me to buy my paintings and put them on display.”

“And? What did you say to them?” You felt genuinely curious, the cat sighed loudly in your lap and Hongjoong looked at you two, reaching out for the joint. Your fingertips brushed together and Hongjoong’s hands felt too cold, but you didn’t comment on it.

“I turned them down,” Hongjoong smiled, but it looked almost sad before he shrugged, taking a drag, “I don’t want just anyone owning my creations. I want someone who understands what’s on that canvas to contact me, I want someone who genuinely loves art and isn’t just doing it for the money. It’s hard to find people like that nowadays, but I’m willing to wait as long as it takes…even if that makes me broke.”

Hongjoong scoffed out a chuckle, sounding bitter by the end of his sentence. For someone who was so good at reading others and commenting on their lives, Hongjoong seemed to be having his own demons he had to fight. You hummed, closing your eyes for a second as you felt your muscles ease up, your cramps less torturous. You were glad the weed was slowly kicking in, your cramps would’ve had you crying if not.

“So how do you plan on travelling if you have no money?” Maybe the question was insensitive, but you were curious. Hongjoong didn’t take offence as he smiled, looking at you with sparkling eyes.

“There are art courses all around the world, I might sign up for one and leave, never look back…”

“Do you hate it here?” The question tumbled past your lips before you could stop yourself, “Because I don’t.”

Hongjoong didn’t look surprised as he nodded, handing back the joint so you could finish it. Three drags and it would be gone, so you took your time savouring it.

“It’s not the worst, but I don’t see much of a future for myself here.” So, Hongjoong was just like you then, “When are you leaving?”

“How did you know?” You sounded shocked as Hongjoong shrugged, averting his eyes.

“You and I are rather similar, you just fail to see it, Y/N.” Well, maybe he was right, maybe he wasn’t. You couldn’t read Hongjoong as well as he could read you, you needed more time to feel out his character.

“Six months and I’m out of here, never to come back if life’s kind to me.” Your voice was quiet as you didn’t look at Hongjoong, smoke wafting through your lips as you finished the joint. Hongjoong hummed, a low and warm sound, as he reached for the stud to take it from you. Your fingers brushed together once again, and you looked at Hongjoong when he held your wrist.

“You’re stronger than you think, you’ll make it big out there, Y/N, have more faith in yourself.” You found yourself smiling now, head a little hazy as you nodded, finding it easier to believe whatever Hongjoong told you.

“You’re the artist between the two of us, you’re the one supposed to make it big.” Hongjoong chuckled and stood, headed for the kitchen.

“Can’t we both make it big?” He raised an eyebrow as he threw the stud away, turning around to face you. You hummed, not entirely agreeing with him, but you decided to nod. Then, Hongjoong turned towards where his bed was and grinned, “You’re here to see some art, no?”

“Right, I almost forgot about that.” Hongjoong chuckled, then beckoned you over. You grabbed the cat in your lap and pressed a kiss against its small head, placing it on the bean bag in your spot. Your feet felt light as you headed towards Hongjoong, who had sauntered over to the desk pressed up against the wall underneath the open windows. He turned the small lamp on, and suddenly you were looking at small canvases filled with colour and abstract shapes. Somehow they looked like an organised mess, even in the overflowing swirl of colours, you managed to find a pattern that seemed to never end like a loop. You turned your head to look at Hongjoong, and suddenly you realised his art was a perfect reflection of who he was.

“I can tell you made these.” Perhaps phrasing it like that was offensive, but Hongjoong only looked curious. He hummed, raising an eyebrow.

“How come?” His voice was quiet, curious.

“I can see you in these.” You pointed at the canvas with orange and yellow as the more prominent colours, circling a deep blue that looked almost black, “The blue is you at your core, dark and perhaps scared of the world. And then all that orange and yellow? I think that’s how you see the world, how you wish it treated you, hoping it would lighten all that darkness that looms over you all the time. And this one? I wonder if it was a coincidence you hid so many infinity symbols in the background, this burgundy is gorgeous, by the way. I think everyone is afraid of disappearing without leaving a trace of themselves in this fucked up world, and I actually…I admire you for being so honest and straightforward, very few people are like you.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows were furrowed the longer you spoke, but he remained silent as you smiled, looking down at the white canvas, unfinished but with light blue swirls creating the illusion of a clear sky, “I wonder what this will turn into. So far, it reminds me of serenity, of the calm before a storm. Life’s like that too, don’t you think? It’s quiet and gentle, and then it turns into a scary thing that can destroy us if we let it.”

Hongjoong just gulped, his eyes clouded but his heart racing. He was positive no one had been able to interpret his art for what it was before, and he wondered how much of him you could see through his eyes if you could read so well what the trail of his brush had left on a blank canvas. It made him feel seen like never before, not even his biggest supporter, Wooyoung, could see beyond Hongjoong’s intentions when he sat down to paint, to tell the world his pain and rage, yearning for someone to just finally see him.

“You’re…” Hongjoong gulped, his throat feeling dry as you smiled at him, curious if you’d been right, “You are a person I should cherish more from now on.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, your heart skipping a beat once again. What did he mean by saying that? You wanted to ask, but Hongjoong stepped closer, his tone breathy as he spoke up again, “‘Whoever wants to know something about me – as an artist which alone is significant – they should look attentively at my pictures and there seek to recognize what I am and what I want’…that’s what Gustav Klimt once said. And so far, you are the only person who’s managed to do that.”

Your mouth gaped open, and you both heard Woo stretch and meow loudly, his soft footsteps loud as he walked towards Hongjoong’s bed, jumping up and finding a new spot to sleep. You didn’t know what to say back to that, but you felt your heart race as your cheeks flushed, shy all of a sudden. Hongjoong was looking at you with a softness no man has looked at you with, it was a bit hard to take it all in without freaking yourself out that this wasn’t real, that it was just the weed, or that maybe Hongjoong wasn’t as genuine as his expression showed.

“Y/N,” You didn’t flinch when his hand wrapped around your wrist, his tone still soft, “I think you already know that I find you pretty, and I…I might have gone to that dingy pub for so long just to see you, actually.”

Those words had your heart racing even wilder as you looked up, finding Hongjoong’s face closer to yours as his eyes now bore into yours, “I should’ve been more specific when I asked you to have coffee with me. I meant to ask you out on a date, but I panicked because I knew I had slightly upset you, but…”

He gulped nervously and you felt so curious to hear what more he had to say, perhaps a smile would encourage him, so that’s what you did, offered him a small friendly smile. He released a breath and cleared his throat, his hand slipping from your wrist to your hand, “Can I kiss you?”

If this was anyone else but Hongjoong, your answer would have been an instant no. But the longer you looked into his eyes, the more excited and giddy you felt, so you just nodded your head and licked your lips, trying to ignore the deep flush of your cheeks. Hongjoong chuckled, suddenly looking shy, but he started leaning in, his eyes fluttering closed just as your lips met. It was careful, it was sweet and it made your heart roar as you stepped just a bit closer, your noses brushing together as your lips moved slowly and carefully, mostly just testing out the waters. Hongjoong’s lips were soft and sweet, and surprisingly didn’t taste like weed but like peaches. You wondered if he used any sort of lip balm to have them taste like that. His hand settled on your cheek and he gently caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, making your heart roar once again. It’s been long since someone had treated you with such gentleness, and you told yourself to remain level-headed, but it would be just so easy to fall in love with Hongjoong. You couldn’t help but smile as you two pulled apart, Hongjoong tried to hide his own grin as he sucked his lips together, but his eyes gave him away. You chuckled and he giggled, and suddenly you felt the urge to pull him into a hug.

“So,” He cleared his throat as he let his arms rest around your torso loosely, “If you don’t like coffee, what do you like?”

“Delicious cakes.” You didn’t hesitate to answer and Hongjoong chuckled, patting your head.

“Well then, would you like to go on a delicious cake-hunting date with me?” You closed your eyes to contain your excitement, but the weed had not only eased your muscles but your always worrying mind as well.

“Yes!” You didn’t mean to squeal, but it was hard not to when Hongjoong startled giggling sweetly once again, nodding his head.

“Good, I’ll make sure we find the best spots in the city then.”

And perhaps not just in the city, but also in foreign countries while you attended Hongjoong’s art expositions, an expensive bottle of wine waiting for the two of you back at the hotel.

੭ Masterlist ੭

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❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

#[🐿️] mina's recs #[🍒] my ari #ateez x reader #ateez #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong x reader

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t-chlmt-blog · 2 days ago

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ADHD!reader x Spencer Reid

when reader gets overstimulated at the office spencer finds her in an odd spot and helps calm her down.

word cound: 0.7k

warnings: neurodivergent reader and spencer, mentions of breakdowns, i dont think there anything else but lmk!

also pls be kind this is my first fic! and if i continue to write for adhd!reader most of what i write ab is stuff that i personally deal with while having adhd, it can be different for everyone so pls take everything with a grain of salt!

The hum of the AC in the bullpen is boring into your skull. Along with the chatter of other agents, all the sensations are getting to be too much. The stack of paperwork on your desk hasn’t gotten any smaller in the past hour and your legs started aching from sitting too long. It’s all too much. Morgan and Prentiss are chatting no more than 10 feet away and you can’t concentrate , not with everything going on.

Standing up and pushing away from the desk, you quickly slip by the duo whose conversation you couldn’t follow mumbling a quick “excuse me” with your head down.

Ducking behind the door to the stairwell, you sit down on the first few steps trying to calm yourself down. Nobody really ever comes this way unless the elevators were out of service. The stairwell is quiet but each small movement creates an echo that provokes that suffocating feeling of overstimulation. Normally in a situation like this, you’d let Spencer know and he’d sit with you, toning down his rambling as he lists grounding techniques for you to try, however, today was a bad one gone worse and the thought of anyone talking is almost enough to send you into a full blow meltdown. You feel hot and stuffy and realize the water bottle, full of ice cold water from this morning was still at your desk. Great.

You’re focused on the cool tile beneath you, laying your palms down trying to cool down, when you hear footsteps coming up the stairs. You hadn’t payed much attention to the fact Spencer had been missing from the bullpen and didn’t even realize he had been a floor down this whole time. Sometimes when he needs a bit longer to think he takes the stairs to his destination.

“What are you doing out here?” He asked with that slight smile and gentle voice. He knows all too well the struggles of neurodiversity and finds that he two of you can relate to each other more so than the rest of the team.

Your head whips up and to the right, where Spencer has suddenly appeared, why didn’t you hear his footsteps before? “Just needed a second, it got kinda stuffy out there”, a simple explanation he understood to be more than you’re making it out to be. Years of masking and trying to fit in, you could handle a lot before you would totally break down, having learned where your threshold for this sort of thing was so as to not make a fool of yourself in front of other people.

“Are you ok, do you feel well?” Spencer asks, putting down his files next to you, attempting to look for any tell tale signs of illness or injury. When he finds nothing too concerning, just your flushed skin, starting to bead with sweat, he sits next to you. He’s been looking out for you a lot more recently, both in and out of the office and field.

“I just didn’t get enough sleep and the bullpen’s too loud and those lights were starting to bug me.” As soon as you told Spencer the reason for your hiding, he understood. He’s no stranger to feeling overstimulated like this and knows you aren’t either. Conversations on the jet and in the break room detailed the feelings you both shared being neurodivergent. Although Spencers brain worked almost completely opposite of yours, you both understood each other fairly well.

“Here,” he says gently taking your hand in his, feeling the heat, placing them in a new spot on he tile. Since he’d come up the stairs, you hadn’t moved an inch, it felt refreshing against your hot palms once again. “Would leaning against the wall help at all?” You hadn’t tried it but inched backwards and turned so the your back connected with the wall.

Your eyes close in relief. You hadn’t realized it but from ay one, Spencer has started to pick up on all the details and quirks that make you , you. Of course his eidetic memory helps, but somethings he just gets.

Starting to cool down, in the comfortable silence you open your eyes and look to Spencer and his brown eyes and smile. Joining such a tight knit team was intimidating but Spencer always made you feel wanted.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x bau!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer x reader #bau team #bau!reader #spencer x you #criminal minds cast

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holylulusworld · 2 days ago

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Roll the dice (2)

Summary: You’re in trouble, and it’s all your fault.

Pairing: Mobster!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Warnings: mafia au, angst, mentions of criminal activities, mentions of sickness, mentions of stealing, scared reader, bruises, hand around throat (non-sexual), cat and mouse

Catch up here: Roll the dice (1)

Waking in a foreign room, on a bed that isn’t your own, feels even worse than rolling the dice.

You still don’t know why Steve is playing games with you. Everyone else daring to steal from him would have ended six feet under the moment they dared to put their hands on his money.

Why you didn’t end up dead is not hard to guess. Your former boss wants to toy with you until he gets bored and decides it’s time for you to say goodbye to him.

You flinch, hearing the door open. It wasn’t locked, of course, it wasn’t. You wouldn’t have dared to escape Steve Rogers, not with your grandmother’s life on the stake.

“Ah, she’s awake,” Steve smirks as you try to make yourself as small as possible. You drop your eyes, not looking at him. “Good. Then we can come back to our little game.”

“Why are you doing this?” You sniffle as he throws the dice at you. “It will only ever show three. For how much longer do you want to torture me? I know it was wrong to steal the money from you. If not for my granny, I’d never have stolen it.”

Steve watches you grasp for the dice. He smirks as your fingers tremble. “Go ahead, roll it, doll. Maybe today, you’ll roll a six. You never know with Lady Luck.” Steve flashes you a stunning smile. If not for your knowledge about his true nature, you could fall for it.

“I’ll roll a three again,” you murmur as tears slip down your cheeks. “Please stop torturing me. Just kill me, Mr. Rogers. I’ll choose Death over this game any time. Please keep my grandmother out of this. She doesn’t know I stole the money from you.”

Steve steps closer to the bed, his arms crossed over his wide chest. He considers you, eyes trained on the tears wetting your shirt. “We can play another game.”

You blink before looking up at Steve. “What kind of game?” Gnawing at your lower lip, you hope Steve will end this farce and tell you what he’s going to do to you.

“Strip poker?” He flashes you another smile, but your stomach doesn’t do somersaults; it drops. You shake your head, not wanting to feel even more vulnerable in front of Steve.

“No…I don’t know how to play,” you lie.

“Doll, I wasn’t asking,” he gruffly replies. “You wanted to stop playing roll the dice, so we will play strip poker.”

You shake your head.

“How about this?” He shows his palms while stepping closer. “You roll the dice. If you roll a three again, we will find another game to play. If not, we will play strip poker. But be warned.” He roughly cups your chin, making you gasp. “No one beat me at poker before.”

“I’ll roll the dice.” This is easy. You rolled a three all the time yesterday. There’s no way you won’t get a three today.

Your hands shake when you grab the dice to roll it again. You take a deep breath and close your eyes before rolling the dice.

Steve watches you with amusement. The dice show a six, and he laughs loudly as you whimper. This can’t be. “No.”

“Oh, lucky me,” Steve taunts before grabbing the dice to put it in his pocket. “I get the chance to play poker again.”

You sit at a table in his luxurious dining room. You look at Steve, heart racing with anticipation. The cards are dealt, and the game begins.

You look at your cards, not even understanding if you have a good hand or not.

“Royal flush,” Steve smirks like the devil when you place your cards on the table. “I’m sorry, but you lose. Take one piece of clothing off. Your choice—for now. Shoes do not count.”

“One piece…” You shyly murmur while looking down at your body. “A sock.” You take off one of your socks and drop it to the ground. It’s not all lost. Maybe you will get a better hand next time.

As the game progresses, the tension only increases. You lost round after round. It was predictable, of course. Steve surely played this game a hundred times before. And you never played poker in your life.

With shaking hands, you hold your card while trying to not squirm under Steve’s gaze. You’re left in your shirt and underwear. Another lost round, and you’re in your plain underwear for him to make fun of you.

Steve licks his lips. He roams your body with his eyes as you place the card on the table.

“Oh, beginner’s luck,” Steve chuckles. “I knew you had it in you, doll.” Unlike you, Steve unashamedly takes his shirt off. He flings it across the room, flexing his muscles on purpose. “You’ll get me bare in no time.”

Furrowing your brows, you glance at his chest, eyes drinking in the different tattoos on his skin. There’s an eagle on the right side of his chest. He also has a quote inked right below his collarbone.

“If you keep on staring, I need to put the shirt back on,” Steve teases as you try not to stare at all the tattoos on his body. “How about I help you lose your shirt first…”

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #x reader #mafia au #steve rogers x y/n #mobster!steve rogers #Roll the dice (2)

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friedbaekhyunandeggso · 3 days ago

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found you - ch. 6 (part I)

pairing: gojo satoru x female oc (ara natsuna)

tropes: psycho! rival! athlete! yandere! gojo x introvert! smart! rbf! oc

warnings: 18+ only, stalking/possessive themes, profanity, coercion, pet names (kitten, baby), sexual themes, gruesome/violence, physical assault, there’s probably more but i can’t think of it all at the top of my head—just be warned & pls if there’s anything that makes u even slightly uncomfortable pls do not proceed truly

word count/plot: [15.7k!] ara catches gojo’s attention when news breaks that she is the top academically ranked student in their grade. he is ranked second. he tries to befriend her but she ignores him. despite her obvious disinterest, his obsession begins…

a/n: hiii guys i'm back !!! as per usual sorry for taking so long to write/post this but once again writing is truly just a side hobby for me. i do try to write as much as i can whenever i get muse tho so there is that. anyway, i apologize in advance for any spelling/grammar or logistics errors. i did get most of my 'crime investigation' knowledge from tv shows so don't bop me in the head if ur an expert & ur like 'what is this writer on abt' regardless, ya'll r in for a ride. i'm going to try posting the second part of this either tomorrow or wednesday so keep an eye out (it was too much to fit in 1 post oop)

He walked off the stage, the cheers still loud after his speech. He glanced over at Ara's empty seat beside his.

He plopped onto his chair and glanced at her empty seat once more. He would be lying if he said he didn’t want to know her opinion on his speech. He'd managed to get their fellow classmates rather riled up, the complete opposite of her somewhat serious speech.

The vice principal standing nearby seemed to take notice of him glancing at Ara’s seat. She offered him a small smile before supplying,

“She went to the bathroom.”

“Oh, thanks.”

She merely nodded before facing Principal Yaga, who was currently speaking on the stage. He was now handing out the rest of their peers diplomas.

Gojo was bored out of his mind. He cheered as loud as he could for his friends but-Goddamn- were there really so many heads in their class? He never realized. But it was entertaining to see Toji turn red as a tomato when everyone cheered as loud as they could when he crossed the stage. The bastard finally graduated.

He cupped his hands and hollered, “TOJIIII LETSGOOOOO!”

Toji briefly shot him a middle finger as he passed.

Gojo grinned, lowering his hands from his face before glancing over at Ara beside him— she still wasn’t there.

His brows furrowed. She should be back by now.. he slipped his phone out of his pocket and checked her location. She was in the bathroom.

He texted her.

s: u good?

s: u missed toji crossing the stage

s: the whole entire school clapped for him

s: they were ready for his ass to LEAVE

He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

10 minutes passed.

He pulled out his phone again and checked her location. She was still in the bathroom.

s: ara

s: ??

s: r u okay?

He contemplated going to the bathroom himself. It'd been too long. He then heard the next student's name.

“Tristan shin.”

Fuck. Shoko’s name was coming up. He'd check after Shoko crossed the stage. A few more names were said until finally,

“Ieiri Shoko.”

Gojo shot up, yelling and cheering like a hooligan. He reached underneath his seat for the confetti cannon and shot it in her direction.

Shoko locked eyes with him and let out a laugh. She was still laughing as she shook the principal’s hand before taking her diploma.

She stuck her tongue out at him as she passed the row he sat in. He grinned back.

Alright, now it was check on ara time. He peeped her location once more to see she was still in the bathroom before standing up. The vice principal glanced his way and he mouthed ‘bathroom’ before slipping away.

He walked past the rows of students to head towards the closest bathroom. Their graduation was outdoors so the nearest bathroom was the one close to the tennis field.

He walked to the bathroom, briefly glancing at the men’s door before walking right into the women’s bathroom.

“Ara?” he asked.

He glanced around before walking towards the stalls to see that none of the stalls were occupied.

His brows furrowed before he glanced down at her location on his phone to make sure her location was right. Yes, it was supposed to be this bathroom. She should be here-

He then grew more confused when he realized his texts never delivered. Then suddenly the dot over the map for her location disappeared.

He frowned before glancing up from his phone to immediately notice one of the sinks filled to the brim with water. He walked over to see her phone in the water.

He quickly pulled her phone out and tried to turn it on. The screen remained black.

Shit. Looks like she needs a new phone. He found it hard to believe she would leave her phone behind in a sink full of water by mistake. This also didn’t answer the big question of where the hell she was.

He glanced around the bathroom. Something felt off.

He entered each stall, searching thoroughly. Nothing. He glanced over the bathroom counter once more. Nothing.

Just as he was about to head out, he stopped. His eyes darted towards the trash bin before approaching it.

He froze for a millisecond.

He reached in and pulled out her rumpled dress. It was a dainty little Ralph Lauren dress from the early 2000s, an archived piece. He glanced within the trash to find her graduation cloak, cap and heels in there as well.

His jaw locked. His heart plummeting to his stomach. Did something happen to her?

Maybe she hadn’t been alone in the bathroom, it was for public use after all. Anyone could come in. Something cold settled within him at thought.

He stalked out of the bathroom, searching to see if there were cameras near the entrance. Fuck. There weren’t any at this bathroom.

He squeezed her dress in his hand.

I’m gonna find you, Ara, don’t worry

He was working with the police, but he wanted to choke them all out.

“What the fuck do you mean the academy doesn’t have any cameras on their outdoor campus?”

He spun on Principal Yaga, “The fuck am I paying 50k a year to this school for?”

The chief officer flinched while-as Mr.Yaga frowned, “Watch yourself, Satoru. We’ve never had a need for it. I still gave the police all the camera footage I had.”

Satoru’s gaze was sharper than razors but his attention redirected to the Chief Officer when he spoke,

“We've searched through the footage of the entrances and exits of the academy building that Mr.Yaga provided and we couldn’t find anyone that fit Ara’s profile.”

“Let me see the footage.” Gojo replied.

“I assure you our tech intel team ha—“

“I don't care. I want to see the footage myself.”

Principal Yaga eyed him for his tone as the Chief officer nodded once, “We can arrange that.”

Gojo stood in a tv screen covered room. Principal Yaga stood behind him as a cop beside him explained which screen was which.

“-and this camera is the main entrance of the school. All the footage is time stamped to start at 9:15 am. 30 minutes before the estimated time ara went to the bathroom. If you’d like to speed through you can just hit these buttons.”

“Sweet.” He placed his hand on the back of the cop’s chair and pulled the seat out for him, “I'm gonna take this seat.”

“Uh-“ the cop appeared flustered and he looked at the chief behind Gojo who nodded at him to comply. “sure.”

The cop stood up and Satoru didn’t waste any time slipping into his seat.

He pressed play.

“Satoru, you’ve looked through all the footage several times. It’s okay to admit you can’t find anything-“

He didn’t look away from the screen as he answered sharply, “If you want to go home then just go.”

Mr.Yaga stared at him for a moment before sighing. He stood up and left.

He stared at the camera footage of the main entrance, about 10 minutes after Ara supposedly went to the bathroom.

They’re were so many people. So many parents arriving late. Families reuniting and talking by the main lawn of the school. Some arriving in private cars others taking taxis, ubers or whatever the fuck.

The point was he couldn’t find her. He'd raked through the videos from each entrance/exit of their school about 20+ times. Meticulously checking each person and yet Ara was no where to be seen.

The cops had also returned from searching the campus. All they brought back was useless pictures of the women’s bathroom with her graduation cap, gown and heels in the trash and pointless interviews of the staff. They now had on record that the vice principal was the last person she spoke to, saying that she was going to the bathroom.

But he’d already known that.

Her phone was still getting fixed by the tech department. The water damage had thoroughly done its job. Had she done that on purpose? Or was it someone else?

Where are you, Ara?

He sat on the edge of his bed. His head in hands.

Cops swarmed his bedroom, taking pictures of every. little. thing. If he heard another camera snap he might lose his mind.

It had been one day without her. One day too long.

He was already losing it, dark voices whispered in the back of his mind-theorizing the worst of things. If something had happened to her..

No. No. Keep it together.

He sat up and walked towards the main detective on the case. Detective Rebecca, specialized in missing persons, quite experienced in her field. He already spoke to her several times. He'd answered question after question about Ara for her-Ara’s recent whereabouts, her daily routine, her schedule, her interests, her habits, her emotional variability, everything.

She was staring at Ara's side of the closet.

She glanced back at Gojo as he approached, “She had quite the collection of clothes, didn’t she?”

Ara's side of the closet was only half full. She had just started exploring her style. A pang went through him when he spotted her prom dress.

“Her collection was just starting.” he explained flatly.

“What do you mean?” Rebecca asked.

“I mean she was just getting into figuring out her personal style,” he answered while rolling up the sleeves of his dress-shirt to his elbows, “She was into buying jewelry recently.”

He wandered over to the accessory table, glancing over the several Van Cleef, Vivienne Westwood, Chanel—Wait. His brows furrowed. Some of her Cartier and Bvlgari pieces were missing… and now that he looked at her jewelry overall, it seemed to be… a little underwhelming compared to what he’d seen before.

He knew he’d bought her more jewelry than this.

“20 Birkins, wow.” Detective Rebecca commented.

“24.” his eyes didn’t leave the jewelry display as he answered.

“What?”

“It should be 24.” he repeated before turning around. He mentally counted all the Birkins on her wall of purses. It was 20.

“4 are missing, as well as some of her jewelry.” he noted aloud.

Detective Rebecca gestured for some of the photographers to take pictures of the accessory counter and the Birkin wall.

“Could your house staff have stolen something?” she inquired.

He shook his head, “No, we haven’t had new staff in ten years. They are all legally bound, fingerprinted, background checked with no criminal records. They also get overcompensated for their jobs but Marin is the only maid allowed in my room.”

Rebecca scribbled things down in her notepad, “You allow me to speak to all your house staff?”

“Feel free.”

He knew Marin wouldn’t dare. She was loyal. The only possibility left—

“And what jewelry is missing?”

He rubbed his chin, “At first glance.. I see some of her bracelets aren’t here. She also has, like, 10 Pateks. I only see 8 here...”

“Is there any way you can provide me with a receipt of every piece of jewelry you’ve bought her since she moved in?”

His brows furrowed slightly as he examined her jewelry further, there was definitely more than he realized missing.

“Yes.” he answered.

22 Tiffany & co. and Graff bracelets. 17 Bvlgari and Cartier necklaces. 12 pairs of crystalline De Beers earrings. 8 diamond encrusted Chopard rings. 5 custom fitted dresses-all fresh off the runway from big fashion houses-4 Birkins and 2 Pateks were missing. Everything totaling up to a cool four million.

His house staff had all been interrogated and searched but nothing came of it—as he predicted. This was not his house staff’s doing.

And it was confirmed when the head of security at their academy reached out stating that a month prior to Ara’s disappearance she had momentarily been inside their security room.

She’d accused someone of stealing something of hers from Gojo’s car and wanted to watch the security footage of the academy parking lot-so they’d allowed her inside the security room to watch the camera footage—but she technically had been able to see all the screens of where the academy’s cameras were placed. He knew she was smart enough to take note of where cameras were lacking if she wanted to.

And she had.

That was why she was able to bypass the cameras on graduation.

She wanted to leave unnoticed. She’d miraculously sold four millions worth of his gifts and disappeared to god knows where.

Because she wanted to leave him.

He stared at her rumpled graduation dress in his hand. The material of it so thin that when rolled up it fit perfectly into his fist. He somehow managed to keep it on him wherever he went in the past few days that she’d been missing.

4 days. 96 hours. 5,760 minutes. 345,601 seconds…

without her.

His stomach lurched. He stepped out of his car, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t look to see if Ijichi caught the keys he tossed his way and stalked inside the estate.

He was squeezing her dress in his hand so hard that his fingernails dug into his palm-breaking skin.

He bounded up the steps, barely noticing the maid flinching when he suddenly made it to the top step just as she was about to descend. She quickly scurried out of his way.

He walked down the hallway before shoving the double doors of his room open.

His eyes naturally went to the bed first and for a moment he imagined it. Her sitting there, with a pretty little slip dress on and nothing else. She’d finally grown comfortable wearing slip dresses around the house.

He could picture her feet up in the air as she lay stomach down on the bed, Macbook open in front of her. Her face a mask of concentration.

He could almost feel the soft skin of her throat against his lips—he usually kissed her there first, in greeting. He liked to inhale her sweet yet sophisticated perfume—roses and warm cashmere, before capturing her lips and showing her just how much he missed her.

He blinked, finding himself standing right beside the bed. His hand on the sheets.

Ara nowhere to be seen.

He suddenly yanked the sheets off the bed, tossing it with enough strength that it managed to wrap itself around a lamp and hit the ground with it. The sound of a crash ensued.

He stared at the fallen lamp for a moment. He liked that, that sound. It was satisfying.

He suddenly grabbed the pillows, flinging them across the room, letting them hit anything and everything.

He kicked over a nightstand before spotting one of the loveseats he and Ara used to cuddle on. He picked it up and threw it across the room, hitting the TV and making it instantly fall from its place and crack as it hit the ground.

He spotted her macbook and threw that too. It'd already been thoroughly searched and it led to nothing. NOTHING .

He wasn’t aware of what he was doing, simply moving at will. Things were getting thrown-things were breaking, shattering, sprawling in pieces all over the floor. The sound of everything breaking fueled him and he didn’t want to stop.

He didn’t remember entering the closet but the next thing he knew he was yanking off her clothes from the hangers, shoving open her drawers with enough strength to break it from its hinges and throw it.

He grabbed her shoes and flung them before kicking down her shoe shelf, making the whole thing crumble and fall apart.

He punched the glass of her Birkin wall and threw a Birkin into her accessory stand, making everything spill out and shatter. The sound was deafening.

“Satoru!”

He froze, his whole body tensing for a moment before he closed his eyes—forcing himself to breathe.

“Satoru, what the fuck happened?”

He half-turned, suddenly chuckling rather dryly, “What didn’t happen.”

Geto stopped at his side, staring at the state of the room and closet in horror. He then faced him.

Geto eyed his bloody hands, “What happened?” he whispered.

Satoru glanced down, belatedly noticing his bloody hands himself.

“Answer me.” Geto demanded, “Is she okay?”

“I don't know and I don't care.”

Geto raised a brow, “What?”

He suddenly grabbed Geto’s collar, “She fucking left me, Suguru. She’s worthless.”

Geto shoved his hands off, “The fuck are you on about?”

“She planned this shit. All of it. She sold the gifts I bought her and dipped with the damn money.”

Geto’s eyes widened, “How-how do you know?”

“Detective Rebecca found listings of all her missing stuff on the black market. She posted the items from fake accounts and used different bank accounts for each. She transferred the money to e-gift cards, stocks, digital bank accounts, whole bunch of shit so it’s a fucking maze to track where she deposited the money to.”

He went on, “The fake identities she made to get on the black market all have their own bank accounts. She used their accounts to buy a shit-ton of plane tickets set to depart on the day of and day after graduation. Rebecca’s tryna trace the flights to see if they were used, sold or whatever the fuck but I think it’s all a shitty hoax.”

He seethed out, “She musta known that we were gonna find her fake identities—that’s why she booked so many fuckin’ flights. Tryna lead us on a fake trail while she probably used a whole ‘nother identity to take a flight somewhere else—that’s if she even took a flight.”

Geto was frozen, contemplating all of this.

“And her phone?” Geto asked, “Did you find anything on there?”

He shook his head, “Her phone is dead. They accessed her apple ID through another device but they found nothing. Bitch was thorough.”

Geto instinctively wanted to reprimand him for referring to her as a bitch but if this was all true… he was still too shocked by the revelation.

“She…planned this?”

“For months. right under my nose—fucking slutted herself out to me the entire time.”

He looked at Satoru’s enraged expression, he’d never seen his best friend look like this, even when he ranted about his uncle.

“Do you.. really think she would do all of this?” Geto asked.

“I-“ Gojo’s voice cracked, “It's not about what I think, it’s what she did.”

He slowly shook his head, a mirthless laugh leaving him, “Of course she’d be smart enough to use me.”

He felt like he was on the bad end of a really sick joke. He was so… angry, so angry it made his skin itch. None of the mess he created appeased how twisted he felt inside. It felt like his organs had been ripped out and haphazardly stuffed back in and yet, his mind was still attempting to make his body work despite bleeding out all over the place.

He wanted to make her bleed too. He wanted to make her just as angry—just as used—just as betrayed.

“I'm gonna find her.” he promised lowly.

Geto’s eyes widened at his tone.

“Should I kill her when I find her?” he asked, more to himself than Geto.

“Stop talking nonsense, Satoru. You’re not thinking straight.”

“Really?” he chuckled dryly, “I feel like this is the clearest I’ve thought in a while.”

He glanced down at his bloody hands, outstretching his long, scraped up fingers. He watched a dot of blood trail down his wrist from a cut. He didn’t feel any pain.

“How can you even say that, man. You’d melt like fucking putty if you saw her come running into your arms right now. You love that girl.”

Geto’s voice felt distant. He suddenly remembered a time when he and Ara had been messing around, horse-playing and she’d gotten so annoyed at him that she’d thrown a book at him.

If he’d been looking when she threw it, he definitely would’ve caught it but since he’d just turned around it hit his arm.

It was a paperback book so it wasn’t meant to cause any real damage but somehow the end of the thin plastic cover managed to strike a clean line across his forearm. It truly hadn’t hurt but it bled like it did. The blood almost looked like prop blood.

She’d immediately started apologizing, he wanted to laugh it off but she’d been completely serious when she ran off to get the first aid kit. She’d cleaned up his wound with such gentleness, it shocked him.

He’d just stared at her the entire time, in stupefied silence as she treated him as delicately as an infant, lightly dabbing the endless blood leaking from his wound with cotton balls.

She was focused but her concern was evident in the way her brows subtly furrowed. He could almost see why her father might’ve wanted her to be a doctor. Her jaw was clenched tight as she applied the larger band aid perfectly, covering each bit of the cut.

Once she was done, she sat on the bed beside him, completely still, silent and serious as ever.

“I'm sorry.” she mumbled.

He couldn’t help but crack a grin, “It doesn’t even hurt, baby.”

“Sh.” she shot him a look, “I still don’t like it.”

“Like what?"

“I don't like hurting you.” she snapped.

Something inside him softened.

Her eyes darted away, “Or anyone..” she muttered, correcting herself.

It didn’t matter. his gut had already done this funny little flip flop thing at her words. He grinned despite himself.

“Nah, I heard you the first time~”

You don’t like hurting me, huh? Then what is this?

What is THIS?

He swiveled around, fiercely kicking the remainder of her accessories on the ground. Sending beads, diamonds and broken gold in the air. A heftier one of her chain-link bracelets hit the mirror wall, instantly making it shatter. The sound catastrophic as pieces of glass sprawled across the floor.

The next thing he knew Geto was grabbing him, nearly picking him up as he tried to drag him out the closet. He was saying things but Gojo could barely hear him. His heartbeat too loud as he thrashed fiercely in his hold, still managing to kick his leg out to deliver another lethal blow to her things. More things shattered as he growled.

Geto shoved him out, before closing the closet doors behind them.

“That’s enough—”

“How dare she fucking leave me!” he got all the way up in Suguru’s face, “I gave her everything—everything!” he snarled.

“I gave her my fucking all cuz I love her! She knows I fucking love her. I can't eat, sleep or think without her. She knows it—she’s torturing me.”

Geto’s stoic expression fell. He hated seeing the pain in his eyes, “Sato—“

“She told me she loved me too,” he took a step back, his eyes suddenly distant.

“Was I not supposed to believe her?” he whispered.

He looked down at his reddened hands once more, droplets of blood hitting the floor as he raised them slightly.

It was crazy to think these hands had been on every corner and speck of her skin. Her hair. her lips. her throat, merely days ago. Touching her was as easy as breathing. Her presence was more comforting than being alone. Her eyes were his favorite mirrors.

and now she was just… gone.

He shook his head, “Played me right in front of my face.”

He thought he heard Geto’s voice but he could barely focus on it.

He merely clenched his hands into fists, letting more red droplets hit the ground-at the speed of pounding rain.

“How could she do this to me?” he muttered brokenly.

Finally he felt pain, a rush of it. The feeling of it simmered through his hands and crawled up his arms. Numbing him almost—to the emotional pain he felt inside, but he’d have to die to fully cleanse himself of his internal pain this way.

Suddenly Geto pushed him, drawing him out of his trance.

“Stop it!” Geto was fuming.

His shock transformed into something more cold, “Get out.”

“You need to get a nurs—“

“I SAID GET OUT.”

He never yelled at Geto before. In fact it was typically the opposite.

A tense silence hung in the air.

Geto’s heated glare didn’t budge from Gojo's piercing one. The ring of finality in Gojo’s words seemed to echo.

“Fine.” Geto spat.

He stalked out of the room without a glance back.

Out of the 107 flights she’d booked through her fake identities, 64 were not used, 38 were re-sold and 5 were cancelled.

Rebecca had tracked all of the flight tickets that had gotten re-sold and confirmed them. None of them were her.

Rebecca had informed him of this with regret laced in her tone—as if there was nothing else. No more leads.

But he refused to believe it was over.

It just wasn’t.

All of the flights she’d booked had been from LAX airport. He knew the chances were shit but he had to try. He had to do something—even if it was something as simple as walking around the airport for clues or maybe just to see what she might’ve seen if she’d been here.

The cops had already scoured the cameras of LAX for her but, of course, they found nothing. but he refused to let that stop him.

He entered the airport, the expected packed sight before him. He'd been here several times himself but he’d never entered through the main entrance. He was usually led through a private entrance straight to his jet.

Regardless, a little walk around couldn’t hurt.

He walked around slowly, taking his time to absorb his surroundings. It took him a good 6 hours to walk around the entire LAX in his nonchalant, detailed search.

After purchasing 5 candy bars, 2 coffees and one pack of oreos. He hadn’t found anything. nothing that could lead back to her.

The only places he hadn’t searched were obviously the employee only areas and the women’s bathrooms. The latter bothered him slightly but obviously it was not his place to enter those places.

He just wanted one damn clue. One lead. He needed to find her.

It was dark outside by the time he walked out of the entrance.

As he walked, a homeless man appeared in front of him.

“Please sir, spare some money. Even a dollar would do. Anything, please.”

Gojo was still for a moment. Taking in his reeking, tattered clothes and sad crusted eyes.

The complete opposite of all the people he’d seen within the airport—all the people in there dressed like they were off duty models, as if they had paparazzi waiting to take their airport photos.

He blinked, drawing himself out of his thoughts of the juxtaposition.

He fished a hand into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. He flipped it open and pulled out five one hundred dollar bills, all the cash he had. He didn’t usually carry cash on him so this guy truly caught him at the right time.

He handed the money to him. The homeless man’s eyebrows skyrocketed.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, sir!”

Gojo waved him away, “Spend wisely.”

He nearly snickered at that-he should probably take his own advice.

“I will, I will!” the homeless man skipped away.

“That was nice of you, kid.”

He glanced over to see an officer leaning against a pole nearby. He was bald and appeared to be in his late twenties. His lighter flickered on as he took a puff of his cigarette.

The scent of cigarettes grew stronger the closer he walked to the cop.

“Thanks.” The cop looked just as tired as he felt. He decided a small conversation couldn’t hurt, “Are homeless people even supposed to be out here?”

“Not really but if I were to try stop em they’d just come back the next day. At this point as long as they keep to themselves, we don’t bother em.”

“hm..” Gojo eyed his cigarette curiously.

“But it’s definitely lessened a bit. I bet that guy you just gave cash won't be back. Another one of the regulars left a week ago,” he shook his head, “Lucky bastard found a goddamn diamond ring and planned on pawning it. He’s bound to get a pretty penny for it for sure.”

“Isn’t there some sort of policy against that?”

“I was gonna confiscate it and report him but he said some young girl gave it to him.” he shook his head, “Dunno, if it’s the truth but I decided to let him have it. He obviously needs it more than whoever left it.”

Gojo absentmindedly chewed at the inside of his cheek. He knew this was far fetched but-

He pulled out his phone and pulled up a picture of Ara’s promise ring.

“Did the ring look like this by any chance?”

The officer’s eyes widened in recognition, “Yeah! what the- how did y-“

Gojo's entire demeanor changed as he suddenly grabbed the cop by the collar, “Where’s that homeless man?”

“Hey-“ he tried to pull him off but Gojo was taller, stronger, “I-I just told you, I haven’t seen him in a week!”

Gojo manhandled him once more, shaking him, “Do you have any idea where he went?”

“Dunno-I’m assuming the nearest pawn shop? He's homeless so I doubt he’d go any farther than he has to.”

Gojo hastily let him go, glaring all the while. The wicked edge to his eyes capable of making anyone feel smaller than a speck of dust.

“You should be fired.” he said it with such certainty the cop almost felt like he’d gotten fired right then and there, but of course this boy wasn’t capable of that—

But he was. It slowly dawned on him.

He didn't need to know the boy to tell he was of worth and if the ring was related to this boy somehow, he knew he could get in trouble for letting the homeless man go with such a precious item. He could potentially lose his badge depending on how far this kid wanted to take it.

He cleared his throat, “Listen-“

“Do you remember if he said anything about the girl who gave it to him?”

He momentarily froze at being interrupted before shaking his head, “He didn’t say much about her other than that she looked high school aged. I assumed she’s just another rich chick that walks in and out of here on a daily.”

His jaw clenched. He nearly shoved his phone in the officer’s face to show him his lockscreen. It was a picture of her.

“You know this girl?”

He paused, his eyes flickering between Ara’s picture and him, “Yeah.. that’s the girl who’s missing.”

“She's my girlfriend and the owner of that ring.”

“What time was he here?” Detective Rebecca spoke beside him. She’d only allowed him to come with her if he kept his mouth shut—which he agreed to. If the terms would be kept, that was to be decided.

Out of the four pawn shops near the airport that they’d visited, this was the one that finally had what they were looking for. Her ring.

He couldn’t stop staring at it. They’d stored it in a small white cushioned box, much cheaper than the original box it came in.

He was only ever used to seeing it on her finger.

The owner finally stopped flipping through the binder in front of him, “He was here at 3:13 pm, last Tuesday.”

“May I see that?”

The owner turned the binder towards her. She looked it over, “He said his name was Tim Orson?”

“Yes.”

“Did he have any identification for that?”

The owner scratches the back of his bald head, “Not that I can remember..”

She takes a picture of the binder on her phone before turning the binder back to him.

“I'm going to need video footage of when he was here. Can you retrieve that?”

Gojo’s eyes flicker to the camera in the top right corner of the room.

“Yes, yes.” he nods. He glanced behind himself at his worker. He says something in Arabic before the middle school aged boy walks somewhere to the back.

“Is that your son?” she asks.

“My nephew.”

“Does he work here?”

He chuckles awkwardly, “He helps out with the shop sometimes. I never leave him here alone.”

She continues to jot things down on her notepad before saying, “Can you please tell me about your and Tim’s interaction? Did he seem any sort of way?”

The shop-owner scratched his beard, “Hmm.. he was pretty enthusiastic, which makes sense after I saw what he brought in. It took me a while to verify it because-” he laughs awkwardly as if realizing what he was about to say wasn’t quite right, “-I just wasn’t expecting him to have something like that but once I verified it, I gave him an offer and he accepted it right away.”

“How much did you offer?”

“5k.”

Gojo snorted.

Rebecca shot him a look.

“Please—you think that’s worth 5k?” he gestured towards the ring, “Anyone with a brain knows that ring is worth more than 15k off the rip. He undersold it.”

Gojo's gaze slid towards the shop-owner, “What a deal for you, eh?”

Embarrassment instantly sprawled across the shop-owner's face.

Christ. She rubbed her brow before her phone chimed.

She glanced at it, briefly reading it over before turning the phone towards the shop-owner.

“Is this what he looked like?”

Gojo glanced over to see it was an image of a fat man in his fifties.

He nodded, “Yes. That's him.”

“His name is actually Robert Starkey.” she informed him. “You really need to make sure your clients have a proper form of identification before making any sort of exchange with them.”

He avoided eye contact, nodding vigorously, “Y-yes ma’am.”

“Did he say anything about where he got the ring from?” she asked.

“No ma’am. All he said was that it was a gift from a kind young woman.”

Her and Gojo shared a glance before she asked, “Did he say when he received the gift?”

He shook his head.

“Did he say anything else about the girl that gave it to him?”

“He just said that people like her make him remember that they’re still good people in the world.”

Gojo’s brows furrowed as Rebecca further pressed, “Did he explain why?”

“No but… from the way he said it I assumed he was insinuating that whoever gave it to him gave it to him for free.”

Just then the boy reappeared with a cassette tape in hand. The shopkeeper took it from him and handed it to rebecca.

“Here is the footage of when he was here.”

She turned the cassette tape in her hand, “Wow, I haven’t seen these in a while.”

He nods as he mumbled, “We’re a little old school.”

“Is there anything else specific that you remember? Any detail helps.”

“That was all, really. He was barely here for five minutes.”

“Thank you for your cooperation.” she handed him her business card, “If you remember anything else please feel free to reach out.”

“Of course.”

Just as she swiftly turned to exit, Gojo caught her arm.

“That's all?”

She blinked, “Yes.. it seems that airport security guy was able to identify our man. Now that we confirmed it, we'll be able to use the cctv’s to see where he went after he left this store. We can track him.”

She pulled her arm out of his, “We need to get back to the station.”

“Hold on.” he stepped towards the shopkeeper. His eyes dropped to the promise ring, “I'd like to purchase my ring back.”

He stood behind Rebecca and the intelligence officer that were seated before him. They all faced the screen.

The intelligence officer, Ray, showed the fast-forwarded footage of Robert walking out of the pawn shop. The CCTV footage was rather blurry but the pep in his step was obvious.

The sped up footage showed him walking for a while before he stopped in front of Hope Homeless shelter. He seemed to pause for a moment outside, as if deliberating whether or not to go in before ultimately going in.

Ray paused the footage, “He walked about an hour and half to get to Hope Homeless shelter. I couldn’t find any more footage of him on the CCTV’s beyond that. He might still be there.”

Rebecca’s brows furrowed, “Interesting. I wonder why he would go there when he has 5K in his pocket.”

“Maybe he owes someone?” Ray theorized.

“Or maybe there’s someone else he wants to share the money with.”

“I know the director of that shelter.” Gojo spoke.

“You do?” Rebecca questioned.

“Not personally but my father did–does. I can get us a meeting with her within the hour.”

Rebecca and Ray shared a look before she looked at him, “Very well.”

They sat in her office. It was rather sparse, minimally decorated, nothing name-brand. His father had donated to this institution plenty of times, as well as other local homeless shelters, but once his Uncle took over… it wasn’t a priority anymore.

As if she’d read his mind, Rebecca asked, “How does your Dad know her?”

He glanced over to see her eyeing the name-plate on the desk. Gabriela Hopkins. Director of Hope Homeless Shelter.

“He used to donate and occasionally volunteer here.”

“A philanthropist, hm?”

“Sort of.”

“Or was it all for show?”

His eyes cut to her. It was a bold accusation to make but not entirely misplaced. Politicians did many things just for the peoples’ eyes.

“No. My mother put him up to it.”

“Why?”

“She grew up poor but she was smart so she got a full-ride scholarship to Stanford.” A pang went through him–him and Ara were supposed to go there, “That’s where my Mom and Dad met.”

The door suddenly opened and Mrs.Hopkins entered. She appeared to be in her early forties. Her black hair was up in an unkempt bun. She held a coffee cup in her hand.

She outstretched her hand to Gojo as he stood, “Satoru Gojo, it’s nice to meet you. I haven’t seen your father in a while. He’s missed here.”

She went on as he shook her hand, “I trust he’s well?”

“Yeah, he’s great.”

Her eyes slid to Rebecca, “And who is this?”

Rebecca faced her, “Detective Rebecca.”

He watched them shake hands as Mrs.Hopkin’s introduced herself, “I’m Gabriela Hopkins.”

“We’re actually here for information. I would’ve reached out to you myself but I figured it might be more efficient to have our link reach out to you instead since-according to your website-you are overlooking all branches of Hope Shelters in Southern California. Is that correct?”

He leaned back in his seat, listening to the conversation despite tapping his foot on the ground incessantly. Rebecca told him she’d let him come along on the same condition-as long as he let her do all the talking. He supposed he couldn’t blame her since his restlessness was starting to show. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept well.

Mrs.Hopkins sat at her desk across from them, “That’s correct. I was recently promoted.”

“Congratulations. How’s that been?”

She lightly shook her coffee cup as she sighed, “Considering that this is my fifth coffee cup of the day, pretty insane.”

Rebecca smiles, “I feel you. Black coffee is my vice.”

Mrs.Hopkins glanced between the two of them, “So what information is it that you’re looking for?”

“Are you familiar with Robert Starkey?” Rebecca asks.

Her eyes lit up in recognition, “I am. He visits occasionally, he used to spend more nights here but not so much recently. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him.”

“Can you tell me when he was here last?”

“Of course.” she turns to her computer and types in a few things, “He was here last Tuesday, for our dinner service.”

“Dinner service?”

“Some days we offer free dinner packets to the public. The event takes place in our courtyard.”

“Did he stay the night that night?”

“He did not.”

“Do you know how long he was here?”

She shakes her head, “We only jot down the attendees but there’s too many folks that come visit to try to track all of their timings. We do have outdoor surveillance that I could have my security look at.”

“Please do. That would be very helpful.” Rebecca then added, “Did he have any friends here? Anyone he was close to?”

“He used to have a girlfriend here, Vienna, but unfortunately she died of illness. She just didn’t have the means to get the medication she needed. She passed a few years ago.”

“Was he close to any of her friends?”

She shook her head, “Not that I’m aware. He usually keeps to himself. Vienna was the only one he used to speak to before she passed but last we spoke he told me he hangs around by the airport now. I advised him against it but… you know how they can be.”

“Does he have any family he speaks to? Any places he wants to go?”

“If he does, he’s never mentioned it.”

Rebecca nods, pursing her lips. “Well, the reason I ask is because he’s been missing for several days. We’re trying to find him because he might be related to another missing persons case as well.”

Her eyes widened, “Oh my. Has he done something?”

“That's what we’re trying to find out.”

“Well please feel free to look about. I’ll have my security officer provide you with any footage needed. Starkey doesn’t come here much after Vienna passed so there might not be a lot but-”

“That’s alright. Anything helps. Please let your residents and staff know that he is missing and if they know anything about him to let us know.”

“Will do.”

The security guard, Prince, pointed out the blurry man in the video. It was hard to see his face but from what he remembered it was the same clothes Robert Starkey was last seen wearing in the CCTV footage.

There’s a sandwich bag in his hand as he walks off the screen. It’s hard to tell what direction he walked towards with the darkened lighting due to it being night-time. They’d replayed the footage several times. Robert had just taken the sandwich bag from the worker and walked off–not a word to anyone. They’d tried to zoom in and decipher which way he walked towards but it was impossible to tell further than the street he crossed.

Prince stuffs a spoonful of apple sauce in his mouth before saying, “He crosses the street to Thorne St. but that’s just about all you see really.” He states gruffly.

Rebecca returns from her phone call, “Alright, I just told Ray to try retrieve the CCTV footage of Throne St. for that night but it might be a while before he recovers it.”

She raked a hand through her cropped hair before looking at both of them, “It’s safe to say that we are declaring Robert Starkey missing. Someone should come by to drop posters off tomorrow but… we’ll be starting the search for him now.”

“I’m joining the search.” Gojo stated.

“Gojo, I told you the meeting with Mrs.Hopkins was the last thing I’d take you along with. You’re not an investigator. The fact that you’re even here is a breach on my end–”

“An extra pair of eyes can’t hurt during a search.”

“Yes but-”

“Your department’s extra funds are coming from me, aren’t they?”

She stared at him, mouth partially open since he interrupted her.

“I want to see where my money’s going.”

The areas surrounding the homeless shelter were split into four zones. Zone A was where he and Rebecca would be searching-side by side-since Rebecca refused to leave him be. He didn’t understand her issue with him being around when he knew her Director had permissed it.

But she wanted him to go home, eat something and rest. Rest. Ha. Just the thought of it made him want to laugh.

How was he supposed to rest when his home was missing?

He eyed the nearby investigators as he walked. They were all wearing gloves examining things as little as crushed leaves on the ground. This part of town was rather dingy. Cars rarely drove past here. The stench of piss and dust came from a nearby dumpster.

The homes here looked as if they hadn’t been renovated for ages. The people within seemed scared to come out since so many cops were sprawling about. A cop had attempted to go door to door to gather information but it was quickly abandoned when folks refused to open their doors. He could only imagine the things the people living in this neighborhood had seen.

His gaze slid to Rebecca not too far ahead of him. From the tense set of her shoulders he could tell she was stressed. He knew she was anxious about the timing of it all. The last date anyone had any information on Robert was last tuesday. It’s been over a week since then. Any viable evidence hanging around would be hard to find… but not impossible.

It couldn’t be impossible.

He couldn’t help but wonder if that homeless rat had anything to do with Ara’s disappearance. Sure, Ara had planned to leave him but if he found out that rat did anything to her…

A flash of hot white anger piercing through him made him stiffen where he stood. He forced himself to exhale, slowly unclenching his fists in his pockets as he did so.

Relax. Relax. Relax.

It wasn’t working. He was still agitated. A normal person would get whiplash from how quickly anger came to him now. It was always a heartbeat away, ready to boil over and implode. He couldn’t remember if it’d always been like this or if it was just worsening now.

All he knew was that he needed her. He needed her right now.

Rebecca stopped walking mid-step when she noticed him not following her. She quickly turned around, concern etched in her features.

“You okay–”

Suddenly her walkie talkie flared. She quickly pulled it out from her belt to her lips.

“I’m here.”

He couldn’t overhear much due the discombobulated audio but from the way her brows were furrowing it couldn’t be good.

“Alright. I’ll be there.”

“What is it?” he demanded.

“They found him,” despite her words, she appeared disappointed, “In zone 4.”

It didn’t take him long to understand her disappointment.

The man seemed to be laying on the ground at a rather uncomfortable angle. One leg bent awkwardly underneath him, protruding in a way that wasn’t natural for the human body–unless a bone was broken, of course. The back of his head was caved in, he could see the white of his skull at some parts. His lips were cracked and bloody. His face swollen, the welts upon it a deep ugly purple. Something silver and sharp seemed to be poking out of his left eye as well.

The man had been brutalized, that much was clear. Especially with the dark red spot with pieces of skin and hair on the brick wall to their right. Someone had bashed his head repeatedly against it. It didn’t seem like one person did it either, not with the several footprints on the dusty ground surrounding the dark red pool of dried up, crusted blood around the body.

It was pretty clear—crystal fucking clear—that he’d been jumped, robbed and left to die for maggots to have a goddamned feast but where was his clarity? Where were the answers to his fucking questions?

How did you get her ring? Did she give it to you or did you take it from her? Did you ask her what she was doing at the airport? Did she say where she was going? Did she say who gave her that ring? How was she? Was she tearing up like she always is or was she happy—did she smile at you? Did she smile that little half-smile or did she smile with all her pretty pouty lips and teeth? Did you like what you saw? Did you like what she had on? Did you know every square inch of her skin belongs to me? Even the parts you don’t see–her soul, her body, her insides, their all mine—only mine—

“WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UPPPPP!”

He was shaking him-the dead man. He was so flimsy and smelled like absolute shit. He didn’t care if Robert’s dislocated jaw was swinging every which way or if the maggots on his stabbed eye were falling about. He needed answers. He needed them right. Now.

He was suddenly jostled upwards, his entire body being held back–with multiple hands on him. He thrashed wildly in the cops arms.

“Get the fuck off me and wake him up! WAKE HIM UP!”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Rebecca’s shrill voice cut through the hot-blooded fog in his brain.

From the way the vein on her forehead seemed ready to burst, he could tell she’d been yelling for a while–he just couldn’t hear it.

Her derision was palpable, “Do you know what you just did? You messed up a crime scene—a crime scene. That’s tampering with evidence and that’s a felony–do you understand?”

He threw his head back, chuckling as he felt the oppressive California sunlight seep into his pores and make his simmering blood boil more. He shook his head as he faced her, an unprompted smile on his lips, “Am I supposed to care?”

He suddenly thrashed forward—sending the officers holding him back in a disarray as they strained to keep him in their grip, “He’s the last person to see her–who knows anything about her—who knows what he did? He should be glad he’s fuckin’ dead cuz I woulda’ done worse.”

He’d never seen a woman turn pale so fast. Her countenance aghast.

“You're done.” she looked past him, “Get him outta here. Now.”

Gojo was picking up one paper after the other, examining each image with as much care as he could. The image on the top right corner of the file seemed to blur but he quickly blinked it away. He stared at the image once-more, the girl looked nothing like Ara but he swore for a second he thought he saw her image there.

He rubbed his eyes. Am I hallucinating things now? Have I fully lost it?

Suddenly a knock resounded at the door and he glanced up. Suguru was leaning against the doorframe of his study with his arms crossed.

“You're finally home.”

Gojo set the file in his hand down, “I’ve been home.”

“What happened to living and breathing at the police station?”

He chewed at the inside of his cheek, “I’m not allowed back there anymore.”

Suguru raised a brow before shaking his head, “I wonder why.”

Suguru stepped into the room, sauntering closer to his desk. His narrow eyes ran over the several boxes in the room before noticing the neatly organized files on his desk.

“What’s all this?”

Gojo leaned back in his seat, “They gave me busy work cuz I told them I still wanna be involved.”

Suguru picked up the file of the woman he’d been looking at earlier, “What’s the assignment?”

“Apparently, LAX has an average of 241,000 people taking flights daily, about 78,000 of them being women. Since it’s pretty much confirmed that Ara was there, they’re having me look at the 77,128 files of women who took flights on the day of our graduation. They want me to let em’ know if any of the girls look like her since according to their identification tech only a few of the girls match her features. They already traced them and confirmed their identities but I want to check for myself.”

Gojo raked his hands through his hair, “I know I could be wasting my time cuz she might’ve altered her ID photo to look nothing like her but…” his fingers tightened in his hair, “I have to do something.”

Suguru’s eyes widened as he noticed the few boxes that were closed up as if he’d already gone through them.

“How many files have you gone through?”

“6,455.”

“The hell?! Is this what you’ve been doing for the past few days?” Suguru demanded.

Gojo frowned–not even sure how long he’d been at this himself.

Suguru’s hand slammed his desk, “Are you sleeping at all?”

Gojo didn’t answer, merely staring at Ara’s promise ring that’d nearly fell off the desk.

“Damn it, Satoru. I hate seeing you like this, really–” he rubbed his brow, “How long are you gonna keep doing this to yourself?”

“As long as it takes.” he answered but he was zoned out—eyes fixed on the ring. It was her ring. He was undoubtedly sure of it. It was her exact size and it had their initials engraved within the band. He even reached out to the jeweler company to inquire if they’d sold that ring with the same customization to anyone else and they hadn’t. It was her ring—their promise.

And she’d just given it away?

“It’s about to be a month..” Suguru’s voice was low, “since she’s been missing.”

The words hit him like a knife slamming into his chest. 3 weeks and 2 days–he wanted to say, but he knew it was meaningless. Suguru was right.

It was almost a month… without her.

How did I let this happen?

“I know you miss her–”

He grit his teeth, “I don’t—”

“Just hear me out.”

He glanced over to see Suguru leaning against his desk, arms crossed, “I know you want to hate her but let’s be real, it’s more than that–and that’s okay. I.. I know how much she meant to you. What you guys had was different, everyone knows it.”

Suguru faced him, “I know you’re doing everything you can but this isn’t good for you. You’re not taking care of yourself.”

He scratched the back of his neck, “I am though–”

Suguru gestured towards the barely touched plate of food on his desk, “You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping and you don’t leave the house. This isn’t you.”

He swallowed but his mouth still felt dry. For once, he didn’t know how to respond.

His hands tightened around the armrests of his chair before he glanced up at Suguru.

“What else am I supposed to do?”

Suguru’s expression grew torn at the sight of him, “Let the police handle the rest.”

He shook his head, speaking fast, “They’re still going through the LAX surveillance footage. It’s been weeks and they haven’t got shit. It’s not enough—”

Suguru’s hand suddenly clasped his shoulder, “Stop, Satoru.”

His eyes widened as he stared at the sympathy in Suguru’s eyes.

“Stop torturing yourself like this.”

The words threw him off, leaving him confounded. He spoke slowly, “You think… I’ve lost it?”

He looked conflicted, “No but-”

“You think she’s dead?”

“No but I don’t think she wants to be found.”

His throat tightened. His words came out quiet, “So that’s it then? I should just let her go?”

He shook his head, “It’s out of your hands now. You need to stop living like this. It’s gonna eat you up alive.”

It already is. He wanted to say but he couldn’t find it in himself to speak. It hurt. His words hurt.

He knew she didn’t want to be found—she never wanted him in the first place, until she did. He knew she did. He felt it in the way she looked at him, her gaze had changed. Some part of her had fallen for him, he was sure of it and yet it felt like he was the only one who knew.

Why did you leave me, Ara? Why?

Do you really think you can forget me?

Only he knew how much opening up to him meant to her. Only he knew how much courage it took for her to come to his doorstep that night. Only he knew that relying on other people was a vulnerability to her and yet he’d got her to rely on him anyway. Only he knew that his lips had touched every mole she was insecure about on her body. Only he knew how badly she needed him to ease her after her nightmares in the dark.

Unraveling herself the way she did worked in the long game to outsmart him but some things could never be undone. She’d only gone to such lengths because she knew it too.

you can run, you can hide, but you can never escape being mine.

He barely felt Suguru squeeze his shoulder, “Come on. Let’s get In-n-Out with Shoko.”

He smiled halfheartedly, “Like old times?”

“Like old times.” Suguru repeated.

He looked at his reflection as he adjusted the collar of his suit. He didn’t bother to even try tame his hair.

He’d been dodging his Uncle’s invites to lame old people events the entire summer but he supposed his avoidance had hit its limit. He was required to come to this dinner party. It was commemorating the 70th somethin’ year anniversary of Gojo Industries.

His Uncle had booked out a venue. He knew there was bound to be tons of champagne, hand-shaking, speeches and all that shebang. His Uncle had told him to prepare a speech but he decided he’d just wing it. Everyone was enamored by him anyway.

He reached for his cologne only to freeze when his gaze caught the display stand. It was a two tier stand, the top was for his colognes, the bottom for her perfumes.

His row was completely stuffed with cologne bottles but hers only had a few. She had just started expanding her scent palate before she’d fallen in love with one perfume. He’d been in the store with her when she discovered it. He remembered how wide her eyes had gotten the second she took a whiff from the test strip. It’d been the cutest thing..

He snatched the perfume up faster than the human eye could follow. He threw off the cap and sprayed it in the air before him.

He closed his eyes.

He set the perfume down with a thunk as he laughed. His hands flattening against the bathroom counter as he faced downwards, shaking his head as he laughed uncontrollably.

He couldn’t stop laughing.

He felt like she was right there. He felt like she was right next to him.

He felt her pulse rapidly firing away against his lips. Her nails digging into his shoulders.

“sato—hnnnng—s-slow down. slow down! ngh!”

He nipped at her jaw, adding to the collection of hickeys on her neck. Her scent clouding his mind.

“you can take it.”

He gripped the edge of the bathroom counter as his mind spiraled.

He sucked at the skin in the crook of her shoulder and neck. He tasted her perfume on his tongue.

She shoved him back, “Satoru.”

Her worry evident as she stared up at him, “We’re in school.”

Her eyes darted down the hallway, checking either side before leaning back against the lockers they were hiding behind.

His hand slipped up the back of her thigh, squeezing her ass underneath her skirt uniform. It was just so cute and plump, he couldn’t resist.

She jumped as he kneaded the soft flesh.

He tilted his head, grinning, “Everyone’s in class, kitten~”

One of her hands pressed against his chest while the other pushed at his forearm, “Stop.” she chastised.

His fingers gripped the countertop so hard it hurt.

She squirmed, burying her face in his chest as he kissed a trail up her arm to her wrist, her scent wafting over him.

“That tickles.” her voice raspy with sleep, “I can’t sleep like this.”

He’d just scooped her up-bundled in the blanket and all-from the nearby couch onto his lap.

“You’ll be fine.” He teased.

And he was right because once he resumed reading the lengthy document on his computer, she’d passed out peacefully five minutes in.

He shook his head vigorously, his maniacal laughter subsiding as he raised his head and met his crazed expression in the mirror. His eyes had never looked this lost.

I’m losing my mind.

He pushed himself off the counter. His fingers cramped from how hard he’d been gripping it earlier.

His eyes landed on the perfume bottle once-more. Roses Vanille by Mancera. He was tempted to grab the bottle and throw it—maybe the sound of it breaking would be satisfying.

There wasn’t a day that passed where he didn’t think of her.

His emotions always skewed from deep-rooted hatred to an insatiable ache when it came to her. It was always one or the other. Rarely a mix of both. It never got any less unnerving.

He picked up the perfume cap he’d thrown earlier and carefully screwed it back atop the bottle. He set the perfume back on the display.

Despite destroying most of her things in his rage several weeks ago, he’d told Marin to leave the rest of her unscathed stuff untouched.

He stared at himself in the mirror, schooling his emotions.

The one girl who outsmarted him, the only girl who could undo him so quickly.

Everyone thought he was doing better now, slowly coping with her loss—as if he could just become himself again and let her go. He’d answer calmly whenever she was brought up, never letting his facade crack, never letting his possessive thoughts show.

Enjoy yourself now, kitten. I’m never giving up on you.

Go on, keep thinking you got the last laugh.

When I get my hands on you I’m gonna show you just how far I can go.

As if on cue, his phone on the counter rang. Once he saw the contact name the equivalent of a thousand shards of broken glass fusing themselves back together occurred in his mind. Everything sharpened as if his mind had been dunked in ice-water.

A despicable grin spread along his lips, “Hi James~ I’ve been waiting for your call.”

“Uh-yes. Mr. Gojo, I’ve found a match for whom you're looking for.”

Whom? Who says that? A low chuckle slipped out of him as he ran a hand over mouth, “Go on.”

“She’s located in Memphis, Tennessee. She’s going to the University of Memphis in the fall and moved early into her dorm yesterday.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I’m sending you her information now.”

“Please do.”

He ended the call and scrolled through the information James sent. He deftly read her attributes before his eyes landed on her most recent ID photo—her University ID card. It looked… too accurate. It was Ara’s face. His Ara’s face.

Except she had light brown hair, eye-glasses and was majoring in geology? Was that another interest she’d kept hidden to herself?

He quickly called up his private jet’s operator. Once he heard the line pick-up he didn’t wait for him to speak, “Peter! Get ready.”

“Yes, sir. Where to?”

He loosened his tie before tossing it, “We’re goin’ to Memphis.”

The University of Memphis campus had quite a different vibe from all the colleges he’d toured. Of course, all the colleges he’d toured had been mainly Ivy leagues but the place piqued his interest nonetheless.

It was straightforward in its design. Brick buildings with white pillars. Blue tiger-print stripes everywhere to signify their mascot and school colors. Most buildings were walking distance from one another. It was nice.

He couldn’t help but wonder what could make Ara settle here of all places? Was it just because it was far away from him? Just so she could live on unrecognized? Or was there more to it?

He knew she didn’t have any family out here so that was out of the question.

He supposed he’d just have to ask her himself.

He sat on a bench near the university center, hands in his pockets. People watching. Students were already milling about. He could feel the anticipation in the air for school to start.

Suddenly his eyes skirted to a girl exiting the university center building, a few books clutched in her hand, tote bag over her shoulder. He briefly caught a glimpse of her face and recognized her. Penn Yves-her new identity. Ha.

Her hair covered her face as she bent down to search for something in her bag while walking. Had she seen him? It didn’t seem likely since she was still walking in his direction.

He got onto his feet and watched her slowly make her way towards him while shuffling through her bag.

Could she walk any slower?

Anticipation gathered in his veins with each step she took. His fingers aching with that familiar rush he hadn’t felt in so long.

He wanted to see her expression. He wanted to see her eyes dilate in fear?—yes, fear. It’d be back to how it was in their early days most likely. When she’d flinch against his touch and look at him with thinly veiled contempt. Or maybe she’d be so surprised she wouldn’t know what to do with herself. Would she pass out? Ha. That would be funny. Or would she—

Her forehead bumped into chest and she gasped as she stepped back. One of the books in her hand instantly falling to the ground.

Her face raised upto his and he froze.

They had the same skin tone and eye-shape, her lashes were a bit shorter but their lips were also similar. Full and pouty. But his Ara didn’t have any freckles on her cheeks nor was her nose as upturned as this girls.

She pushed her glasses up to her forehead when the sun glared in their reflection and he confirmed it. It wasn’t her.

The anticipation in his gut dulled into something more tumultuous, something dark.

She blinked up at him, seemingly taken aback as she spoke softly, “I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

That wasn’t her voice either.

He hid his callous expression by bending down to pick up her book. When he held it out to her he had a pleasant smile on his lips, “Don’t worry about it.”

She was still staring at him, an intrigue in her eyes that he’d seen plenty of times before. He was too in his head to find even a morsel of amusement from it.

She took the book from him, finally breaking eye-contact, “Do you go here?”

“No.”

Her brows drew together, “Oh.” The disappointment in her voice was evident.

That made him chuckle but it rang hollow. Everything felt hollow. He’d been foolish to think it would be that easy. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.

Ara was a challenge in and of herself. James would need to do more than just a little homework to find her. If there was anything about Ara, she was thorough. Her escape had proven so.

If he’d known that his little fixation on her would lead him here would he do it all over again?

In a heartbeat.

It’d be easy to chat up this girl, take her out on a date then pretend that the girl before him was his new Ara. It would be so easy he wouldn’t even have to try.

But taking the easy way out was never his style, was it? He’d pick the thrill of the game every time—even if it consumed him in the end.

There was no settling. There was no quitting. There was just a challenge that he had to win.

Ara, when I find you just remember…you started this.

He reached out, touching a strand of her brown hair before speaking quietly, “Have a good semester.”

She watched her hair untwirl itself from his finger as he turned around.

Dublin, Ireland.

It’s been a while since he’d been here. The air always felt so crisp it was refreshing. The bakeries were spectacular too—especially alongside the River Liffey.

He crumpled up the wrapper of his strawberry pistachio tartlet from the Queen of Tarts—no sorry, il Valentino, the cafe rebranded apparently. Regardless, he’d devoured it in two bites. He regretted not getting a second.

He tossed the wrapper into a nearby trash can as he walked. It was his first time exploring the Dubh Linn gardens. It was rather gorgeous at sunset.

He slipped his hands in his pockets as a chill breeze swept past. He took his time with each step until he spotted her.

From the back it looked just like her. From her height, her waist length hair down to the shape of her hips—it looked exactly like her. He just needed to see her face.

Her phone was raised to take a picture of the Dublin Castle. He couldn’t blame her, it looked rather magnificent in the dark. It was even more impressive on the inside. Memories of his mother’s friend's wedding flashed through his mind. He remembered making fun of the old age paintings on the walls.

That felt so long ago..

Suddenly she was walking again, her back still to him.

The urge to see her face suddenly pulsed through him. His pace picked up, as well as his heart rate.

He quickly caught up to her and grabbed her by the elbow, spinning her around. She turned with a gasp, instantly facing him.

Not her.

Her eyes were the same shape as hers, just slightly lighter in color. Her nose was the same but her lips were the subtlest bit smaller. Her brows were thicker as well.

The similarities were uncanny, but he knew this wasn’t his Ara.

“Who are you?” she asked slowly, a subtle Irish accent to her words.

He let go of her elbow, “Ah, sorry. You look like someone I know.”

She searched his face curiously, “You do too. Are you famous?”

He chuckled dryly, “Not really.”

She looked him up and down, “Do you model?”

“No.”

“You should.”

He gave her a halfhearted smile-trying to focus but his mind was elsewhere, “I’ll think about it.”

“Are you single?”

“No.” he answered-then frowned subtly. He answered almost too quickly, as if it were instinct.

She tilts her head, raising one brow, “You look confused.”

He scratched the back of his neck, “Heh, well.. we’re on a break.”

“Damn.” she bites her lower lip, seeming to contemplate something before saying, “I’ve been there.”

He shakes his head, “Is it supposed to be this rough?”

She smiles—it reminds him so much of Ara’s smile his heart began to ache. Ara was always so stingy with her smiles.

“Just be good and I’m sure she’ll take you back.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. It would take me forever to get a face like yours out of my head.”

He exhaled through his nose in humor, “I can’t get her out of my head.”

She hesitates before something seems to click in her eyes. “Do I… look like her?”

He nods.

She laughs, “So you thought I was her when you saw me?”

“..yeah.” he admits.

She laughs again, “Wow.”

Her hair rippled in the wind when a cool breeze passed. “She must be really pretty then.” she adds.

“She is.”

Her eyes twinkle with amusement, “So if I was her, what would you say?”

That was a great question, one that he hadn’t given much thought to just yet. He had a lot to say to her now that he was thinking about it—too much to say maybe, but it was impossible to tell the girl before him any of those things.

He’d save those words for the real deal.

Instead he tilted his head, “I’d tell her I’m taking her home tonight.”

She blushed, a light feminine giggle escaping her lips.

She shook her head, “Nice try.”

He raised his hands to express his innocence, “Wasn’t trying anything, I swear.”

Her eyes narrowed and once-again he was reminded so much of her.

His grin faded, “If I saw her, I really would be taking her home.”

“Mhmm.”

He chuckled.

She had a coy look in her eyes when she took a step back, “Well good luck, with her.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.”

“Don’t go flirting with her lookalikes either.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She started flirting first but it felt pointless to say. It didn’t even matter because despite all of their similarities and her little flirtatious ways he wasn’t hard-not even in the slightest. He hadn’t gotten hard with the first lookalike either.

She playfully rolled her eyes before turning away. He watched her walk until she left through the garden exit and disappeared onto the street. A cold feeling settling in his gut.

Ara, where are you?

Gojo snaps his fingers, catching Geto’s attention.

Geto glances over, annoyed, “What?”

Gojo’s eyes remained planted on the laptop in front of him as he speedily typed away. “Can you give me my phone?”

He looks over at the charger plugged into the outlet beside him. He reached over and took Gojo’s phone out. His phone flashed open to his lockscreen.

The picture is difficult to make out due to the dim lighting but with enough squinting he’s able to make out that the pic was taken from Gojo’s chin down. Ara is lying comfortably atop his shoulder with her arm sprawled over his chest. She looks fast-asleep but since the blanket just barely covers her waist he can see the outline of her bare breasts pressed against Gojo’s chest.

He reddened before a few text messages notifications began to pop-up on his phone. The contact name for the messages simply one pie emoji.

Geto’s brow furrow, “You got a text.”

Gojo’s eyes don’t leave his laptop, “From who.”

“From pie?”

Gojo immediately snatched the phone out of his hand. He watched Gojo quickly unlock it and stare at his phone with even more focus than the assignment he was working on seconds ago.

“Who’s pie?” Geto asked, confused.

Gojo doesn’t answer, clearly fixed on whatever ‘pie’ was texting him.

“Pie..” Geto muttered to himself as he mulled it over.

Gojo isn’t the type to make someone’s contact name without any significance so he finds himself trying to decode it.

He’s frowning as he glances at Gojo typing away on his phone. He looks completely engrossed. He’d only ever seen him like that when he was texting..

“Is that your private investigator?” he snaps as it clicks.

Private Investigator = PI = pie emoji

Gojo shuts his laptop and slips it in his bag. He swings his backpack over one shoulder as he stands.

“I gotta go.”

“Where?”

He pushes his chair back under their study desk, “To London.”

“What?”

He grins but it doesn’t reach his tired eyes.

“Don’t you have an exam in 20 minutes?”

He shrugs, “I’ll make it up.”

“What?! Satoru—wait!”

“Shhh!” A nearby librarian scolds.

Gojo’s already booked it towards the exit, hastily waving his hand in goodbye as he goes.

She’s shuffling through the books in her cart, completely confused.

Where is it? It was just here.

She bends down to the bottom rack of the cart, deftly reading each title to no avail.

“Where are you?” she mutters to herself.

“Looking for this?” An attractive male voice resounded behind her. There was an American accent to his words.

Her back grazed his chest as she stood. She immediately turned around and backed up.

“Oh-“ she stops mid-sentence at the sight of him. She was already flustered but this… this made her heart rate go staccato.

He was tall—maybe 6’4 or 6’5. His hair was platinum but it didn’t look dyed at all, his light colored lashes proved so. It worked well with his even, pale skin and high cheekbones. But what was even more staggering was the color of his eyes.

They were the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. It was almost alien how spellbinding they were.

But it wasn’t just her that was staring, he was staring too. He was searching her face in a way that didn’t seem sensual. There was a precision to his gaze—rather calculative, like he was studying her.

Then suddenly his gaze closed, all the curiosity coming to a quick abrupt end.

She blinked, taking another step back only to bump into her cart. Crap.

The corner of his lip curled subtly, “Aren’t you at least gonna take a look?”

She glanced down to see a book in his hands—exactly the book she was looking for.

She took it from him, “Thanks.”

She quickly moved further down the shelves to gain some distance from him. It was hard for her to function around pretty people—especially to the degree that he was at. It was already hard being bi and working in a bookstore-pretty girls were everywhere-and now this?

Bah! Get him out of here.

“Sorry I took it from your cart. It looked like an interesting read.”

She found the place in the shelf where the book belonged and shelved it.

“Yeah?” she responded noncommittally.

“Yeah.” he leaned against the bookshelf, crossing his arms as he glanced around, “This is a nice bookstore.”

“It is.” she muttered, avoiding eye-contact at all times as she grabbed another book and climbed the mini-ladder.

“Nerine.” he said slowly, “That’s a flower right?”

She turned around, immediately about to ask him how he knew her name until she remembered she had a name tag on. Please use your brain, Nerine.

But it was odd, not many people knew Nerine was a flower.

She eyed him warily as he ran his thumb over the sides of the pages of a book in his hand. He seemed somewhat entertained by how fast the pages flipped open at the action. That was also another book from her cart.

“That’s a new book.” she spoke more clipped than she intended.

He glanced up, eyes wide, “Oh, sorry. That’ll mess up the pages right?”

Not really. She was just being anal because she liked to treat her books with care but—she pressed her lips together before releasing a short breath.

“Never mind.”

He blinked. He looked like he was near her age. She doubted he was older than eighteen or nineteen.

Since he wasn’t leaving she decided to utilize him, “Can you give me that?” she pointed at another book on the cart.

“Sure!” he instantly set down his book and reached for the one she pointed at.

Suddenly she got the urge to mess with him. She wasn’t sure where it came from-maybe it was because he was so pretty that it was annoying but whatever.

Just as he picked the book up, she said, “Not that one.”

“Oh.” he pointed to the one behind it, “That one?”

“Nope.”

He pointed to the one after that, “This one?”

“Nope.”

He pointed at the book on the opposite end, “This one?”

“Yeah.”

He picked up the book and immediately seemed to notice that it had the same title as the first book he’d picked up. It was just another copy.

He handed it to her with a little smile, “Are you messing with me?”

“Nope.” she answered flatly as she snatched the book from him.

She wanted to laugh at the confusion on his face but it was then that she realized.. he had dark circles underneath his eyes. They were a dull light purplish shade that contrasted quite a bit with his pale skin. She was surprised she didn’t notice it earlier. Boy definitely needs some sleep.

“Do you like working here?” he asked randomly.

Does he really not have anyone else to talk to?

“Yeah.” she answered dryly.

“You probably read a lot, right?”

A lot would be an understatement.

He followed her down the aisle as she pushed her cart, “There’s this book I’m tryna find but I forgot the title-“

“Do you remember the author?”

“No but.. can I tell you what happens in the story and maybe you can help me find it?”

Odd request but “Sure.”

She might actually be able to help him find it with the amount of books she’d read. No genre was a stranger to her—except maybe self-help books. She wasn’t mature enough for that yet. Regardless, with his face she doubted he was reading anything too complicated. If it was a trendy book it’d be easy enough to find.

“So it’s about this girl that gets approached by one of her classmates, she doesn’t really like him that much in the beginning-dunno why-but they stop talking for a bit only for her to go to a party and they end up hooking up.”

This guy is reading a romance? She shoots him a curious glance before continuing to shelf her books.

“Then basically they start hooking up every day after that. She can’t really leave the house much so they mostly hang out at her house and school but sometime later he ends up finding out that her dad is abusive.”

He pauses, “And-erm-he kinda does something about it.”

She raises a brow, facing him, “Like?”

He smiles a bit awkwardly, “He nearly kills her Dad… in front of her.”

Damn! A dark romance? This guy is full of plot twists.

There must be something showing on her face because suddenly he scrambles to say, “But he makes up for it by getting her Dad to a hospital right away, covering the bill and all.”

“Does the Dad know they’re dating?” she asks.

“No but that’s cuz she hid their relationship from him. He’s strict so he doesn’t allow her to date or to go out or-anything really.” he huffed.

“So what happened next?”

“So..” he squints as if trying to remember, “So yeah, she breaks up with him—even though he was only trying to protect her but she’s still mad so.. they end up not talking for two months. Her dad heals up and they get back home from the hospital only for the same shit to happen again.”

She glances up at him again to see a tension defining his jaw that wasn’t there before. He catches her gaze, “Her Dad hits her again.”

“Damn.”

“It was really bad,” he mutters, staring off as if recounting it, “Her body was completely busted up.”

She watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallows, “Anyway, she goes back to her ex cuz she doesn’t want to live with her Dad anymore. He lets her stay and they end up getting back together and doing a whole bunch of cute shit—even confessing their love. Well, the guy been told her he loved her but it took her a while to say it back, but she did end up saying back.“

She glances at him leaning forward in his seat. It seems he found a stool that was supposed to be used for people too short to reach the top shelves. Regardless, she can’t help but feel the stool looks too tiny for him.

He runs a hand through his hair, “Everything is all fine and dandy until graduation rolls around-“ he then quickly adds, “They’re seniors in high school by the way.”

He gnaws on his bottom lip, “And so on their high school graduation she goes missing.”

“Really?” she asks, shocked.

“For real.”

“Did her Dad kidnap her or something?”

His brows furrow, “Nah, not her Dad but listen-after she goes missing, a few things come out. During their relationship her boyfriend would gift her a lot of things and it turns out before she went missing she sold some of the gifts and raked up a couple million-“

“A couple million?” she questions, completely flabbergasted, “How?”

He pauses, his mouth partially open while he squints-as if unsure why that would be hard to grasp until he realizes, “Oh, her boyfriend’s rich so her gifts weren’t cheap. Birkins, Van cleef, you get it. Anywa-“

“Let me guess, he’s a millionaire.” she rolls her eyes.

He blinks, “Billionaire actually.”

“I hate dark romance books sometimes.” she shakes her head, “Go on.”

“So yeah, now the police concluded that she ran off with the money and disappeared without a trace.”

She watches him lean back in his seat and clasp his hands together in front of himself. He looks at her expectantly.

“Where did she go?” she asks.

He shrugged, “Nobody knows, but more importantly—why would she do that?”

“Do what?”

“Up and leave like that.”

“I..” her brows furrow, “I don’t know. You read the bloody book, not me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a girl. Why would a girl do that? Why would she leave everything behind?”

Her mind raced with possibilities as she mulled it over, “I don’t know.. it could be lots of things. She could’ve been unhappy-“

“But why would she be unhappy? She had her man right there, why didn’t she just tell him?”

“Well maybe she didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Maybe she didn’t like him either.”

“But she did though, she did. She said she loved him.”

“People can say anything.”

He looked exhausted, “I know that but like—“ he pauses, as if seriously contemplating something, “She loves him. He knows it.”

She’s a bit taken aback by the intensity in his gaze but responds anyway, “But does she love him if she sold all his gifts for money?”

He looks at her knowingly, as if he’s already considered this but seems to await the rest of her answer anyway.

She stuffed another book onto the shelf, “Clearly something is bothering her. Generally speaking, girls don’t usually make drastic decisions like that without considering everything involved. She obviously knew what she was doing and who she was hurting in the process.”

He silently considers this for a moment before speaking tentatively, “So.. what do you think of her?”

“Well, she’s wrong for doing her boyfriend like that. He technically did nothing wrong but she used him anyway.”

She shakes her head, “But honestly that’s what makes the least sense in the story, if she really loved him-like your so insistent on-she wouldn’t do that unless she had to.”

“Why would she ever have to?”

“Maybe there was some private family drama she didn't want him to know?” she answers unsurely.

“Her Dad’s her only family.”

“Maybe she has a secret health condition?”

“They lived together for 6 months. He would know if she had a disease.”

She threw her hands up, “Then it’s probably some plot twist! I don’t know.”

He watched her frustration, amused, before continuing to press, “And what do you think would be a good plot twist?”

“If she was a spy that would be hot.”

He laughed.

She shelved another book, “But since it’s a dark romance, they usually keep the plot somewhat linear... I’d say her boyfriend isn't as innocent as he seems. You did say that she didn’t like him in the beginning right?”

“I did.”

“Was it like an enemies to lovers situation?”

“Enemies to lovers?” he questioned, before letting out a short laugh, “Kinda, I suppose.”

She nods, “He also does have a violent streak to almost kill her Dad. What-did he try to shoot him?”

“No, he beat the shit outta him.”

“So a few punches?”

“Pft, no. Damn near broke his jaw, his nose, cracked his skull. Dude almost became a cripple.” An airy chuckle left him, “If she didn’t stop him in time he woulda gouged her Dad’s eyes out with his thumbs.”

“Jesus.” she muttered, “That’s not normal.”

“He was defending her.”

“Yeah but to do all that with your bare hands? It’s giving anger issues.”

He blinked before quickly rebutting, “But if he didn’t jump in, her Dad would’ve hurt her.”

“Okay fine so he’s protective then.”

“Of course.”

“Maybe even overprotective?”

He looked at her intently for a moment before replying, “Maybe..”

She raised a brow, “What do you mean maybe? Was he or was he not?”

He appears resigned, “Yeah.”

She nodded once again, “Maybe that’s it. Maybe it was suffocating for her—maybe he was even violent towards her but she didn’t know what to do because she’s used to violence at home.”

His voice was crisp, “He would never hurt her.”

She shrugged, “He must’ve done something or else I can’t see why she’d leave her billionaire boyfriend alone. She’d be set for life-no, generations with that.”

She snapped her fingers, “She left for revenge. That would be a good plot twist.”

He raises a brow as if intrigued. A smirk seems to play at the end of his lips, “Revenge..” he says the word as if he were tasting it, “How so?”

“She’s getting revenge on all the overbearing men in her life. She left her Dad’s house, which is revenge in itself cuz that’s like a strict parents nightmare. Then she left her overprotective boyfriend, breaking his heart. Now she gets to live on being the cunt that she is.”

“Cunt?” he questions.

She smiles, “It’s a compliment.”

“So you support her then?”

“I support women’s rights and wrongs.” She freezes abruptly before looking at him with a frown, “Hold on, why are you pestering me about all of this? Don't you know why already? You read the book.”

“I left off at the part where she went missing.”

She stands, dusting off her pants as she realizes she completed shelving her cart during the time he took to explain that ‘story’.

“So you decide to fry my brain for theories about the plot?”

He smiles-rather brightly, “Basically.”

He stands up from the stool, “Thank you for the conversation. It was fun.”

“Fun?”

He nods.

She looks at him skeptically, “Well thanks for keeping me entertained while I cleared my cart.”

“Anytime.” he gives her a brief once-over before tilting his head as if realizing something.

“What?”

A slight chuckle escapes him, “I just realized you kinda look like her. The girl from the story.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, same hair and all.”

She’s not quite sure how to respond, “Hm, what a coincidence.”

“Right?”

Revenge.

He chews on the word, as if it’s a bitter candy that he despises the flavor of yet can’t seem to spit out.

It bothers him. It’s been bothering him ever since that girl brought it up.

The Ara he knows is more honest than that though, more straight-laced. She’s the type to think more out of necessity versus revenge.

But then again could he trust his judgment on her anymore? After she managed to manipulate him the way she did?

But was it really manipulation if he knew? He knew she wasn’t comfortable when she first stepped onto his doorstep, when she first slept in his bed. But he watched her, he watched her spread her wings and bloom.

He watched her accept his love and he saw her start to want it. He saw her need it in the way he did.

Which was all he ever wanted. The only fault in his plan was that she got away.

But then there was that stupid word, revenge.

The word that tempted his bleak anger, the roiling waves of betrayal deep in his soul. The word that triggered the voices in the back of his mind to remind him that she wanted him to suffer, wanted him to hurt.

It bothered him because if that was her goal, it was working. He was restless, constantly agitated and barely interested in anything anymore. Everything felt mechanical.

His temper was starting to run less hot—it started to feel cold. Like ice churning in his gut with every memory of her that crossed his mind. He felt it like a thin layer of snow settling on his skin, slowly accumulating overtime.

Is this what you want, Ara?

He tilted his chin up, facing the sky. It felt so close from this vantage point.

Everywhere he looked there was only the sky. The sun setting in the distance painted the vast canvas a multitude of colors. yellow, pale pink, orange, and yet they were all chased away by the indigo blue of night closing in like a veil gliding above the clouds.

A frigid current of air swiftly passed along his face, making his hair flip in the wind and his dress-shirt collar flutter against his neck. It was as if the night sky’s gravitational pull could be felt by him too.

He watched the yellow of the sun disappear, hiding to let noisy LA get bathed in darkness.

It was in darkness after all, where the city thrived the most.

His eyes jolted open when he heard a loud noise. It came from the garage, he was certain of it.

He grunted as he sat up on his bed. He rubbed his head while reaching over to grab his phone from the nightstand with the other. It was 2:05 am.

“Huh?” he exclaimed in confusion when he saw that all his house cameras were disabled. He hadn’t turned any of them off.

He refreshed his app and the results were the same. The cameras were ‘disconnected’.

Suddenly he heard a sound come from downstairs. He instantly shifted in his place on the bed, facing the hallway.

He swore he saw a shadow pass by. It was incredibly fast. He almost questioned if it was a hallucination.

He grabbed his cane and stood up. He’d developed a permanent limp after his altercation with the robber or whatever shit story Ara had told him had happened that night.

He pulled out his gun from his nightstand and limped over. Had that shitty robber decided to come back? He’d have a real nice surprise this time.

He held up the gun with a shaky hand as he entered the hallway.

“EYYY! Who the hell is in my house?” he bellowed, loud enough to echo in the entirety of the house.

He glanced around the hallway, it was empty but it was dark so his eyes couldn’t help but linger on the darker shadows at the ends of the hall.

Suddenly he heard the sound of something fall—in Ara’s room. His eyes widened.

He didn’t think, he lowered his gun and limped over.

He hadn’t entered her room in months but he didn’t hesitate to swing her door open now.

“Ara?” he questioned, his heart swelling with hope—only to feel something harder than steel slam into the side of his head.

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esotericfaeryfeminism · 2 days ago

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That's all true, or so I've heard. It must be true for many. It's sad that it continues to be perpetuated.

I realized when I was 16, after observing girls and women who wore makeup, that it would destroy my skin if I wore it. I briefly gave in to peer pressure to wear eyeliner, found it boring, and stopped.

As a result, at 44 I still look younger - as if I'm about 10-15 years younger is how people guess.

I've noticed over the years that women who wear makeup don't seem to have more privilages than me, at least where I live. When I was dating men, I never had difficulties getting their attention with my looks and charm, or competing with women for dates, which I've noticed at least a fair number of women do.

I also never seemed to have difficulty finding work.

I'm confident as an adult even though I'd been knocked down in life; bullied as a child for being studious.

Sure, I was rejected sometimes by men back when I was dating, and it hurt a lot, but never made me want to become what I think of as superficial, by becoming obsessed with pretending I look like someone else.

I hope that isn't offensive, as I'm sure women who wear makeup have valid reasons. I wouldn't presume to understand or judge what their lives have been like.

I've tried to understand why feminists need, or feel they have the need for masking through wearing makeup.

Even though I'm on the spectrum and so I get some types of masking, I don't understand that type of masking. And btw, no, I was never a diversity hire due to neurodiversity.

If anyone is feeling uncomfortable with what I've written here, I'll share something personal.

I've always thought there was something wrong with me since I was pre-teen girl, because I never naturally "developed" emotionally the way others did.

I'm the original (and the only one that makes sense) definition of asexual.

I thought something was deeply flawed with me as a human being, because I was ridiculed by everyone.

I thought I had to fake it til I made it, or I would be a freak who would never be normal cause I would lose my friends. I thought, ok, I'm a late bloomer as some people say, so eventually this will feel natural. So, I tried having relationships with men, because I was brainwashed by society that there was no other way to ever fit in. They all ended, mostly in temporary heartache.

So that's probably the reason I never gave in to wearing makeup.

Makeup-obsessed girl: You have nice skin. What's your routine?

Me: Hot water and soap.

Makeup-obsessed girl: ...Oh. Have you ever thought of just using eye makeup? I can show you the best type of concealer and best colours for you.

Me: No thanks.

Makeup-obsessed girl: Come on, are you sure? You said you're single, well, you want to stand out, right?

Me: No. I'm happy single.

Makeup-obsessed girl: ...What about your eye-brows? I know a quick -

Me: I said no thanks. I think everyone looks better without makeup. Wear it if you want, even though it's unhealthy because it ages skin and contains harmful chemicals linked to health problems. I see no reason to be ashamed of my natural face, and I don't care that some people think I'm ugly. Nature is beauty and as a part of nature, I'm beautiful.

The brainwashing to tow the line for patriarchy is sad in all kinds of ways. Usually when I have this kind of conversation, the other woman reacts as if I'm being rude for stating a preference and trying to prompt her to research the harmful effects of makeup.

And if I thought it was a friendship that was developing, then it goes nowhere.

The wild animals who coercively rape them are fawned over, yet the rest of us women who don't sacrifice our own dignity to fit in and put our throats up for men to slice, are discarded.

#asexuality #radical feminists please interact #radical feminist safe #makeup

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gffa · 16 hours ago

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Guess who is full of blood and didn't get dizzy or extremely winded when going out to get the mail? THIS GAL. Why, I even was able to go up a flight of stairs and NOT immediately want to collapse into a sweaty, panting mess! In other words, the transfusion went well, it was mostly just boring and I went in loaded for bear (I brought three separate things to entertain me, plus snacks, plus lip balm, plus lotion, plus an extra pad because I'm still on my period, plus a bunch of other stuff) and really only read like five chapters of a webtoon the entire 4+ hours I was there. Sometimes I don't feel any different, I always felt okay when I was sitting or in bed, but boyyyyy could I tell a difference in just doing regular daily chores. Suddenly it wasn't too much work to get up and close the curtains. Suddenly it wasn't too much work to actually cut the meat for a dinner instead of just microwaving something. Suddenly it wasn't too much work to haul in my new computer table box from storage and start to unpack it. But also I need you guys to understand that sometimes I am deeply, truly ridiculous--so, okay, I had pretty thoroughly convinced myself that I couldn't be anemic because my symptoms were a little off and because I ate red meat every single day, there was no way I could be anemic with that much iron in me, etc. etc. I am someone who runs hot, I'm always hot even when everyone else is cold, so I've developed a strong fondness for cold drinks. When I still drank soda, I would put them in the back of the fridge right up against the coldest spot, so they would be starting to slush over and it was the greatest thing I have ever tasted. I love ice water, it's genuinely my favorite thing to drink, the colder the better. And oh my god ice, I will straight up eat ice because I'm so hot and it cools me down like nothing else. I've been like this for years, but I'm trying to cut back because even though I only eat the softer ones, I'm wary of what it's doing to my teeth, I've even had dreams about how wary I am. But I was like a fiend with those half-melted ice cubes, I would stare at my glass in the middle of the night, intending to just take a drink of water before going back to bed, but ohhhh just a couple of crunched up ice cubes would be so good on my throat, I'm so hot, that'll cool me down, they feel so good when they're in little pieces, and I couldn't stop myself. Cut to today, me after getting two transfusion units pumped into me, staring down at my water glass, no longer tempted to eat an entire glass of ice: ..............well, fuck. I KNEW THE DESIRE TO EAT ICE WAS A SIGN OF ANEMIA, I HAVE KNOWN THAT FOR YEARS, IT'S NOT EXACTLY AN UNKNOWN THING, but I 100% rationalized it away that I just liked cold drinks and I feel like a dumbass now because the absolute NEED to eat that glass of ice even when I was afraid of the damage it would do REALLY SHOULD HAVE BEEN A SIGN. Anyway, nobody should ever think I'm not a ridiculous person, because I 100% am. 😂

#lumi.txt #healthcare #anemia

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geminiwritten · 13 hours ago

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desperate measures ; bucky barnes

fandom: marvel

pairing: bucky x reader

summary: based on this song but a little more angsty than i had originally planned (the avengers are struggling to infiltrate an underground crime ring and decide that bucky should go undercover to seduce one of the kingpins' daughters, and you aren't happy about it)

notes: bucky is back, baby!!! but i fear i may have forgotten how to write him? i don't know, i had big plans and then feel like i really struggled toward the end, but i persevered! let me know what you think, please!!!

word count: 6329

The Avengers have protected the entire world against aliens, robots, and superhumans. They’ve defended continents and countries, defeating threats that should have been impossible to beat. So, you would think that taking down one of New York City’s biggest underground crime ring would be a piece of cake, right? Wrong.

It’s been four months since representatives of the Attorney General's office and the FBI’s Deputy Director came knocking, asking Earth’s Mightiest Heroes for help on a matter that would normally be handled by detectives. Steve and Tony were hesitant at first, but Natasha and Clint convinced them that with their espionage backgrounds, this would be an easy assignment for the team. Also, wrong.

Four months of reconnaissance, undercover work, and meeting after meeting with agents from the Bureau but still nothing. There are suspects, crimes, and witnesses, but the operation is so tightly run that no one on the outside has any information on how the puzzle pieces fit together.

“We need to get inside,” Clint says, resting his palms on the glass tabletop and shifting all of his weight forward. He is standing at the head of the table in front of the interactive display flashing through numerous headshots of mean-looking thugs.

“We know that much,” Steve sighs, sitting beside where Clint is standing. “What we don’t know is how.”

Everyone looks defeated and bored, because you’ve been having the same meeting every week for the last fifteen weeks with almost no new intel to discuss. After the first month, you started tuning out, instead using the two hours to daydream about the brunette super solider sitting across from you.

You’re not sure when you fell in love with Bucky Barnes, all you do know is that you are in love with him, but he doesn’t need to know that. Not that you’re at all subtle with the way your eyes trace his features, cheeks turning pink when he meets your gaze with a little smirk.

If you’re being completely honest, you’ve both been dancing around your feelings for each other for months. You’re constantly with each other, talking and giggling, working out together and finishing mission reports together; practically inseparable, but always being careful. You’re too scared to cross that line, because neither of you want to put that kind of pressure on the team or leave yourselves vulnerable to heartbreak.

Physical pain, you can do, but you’ve let yourself fall so hard and fast for this man, you can’t imagine surviving the impact when you hit the bottom, so you’ll just keep falling.

“I have an idea,” Nat says, standing abruptly and walking quickly around the table toward Clint. She uses her fingertips to enlarge one of the holographic images, the Petrov family portrait. “Sasha Petrov,” she points at the eldest daughter, “she’s a weak link, we can exploit that.”

You scan the stoic faces of the Russian family now on display. The Petrovs are allegedly one of the two ruling families of the crime syndicate, led by their patriarch, Alexander Petrov; a man the FBI would do anything to pin down.

“Holy shit,” Tony smacks both hands against the table, “Romanoff, you’re a genius.”

“Wait,” Steve frowns, “what am I missing?”

“Sources report that twenty-four-year-old Sasha Petrov is outgrowing her family's conservative lifestyle,” Nat reads from the tablet in her hands, “she has been photographed at various nightclubs and house parties, clearly unbothered about keeping a low profile.”

“So?” Steve asks, “What credibility does some tabloid article have?”

“Our sources are reporting the same behaviour,” Tony says. “She’s out almost every night, she’s been seen staying at friends’ houses, and missing events.”

“The Petrovs are one of New York City’s wealthiest families,” Nat explains, “for their eldest daughter to skip society events is a huge statement.”

“She’s rebelling,” Tony states.

Steve nods slowly, “So, she’s a liability, but how to we exploit that?”

Tony’s lips curl into a mischievous smile, “What is the number one act of rebellion that a daughter can do to piss off her father?”

“Date a guy he hates,” you reply before anyone else does.

“Exactly,” Tony turns toward you, “bonus points if you can tell me why daddy hates your new boyfriend.”

“He’s older, has long hair, only wears black, probably has a tattoo, and he rides a motorcycle,” you respond, sitting back in your chair with a proud smirk.

“Exactly!” Tony repeats louder.

It’s almost as if a lightbulb flashes above Steve’s head, but he doesn’t look nearly as pleased as Natasha and Tony. “Bucky,” Steve says, “Bucky is your idea?”

Nat nods, “Barnes is our weapon.”

Clint’s eyes grow wide, “Wait, you want to use Barnes to seduce the mobster heiress?”

Your heart sinks right down into your stomach, your gaze moving back over to the Petrov family portrait. The eldest daughter is tall and gorgeous, with long blonde hair, flawless fair skin, and honey-coloured eyes. Her lips are full and puckered, and all you can think about is those lips on Bucky.

“No,” you speak before you can think, quickly looking toward Steve for backup.

He nods once in agreeance, “Y/N’s right, I’m not sure Bucky can-”

“I can do it,” Bucky interrupts. He doesn’t look shocked or at all blinded-sided the way you know you do. He seems calm, leaning back in his seat with his left ankle resting on his right knee and his hands fidgeting with a pen in his lap.

Bile rises in your throat. He wants to do it? You know you haven’t exactly been forthcoming about your feelings for him, but you had yourself reasonably convinced that he felt the same way.

Sam chuckles, breaking the tension in the room, “You’re going to turn Barnes into a heartthrob?”

Bucky cracks a smile, “Just a bit of minor surgery.”

“Actually,” Nat says, “I think you’re already perfectly ready for this assignment.”

Tony holds up a finger, “Do you have a tattoo, and if not, are you willing to get one?”

“No one is getting any tattoos,” Steve interjects, “but if we are doing this – if we’re sending Bucky in solo – we need to plan it carefully.”

Your eyes dart back to the gorgeous blonde in the family portrait behind Nat, and you feel sick. You completely tune out of the conversation happening around you and sink back in your chair to focus on keeping your lunch down. Your mind races to come up with some brilliant excuse that could stop Bucky from doing this, but the only thing you can think to say is I love you, please don’t.

After barely a minute of listening to them discuss how to get the mobster’s daughter to fall in love with Bucky, you decide you can’t do it. You push your chair back and quickly leave the room, slipping out the door before anyone can protest your departure.

Once in the hallway, you slow your steps and let a couple of tears run down your cheeks. You feel stupid, of course, but you can’t help it. You know you shouldn’t be this emotional, Bucky will only be doing his job, but he’s supposed to be yours. You don’t want anyone else seeing him the way you see him or touching him the way you want to. If the plan works, this woman might genuinely fall for Bucky, and the idea of that makes you want to kick and scream.

“Y/N,” Tony’s voice echoes down the hall, startling you.

You keep your back to him as you hurriedly wipe your cheeks. His footsteps grow louder as he approaches, not saying anything until he’s right behind you. “You alright?” he asks.

You nod, turning to face him with your eyes cast downward, “Yeah, sorry, just-”

“Don’t bother,” he puts a hand on your shoulder, “I’m not stupid, and neither is Barnes. I know you’re worried about whatever is going on between you two, but this is work, and it’s the closest we’ve gotten in four months. It might not be ideal to send one man in alone, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

You finally look up at him and sniffle, “I know, I just don’t like it.”

He sighs and pulls you against his chest, hugging you tightly for a moment. “If you don’t like it,” he says before stepping back, “then stop crying and do something about it once this is all over.”

Your brow creases and you look up at him curiously, “Do what?”

He shrugs, “You’ll figure it out.”

You watch him walk back down the hallway and return to the meeting room, but you can’t find the will to force yourself to follow. Instead, you turn around and continue on your way back to your room.

Two hours pass before you hear signs of life filtering through the compound once again. You’ve since changed into your comfiest pair of sweatpants and curled up on one of the lounges by the floor-to-ceiling windows in the common area, book in hand.

Sam and Steve are the first to appear, still deep in discussion as they head into the kitchen and begin raiding the fridge. Clint, Nat, and Wanda are next, also seemingly unfinished with their conversation as they take up residence on the lounges in front of the television. Only Nat notices you curled up near the window, offering you a smile that says ‘we’ll talk later’.

You manage to tune out most of their voices and focus on your book, reading quickly to try and get to the part where the main characters finally get together. You’ve been stuck on romance novels lately, craving that which you lack in real life.

“Hey,” Bucky startles you, suddenly appearing beside you.

You smack your hand against your chest, “Jesus.”

“Nope,” he chuckles, “just me.”

You roll your eyes and curl your legs up further to make room on the lounge. He takes the offer and flops down, half of his right leg covering your toes, but you don’t mind. In fact, you like the physical contact, however small.

“What are you reading now?” he asks, snatching the book from your grasp before you can object.

Your cheeks begin burn immediately, heart racing as you watch his eyes scan the pages that you’d just been reading. The smile on his lips slowly fades as his eyebrows rise, blue eyes darting from side to side until he finishes two entire pages.

“So, this is why you’ve always got your nose in a book, hm?” he asks, his own cheeks now a pale shade of pink.

You take the book back and jam your bookmark between the pages where the lead male is jerking off to fantasies of what he wants to do to the lead female. “It’s not all porn,” you defend yourself weakly, deciding not to add that this is one of your more PG-rated novels.

“I’m not judging,” he says, “we’ve all got needs.”

You want to agree wholeheartedly and tell him that you need him, and more importantly, you need him to not agree to this stupid mission with the supermodel Russian heiress, but you can’t. Instead, you simply nod and tuck your book between your thighs.

He clears his throat, “Anyway, I just wanted to check that you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you say, “just sick of those meetings.”

He frowns, “Are you sure?”

You open your mouth to lie again but hesitate, noticing the way his eyes dart toward your lips every few seconds. There’s nothing wrong with voicing your concerns about the assignment, right?

“I’m just not sure,” you finally say, “for a first effort, this feels kind of last ditch.”

“First effort?” he repeats with a chuckle. “This is far from our first effort, Doll.”

“I know,” you sigh, struggling to find the right words, “I guess it just feels a little drastic, sending you in alone. Couldn’t the FBI handle this?”

He rests his flesh hand on your knee, “I appreciate the concern, but I think I might be able handle this better than an FBI agent, and I speak Russian.”

The warmth of his touch and the fact that you can smell his coconut-scented shampoo is turning your brain to mush, and you struggle to remember your argument. All you want to do is throw your arms around his neck and beg him not to go.

He leans forward, “What are you really worried about?”

“You,” you reply, “I-I’m worried that you’re going in alone.”

He sighs and leans back, “You don’t need to worry about me, Doll, nothing is going to stop me from coming back to you.” He stands up from the lounge as he says, “I promise.”

You’re too shocked to speak, or even move, until he’s in the kitchen with Steve. You can feel your pulse in your ears, fast and loud as your heart pounds against your ribcage. Was he trying to get you to say something? Does he want you to cross that line?

You spend the rest of the afternoon finishing your book and then starting another. After a quick dinner with Natasha, you decide to have a bath and try to tame your thoughts, but it’s useless. All you can think about is Bucky, in fact, you ‘think about him’ twice while in the bath and end up getting out even more flustered than when you got in.

You lay on your bed in your towel for almost an hour, wondering whether you should go and confess your feelings to Bucky or just wait and let him do this assignment with a clear head. Nat told you at dinner that he will be going undercover for the first time tomorrow night, and that Clint and Tony are working overnight to prepare his fake identity in time.

Eventually, you decide that it’s too late and you shouldn’t bother him, so you put yourself to bed. You stare at the ceiling spiralling through thoughts for twenty minutes before picking your new book up again and by 3AM, you’ve finished it.

The night rolls into dawn, and you’re pretty sure you haven’t had more than thirty minutes of uninterrupted sleep. At 5AM, you decide that it isn’t too early to be making noise, so you change into your gym clothes and make your way downstairs. You work out for two hours before you see anyone else, and by then, you’re exhausted.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asks, standing in front of where you’re sitting on the blue foam floor mats.

You’re supposed to be stretching, but you’re fairly sure you were falling asleep right before she came in. “Yeah,” you mumble, “didn’t sleep much.”

“I can tell.” She sits beside you, “Are you really that worried?”

You sigh, “I don’t know.”

She places her towel and water bottle on the floor beside yours before sitting down opposite you, legs crossed. “You don’t know if you’re worried, or you don’t know what you’re worried about?”

“The second one,” you mutter.

She nods slowly, allowing a moment of silence before asking, “You don’t really think he’s going to fall in love with this woman, do you?”

You sigh and rub your tired eyes, “No, I don’t think so. I know he’s not stupid.”

“And you know he’s in love with you,” she states.

“Is he?”

She rolls her eyes as she uncrosses her legs, stretching them out either side and leaning forward slightly. “Don’t be dumb, you know he is.”

“Then why hasn’t he done anything about it?”

“It’s Bucky,” she says, as if the answer is obvious.

“So?”

“So, you need to make the move, because he’s being as forward as he knows how, but he hasn’t done this kind of thing in over seventy years.”

You frown at her, not because you’re confused, but because you’re annoyed that she’s right. Maybe you haven’t both been ‘dancing around’ your feelings, maybe Bucky has actually been trying to make a move but you’re the one keeping it friendly.

“But please wait until after we’ve put Petrov and his buddies behind bars,” she adds, “because we need Barnes to be focused.”

You sigh, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach, “How do we even know that this woman is going to fall for him?”

“Based on her previous relationships and assuming Barnes does everything I tell him to do, we shouldn’t have a problem,” Nat replies as she pushes up from the ground. She offers you a hand, “Now, please go get some sleep so you’re not crying your eyes out when we send him into the lion’s den tonight.”

You take Nat’s hand and collect your things before sluggishly making your way back to your room. After a quick shower, you fall into bed and out of consciousness in less than a minute, dreaming of nothing but that darn brunette super soldier.

Funnily enough, the name of the exclusive nightclub Bucky will be meeting Sasha Petrov in is called the Lion’s Den. It’s just south of Manhattan, somehow hidden from the busy streets and can only be found if you know exactly where to look for the entrance.

The whole team is working tonight. Wanda and Sam will be going into the club with Bucky so he doesn’t look like a complete loner, and as emergency backup in case anything should go wrong. Clint is the eye in the sky and Nat is patrolling the streets, looking out for anything suspicious since crime seems to follow the Petrov family around. That leaves you, Steve, and Tony set up in a nearby office building with all the surveillance technology to watch from afar.

“I just need to send word to the Deputy Director before you go in,” Tony says over the comms.

He has his tech set up at one of the desks closest to the window on the fourth floor of the office building. The FBI had assisted with securing this vantage point, shutting down the whole building for ‘overnight maintenance’ just in case any sad nine-to-fivers decided to sleep in their offices.

“We’ll take a little detour,” Sam says, his voice right in your ear even though you know he’s over a block away.

You’d all separated about two miles away from the club, taking different routes and transports to get to your respective posts. Bucky, Sam, and Wanda had decided to walk, giving the rest of you enough time to set up and be in position for whatever might happen when Bucky enters the club. He has very strict instructions from Natasha on how to approach Sasha. Apparently, they’d be practicing all day while you had been sleeping.

“How long until you’re at the door?” Nat’s voice comes through your comms.

“Eight minutes,” Wanda replies.

“Bucky, you good?” Nat asks.

“I’m good,” he says, the sound of his voice making your chest ache.

You can’t stop wringing your hands as you look out the huge window to the street below. There aren’t many people walking by, but the few that you do spot all seem to be heading in the same direction; the Lion’s Den.

The sound of your pounding heart thrums in your ears, drowning out the conversation between Bucky and Natasha as they recap everything that she’s told him to do. You're not sure you’ve ever felt this nervous in your life, but you’re not entirely sure what for. Nothing bad has happened yet, and Bucky is fully capable of defending himself if something does go wrong.

“Hey,” Steve’s voice breaks through the white noise that your anxious brain was creating, “are you okay?”

You turn to face him, “Yeah, sorry, I-”

“You’re really pale,” he says, pressing his hand to your forehead, “have you eaten today?”

“Not really.”

Steve glances back at Tony, who is worrying at his bottom lip as holds his phone to his ear, no doubt waiting for the Deputy Director to answer.

“I told you to stay behind,” Nat states.

You frown, even though she’s almost half a mile away right now, “I’m fine.”

“Y/N?” Bucky says.

Your heart leaps in your chest, “Yeah?”

“It’s going to be okay,” he pauses, and you try to calm your breathing, “I’m going to be okay.”

Tony snorts and pretends to gag before turning back to his computers and sitting in one of the empty desk chairs, obviously no longer worried.

“I just-” you hesitate, “I can’t let this-” you huff and pull your comm out of your ear, “I can’t let this go.”

You take off running through the open plan office area until you reach the door to the stairwell, shoving it open and leaping down the stairs as many at a time as you can manage. Once you reach the bottom landing, you pull your phone out of your back pocket and hang up on the incoming call from Steve before opening the tracking app that Tony installed on everyone’s phones. It isn’t always active, only during missions.

Bucky’s location pings a quarter mile down the street. You exit the building and turn in his direction before taking off in a sprint, your lungs burning with every breath. It only takes a minute until you can see the three of them up ahead, on the opposite side of the street, and it only takes about ten seconds for them to notice you. They all stop, probably trying to figure out if you’re a threat or not, but after another few seconds, Bucky recognises you.

Your energy wanes and your pace slows to a jog. You look behind you to check the traffic before crossing the road, but when you turn to check the traffic up ahead, Bucky is already right in front of you.

You practically crash into him, but his hands catch your waist and hold you still, “Y/N, what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” you pant, struggling to catch your breath, “I can’t let this go.”

He isn’t angry, but you can’t quite place the expression despite how close you are to him, your body pressed against his. “Can’t let what go?”

You take a deep breath to try and appease your burning lungs, “I got you right where I want you, and-” you take another breath, “I’ve been pushing for this for so long.”

His brow furrows, “What are you talking about? Are you okay?”

Your chest finally stops aching, and you look up at him through your lashes, “Kiss me, just once, for luck.”

His frown disappears, and you worry for a moment that you shouldn’t have crossed that line, but then his hands move to cup your jaw and he closes the distance between your lips. Your hands find purchase on the nearest part of him, fisting the hem of his shirt as one of his hands slides down your neck, his thumb tracing your throat. You part your lips and he sighs, pressing his body impossibly closer to yours.

He tastes like spearmint and cold air, and his lips are so soft that you have to wonder if you’re dreaming, but then he startles and pulls back. Panic washes through you as you watch his face, his eyes no longer on you but cast across the street at Sam and Wanda.

“I’m sorry, Doll,” he says, before placing another quick kiss on your lips, “I have to go.”

Without the warmth of his body, the night air is biting. You instinctively wrap your arms around yourself and turn back the way you came, your mind racing. Did you just fuck everything up? Surely not. Bucky is still going in, and it’s not like one little kiss is going to completely derail this mission. Right?

It takes you a lot longer to get back to the office building than it did for you to leave, but thankfully, Bucky is already inside the club and Steve and Tony are too focused to berate you.

You sit in one of the spare desk chairs and watch over Tony’s shoulder, refusing to put your comm back in. You don’t want to hear what’s happening, you want to remain in blissful ignorance instead of listening to the man you’re in love with chat up some mobster’s supermodel daughter. Bucky can be incredibly charming when he needs to be, and according to Steve, he was a major ladies’ man back in the day.

After an hour or so, you slide your chair over to a spare desk and lay your head down. You feel useless and a little stupid, but mostly, just tired. You know the team are annoyed at you and just waiting until tomorrow to reprimand you, but technically, it’s their fault that you did that. They pushed you toward desperate measures.

The next thing you know, someone is gently shaking your shoulder and interrupting your dreams of Bucky. The images of him standing over you while you wait on your knees for him to finish in your mouth quickly fades, and you open your bleary eyes to see Steve.

“Hey,” he whispers, “time to go.”

You sit up slowly, “What happened?”

Something about his expression is off, and you wonder why he’s being so gentle as he wraps an arm around to help you stand. It’s almost as if you’re a child and he’s trying not to wake you for the fear that you might not go back to sleep.

“Steve,” you say, pulling away from him and standing on your own, “what happened?”

He takes a deep breath and steps back, “Bucky did really well, that’s all. Nothing happened.”

“Yet,” Tony adds.

You frown, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You can’t baby her, Steve,” Tony says before turning his attention to you, “Barnes took Sasha home.”

They both watch you carefully, waiting for the explosion, but you know you’ve already given them enough to deal with today, so you muster every ounce of your self-control to stay calm.

You swallow thickly, “Okay. Let’s go.”

You pick up one of the cases by Tony’s feet and continue walking toward the stairwell. As soon as you begin descending the stairs, tears start to fall down your cheeks. You try to focus on your feet through your blurry vision, making sure you don’t trip until you reach the bottom landing.

Natasha pulls up with the car and Clint jumps out to help load the trunk. You climb into the back, buckle your seatbelt, and press your head against the cold window. The car rocks as the others climb in, and normally you would love to make fun of Steve and Tony squished in the back with you, but not tonight.

The drive home is long and awkward. Wanda calls in and Nat answers via the Bluetooth, immediately informing her that you’re in the car so that she doesn’t go into too much detail. However, she does let you all know that it went better than expected and Barnes will report back in the morning. He’s taken Sasha to the apartment that Tony set up as a part of the fake identity.

If you’re being honest, you hadn’t even thought about this part. You knew he would flirt and touch her, and they would probably kiss, but you completely forgot about sex. How? You have no idea, especially considering that every time you close your eyes, you’re picturing him naked.

You feel sick and you know you won’t sleep tonight, but most of all, you feel like an idiot. You almost jeopardised the entire mission just because of your feelings. You want to apologise to the team and tell them you’ll never do it again, but you can’t stop crying and you can’t make that promise right now.

When you finally get home, you start dragging your feet toward your room, but Natasha stops you. “Hey,” she tugs on your hand, “want to watch a movie?”

You frown, “It’s really late.”

She shrugs, “I’m not tired.”

After a quick shower, you change into your pyjamas and meet Nat in the living area. She is already curled up on the couch under a fluffy blanket, flicking through Netflix, so you join her silently and rest your head on her shoulder. She doesn’t ask what you want to watch, she just picks a random comedy from the late 90s and snuggles up beside you.

Your whole body is tired, but your mind won’t stop racing. You can’t stop picturing him with her, wondering what they’re doing right now, and regretting what you did right before he walked into that club. Obviously, it hadn’t meant as much to him as it did to you, because you know you couldn’t possibly have gone off to sleep with someone else after that, but you have to keep telling yourself that it’s a good thing. He’s doing what he needs to do to finish the mission, it doesn’t matter how sick it makes you feel. He’s doing his job.

An hour passes but your nausea doesn’t ease, nor do you feel at all like you might fall asleep. Nat is still awake too, and you know it’s not because she isn’t tired but because she’s worried about you. When the first movie finishes, she stretches her legs out and declares that she’s going to make a coffee, so you too unfold your legs and shuffle into the kitchen with her.

“Is Tony going to be mad?” you ask, your voice thick from crying.

Nat sighs, “I don’t know. I think it depends on what Bucky reports in the morning.”

Your stomach swirls angrily, threatening to eject whatever is left of the small amount of food that you ate almost eight hours ago.

Nat finishes making her coffee and holds it in both hands, watching you with worried eyes as fresh tears streak down your cheeks. She opens her mouth to speak again but the sound of heavy footsteps interrupts her. Both of your heads turn quickly toward the door, and for a second, you think you might be hallucinating.

“Bucky?” Nat says, confirming she can see him too. You’re not that crazy.

He doesn’t look at her, he doesn’t even flinch. His eyes are locked on you, his breaths coming and going quickly as if he ran all the way from the city. The only thing you can feel is your heartbeat, radiating through your whole body like a drum beat, pounding in your ears.

“Okay,” Nat says slowly, “I’m going to go, but- uh,” she looks toward you, “forget what I said before, Tony might be mad.” She puts her half-drunk coffee in the sink and moves quickly out the door.

Silence blankets the room, save for Bucky’s laboured breathing. He still looks gorgeous, despite his dishevelled clothing and flushed skin. His hair is out, though you distinctly remember it being tied back before the club, and there’s a smudge of pink lipstick on his shirt collar.

“What happened?” you ask, though you’re not sure you really want to know.

He doesn’t respond, he simply takes four long strides to reach you and cups your jaw before pressing his lips against yours. You don’t react at first, partly from shock and partly because he doesn’t taste the same, but when his hand slides down your throat the way it had before, you kiss him back.

He takes half a step closer, pressing your bodies together as his tongue slides past your lips. You sigh and lean into him, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his pants to pull him closer. He shivers at your touch, instinctively arching his hips toward you and tilting your head back to deepen the kiss.

When he pulls back for a breath, he murmurs against your mouth, “Couldn’t do it.”

You push up onto your toes to kiss him again, to which he enthusiastically obliges. His hands wrap gently around the base of your neck and his fingers tangle in the hair at your nape, tugging softly as your tongue laps at his.

This time, you break away for air, “What do you mean?”

He sighs and relaxes completely, his body no longer pressed against yours but still close. His hands find yours and gently pull them out of his pants, though it seems to take a lot of self-control for him to do so.

“I thought I could do it,” he says, “because it’s work, and it wouldn’t mean anything.”

You drop your gaze to the collar of his shirt, the smudge of pink lipstick.

“She was-” he struggles to find the right words, “well, she was really into it, but I couldn’t even kiss her.”

You glance up at him through your lashes, trying not to appear satisfied about the fact that you practically ruined the whole assignment.

“She didn’t seem to care, though,” he adds, “and it wasn’t hard to get her to come home with me.” You drop your gaze again and try to pull your hands out of his grasp, but his grip tightens and he tugs you closer again. “I could barely look at her, let alone touch her.”

He crooks a finger beneath your chin and tilts your head back up, forcing your eyes to meet his. “So, to answer your question,” he says, leaning toward you, “nothing happened.”

He closes the distance and kisses you again. Your mind goes blank, clean of any thoughts or worry, completely consumed by the way his lips feel against yours and the way his hands are moving down your body.

Your heart throbs, threatening to burst as you whisper against his lips, “I love you.”

You can feel his mouth curl into a grin, feeling more teeth than lips against your kisses. His hands brace themselves against your back, one splayed between your shoulder blades and the other on your lower back, holding your body against his.

“I am yours,” he mutters, “my body, my heart, all of it... yours.”

You can’t help but giggle, happiness creeping through your body for the first time in twenty-four hours. You feel high, as if Bucky is a drug and if you ever have to be away from him again, the withdrawals might kill you.

He gives you another quick kiss before taking a step back and shedding his jacket. He dumps it on the counter and looks back at you, “There are a lot of things I want to do with you right now, but I am way too tired to do them properly right now.”

Your stomach does a little anticipatory somersault, but you too are finally feeling the ache of exhaustion and need for sleep. You take one of his hands in yours and drag him toward the lounge where you and Nat had been laying. You pick the blanket up, sit down, pull him down beside you, and throw the blanket over both of you. He quickly kicks his boots off and shuffles around until he is lying beneath you. With your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, you fall asleep in mere seconds.

The sound of whispered chatter wakes you up, and you blink blearily against the bright morning sun as you try to sit up. Bucky is still asleep, but over the back of the couch you can see your other teammates gossiping in the kitchen.

Natasha notices you first, “Good morning, Sunshine.”

You carefully push yourself up and rub your eyes, mumbling, “Morning.”

"Did you two fuck on my lounge?” Tony asks bluntly, pausing in the middle of the kitchen with the coffee pot in one hand and a mug in the other.

You frown, “No.”

“Good,” he says, beginning to pour the coffee into his mug, “so, all you did was ruin our one shot at real insider intel.”

A pebble of guilt sinks to the bottom of your stomach, weighing it down despite the butterflies still dancing around about the fact that Bucky is finally yours.

“Calm down, Stark,” Bucky grumbles, his voice thick with sleep and his eyes barely open. He sits up slowly and looks up at you, a little smirk lifting the corner of his lips.

“Oh, excellent,” Tony walks halfway toward the living room, “you’re both awake so I can yell at you both for-”

“I took her phone,” Bucky interrupts, gesturing at his jacket on the kitchen counter, “it’s in the pocket. You better be quick though, because she’ll probably realise pretty soon.”

Tony’s eyes grow wide, “What? How did you-”

“She was really drunk,” Bucky shrugs, “I convinced one of the bartenders at the club to come home with us and then I snuck away when the two of them were preoccupied.”

“Oh, my God,” Nat says, a wide grin plastered across her face, “Barnes, you’re a genius.”

“That’s why you were flirting with the bartender,” Sam chuckles, “man, I thought he was more into you than her.”

Tony hurries back to the kitchen bench and plonks his mug down with a slosh before rifling through Bucky’s jacket. He finds the phone quickly and beckons Steve with him as he disappears out the doors. Wanda and Sam begin regaling Nat with stories about last night and Bucky turns his attention back to you.

“Good morning,” he says, offering you his hand and yawning widely.

You can’t help but yawn too, taking his hand and allowing him to pull you onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your head in the crook, enjoying the smell of his cologne mixed with sleep and warmth. He kisses your head, and you move to kiss his neck before spotting the pink lipstick stain and pulling back.

“How about a shower?” you ask. “Then we can burn this shirt.”

He frowns, and you stretch the material out just enough for him to peer down and see the mark. “Oh,” he chuckles, “alright, but it’s only fair if we both take our clothes off.”

You press your lips against his, mumbling, “Deal.”

END.

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